Our night dive at the Three Fathom Wall was just as creepy and unnerving as the first. This time, accompanied by music, Ramon and I were explorers on a distant world, rather than lost, marooned scouts in a doomed space mission. Okay, so maybe I let my imagination run away from me a little on these dives. But I can’t properly express how different it feels to dive at night. Most of the colorful fish present in daytime hours are gone, replaced by slow-moving, cautious fish not used to having bright lights shined in their faces. This time, we also encountered several tiny, translucent squids. They were unusually friendly, and Ramon captured a few photographs of one just three inches from my mask. Bathed in the impressive glow of the Light Cannons, these little creatures would light up and shimmer like magical pixies, whose brilliance my words can’t do justice.

So THAT was fun.

This morning we had arrived near Cayman Brac and one of the trip’s highlights, the wreck of the Russian frigate #356. Left in Cuba after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the ship was purchased by the Cayman Islands to be sunk here (and renamed the Keith Tibbets… don’t ask me why…). In the decade since it was lowered to the watery depths, parts of it have fallen in on themselves and the entire ship has split in two. This worked to undermine the efforts of the original architects of this dive site, who welded all doors and windows shut to keep curious divers from venturing to a premature grave. Needless to say, in we went!

Actually for this first dive, Ramon and I were led on a little tour by Graham, one of the crew who knew the place. Now Graham, a Brit, and I are developing a bit of a history (all in good fun), so I was a little worried he might be taking me down into the ship to kill me. It began when I made a terrible mistake on our first day of diving… I was descending the ladder to the dive platform with full gear on (tank, wetsuit, BCD, etc.). As I was going, Graham had moved into the path of where I was headed to hand someone their underwater camera, leaving me to bring my tank down squarely on the back of his neck. Judging by his cry of pain, I’m guess it hurt. He did his best to shrug it off and I felt terribly, but right afterwards I did catch a look from him that looked an awful lot like, “I am going to kill you on this voyage.

Since then, we have disagreed on the merits of underwater music, and I made the unfortunate decision to wear a t-shirt on deck by “Manchester Ltd. Co.”, which I suppose sounds a little too much like “Manchester United” for his British sensibilities. *shrug*

We have one more dive at the #356 before lunch and moving on, so I am going to prepare the mp3 player with the appropriate accompaniment and will report on that and any other gear of mine that stops working later. Oh, in other news, the soda machine works again (so the curse is limited just to me).

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