Documenti di Didattica
Documenti di Professioni
Documenti di Cultura
By Don E. Baker, Jr
Arriving early in the morning, I was occasionally fondly and cordially greeted by the University of
Guam Marine Lab security guards with their words of praise and advice for the work I was undertaking
for maintaining the rights of Admiralty Arrest for the ill‐fated Spanish Manila Galleon the Nuestra
Senora Del Buen Viaje for the “Father” – Robert F. Marx. Bob had given me the chore of showing up at
the wreck site, splash around in public view, grab a few broken bits of China porcelain, and even get to
use his underwater metal detector to find more interesting ‘goodies.’ For a goodly sum of $3000.00 a
month, I dedicated at least four days out of the work week each morning to risk life and limb to play
amateur marine archaeologist for the most well known and well respected marine archaeologists of
both the 20th and now the 21st centuries. At least such is my opinion of the Father or else I would not be
doing the job alone and against the primary rule of scuba diving – never dive alone!
Dodging a few of the security guards slung limestone ‘rocks of encouragement ‘ with a couple
almost finding their mark upon the back of my head, I quickly made my way down the gravel and sand
pathway beside the marine labs’ sea water intake pipe sump works ‐ with diving gear in hand and over
my back. I cursed back at the guards with a quick selection of four letter superlatives when one of their
rocks hit my ‘aluminum 50’ scuba tank. There were enough chips of the black paint missing from my
little tank already.
Back at my Nissan pickup truck, I turned the ignition system off with a hidden toggle switch
beneath the passenger side of the seat. My wallet was also stuffed in a secret partition in the back of
my seat. The ignition and door key always dove with me.
It was particularly difficult this morning getting down to the shoreline as I had just serviced the
Father’s underwater metal detector housing ‘o’ ring and I wanted to confirm if any remaining iron
existed in a rather strange coral growth formation some 15 meters out from the reef’s edge or high
energy zone; where the breakers pound, collapse, and crash onto the limestone bio‐structure. Knowing
more about coral reef ecology than marine archaeology, I suspected the upright and partially angled
coral growth had a base of an old Spanish ship’s anchor. But I could be wrong. Carefully wrapping the
detector unit in a big bathroom towel, I carried it in my arms like a baby with my other gear hanging off
my back and shoulders.
The Marine Lab guards didn’t get too close to me or follow me to the shoreline as they
respected the size of my dive knife; an eight inch blade with a blunt tip good for using as a screw driver
or prying open things and a nasty serrated edge that worked great for cutting thick rope (or some
pirate’s arm off). It reminded me of a ‘Roman short‐sword.’ The Father joked with me on the knife one
day; “What the hell are you going use that for Baker – there aren’t any barbarians underwater?!” Ah
but maybe there are ‐ beside the sea or nearby.
The breakers were not bad this morning; rising to about 6 to 7 feet before disintegrating on the
shallow reef edge and trying to wash across the shallow reef platform. Though I checked the tide table
with low tide at about 5 in the morning, the main channel – or reef cut ‐ we used for entry and exit was
still visible and churning with white water. My dives lasted nearly two hours if I remained shallow and
by then the reef should be partially filled with the rising tide. Regardless of the many times both Bob
and I have used the reef cut, it was always best to sit and wait a bit to check out the breakers and their
character each time before water entry. The angles of wave impact are often a combination of current,
tide, wind and even distance storms. Even the most veteran, hard core divers will wait and study the
sea a bit before jumping in. It’s the overconfident divers that usually get themselves in trouble or worse
– killed.
Within a few minutes, I decided to give it go and donned my dive gear. My regulator was just
repaired and I needed to check it out anyways. So it’s a real mission this morning – check out that coral
formation to see if any real iron was left inside beneath the coral and calcareous algal growth, see if the
second stage of my regulator breaths easier rather than spending half my energy and concentration at
having to suck the air from my tank and still do the job of “Presence and Working the Site” for Bob.
With metal detector in hand, I slowly walked across the shallow reef platform towards the cut.
By the time I reached the edge of the reef cut, the breakers seemed to be getting bigger to me
but scoffed it off as just being closer to them. Before I put my mask over my face after donning my fins, I
looked around and about me to check to see if I was being followed, watched from shore – or even
being photographed. Disappointed that I could see that no one was around, I went ahead and slide my
mask on and put the regulator’s second stage mouth piece between my teeth. I took a few breaths and
was pleased that it was easy to get air – finally. With a quick glance at the next breaker starting to roll
in, I decided it best to slip into the reef cut immediately.
