Published in Dive Travel, June, 1998

Buzzing along Bermuda’s Middle Road on a moped en route to the Royal Naval Dockyard’s Maritime Museum, I swear it’s warmer under water. Yes, the late-afternoon sunshine is warm, and it filters through palmetto palm fronds like refracted light on sea fans swaying in mid-Atlantic ocean currents. Nevertheless, a blustery, southerly breeze filters beneath my inner-most layer of clothing, much the way saltwater squeezes past Neoprene necklines, then inches its way down supple spines, embracing and -- yes -- standing on end every single hair on my back, regardless of the nine-millimeter wetsuit wrap.

Bermuda warmer under water? A chilling thought when you figure off-season’s average water temperature is 64 degrees; a cozy constant compared to weather topside, which El Nino Problemo has stirred up all across the Eastern Seaboard this particular week. Of course, even in non-Nino years, proper winter attire in this very proper British colony -- four-layers, if by land; three layers, if by sea -- ensures the irrelevancy of thermoclines encountered atop the island’s walled, two-lane roads, or down-under amidst coral reef canyons.

A blast of unpredictable March wind gets my attention on Watford Bridge, one of many bridges that stitches together Bermuda’s seven major islands around gaping, turquoise sounds and protected, picturesque harbors and inlets. But occasionally, the country’s narrow, 21 mile stretch (which also happens to be 21 square miles because the islands’ widths average only one mile) offers up unprotected bridges like Watford’s, and just yesterday, a similar 20-knot gust almost knocked me off my moped on The Causeway while returning from Bermuda’s Biological Station for Research.

Such sensory alerts keep my mind on my driving, which in Bermuda, is somewhat limited for tourists: We may not rent cars. Fact is, cars are restricted even for locals who may not have more than one per family. Considerably cheaper than taxies, and more versatile than buses, mopeds are the get-abouts of choice, though they are The Bad Boys about town.

Fresh off the tarmac, Cabby Owen Simons cautions against moped dangers: “There’s an accident every 15 minutes,” he politely says. “Even if you’re used to driving on the left side of the road, scooters are very dangerous.”

Vested interest aside, what he really means is, “Balancing horse-powered two-wheelers on the oh, so British roundabouts, and always thinking ‘left’ takes some doing for visitors who have never driven in a civilized country.”

Owen obviously doesn’t know I’m a Southpaw; or more importantly, I’m a scuba diver: Staying left on the curvy, hilly, skinny roads of Bermuda is an adventure as natural as rolling backwards off a dive boat into “a lot of moguls out there.”

Captain Heinz Lauppi has just returned to Bermuda after skiing in Vail for two weeks, so naturally, he has moguls on his mind. Because the island is completely ringed by the Atlantic’s northernmost coral reef, when heavy winds blow from one direction, diving switches accordingly to the leeward side. Seas off the south shore aren’t necessarily that rough today, although small craft warnings scuttled the north shore dive plans originally scheduled. Still, I think the Swiss-born, boat captain’s assessment of surface conditions relates less to swelling seas, and more to a wind-chill factor akin to the Rockies.

It is warmer under water. For one diver, a Wisconsin native used to the Great Lakes’ icy northerly temps -- even in the summer -- the 65-foot dive to Minnie Breslauer is downright balmy.

Minnie has to be the unluckiest ship in Bermuda’s armada of 350+ sunken ships. She is a 245-foot English steamer that sank on her maiden voyage in 1873. A resident black grouper inhabits her wheel house (underwater wrecks don’t qualify as such unless at least one grouper makes a territorial claim), and her propeller and rudder are encrusted with coral and age.

Her water-wrinkles and wily feminine ways are similar to another Old Girl, Mary Celestia, an 1864 wreck visited another day. This 225-foot, rather crafty Confederate blockade runner, boasted multiple identities -- Marie Celeste, Mary Celeste -- ‘til Bermuda’s reef historians made her an honest woman. Mary Celestia is her official name now, and the 55-foot dive to her remains features Nowhere, USA’s county fair run amuck: Her paddlewheel looks just like a Ferris wheel lost in the Twilight Zone.

Wrecks are Bermuda’s irresistible bait for about 30,000 divers each year. Only Neoprene’s compressed, air-filled pockets outnumber shipwrecks in Bermuda waters, and most of them rest within sport diving’s limits. But the six dive facilities here tour just 60 or so because some wrecks are privately owned; some on the south shore are easily accessed in heavy weather, thus escalating their popularity year-round. Take Minnie Breslauer , you barely have time to suit up before it’s time to hit the water.

Same for Hermes, a Top-Ten pick for real wreck buffs. It’s a classic, upright, intact treasure in Davy Jones’ locker. Intentionally sunk as an artificial reef in 1984, divers may penetrate its 165-foot steel hull as it sits in 80-feet of water, listing to port against one of Bermuda’s healthy, healthy coral reefs.

