After the beauty of Plitvice National park we had one last chance to catch some sun before turning our backs on the Adriatic and heading north into Slovenia. Initially we were unsure where to go but, as I was rather disappointed that we were yet to dive anywhere off the Croatian coast, I wanted somewhere known for its underwater treasures. Consulting the ever-helpful Google, I found that Rovinj, on the heart shaped peninsular of Istria in the north of Croatia, had one of the best wreck dives in the Mediterranean. This offered us a redeeming chance to dip below the beautiful waters of the Adriatic and breath some compressed air. Kelly was easily convinced and to my surprise so were our 3 non-diving travelling companions. That it offered sun, sand and 12 beautiful offshore islands obviously helped.

So to another stunning apartment we moved, this time on the harbour with stunning views across the small bay to the old town. The next morning was spent on the small nearby beach, although in a sign of things to come the temperature had dropped and the sun failed to appear. We spent the afternoon organising the diving trip for the next day. It took quite a considerable effort to find a dive operator that was diving the wreck the next day and believed we had the required experience. Apparently the dive was rather challenging, particularly at the moment due to rough seas and strong underwater currents. Being quite unable to fathom how it could be that much harder than any diving we had already completed we eventually found an outfit to take us.

Early the next day we were on a little inflatable dingy bound for the Baron Gautsch, an Austrian passenger-steamer sank in 1914 by one of it’s own military’s mines, causing 177 causalities. Arriving at the entry point, in open water, with no land in sight things started to get a little interesting. The swell had increased to around 2 meters and our little boat was riding up and down like a cork, making it virtually impossible to stand upright. After some difficulty we got Kel kitted up and off the boat and I staggered back to my equipment. I then turned to see Kel, in probably the roughest seas I’ve ever experienced, swimming furiously with no regulator in her mouth. For the non-divers the regulator is the mouth piece that delivers you air from the tank strapped to your back. Exactly what was said from here on in gets a little sketchy, as stress levels rose exponentially. “I’m freaking out a little” is something like what I heard. Both the guy operating the boat and I shouted at Kel to put her regulator back in but she wouldn’t. “I’m drowning” was definitely mentioned from Kel about here. When someone with a tank of air on her back that would suffice for around 8 hours and a perfectly designed apparatus for breathing it floating next to her in the water says I’m drowning, you know they’re right when they say, “ I’m freaking out a little!” I did up the most important of my equipments straps and jumped over the side. Doing away with the usual safety checks I swam flat out towards kel, until my own regulator would give me no more air. It had given me a few breaths but now was behaving as if it was empty. Throwing it away I swapped to my trusty snorkel, only to see the guy on the boat completely lose it as now there were two diving in the water who had thrown away their only supply of air (and to his eyes were clearly losing the plot). Signalling to him that I was out of air (and not freaking out yet) I swam to the Instructor accompanying us and got him to turn on my tank. Missing the usual safety checks I had forgotten to turn on the valve that opens the air tank. Now breathing freely, but rather fast I saw Kel, holding onto the boats anchor chain for dear life. She had swam around to the front of the boat and was now rising 2 meters out of the water every time the boat rock up in the air with the swell. The image of her rising, arm outstretched and hand wrapped around the boats anchor rope, almost fully out of the water and then plunging back when the boat rocked down will never leave me. The dive instructor, having believed our assurances about our diving experience was now clearly regretting the decision to take us. With one of us freaking out on the surface and the other jumping in with his air turned off, we had not made the best impression. But, with no further ado, we descended under the waves in an attempt to leave the rough seas behind. Unfortunately as the swell decreased at five to ten meters under the surface the visibility dropped to a few feat. Losing someone is this kind of swell would be very bad news and now I started to get a little concerned.

Descending further though, visibility improved and out of the murkiness at around 35meters came the massive outline of the Baron Gautsch. By now Kel had calmed down and finally looked around to see if I was still behind her. The rest of the dive went well and it was indeed a fantastic wreak to explore. Regaining the surface was a little fun, but we all made it back in the boat without incident. Only then did we realise one of the other far more experienced divers had pulled out while on the surface and gotten straight back on the boat. Arriving back at the dive centre the boat driver and dive instructor made straight for the bar and both poured large glasses of wine. The clock had just passed midday but these guys probably deserved it. Over a beer later we learnt that so far that season two divers had died in similar conditions on the wreck. Luckily we were able to joke about how we had scared the pants off both the dive instructor and the boat driver (who was the owner of the dive company).

After that rather large rush of adrenalin we spent the evening celebrating life with our travel mates. This may have included singing pet shop boys “Go West” complete with soft drink bottle coneheads, Pet Shop Boys film clip style, from the balcony of our apartment, or not. Either way we had earned the right to be little silly for a while.