Submerged in only six feet of water, I could see the deeper water further out. Grabbing at the
reef itself, I quickly ‘clawed and crawled’ out through the cut and into a small sand channel. The breaker
started to roar across above me as I held firmly onto the coral boulders. It was times like these that I
would reflect if it was worth the money or the ‘glory’ to be doing this idiotic morning stunt – and alone!
With the breaker past, I continued further out from the reef edge and drop myself into a small
valley that Bob and I had found much of the ship’s artifacts; porcelain shards, boat nails, and even a few
silver coins. Unfortunately the sand paper effect had worn most the coins to be unreadable for any
dates and worthless except for the silver itself.
And then fate happened as I was getting ready to turn the metal detector on before I reached
the sandy bottom of the small valley. One can always be aware of the dangers as best as possible
around and about – but sometimes the unexpected will happen. This time it was a long free floating
strand from a Portuguese man‐of‐war jelly fish that wrapped around my right lower arm. The pain was
intense but refrained myself from any foolish panic and doing anything stupid. I dove straight down to
the bottom and scooped up some sand and started rub and scrap off the light blue strand. All seemed
to be going well when all of a sudden, the low pressure hose separated from my second stage
mouthpiece. Bloody hell! The buggers didn’t secure the hose correctly!
So the strand still stinging my arm became secondary. I dropped the metal detector on the
bottom sand and I quickly took off my backpack and tank. I gulped some of the bubbling air blasting
from the waving hose end before I turned the air off. Holding my breath, with a still painful right lower
arm, I carefully screwed the second stage hose end into the mouth piece section and finger tightened it
as best as I could. Turning the air back on, I pressed the purge to release some air and to see if the hose
threads were secure and not stripped. Satisfied of my quick repair job, I returned the second stage back
to my ‘clenching teeth’ as I still had the painful Portuguese man‐of‐war strand to deal with. So there I
was, kneeling in the sand all alone, hearing the breakers rumbling onto the reef edge behind me, with
my right arm extended out as if I was pointing at some sea monster coming at me from the outer deep
and holding my backpack & tank in front of me. It would have made an interesting photograph or better
yet – video. Within a minute or so, I had sand scrapped most of the stinging sections off my arm and
returned the backpack & tank to where it was supposed to be – on my back.
With that episode and event behind me (and a plan decided on how I was going to severely deal
with the Scuba Pro regulator repair guy), I grabbed the metal detector and looked around at my
underwater bearings. With no monster – or shark – coming for me, I rose off the sandy bottom and
slowly kicked my fins to glide over towards the upright coral formation that I needed to check out for
any remaining iron.
The morning sunlight started to glitter through the outer reef front water in distinct angled rays
dancing about; reflecting off the sergeant major fish and the myriad of fishes finishing up their breakfast
of plankton, and smaller fishes darting about. No matter how many times I donned a scuba tank and
jumped into the reef shallows, there is always the delight of witnessing a new view of this wondrous
ocean realm. This morning, I quickly put behind me the pain and the regulator and swam over to what I
hoped was a remnant of a Spanish Manila Galleon.
* * * * * * *
The Nuestra Senora del Buen Viaje Spanish Manila Galleon was en route to Acapulco, New Spain
(Mexico) when after surviving the brunt of three typhoons traversing the region between the
Philippines, Japan, and the Mariana Islands, finally reached the windward north eastern shores of Guam
in 1754. The ship could only make headway in the winds with a single mast as the other three had been
lost in the storms.
Upon reaching the Pago Bay in the late evening, the galleon decided to drop anchor; one on the
reef platform itself and a sea anchor that was catching the strong off shore current that ran north to
south. This put most of the ship’s bow into the swells rolling by and onto the reef.
Unfortunately, during the night, a storm started to rage and the crew decided to cut the line to
the anchor on the shallow reef front and let the sea anchor try to drag the hull out to deep water and
away from the breakers now starting to pound the reef margin. The wave force was too strong and the
sea anchor line parted. Seeing their plight now hopeless, the crew prepared for impact on the hard reef
as the hull slowly rolled towards the white water. Within next twenty minutes, some of the crew had
already jumped over board to take their chances alone to try to make it to shore. The rest simply
watched in horror as the galleon’s port side start to hit the reef; first with hard impacts that resounded
with a ‘boom’ that vibrated through the entire hull’s length. Then a huge breaker rushed the starboard
side and the hull lurched over with the port side gunwale only ten feet above the reef edge itself. A
good number of the ship’s remaining passengers and crew took this opportunity and jumped over
board. Most of them made it to shore but only to watch the tragedy of the once huge Manila galleon
begin to break apart under the wave force and hard reef margin. The hull could only take so many of
the impacts before the timbers and main frame structure finally gave way. The weight of the aft
superstructure ripped the entire stern portion off from the rest of the hull; the survivors on shore seeing
it fall quickly away and slowly sink in the deep water off shore.
