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Ghostly Encounters in Truk
Lagoon
Judy Ann Newton
Published with permission
from Asian Diver Magazine
This article first appeared in the August/September
issue of Asian Diver Magazine. |
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| I don't
believe in ghosts. And I don't believe the things that go bump in the
night are the acts of a force from another world. But I have been where
the dead search for peace; where you question the realm of possibilities
and where souls intertwine in a war long passed. |
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| I had heard of
strange happenings at this World War II battlefield and the tales of the
Ghost Ship Fleet in Micronesia. But diving at Truk was a dream I had held
for many years.
On the first day of
diving, the divemaster who briefed us before our checkout dive on the
Shinkoko Maru guaranteed this would be an easy one. It was not an easy
dive by any term in the dictionary!
It all started innocently enough. When you
have a great deal of electronic equipment, something is going to fail or
experience an error, especially on the first dive.
The first target for a photo was a small
shrine for the souls lost in the air strike on Truk Lagoon. A bottle of
sake had been offered by a previous visitor and I decided not to mix
contemporary artifacts with war relics and passed on that photo
opportunity. Instead, I focused my attention on a small clownfish living
in the tangled anemones of the kingpost |
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| UH OH... |
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| My first hint
that something was amiss was the difficulty I had in acquiring a sharp
image through the viewfinder. The spotlight on my strobe had failed to
come on at depth, even though it had checked out on the dive boat. I was
slightly annoyed, but once I got a good view of the clownfish, I got one
shot before my strobes refused to recycle. This was beyond annoying and I
aborted the dive to go back to the boat and have a nasty word with my
lighting system.
No sooner had my
camera been passed up onto the deck, the strobes fired and the spotlight
flared to life. Confused, but cautious, I changed all necessary batteries
and o-rings and prepared for the next dive -- with the benefit of a longer
than planned surface interval. |
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| A PLOT HATCHES |
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| The plan was to
tour the bowels of the stern in search of a grinder and a hanging light
that had been encrusted by time but with the bulb intact I gave a last
glimpse at my gauges and camera settings in the bright open waters before
I sank into the hatchway of the rear holds. I still don't know what
happened, but I knew I had to get out immediately or I would never come
out again. Some called it nitrogen narcosis or Rapture of the Deep.
At 19m, neither explanation would apply. Nor could anyone explain to me
why the hatch I had traversed an hour before was now closed and solidly
sealed by years of rust and decay. I was told I had made a mistake and
that I had obviously gone into a different hatch or a different level. But
my dive slate still bore the etchings of my entry/exit point, and there
was no mistake.
I was beginning to feel the uncertainty at
the back of my neck with every dive now. With ever-increasing regularity,
electronic systems would fail at depth, but fire without error on the
deck. I changed brands of batteries and borrowed gear from other
divers, only to experience the same problems. Then gear from my BCD began
to disappear -- a torch on this dive, a knife on the next -- only to be
brought up by divers in later dives. |
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| VOICES FROM THE DEEP |
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| On a particularly
deep dive on the Nippo Maru, I was diving alone down an outer corridor at
40m. I heard someone call my name and I turned to see who was behind me,
but I was alone. The ship let out a moan, probably from the stress of 50
years at depth, but the moan was more human than mechanical. I convinced
myself that at these depths a bubble from regulator exhaust could sound
like anything and pressed on through the wreckage.
Again I heard my name. I was quite sure
someone was playing a joke on me. At 40m, this was not a good place to
play games and I planned to have a serious discussion with my dive buddies
about safety procedures when I got back to the dive vessel. A quick
reconnaissance of the area proved that I was quite alone. I took several
shots of the corridor using natural light, since my strobes had once again
failed to fire up. I thought it odd when taking the photo how cloudy the
hallway appeared where it had just been perfect visibility a moment
earlier. I finished the roll of film and made my way back to the anchor
line, coinciding my arrival at the line with the failure of my dive
computer. It demanded a decompression stop at 29m for 88 minutes.
Knowing that I was well within my diving
tables for a four-minute decompression stop, I checked my watch to confirm
my dive profile, but my dive watch had also gone into a seizure. I used by
backup computer to calculate my decompression, and gratefully reached the
safety of the dive boat in time for my computer to clear and download a
perfectly normal dive profile.
By now, my 'dives of misfortune' were
common knowledge and provided a great degree of levity for the others on
board. That night, as we reviewed our slides, I showed my photo of the
corridor with a visible haze stagnant in the hallway. Those who took the
exact same shot came back with 50m visibility. I now had a few believers
who realized I was not bent or delusional. |
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| GHOSTLY MARU |
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| As the week
neared its end, this night dive -- to find shrimp in the brilliant red
soft corals on the Gosei Maru -- was the checkmate in a chess game that
held my safety and my sanity in the balance.
When my dive torch, dive computer and both strobes failed inside
the sunken wreckage, I guessed my odds for survival were failing fast. The
reflection of a video camera panning the exterior of the hull illuminated
the stygian darkness through holes in the metal plating. I followed the
Morse Code of light and was resurrected from the depths once again.
Safely back on deck and secluded in my
room, I weighed the variables, questioning the price of a life against the
value of a few good slides. I decided that this 'hex' had to be resolved
or I would stay out of the water. |
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| A PEACE OFFERING |
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| The next morning
when I went up onto the dive deck to prepare for the day's task, a curious
silence overtook the Trukese dive crew. I had not attired myself in the
usual dive apparel of 'aromatic' diveskins and tousled hair. I had curled
my hair, donned a fresh diveskin and embellished myself with eye makeup,
gold earrings, lipstick and even a splash of perfume.
We were back at the Shinkoku Maru, back where
we had started so many tormented dives ago. I went directly to the small
homemade shrine and respectfully removed the errant debris that littered
the deck. I released the air from my BCD and rested on my knees before the
small memorial. Men had died here and this was a time for reconciliation.
I found the serenity to make peace with
those who passed in harm's way and found their graves in these waters. I
asked for permission to trespass on the tombs of those who could not
defend themselves from my presence. The water took on an ethereal feel.
Maybe I was forgiven for my trespass -- or maybe I had just begun to
understand.
I returned to the dive boat and prepared
for the day's diving with no mention of my solo dive. Who would have
refrained from laughing, unless they had been there? I was not surprised
that my dive computer had come back to life, and my electronics fired and
recharged flawlessly for one glorious day of diving.
Since that first encounter with the powers
of Truk Lagoon, I have returned four times. On each trip, I begin just as
I ended the last trip: with respect and solemn sobriety as I share these
waters with those who will never see the light of day again. And each time
I have found unrivalled beauty and peace among the ruins of war. |
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