Mark Five Dive - A step back in time

Time travel becomes reality, as I descend beneath the waterline in a 1944 Mark 5 Hard Helmet, the standard U.S. Navy dive equipment used for undersea salvage operations in World War II

 “So, what’s under the water?” I asked Maurice, the aged greek instructor from a local training facility for commercial divers.   I was 19 years old and my only experience with the underwater realm was a five minute dive in a college swimming pool. 

He told of the brilliant sea life inhabiting the chilly waters of the Puget Sound in the Northwestern corner of the U.S.    He explained what the guys were doing underwater, welding and cutting, and how they would eventually use it to work in the offshore oil fields. 

“I want to learn how to dive!” I exclaimed.  

Maurice just shook his head, and in a thick accent said, “Girls like you…you no dive.  Girls like that, (pointing to a tall, stocky girl on the dock) they dive.  Girls like you…you date the divers.  Come, I’ll introduce you to my boys.”

And with that, it was done. 

 I was 19, in college and so the introduction to the boys on the dock sufficed.   In the four months following, I helped the guys get in and out of their dive gear, learned about the dockside diving bell, rinsed and stored the commercial dive equipment.  But I knew I could never dive, for I wasn’t big enough, or strong enough.

It took a full decade for my entry into the scuba world.   Recreationally, not commercially.   I sought out dive gear made for small women, found easier methods to don the heavy equipment and slowly developed the “dive specific” muscular structure by hauling countless tanks to and from dive sites.   I honed my instructional skills to ease the entry of other women into the sport. 

Now, I’m taking the plunge as a hard helmet diver.  Using  “modern equipment” of another century.  Descending to the depths  in an authentic  Mark V helmet.    This level of helmet was produced by the Diving Equipment and Salvage Company (now known as DESCO) for the U.S. Navy from 1927 until the Mark 12 surface supplied system in the late 1970’s.  

The dive is coordinated by Tim and Steve King of Smokey Point Diving.   As members of the Historical Diving Society, they are collectors of diving helmets and equipment from our past.    The suit I’m diving is a “Men’s Large” size, the smallest available suit size.   With enough lacing and strapping, pulling and tugging, they will fit me into the rubber coated canvas suit, promising no leaks in a suit manufactured the year after Jacque Cousteau took his first experimental dive in his Aqua-Lung.   

The diving helmet is bolted to the suit brales, with a weight of 56 pounds (25 kilos) alone.   Underwater, the top heavy helmet configuration, even with air added,  would turn divers on their heads, so to counteract the tipsiness, boots weighing 17 pounds (8 kilos) each, and a weight belt of 85 pounds (38.5 kilos) was added to the standard diving dress.   Total weight of the equipment is 190 pounds (86 kilos).     Almost two times my weight! 

As the donning of equipment commences, the suit engulfs my frame, and my two dive attendants begin the task of strapping the leather laces and belts.   My canvas clad feet are slipped into the brass tipped boots with flat wooden insoles.   The legs are laced in the back to avoid over inflation once below the surface.  Ergonomics and comfort were definitely not in the design phase on this equipment. 

They stand me upright (definitely not moving anywhere with the metal slippers on my feet) and finish tightening the lower part of the suit to fit my small frame.  I’m sure the Desco Company never expected a five foot nothing (152 cm) girl to don this outfit.   The rubber seals at the end of each arm are pushed up my forearm to find a thick enough place to seal.   (Dainty wrists were not in the plans either, apparently.)

Next the breastplate was attached to the suit with wing nuts.   I can feel the weight on my shoulders, but it’s not as bad as I thought.  Movement is definitely getting difficult, no yoga today.  

Now for the final touches.  First, the leather harness suspended from my shoulders holding eighty five pounds (38.5 kilos) of lead weight around my waist.  This will counteract the internal lift from the air, as well as help my center of balance underwater.   As they release the weight onto my shoulders…I’m standing!  Ok, I can do this.  This is not that tough.

At this point, my tenders have me sit on the dress platform.  It’s time for the helmet.  As I’m sitting on the platform, the belt starts to take its toll.  I had been able to maintain correct posture, but as the weight bears down, my spine begins to bend.  In my mind, I’m secretly wondering if the two inches of compression my spine is undergoing will be able to be undone. 

“Ok, here we go,” said Steve, as he lowered the “brass helmet” on my head.   The helmet of an authentic Mark 5 is not actually brass, but rather spun copper with tin plating, and all of the original helmets were spun by a single individual who had mastered the craft. 

