She had safely run up the east coast of England and then moved past the Firth of Forth and on to Dundee and the River Tay. Moving onwards up north, Aberdeen had passed by on her port beam. Shortly after midnight she passed Cruden Bay and the feared Cruden Skerries, a very dangerous collection of rocks and reefs, already a graveyard for many a ship. A stiff southerly wind was blowing, helping her northerly progress.
The Second Officer, who was on watch, saw an unidentified light ahead and called for the Captain to come to the bridge. Suddenly it was realised that they were heading for rocks and the shore. The engines were put full astern – but it was too late. Her momentum and the southerly winds contrived to drive her onto the rocks right beneath the Castle.
Her three forward holds were holed and she stuck fast on a submerged rock ledge. Her engines were run astern for two hours to see if she could be pulled off the rocks and saved – but all the time, the once friendly southerly wind contrived to become her enemy, working against her engines on her hull and masts to pin her on the shelf.
Eventually the crew was taken off by the local Rocket Brigade, watched by a large audience of those who had been attending a servant’s ball in the castle but who found this compelling drama far more entertaining. The Chicago became a complete write-off.
I had found something new in diving. This combination of wreck dive, research and acquisition of knowledge I found irresistible - and I soon found myself being drawn towards further wreck dives. Little did I know at this stage, how this passion would develop.
Kyle of Lochalsh and HMS Port Napier
“And make your chronicle as rich with praise
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea,
With sunken wreck and sumless treasures”
Shakespeare, Henry V
Later that year, 1984, as a veteran (well at least in my own mind) of some 25 dives, I booked myself onto the Ellon BSAC weekend dive trip to Kyle of Lochalsh on the west coast of Scotland. I was keen to dive my first proper shipwreck, something that looked like the Hollywood version of a shipwreck.
At dive club meetings I had heard much talk of the wreck of the Port Napier at Kyle of Lochalsh. Kyle is a small coastal town, which is the gateway from mainland Scotland to the romantic Isle of Skye. It is only about half a mile across Loch Alsh to the Isle of Skye.
Looking across Loch Alsh to Skye from Kyle, the dark brooding Munros of the Cuillin Hills, famous amongst mountaineers, dominate the lower lands around. At this time, Skye was only reachable by the local ferry - now of course it is served by the Skye Bridge.
The plan was to dive the relatively intact wreck of the Second World War minelayer, HMS Port Napier twice on the Saturday, stay overnight and dive another location twice on the Sunday. We would then head back home to the east coast of Scotland. This would involve a 5-hour drive across the whole width of Scotland, directly after work on a dark November Friday night.
The club had booked into a small cluster of about 5 wooden log built chalets at Duirinish, a sleepy hamlet of cottages, some still with the old fashioned corrugated tin roofs. Sheep still wander freely amongst the cottages and on the streets. It lies a couple of miles from the small town of Plockton, along a narrow road with passing places.
Plockton, which is about 10 miles from Kyle, is perhaps one of the most picturesque villages in Scotland, famous for its palm trees, warm waters and coral beaches, a product of the warming Gulf stream that runs along the west coast of Scotland. Plockton consists mainly of several rows of houses and a couple of hotels which are strung along a picturesque small sea loch - and boasts its very own small island just 200 yards off the main sea frontage. This island dries out at low water allowing locals, tourists and the local free range Highland cows to walk out to it and explore. From time to time the cows get temporarily trapped on the island as the tide comes back in.
I left work at 5pm on the Friday night and quickly loaded my dive gear into my rapidly disintegrating, patched up, rusted and now not so bright orange, Renault 14. This now boasted a front nearside wing in purple, which I had recovered from a scrap car dealer and fitted myself, along with racing style bonnet catches, which I had fitted to the chassis, and drilled through the bonnet to secure it. The bonnet front and its usual fixings had all rotted away and the bonnet was in danger of flying up in windy conditions.
I set off for Kyle on my own in the dark. The miles sped by and in the darkness I became inured to the constant trail of headlamps coming the other way as I crossed the busy contraflow section of road from Aberdeen to Inverness.
Once past Inverness, I drove down the road that meanders along the shores of Loch Ness - and the haunting ruins of Urquhart Castle near Drumnadrochit passed by me as a ghostly silhouette in the darkness. Soon I had turned off onto the road through Kintail towards the west coast, and Kyle.
I had never spent time on the extreme west coast of Scotland before and had no idea what to expect after Loch Ness. The contraflow roadway soon gave way to a single track Highland road with passing places. Being well into the evening, the road was quiet and I could see the lights of the occasional approaching car miles ahead in the dark distance.
I moved quickly and smoothly through the twisting forested section before the forest ended and I was in the open glens and lands of Kintail. In the darkness I had no idea of the beauty and majesty of the mountains that were now flashing by me - the limit of my world was the dim cocoon of light around me from the dashboard instruments - and the brilliant beams of light from my headlamps.
Kyle soon approached and I took the turning off to the north to Plockton. Ten minutes later I was completely lost in pitch darkness amongst heather covered hills.
The single-track roads I was following meandered all over the place in the 10-mile space between Plockton and Kyle. They were poorly signposted, presumably intentionally to confuse German paratroopers and the odd visiting diver to the area. I reached several unsignposted junctions where the road split. It was potluck.
It turned out that the chalets were off the beaten track, down a small tree shrouded and unsignposted entrance, itself off a small road, which in turn led off from the single-track road that linked Kyle to Plockton.
Eventually, after circling the area several times and ruling out all of the possibilities one by one, I drove down a small road, over a cattle grid and turned down the small entranceway to the Duirinish chalets and over another cattle grid. The small cluster of chalets was at last revealed in the glare of my headlamps. Here and there light spilled from windows running with condensation. Cars and grey rubber Zodiac dive boats on trailers were clustered around a few of them.
In the darkness I was drawn to the welcoming chinks of light escaping past drawn curtains. I parked the car, took out my dry gear bag and a sleeping bag and jumping up a few slippery wooden steps, opened the door of one of the chalets. I was immediately enveloped by a hubbub of conversation and activity. After five hours of darkness in my car the harsh glare of fluorescent strip lights assaulted my eyes as if someone had just switched on a set of football stadium floodlights.
A kettle was coming to the boil on one of the units and the smell of brewed tea, toast and peanut butter hung in the air. I made myself a welcome cuppa and sat down to chat to the rest of my club members. There was an excited animation to the conversation, common to any sort of expedition – mainly centred on planning the next day’s diving.
The dive marshals for the trip had scheduled two dives, both were going to be on HMS Port Napier, the first at about 9am. The maximum depth for the dive, the depth to the seabed, was about 20 metres. In keeping with the BSAC recommendations of the time for repeat diving, there would then be a 6-hour decompression surface interval, before the second dive of the day, later in the afternoon.
We would rise at 7am, breakfast,