For years, he had harboured the dream of celebrating his birthday beneath the waves, surrounded by friends and the Dover Strait. Yet, time and tide – quite literally – wait for no diver, and previous attempts had been scuppered by the ever-unpredictable forces of nature. This year, however, the stars aligned. Slack water times were perfect, allowing for leisurely rope-off schedules, and a trusted crew answered his call. Pete, Caroline, Mr T, Richard, Paul, Craig, Louis, and Ross all RSVP’d in the affirmative, with Paul committing to Saturday’s dive and Louis to Sunday’s. Alas, as in all great diving adventures, there was a last-minute twist – Richard, in a dramatic turn of fate, had to withdraw at the eleventh hour, leaving a final tally of seven divers ready to brave the elements. The dates were set: the 8th and 9th of February 2025.
Adaptive Planning
Last week, the weather forecast proved to be as changeable as a British summer – twice daily updates, shifting winds, and a forecast that seemed to have a mind of its own. This was, of course, a matter of some concern for a group of intrepid divers, gathering for a weekend of underwater exploration in honour of Mark’s birthday. With tides and slack water times aligning perfectly, expectations were high. Yet, in the back of everyone’s mind, a simple truth remained: when diving plans go awry, one must adapt.
The weekend’s events began, as all good weekends should, with a gathering at Cullins Yard on Friday evening. However, as the group convened, the first casualty of the weekend emerged – the Saturday dive was cancelled. Friday’s high winds had left a legacy of questionable visibility, and so, after a brief council of war, an alternative plan was formed: a Booze Cruise to Calais.
Early the next morning, spirits remained high as the divers made their way to the P&O booking office. Yet, as is so often the case in matters of maritime travel, the logistics proved problematic. The next ferry wouldn’t leave until 13:45, with a return departure at 19:30 – a schedule that rather unhelpfully scuppered any chance of a leisurely lunch in France and dinner that evening. And so, with the enthusiasm of explorers embracing a new course, Plan C was enacted: a visit to Dover Castle.
Dover Castle
Dover Castle, with its historic tunnels and imposing battlements, did not disappoint. The group immersed themselves in the site’s rich history before retiring to the oldest pub in Dover, the White Horse pub – famous not only for its beer but for the names and times of those daring souls who have swum the English Channel, scrawled across its walls in triumphant graffiti. After a well earned drink, some took the opportunity for a swift power nap before gathering once more for an evening of Turkish delights at Aspendos, followed by an early night.
Dive Day
Sunday dawned grey and damp, with a steady drizzle accompanying the divers as they prepared once more for the water. The forecast was less than ideal, and a careful assessment of conditions offered a cautiously optimistic verdict: “Diving is feasible but suboptimal due to reduced visibility and residual swell from Friday’s storm. Extra caution is advised for deployment and recovery in Folkestone and Dover.” In other words, a dive was possible – but perhaps not a dive for the faint of heart.
The plan? To push against the tide in search of better visibility, with the hope of reaching the wreck of the Varne. As conditions fluctuated en route, the group adjusted their course and settled upon two wrecks: the SV Denbighshire, lost in 1887, and the SS Laristan, which sank in 1899. Though separated by time, these two vessels now lay no more than ten metres apart, forming a single resting place beneath the waves.
Upon arrival, it was clear that conditions were challenging. Some waves were cresting at 1.5 metres, and the surface looked, to put it kindly, uninviting. The shot line was deployed, and a quick assessment confirmed suspicions – visibility was poor. Two divers took one look and promptly decided, in no uncertain terms, that this was “not a game worth playing.” The remaining three, however, bravely suited up, aided by their reluctant comrades.
What followed was a moment of unintended comedy. As the third diver entered the water, an unexpected entanglement with the dive lift resulted in what could only be described as a less-than-graceful entry – perhaps best classified as an enthusiastic yet unconventional duck dive. Back on deck, the remaining two divers, along with skipper Chris, opted for the warm comfort of a Hot Lumumba – a cocktail with Lambs Navy Rum that, on a day like this, proved infinitely more appealing than the murky waters below.
Ten minutes passed before the first diver surfaced, reporting difficulties with an O2 cell in his rebreather. More concerning, however, was his observation of visibility: a mere 50 centimetres. Hardly the crystal clear utopia one hopes for. Around thirty minutes later, the remaining two emerged, their reports confirming the grim reality – light was lost by 8 metres, visibility was appalling, and the entire water column was thick with suspended particulate. One diver, suffering the misfortune of a leaking drysuit, took it in stride. The other, ever the philosopher, simply muttered: “Well, I dived and survived.” It was, the group later agreed, a phrase worthy of a t-shirt.
Back at the marina, spirits remained undampened. More Hot Lumumbas were poured, birthday cake was served – candles and all – and the dive boat Renegade was safely returned to berth. The final order of business? A session at Cullins Yard with Chris’s diary, pencilling in dates for the upcoming 2025 dive itinerary. A promising year lies ahead, with three deep weeks from Ramsgate, a Warship weekend, and even a U-Boat and submarine weekend in May.
In the end, not all divers made it into the water, but all agreed that the weekend was far from wasted. Dover, after all, has more to offer than just shipwrecks. For those prepared to embrace a change of plan, history, adventure, and camaraderie are never far away.