The weight of the aft superstructure was dragged by the storm wave’s undertow; scraping
across the reef. Rigging lines were still attached between the two separated hull sections and started to
drag the remaining mid and bow section from the reef margin as the aft structure sank off the drop off.
In a few minutes the two hull sections sank off in the deeper water. The Nuestra Senora del Buen Viaje
was gone forever. Her main cargo was noted as having 300,000 pieces of Chinese porcelain as well as
other valuable cargo purchased, traded, and fabricated in the Orient.
In Robert Marx’s recently published book, In the Wake of the Galleons, he clearly expresses his
interest and passion at exploring deep water wreck sites – those that a diver is not able to safely visit.
As a side note to his explorations using an ROV on the Guam wreck sites of the Nuestra Senora de Pilar
Zaragosa y Santiago, It is interesting to have heard the tale of when a US Navy research sub dived off
the drop adjacent to the Marine Lab in 1962. The word was that when the sub reached a large ledge at
approximately 600 feet, the crew saw a site right out of the old shipwreck lore’s of skeletons still at the
ship’s wheel and all that mumbo jumbo. A few meters away, in the underwater spotlight as they looked
out their small circular glass window port, was the side portion of an old shipwreck complete with a few
cannons still pushing out from their own gun ports. The wood seemed still intact as well. To say this
wreck to be that of the Nuestra Senora del Buen Viaje would be presumptuous until a real and present
investigation is organized in the future. To date of this writing, no such action has yet to take place. And
this is perhaps explained further in Marx’s book mentioned herein.
On the several dives that Bob and I did out at the Marine Lab, we found artifacts at first mostly
at or near the drop off. No ballast rocks where found, whereas this confirmed accounts that the wreck
was dragged out from the shallow fore reef by the separated aft section and sank in deep water. As the
hull sank, it must have smashed several times on the drop off wall and so that would explain why we
found Chinese porcelain in the crevasses and cuts in the limestone structure.
The best dive was on a ledge some 50 or so yards south from the Marine Lab and down a drop
off to a ledge at around 160 to 180 feet. The ledge angled down to the southwest and on it was a heart
stopping sight to me – maybe not to Bob – 4 large bronze cannons were laying about piles of partially
buried Chinese porcelain plates of which most were still intact. This seemed to confirm the hull impacts
on the ledges as the hull sank further down. Remember here, I was the amateur and inexperienced
wreck diver as opposed to Bob being one of the most well experienced professional marine
archaeologists of the century. I was still the biologist here as well and I looked about at the marine life,
the fishes and sea fans as much as patted my hand upon the bronze cannon. I did try to take one of the
smaller porcelain plates and started to stuff it into my wet suit. I say, ‘tried’ as Bob looked at me and
tried to speak a number of four letter words to me as he pointed at the plate partially sticking out from
wet suit and indicated plainly without words understood – ‘put it back!” I did so. But on my lone dives, I
often thought about ‘just one plate…just one?”
Though Bob tried to gain favor with Guam, it just was not meant to happen. This old Spanish
enclave was not the place for Robert Marx to gain a foothold upon as a band of modern day pirates had
already won over the island’s government officials and gained favor with the native populace. Riches
and treasure often speaks better than history and marine archaeology. Unfortunately, Guam has
demonstrated this axiom to the letter; at least back in the late 1980s. Maybe there is a change of the
Guam general character today in 2008 – maybe not. Anyhow, such is Guam’s lose and certainly not
Robert F. Marx’s.
* * * * * * *
I looked at the upright coral growth and then at the angle of the top section. If it was an old iron
anchor, the nature of the reef and the biological characteristics of the calcareous algae would certain
cover any iron object rather quickly. It was now or never and I switch the detector on. I looked the
meter and then put on the earphones. Starting at the formation’s base, I waved the detector’s sensor
plate slowly around it; nothing – no iron.
I continued to glide the sensor plate around the upper sections and still no ‘hits’ as we say.
Being rather disappointed, I almost ready to give it up when I decide to be a bit more primitive and pried
off a small section of the calcareous algal cover from the very top of the formation to see if I could
visually detect any rust. There was still no indication of an old anchor even by a coloring of the algae
and coral that often may show a brownish tone caused by rust.