Truth is, every shipwreck in the Bermuda section of the Atlantic triangle notorius for lost ships -- even airplanes -- comes with a spectacular coral reef in tow.

“The reef structure has unique coral heads with massive stands that can rise up a 100 feet from a sandy bottom,” said Graham Allan, manager of one of Bermuda’s dive shops. “The island’s completely encircled by reef -- and consequently, shipwrecks -- so a single dive here satisfies anyone’s underwater wish list.

“Water’s crystal clear in winter, and warmer than all Northerner’s are used to diving in. There may not be as many fish as Caribbean islands offer, but since banning fish pots in the early 1990’s, fish quantity’s on the upswing, and we’ve always had mass variety,” he said in a serious Scot’s brogue. “There’s not much current, which means drift diving’s out; ‘still’ diving’s in, and our walls drop no more than 50 feet.
“Diving, in general, is very much about enjoying yourself. In Bermuda, it’s especially relaxing: You watch your air and the scenery because, well, for the most part, you don’t have to watch your depth. If we say it’s a 50-foot dive, we mean 50 feet,” then Graham adds, thoughtfully, “you need a shovel to go deeper.”

In the moped’s shallow, rear basket, I bungy cord my dive gear; I stuff my wetsuit in my seat-trunk; I strap on my helmet, which is required head-dress in conjunction with the unofficial island uniform: Bermuda shorts, knee-high socks and linen blazers. Then I flow like plankton with pelagics in the morning rush-hour traffic to the outskirts of Hamilton where Graham’s dive shop is located.

Overnight, the sky cleared; the heady, oleander fragrance peaked, and the wind shifted to come from the south. This is the day for north shore diving.

The dive boat cruises from the mouth of Bermuda’s Great Sound, past the Royal Naval Dockyards, and into the Atlantic ocean. In 45 minutes, Captain Tony Stewart hooks a buoy on a site called Eastern Blue Cut, named for the nearby navigational marker. All the time in 40-feet of water, Captain Tony dodges coral mounds, and cuts a channel highly dependent on local knowledge.

In just one trip off Bermuda’s North shore, even landlubbers get why this mid-Atlantic island, 650 miles off the coast of North Carolina, is littered with wrecks. Tony’s recently completed video, “A Bermuda Underwater Experience”, notes that the island has been, and still is, a right-turn post for sailors headed to Europe. For all too many, the sign’s small print, “This Way To Hell”, was missed.

At Eastern Blue Cut there are no shipwrecks in the immediate vicinity. Just mounds and mounds of brain coral, and 47 other kinds of the 68 species of coral found in the Atlantic. Sea fans. Anemones. Sponges. It almost looks fake. You know, too perfect; too British: An impeccable saltwater aquarium in a white-wigged magistrate’s office, chock-full of live rock and pretty little fishes.

There’s virtually no coral bleaching here, which suggests, corals like it colder.

I figure cold water and cold air have much in common: They both filter out riff raff, allowing the healthiest corals to survive and thrive; allowing the boldest moped drivers to go where uncivilized Yankees rarely tread.

It’s 5 p.m. Bermuda’s Maritime Museum is closed by the time I cross the last bridge to Ireland Island North. Closed too, are the arts and crafts shops in the refurbished, Royal Naval Dockyard, formerly the largest British naval facility outside the United Kingdom. Since 1609, when the first shipwreck survivors claimed this unihabited archipeligo for England, all the forts built in Bermuda -- and there a lot of them -- were built to protect this important naval installation.

After 4:30 p, not much happens in Bermuda’s western extreme. On the Great Sound just off the end of King’s Wharf, a sole windsurfer ruffles the white caps. A rather hearty soul on this crisp afternoon; in that chilly -- no, I’ll be honest -- freezing water whipped with wind enough to send this bold moped driver and scuba diver indoors to the Frog & Onion pub for warm camraderie with friendly locals.
It takes an hour to scooter back to Hamilton where I’ve been luxuriating in hot showers three times-a-day, all week. After two dives each morning, from Bermuda’s centrally located capitol city, topside attractions may be comfortably reached before dusk overtakes the streets. Everything’s Bermuda short -- nothing farther away than an hour’s ride -- and everything I choose to ride to is water related.

The brand new Bermuda Underwater Exploration Institute is nearby on Hamilton’s main drag. It’s a quick, eye-opening lesson in Bermuda’s central role in ocean science and research. For instance, the first submersible outfitted by William Beebe for underwater exploration -- the Bathysphere -- descended about 3,000 feet off Bermuda’s eastern bank. This, the aquatic equivalent to the earth’s first manned spaceship in the 1960’s, quietly took place in the 1930’s: Alas, the First Splash For Mankind was barely heard round the world.

