A personal view by Charles Cotton

Working in the Diving Industry in the Asia Pacific Region. A personal view by Charles Cotton, Rockwater 2 Offshore Coordinator. (An essay first submitted to the Subsea7 magazine and rejected, amidst some dissent and controversy).


On my first night in Singapore in 1982 the authorities shut down Bugis Street, a notorious den of iniquity where all known vices were said to be catered for. The next time I visited it was a shopping mall. If it was anything I said or did I apologise now. Things I remember include the warm velvet wrap of tropical night, a delicious and ridiculously cheap samosa, an idiot-savant chinese girl child who told me, for a small consideration, the day of my birth as soon as I told her my birth date, the scent of joss sticks and drains and the ferocious caterwauling of the chinese opera. I recall making the acquaintance of a surprisingly tall and elegant local girl and having our conversation about the meaning of life being interrupted by an elderly Scottish planter type (they still existed then) - "How long hiv ye been in this pairt of the world laddie?" "Oh about six hours", "A wurd in your ear then - she's a he"

So in retrospect the basic elements of attraction were established on my first night in the far East - favourable climate, excellent food, strange and exotic customs. The downside emerged the following day, the peculiarly intense hangover guaranteed by any more than two glasses of beer, the glare, noise, heat and humidity of the Lion City by day, the press and hustle of unfamiliar humanity.

I continued my journey to Brunei where I worked onshore for several weeks. Bungalow guesthouse living, a clubhouse for most social contact with the predominantly expatriate families whose status was entirely determined by rank - a company town hacked from the jungle, very Somerset Maugham and very boring. Only enlivened one happy day by the substitution of the muezzin’s morning call to prayers with a Led Zeppelin tape.

In 1986 the diving industry was in a sorry state following the collapse in oil prices. I worked on a variety of small vessels in the South China Sea and Indonesia and conditions were extremely rough. Experienced divers were working for $60 per day, others were working for nothing 'to gain experience", safety was not really an issue. We worked on a supply boat equipped with a roll-over sat system, whose aircon and life support system failed before we even left Singapore. The chamber was shrouded in sacking and sprayed with water to try and lower the temperature, daytime was spent in the bell at depth to try and keep cool, human waste passed out in plastic bags via the medical lock. The electrical supply to the sat system was of in inappropriately high voltage and was hard wired to the ships diesel electric generators. We found ourselves tied up to a platform and stern to the weather with a monsoonal front passing through. With the anchor winches unserviceable and the screws having to turn astern to relieve the pressure on the mooring lines, we spent several hours with green water sweeping the decks, entirely burying the sat chamber. Sea fastenings broke and containers barged around the deck. Most bizarrely the power supply to the aft deck remained intact and arcing furiously blue beneath the waves. The weather died down, someone ventured to investigate and found the divers were still alive. And somewhat agitated.

Most of the project and marine crew were local and we all faced challenges of dealing with cultural differences and sensitivities. The Client's Representative, a deeply pious man, approached me and asked what was meant by a "Donkey Dick" clamp. I explained the allusion, he was profoundly shocked, the telex chattered furiously to and from head office and I was instructed to physically remove all references to the offending term in all project documentation and replace with "ëxtendable riser clamp" . Several hundred references, all with tippex and stencils (a laborious task in the pre-computer era). Nevertheless despite the hardships the atmosphere was overwhelmingly laid back compared with the regimentation and discipline of the North Sea. Want to see the whale sharks glide past, huge, chocolate brown with pale blue spots? - then grab a scuba set and off you go, diving ticket or not. Refrigeration broken, food running low - just send someone off fishing for a few hours.

And so the years passed, I worked somewhat reluctantly in the North Sea, less so in the Far East. I started to work regularly on the Rockwater 2 and found that despite being her being a powerful vanguard for "North Sea Standards" that working in this part of the world was still rewarding, still had a high component of fun. Besides the little ships were loosing their appeal. The last I worked on had an infestation of rats. Passing the galley one evening I heard a commotion; on investigation I found the mess crew were cheerfully drowning a rat in the galley sink and taking bets on how long it would take to succumb. I subsequently spent seven days in hospital with severe leptospirosis.

Part of the attraction lies in the camaraderie. The crews are multinational and multiethnic, they tend to spend more time offshore together and are probably slightly younger than elsewhere in the this increasingly greybearded industry. Crewchange travel can take two or three days passing through the great cities of Asia and on to extremely remote areas. I have arrived and departed by Landover, tuk-tuk, and by dugout canoe. On another occasion I spent several hours completely lost at sea in thunderstorms in a 200 HP longboat driven by a crazed 14 year old whose sole navigational instrument was a mobile phone. Not to be repeated, but more stimulating than the helicopter from Dyce, as predictable as a municipal bus.

The profound venality and corruption in Asia can be dispiriting. I once carried several thousand dollars to a remote province in Indonesia. $200 'Governor's Special Entry Visa" for each man of an ROV / Survey team and the balance to smooth the import of computers and equipment. It wasn't enough and we spent the next three weeks anchored in a river glumly regarding crocodiles before the outstanding amount was arranged and accepted, all our blank videotapes returned and we could start work. However for the most part the shear pleasantness of the vast majority of the people I encounter has offset this darker side of Asian society.

Part of me hates the pace of change that is everywhere seen in Asia. Where 20 years ago I flew for hours over an endless eiderdown of forest in Borneo now the same journey is made over a barren monoculture of oil palm plantations. The relentless logging, the burning and clearing, the urbanisation, the rivers running orange with topsoil, the impoverishment of the seas and oceans all seem to be accelerating. Yet there is still substantial remaining richness and incredible beauty. Last year we sailed to Australia from Singapore, passing between Bali and Lombok at dawn. The indigo silhouettes of vast volcanoes lay on either side and the dark swirling waters of the Straits were adorned with hundreds of butterfly winged outrigger fishing boats and dozens of pods of acrobatic dolphins. And as the vessel started to slowly heave to their rhythm of the Indian Ocean, I felt profoundly content, at that moment I couldn't wish to be anywhere else.

Of course it didn't last long. I had to create a spreadsheet for the project personnel which incorporated all the subtle fiscal nuances and minutiae of the Australian Union agreement - a task of mind boggling complexity. Truth to tell most work offshore, for most people, is mostly tedious and routine, particularly when you are middle aged and far from home and family. What compensates - apart from money - are the friendships and the ambience of location. The food is also important and that is usually good. There is also the satisfaction of completing a difficult job well without hurting anyone. Rockwater 2 has been a happy ship by and large, and a very safe ship, This didn't happen by accident, but it is real and it is admirable no matter how we might grumble about pettifogging restrictions.

Most of my friends onshore have only the vaguest idea of what I do for a living. "Some sort of diver"" would be the most common description despite the fact I haven't got wet in anger for 25 years. I try to describe installing a beefy piece of subsea apparatus, emphasising the weights and forces involved and the complexity of rigging and their eyes glaze over. Interest may be slightly piqued by a description of the earthly delights of Labuan or Samarinda or of a grouper the size of a VW but the image which most people respond to is that of a tree. A jungle tree, long smooth trunk and buttress roots and with a high canopy of glossy leaves. Tall - perhaps 30m high and drifting past an oil platform, perfectly upright, its crown a few metres below the surface and its roots trailing towards the seabed. We watched it on videoscreens as the diver locked out of the bell, coral fish playing where monkeys might have swung hours previously, before a capricious river uprooted and swept it down to the sea.

After half a lifetime in Asia I haven't got acquired riches other than a few fine antiques. But I have a treasure trove of fond memories and good friends very different from that I might have had if I had remained in Scotland.