Waving the sensor plate to the top of the formation made my heart stop a beat. The earphones
gave me a faint tone. Thinking I was ‘hearing’ things and even trying to mentally conger up an iron ‘hit’,
I methodically and slowly moved the plate again around the top section of the formation. Bingo! I got a
hit! I looked at where I got the hit and surmised that it would most probably be the thickest part of the
anchor’s fluke.
Why I suspected the coral and calcareous algae formation to be some sort of an unnatural
object biologically cemented into the reef was the way it was angled. Coral and algae simply do not
grow vertically and then at an angle naturally. But if there was a base object for the same to attach too
then it would make better sense – biologically and ecologically that is. Bob showed me an iron cannon
once out at the Guam’s Glass Breakwater’s northern reef platform. At first it looked ‘natural’ to me but
then after a closer look and adding a small wee bit of imagination, the ‘cannon’ eventually comes
through. And sure enough, Bob showed me the iron rust stains in the coral and calcareous algal growth.
Happy with the fact that I was going to give Bob a positive confirmation of the ‘anchor’ when he
returned to Guam next month, I checked my air supply and saw I had a little more than half a tank
remaining. Being the cautious diver, though alone, I checked the breakers above me to ensure there
was no changes in their pattern and intensity before kicking my fins to swim away from the ‘anchor’ and
out to the reef front edge that falls off into deep water. There were a few small crevasses with sand in
them at about 40 to 50 feet to check out with the metal detector.
The seaward visibility was easily well over a hundred feet this morning. Before free falling down
to the first small sand filled crevasse, I swam out over the drop off to get a better view down to maybe a
hundred feet or more. But the morning sun wasn’t high enough so the drop off was still in various
tones and shadows of dark blue and eventually to the blackness of the deep. A few large fish were
visible and I hoped they were only groupers or perhaps large snappers and not sharks.
With my detector bar support still cupped to my slightly painful right arm and earphones still on,
I dropped into the first small depression to begin checking it out for any ‘hits.’ In less than a minute, I
started to get metal hits. Waving the sand away, I first picked up a discarded metal cooking pot, and
then some cans, and then while still waving the sand away from the cans; I saw some Chinese porcelain
– a plate section. After digging the plate out from the sand, I realized it was completely intact. Not
knowing how I would ever get the plate back in one piece to the truck along with all my gear, I decide to
return it to the sand for another dive to ‘recover’ it. But before returning the plate, I dug deeper and
felt more plates. There must be a whole catch of them buried in this crevasse. But then I remembered
what Bob told me; ‘look see’ only but do not recover anything of real historical value or he could lose
the Arrest status.
Satisfied with what I found in this depression, I raised my head to see the next one a few meters
away. And then not more than a few feet in front of my mask swam a reef white tipped shark – a big
one. I watched him glide by and then down the drop off wall before I looked at my air supply and saw it
at 1200 psi; time to work my way back.
I kicked out from the crevasse and then looked down and saw the fully exposed porcelain plate.
I thought about going back to bury it in the sand but thought better for the sake of getting back to shore
safely.
Before heading back to the reef cut, I slowly glided to the surface to check out the breakers. As I
lifted my head above the water, I saw a huge breaker tumble on the reef’s edge. Opps! The surf’s up! I
looked behind me and saw the rollers slowly gliding in. Once they started to roll over the shallows, they
built up into roaring walls of water. And I was alone and only the security guards at the Marine Lab
knew I was out here. I thought to myself…”You idiot! It’s impossible to get back in! What now clown?!”
For the first time in my life – that I can ever remember – I honestly felt panic rising up…to the
point that I could even ‘taste’ it. I started to talk out loud to myself; like an argument with myself.
“Now you F—king stupid idiot! What the hell are going to do to get back!? Tell me something guy! Its
not nice to die today either! Hello?! Hey, hey Bozo!?”
Believe it or not, it must have been the talking and argument with my self that stopped the
building sense of panic and I looked at my air again and saw 900 psi. Well, I thought it out better now as
panic does ‘blind’ you to logical reasoning. Panic kills more than anything as it often blankets plain
common sense. The reef cut would be deeper water now so it would be easier to get beneath the
breakers but I had to hold on to the reef frameworks tighter too. If I lost my hold, I may get grabbed up
by the surge and smashed onto the reef edge. Water gives and flows around the coral works, human
bone and skin doesn’t.
Still on the surface, I decided to swim as close to the reef margin as possible to conserve my
remaining air supply that I would need to crawl through the reef cut ahead – but not too close. I didn’t
want to get caught in the rollers and then be grabbed into a breaker as it marches towards the reef.