“We’ve been real low-key for years,” said Wendy Tucker, fund-raiser par excellence, and the driving force behind the July, 1997 grand opening of the $21 million facility. “We thought it was time to get our stuff out there.”

In a tourism manner of speaking, “stuff” is an exhibit hall packed with interactive exhibits, a simulated journey to the bottom of the ocean, an auditorium that features educational films and more. My favorite is a display of shrunken heads: Amazing what pressure can do to the shape of a skull 4,500 feet under the sea, and I wonder if this Styrofoam, E.T. lookalike recalls anything of its abysmal drop to the bottom of the ocean. Maybe, something from “The Deep”?

Of course, Peter Benchley’s book-with-a-same-name-movie was filmed in roughly 30-feet of water at the Constellation wreck site; a mega-popular dive for its assortment of petrified sacks of cement, medicinal viles and Scoth whiskey.

Scientifically speaking, Bermuda has been on the cutting edge of deep water research and technology since 1903. That’s when the Bermuda Biological Station for Research, Inc. was established as a summer-only operation in agreement between Harvard and New York Universities and the Bermuda Natural History Society. In 1926, it was recognized by the US National Academy of Sciences as one of the three marine laboratories crucial to the health of oceanographic research in the US. Consequently, it became a year-round facility following World War II.

After moped-and-body is jostled vigorously on The Causeway leading to St. David’s Island -- one of Bermuda’s eastern extremes -- I duck out of the wind at the Biological Station during its 1998 Jason Project expedition. This brain-child of Dr. Bob Ballard’s grew out of his discovery of RMS Titanic in 1985. Hanging out in the tiny submarine, Alvin, Bob and buddies dropped to the Atlantic ocean floor in search of the upcoming movie (just kidding), and bingo, there was the long-lost vessel. In truth, Bob was sonar-struck by the thrill of discovery and his agony over how to educate kids and motivate them toward careers in science. The Jason Project was born: A shared, worldwide adventure into science, which, since 1989 has used internet cybercasts to broadcast live to hundreds of thousands of students at special receiving sites. This year, scientists and students in Monterey Bay chit-chatted underwater via hi-tech communication bubble helmets with scientists and students in Bermuda.

Bubble helmets are 1998’s innovation. Each year, special state-of-the-art equipment is tested on the Jason Project two-week expedition, depending on the focus of education. One year, underwater robotics may be featured; weather satellites, the next. Technology: amazing. Can you even imagine what direction your life might have taken if you had been a Jason Project Argonaut like Jeffrey Steynor, a senior at Warwick Academy in Bermuda, who had the incredible good fortune to plunge into one of the earth’s oceans offshore San Francisco and talk -- underwater, no less -- to his peers back home?

Geez, I just got a birthday greeting from AARP, and I’m still trying to get PADI hand signals down.

Blinkers are easier. I signal left -- remember ‘left’ is the operative mode of the moped moment on this island -- and I travel up Devil’s Hole Hill. A left-hand turn right at the bottom of the hill introduces me to the Devil’s Blue Hole (no relationship to Bahamas’ blue holes), and a real oxymoron: no-hook fishing.

Devil’s Blue Hole is a naturally refilling, 32-foot deep “swimming pool” attached to the house next door. This particular house was built in 1834, but if Bermuda can claim any folk art form that has weathered centuries, its white-washed roofs and limestone block real estate qualifies. The architecture evolved from British-like cottages of colonial days when roofs were made of palmetto thatch. “Butteries” were pre-refrigeration out-houses used for storing perishables, and some are still seen on elegantly landscaped estates.

The Bermuda “moongate” first arrived on the scene in the 1920’s, and unpainted, native cedar accents and decorates most structures, from doors to window sills to ceiling beams. The nation’s high standard of living is merely an outgrowth of the attention Bermudians give to every cultural detail, albeit a parliamentarian dictate limiting the number of homes available to foreigners, or a garden gargoyle guarding the Devil’s Blue Hole swimming pool.

“This is Bermuda’s first tourist attraction,” said Wendell Pond, president of the Devil’s Blue Hole center. “Through submerged saltwater rivers -- there are no fresh water rivers -- tides raise and lower the pool’s level, and because marine life can’t swim into it, we stock the aquarium with fish and sea turtles.”

Because nothing marine-like can swim into it, visitors dangle fish lines with food attached, but with no hooks attached, to feed these critters. Hence, no-hook fishing.

Wendell says the first-ever batch of Bermudian Green turtles was laid by Cup Match Lady, a 200 year old Green, at the sandy edges of the aquarium in 1990. Of the 108 egg clutch, 58 hatched in an incubator, and all were released into the ocean except four, who still keep “mom” company in the pool.