The helmet, complete with brales and wing nuts, has a weight of 56 pounds (25 kilos), and this becomes the final piece.  .    As the faceplate on the bonnet closes and seals, my world changes to a sepia toned view of what early salvage divers were faced with using the “modern equipment” of their time. 

Final instruction includes operation of the chin button (purge valve) to release the air as it flows into the suit.  My surface air supply is connected to a turn valve mounted on the front of the suit, to which I can increase or decrease flow by turning the knob with my left hand.   Overhead, a communication unit, made of telephone wiring, allows me to speak with my “dive guide” on the surface.  His voice will be guiding me on my journey, and my responses will assure him I am both safe and composed underwater.

Hoisted up, and six heavy steps later, I am on the edge of the dock ready for a giant stride into the water.  While the Mark 5 has four “lights” (windows) in the helmet, the suit only allows a diver to see directly ahead, to the sides or above, not down.   The giant stride is made without any visual reference to the water below, trusting, for the first time, the voice coming through the speaker overhead.

As I splash in, a quick look about the helmet….no leaking.  Sigh of relief. 

The voice overhead tells me to turn and find the blue rope.  Using my hands for mobility, as I have no fins, I turn and hold the blue nylon rope.  Giving the ok, I lower down the rope to the bottom. 

Theoretically, you are supposed to clear your ears by pressing your nose against the side of the helmet and blowing through it.  I try, but to no avail.  As I lower down, the pressure builds, however, I land on the bottom with the pain diminished. 

Now, it’s time to “work”.  Walking in the Mark 5 suit is a challenge.  We all believe the water makes us weightless, however, not so in a suit designed for walking on the bottom.  Each step entrenches the boots into the soft mud, and the suction must be overcome with each lift of the leg.    My safety divers direct me, along with the voice in the helmet, to turn and walk in the suit. 

I imagine doing work in the suit.  Holding a welding torch, or rescueing men trapped in a downed submarine, while moving quite like an oversized robot in the clumsy dive outfit.   

Spotting a pink mask on the bottom, I motion for the safety divers to retrieve it.  The safety divers are dressed in recreational scuba outfits, with full face mask communication masks on.  They can easily retrieve the mask.  But what if I, in my robotic attire, wanted to reach down and get the mask?

“Go ahead and sit down,” the voice in the helmet directs.   Against my better judgement, I fall slowly back into a seated position on the sticky bottom. 

“Now stand up,” the voice offers.  Right.  Stand Up.  I’m stuck in the mud, and he says stand up?

I roll to my front and push deeper with my hands into the bottom silt.  “This isn’t working,” I let my dive safety officer know.

“Try adding some air,” he suggests.  I find the valve on the front of the suit, turn for higher air output into the suit and spring to my feet.   Chin on the exhaust control valve on the side of the bonnet, I release the excess air, turn the air demand knob back down, and I am once again on my feet. 

As the voice overhead melded with the bubbles, each inhale and exhale, I walked the floor of the sea.   I experienced, for a moment, what the pioneers of underwater work went through.  I imagined going 240 feet down a line, as the rescuers in May of 1939 reached the sunken U.S. submarine, Squalus and saved 33 crewmen from the bottom of the Atlantic.   The slow, deliberate movement, each reach and step carefully thought out, as the suit is difficult to travel or maneuver in.  

I am thankful to those who pioneered the modern day self contained breathing gear we use.  Men like Jacques Cousteau, who enabled common people to be able to experience the underwater realm without donning 190 pounds (86 kilos) of gear.   Allowing us to use adaptive equipment in a foreign environment, rather than shield ourselves in a rubberized canvas balloon. 

I thought of the female commercial divers worldwide who, even with lighter helmets and gear, are still operating in a world where a “Mens’ Size Large” is the smallest dive suit available, and who walk the floor of the sea, the tanks of nuclear power plants or inspect hazardous sites in full suits.   Still very much a man’s realm, I applaud the women who are reaching into the world of commercial diving, not succumbing to the belief they are too little or not able to build the strength.

As I climb the ladder, and again feel the full weight of the gear with each step up the rung, I return to our modern times.   I have made my first surface supplied dive and experienced the past in a vivid way. 

(this article was originally published in XRAY magazine - www.xray-mag.com/girldiver   where Cindy Ross is a staff editor)