When I felt it was close enough, I dove to the bottom. As I looked down to the reef, I saw that I was
right over the newly confirmed ‘anchor.’
Reaching the reef platform in a short minute or so, I hesitated to advance shoreward as the
sense of panic was starting to well up again. I then thought of my alternatives; swim all the way down
to the Pago Bay inlet and exit in the Pago River mouth or perhaps die doing it especially with all my dive
gear and the metal detector to save in addition to my self. Nope. It was the reef cut way to go and I
started to make my way towards the reef edge; looking for the familiar cut away section. I knew that
the tide was much higher and the breakers were washing over the cut itself. The problem now was to
deal with the backwash flow of water exiting the shallow platform via the cut.
Sure enough, as I saw the cut in front of me, the water flow was pretty strong on the exit flow. I
had to time it right with one of the breakers rolling across the cut. My pressure gage read only 500 psi
now. I had no choice as the all the excitement and panic control was using the air up nicely.
I grabbed the reef rocks and boulders to start to crawl closer to the reef cut. From below, I had
been watching the breaker sets. Every fourth one seemed to be less intense. So I counted them as I
waited in front of the cut. One went by – a big one that tried to grab me up into it but I held fast onto
the reef boulders. A second one steam rolled over me filling the shallow 4 meter water with white
water fizz. The third one rolled over and it was the least intense so I needed to recount and get it right –
and I didn’t have the pleasure of bottom time either as my pressure gage read 425 psi. So I counted
again.
After the last and third huge breaker of the next set went by, I made my move. I quickly crawled
into the cut – fighting against the draining water flow by literally scraping my self across the cobble
stones that paved its bottom. When I finally reached the cut’s shore side edge, the water drainage had
virtually stopped; in preparation for the least intense breaker rolling in. I checked the metal detector
slung to my right side; the earphones had broken free and daggling above me. I grabbed the cable and
decide to just hold onto them as I started to stand up in the cut.
With the next breaker rolling in behind me, I crouched down slightly while still holding onto the
earphones. If I were going to be rolled about, at least I was in a better body position for it. And I was a
brown belt in Judo knowing the fall and tumbling techniques. But that was on floor gym mats and not
hard reef base rock.
As if it was all planned, the breaker rolled in and grabbed me up into it but it broke well behind
me and only the white water surge was marching in and carrying me with it. Being lifted up and out of
the reef cut and neatly carried onto the reef platform, I – believe it or not – was deposited onto the reef
still standing with the water receding behind me around my legs.
I looked behind me and saw the next huge breaker coming in and decided to conger up some
last bits of adrenalin and quickly took my fins off and then danced a jig amongst the outer reef edge
sharp and brittle coral heads – with earphone frame now clutched in my mouth – towards shallower
water closer to shore.
The morning’s dive on the wreck of the Nuestra Senora del Buen Viaje was over. I made it to
shore without too many cuts on my hands but of those I did manage to get as I held fast to the coral
boulders was enough to shed some blood. I did chip off some of the paint from the earphone frame
from my teeth as I kept saying out loud “Sh‐t, Sh‐t” as I raced away from the huge breaker. I hoped Bob
wouldn’t notice it.
Upon reaching the shoreline, I slowly sat down for a breather before heading back up the
pathway to my PU truck. I looked out at the huge breakers rolling in; if the breakers had been that big
when I first arrived at the Marine Lab, I would have quickly cancelled the dive altogether.
To add more misery to my present situation, two Guam police officers came walking towards
me around the corner of the limestone cliff. They stopped abruptly as they saw me and one asked. “My
gawd haoli, you made it back in!” I bit my tongue and shut my mouth before I wanted to answer back
“obviously you idiot!”
The same cop proceeded to lecture me about not diving in such dangerous conditions and alone
and that Gov Guam may have lost rescue personnel trying to save me if that were to have happened.
‘Yeah yeah, sure, you’re right, never again. You bet.’ I answered back in all the correct replies that
appeased them enough to eventually leave me alone. Again alone, I remained sitting on the hard
shoreline limestone rock – still catching my breath as well as contemplating my personal brush with
death. I had saved 3 fellow divers in all my years of diving and never really understood what they had
been going through – the panic, the fear, relinquishing hope of surviving. Oh well. Life goes on.
My inspector of the metal detector showed it to be unharmed except for my teeth marks on the
earphone frame ‐ and then I remembered the second stage of my regulator. With an additional surge of
adrenalin – that of anger – it was time to get back to my truck. It was now 0830 in the morning and the
dive shop opens at 0900.
The End