Indeed, Bermudians are an environmentally conscious lot. Conservation Officer, Dr. David Wingate built the aquarium beach for birthing Bermudian Green turtles, but he’s better known locally as a one-man protectorate for the Bermuda petrel. This native bird was thought to be extinct until a 1951 expedition rediscovered it on the undeveloped Castle Harbor Islettes of Eastern Bermuda. Dr. Wingate says, to date, 57 pairs are nesting nicely in their government-built concrete burrows: “They nest on the ground, and the concrete burrows protect them from marauding Long Tails that would otherwise drive them out,” he said. “It’s rather like government housing...and though they’re still pretty scare, they’re the only seabird increasing in population in Bermuda.”

At nearby Swizzle Inn (a pub and restaurant with so much personality, one of its graffitti-ed bathroom stalls says to me: “Drink up. It makes people more interesting.”), I toast eccentricity and birds and turtle motherhood with some NASA meteorologists. I swagger out of the gift shop called “Swagger Out” -- Swizzle Inn, Swagger Out; I’m still not sure I get it -- but I do buy a long-sleeve T-shirt with this motto imprinted on the sleeves to add to the four layers I’m already wearing.

While cruising back to Hamilton via South Shore Road, I think of Graham Allan’s comment about diving in a T-shirt: “I’d just moved here from my native Scotland, where I’d been diving since I was 14. It was April, and the water temp was 72 degrees. I dived into Northwest Breakers wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and it felt great compared to Scotland where the diving’s good, but a tad chilly.”

After seven years of living in Bermuda, he tips off divers like me who hail from more southerly climes: “Now I wear a dry suit when the water gets below 75 degrees.”
By land and by sea, it’s below 75 degrees as I pass some of Bermuda’s more than 20 famous pink beaches. Rugged, rocky beauty accents the pink sand and water with more shades of blue than manic depressants can fathom. Here, the ocean broils on top of near-surface coral. Where the road and beach come close together above John Smith’s Bay, surf pounding off the rocks 30 feet below, incredibly splashes saltwater in my face. It takes my mind off my driving as I’m mentally transported underwater to Northwest Breakers. During my dive to this remarkable place on the planet, I realize mermaids must live among these corals that rise 30-feet to the ocean’s breaking surface. Mind you, I don’t come face-to-face with any mermaids, but I feel their presence through the butterfly fish and angel fish and parrot fish and puddingwife fish in exactly the same way a cocker spaniel, or another domestic pet lets me know the masters are home.

Bluehead wrasse grow and flourish like Bermudiana blooming in a formally manicured Botanical Garden where light filters through sea fans swaying in a gentle, mid-Atlantic ocean current.

Entering through a natural underwater arch into what must be the mermaids’ living room, schools of amber jack and silversides welcome me into the grotto like an old friend. Gold gobies clean up around the coral carpet, and yes, as saltwater squeezes past my Neoprene neckline and inches its way down my spine, the resident black grouper -- a most distinguished chap -- settles back into his comfy rocks to tell hair-raising, inside stories of Bermuda’s 350+ shipwrecks.

By Barbara Bowers, © 1998

Bermuda Sidebar: WHEN YOU GO
By Barbara Bowers

Unlike most tropical islands where winter is high season, Bermuda’s travel prime time is May through November, especially for divers. Only the cooler, winter weather and water temperatures indicate off-season. Even then, no crowds on shipwrecks or lines in restaurants more than make up for the 64 degree average temps underwater; the normal 70 degree days and 60 degree nights.

Hotel rates are lower off-season, but the country has a high standard of living, so count on $100 per night. Although meals may be included with some accommodations, and some cottages are equipped with kitchenettes, you can always find restaurants like Docksider in Hamilton or Swizzle Inn where you can eat for less than $10. Of course, dining in the likes of Tom Moore’s Tavern is high-end where cost is upwards of $50 per person. The joy is that you have a choice in Bermuda.

Dive prices start at $50 for single tank dives and cost up to $75 for two dives, regardless of the season. Take Graham Allan’s advice and wear a dry suit when water temps are below 75 degrees. If you don’t have one, layer with as much as nine millimeters of Neoprene.

Water temperature is on the rise from March through August when it peaks at 86 degrees, than starts to decline again. Unlike cold West Coast water where plankton hampers visibility, in Bermuda, the colder the water the better the viz: Figure on as much as 200 feet December through April.

When towing a ton of diving equipment, taxies are the best form of transportation, but depending on hotel location, they may cost as much as $25 one-way. Buses cost $2.50 one way, but mopeds are favorites; they work nicely with limited gear stowed in the basket and beneath the seat. Mopeds start at $48 for the first day, and drop in cost each day rented, thereafter.

Because Bermuda is more conservative than most islands, dress is casual-smart for all dining; jackets are required for upscale dining. And remember: Swimwear belongs underwater...snugly wrapped in a basic black wetsuit.

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© Barbara Bowers, 1998