On Thursday, August 23, 2001 4:10 PM, Viv (aka Krazy Kiwi), wrote:
(snip)
> >Did I ever tell you about the time that I was trapped down deep
> >*inside* the leg of an oil rig? :-)
> I do recall you personally telling me that tale .. but many on this list
> probably want to hear about it ... so don't hold back now :-)
> Let her rip we could do with a good belly laugh .. even if it is at your
> expense ;-))
In the early Summer of '72, the dive team was transferred to one of the
drill platforms on the shallow Indefatigable Bank, in the southern part of
the North Sea. Our job at this time consisted in anchoring large PVC
'carpets' around each of the platform's legs to prevent erosion of the
seabed. It was steady, comfortable work with two dives a day down to the
140 - 150 ft mark.
The weather had remained fine for the better part of the previous week and
the only excitement came when - on a second dive - I noticed clouds of
bubbles escaping from the sea-bed around the blow-out preventer. I
mentioned this to the Tool Pusher, a Texan - the man charged with
overseeing every aspect of the rig and it's ability to make money!
"Eh! Escaping gas? Get a jar and go get me a sample of that gas." Despite
my protestations and grumbles about nitrogen loading and other things, I
found
myself laying on the seabed catching bubbles in an inverted pickled onion
jar and wondering whether the whole sea floor was going to erupt and send
me hurtling off into outer space! Thankfully it didn't and I managed the
ascent - and a lengthy deco stop - with the jar inverted, to allow escape of
excess gas, and the cap ready to be screwed into place when I reached the
surface.
All of which has nothing to do with this particular 'Tall Tale'! :-)
One morning a couple of days later the divers were summoned to the control
room and invited to "volunteer" for a job. Another oil company with a rig
in an adjoining leasehold had planned to erect a new production platform.
The base of this structure had been transported to the site on a huge
construction barge and - with the aid of the heavy duty, on-board crane -
had been carefully lowered into position on the sea-bed. The eight legs and
basic framework
projected about six-metres above the sea surface. The legs stood on the
seabed about 150 feet below.
The legs themselves were hollow and 39 inches in diameter. At the base of
each was a large conical plug with several feet of heavy chain attached to
the top. This chain was, in turn, crimped to a wire hawser that extended
the length/height(?) of each leg. The plugs' purpose was to prevent water
entering the leg and to give the rig a degree of buoyancy during the
positioning process. Once in place the hawser was rigged to the crane and
the plug pulled up to the surface. Pilings were then inserted into the
jacket and pile driven into the seafloor to provide a firm anchor.
Due to an oversight, nobody had checked that the wire hawsers were firmly
secured to the plug's metal chain. As tension was applied, each of the
wires parted from its mooring just as the plug seals gave way. Water
immediately entered the legs. There were two obvious solutions. Retrieve
the platform and then either return it to shore or attempt to fix the
problem back on the barge - a very, very expensive and time consuming
exercise! OR, send down a diver. Their own divers felt that the task was
beyond them!
Learning that the near-by Suicide Squad's motto was, "A dollar a day, or all
the beans we can eat!", their company representative made an approach,
waved money in our faces and invited us to tackle the job of diving down
inside the legs and re-attaching the hawsers. It was a sunny day. The sea
was calm, our bellies were full, and all was right with the world. We
agreed.
We drew lots among the five of us to see who got to dive twice. I was one
of the winners and
given the comparatively simple task of completing the job on just one of the
legs.
To get inside the legs we had to traverse a catwalk with a set of twins in
place;
climb a rope ladder up the side of the leg; clamber over the top and then
climb down the other side of the rope ladder to the water's surface. Fins
were a pointless luxury. As were lights. The job was a straightforward
task of buckling a shackle - now attached to the freshly and properly
crimped hawsers - to each of the plug's chains and then ascending.
The first four legs went like clockwork. And then it was my turn! :-)
Like an agile gazelle, I sprinted up the rope ladder and down the other
side, yelled out a good-bye to the face peering over the top of the leg and
descended down the narrow tube. In inky blackness and with the shackle
grasped in one cold, numbed hand, I dropped lower and lower, coming to a
sudden halt when the top of the cone belted me in the crutch. I doubled
over in surprise and hit my head on the surrounding cylinder wall. My legs
straddled the cone, on top of which was coiled the heavy duty chain. As I
gingerly felt for any part of the chain on which to attach the shackle it
slipped from its perch and cascaded around my legs!
"Bugger!" I thought, as I leaned forward to retrieve it. 'Bang' went my
head on the walls of the cylinder. Obviously trying to bend down in such a
confined space was out of the question. I stooped down, my tanks and knees
taking it in turn to scrape the sides, but was prevented from squatting too
far without risk of impaling myself on the top of the cone! I grasped the
chain where it attached itself to the cone and - because there were several
feet of heavy duty links - attempted to balance them while I freed my legs.
As I hauled it up in one direction, it spilled out from my grasp and down
again in another!
Cursing and swearing about the lack of a comms system and a signal/life-line
line, I tried to indicate my plight to those on the surface by signalling on
the wire hawser that they should pull it and me up! They responded by
paying out more hawser!
At this point, I would like to be able to say that I remained cool, calm and
collected. Regrettably, I can't! :-)
With coils of hawser snaking around my shoulders and heavy links of chain
pinning my legs, I wriggled, struggled, blew bubbles, cursed the absolute
blackness, and thought of nothing other than how blue the sky had looked
when I last saw it.
Focussing on nothing other than survival, I kicked, strained and clawed at
the sides of the tube when - of a sudden - the weight eased and I found
myself able to swim clear and upwards. Common sense kicked back in. I
slowly ascended to the surface, yelled up to the top of the tube that I was
OK, and quickly went back to depth for a bout of self-imposed deco-time.
I later learned that - without being conscious of doing so - I'd managed to
wrap a couple of bights from the hawser around the chain. Those on the
surface, concerned by the amount of wire paid out compared with the depth,
had taken up the slack and this had allowed me to wriggle free! :-)
While my bonus for the job was spent in the first hour back ashore - in the
divers' pub - on beer and other necessities of life, I re-learned a lot from
that day. :-)
- There is no such thing as an 'easy dive'!
- Plan each dive down to the last detail - and visualise any and everything
that can go wrong!
- Excessive fear is a pointless luxury when under water.
- That life is for living - not enduring - and happens today!
But the lesson that caused me the most chuckles were the remembered words of
an old Chief: "In your case, lad, you've nothing to worry about under the
water. Always remember, 'Shit floats!'" :-)
Strike
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