Siren Song of Chesil

My first foray into the underwater world took place at a dive site that to this day remains close to my heart - Chesil Cove. Even after almost three decades of diving, the irresistible siren song of Chesil lures me back time and time again. It's my guilty little pleasure – a site that I revisit to recapture that sense of awe and wonder I felt on my very first training dive. Looking back, it was a far from glamourous start. None of my gear fitted particularly well and most of it was well past its use by date. My wetsuit leaked and my BCD was two sizes too small but none of that mattered. My first dive at Chesil Cove was a captivating experience that enchants me to this very day.

For those yet to experience the fun of scaling its steep pebble banks, Chesil Cove is nestled in the shadow of the imposing cliffs of Portland in Dorset. Thrusting out into the English Channel for a good four miles, this windswept peninsula is known for its rugged coastline and archaic mythology - just don’t mention the rabbits! Rising up over 100 metres above sea level, Portland forms a natural barrier that shields Chesil Cove from all but the most determined south-westerly winds.

Opening the Door...

My most recent visit to the area started on a sunny Friday evening in August with a dive out of Portland Marina on one of the many charter boats that work the waters around the Island. I'd jumped on a late booking and joined a group of divers from the Seahorse Trust out on an evening jolly. With kit loaded on our dive boat WaveRider, skipper Dave Collins took us out for what promised to be a very pleasant dusk dive off Durdle Door. Famous for its arch, we had our sights set on something just as spectacular beneath the waves – it's famous sea cave.

With the weekend drawing to a close, I hatched a plan to squeeze in a last cheeky shore dive off Chesil Cove. With tent packed and wife and dog in tow, I headed down to Chesil Cove on the off-chance of bagging one of a small number of parking spaces along Brandy Row. Disappointment set in pretty quickly though when it became clear that every space was taken. But Lady Luck had other plans for me that day as who should I bump into but Dan from Lungfish Rebreathers. Fortune had provided me with everything I needed to squeeze in that illusive last dive – a 'forward operating base' (Dan's car), a willing buddy and the all-important excuse I need to placate wife and dog. The plan was hatched – Dan and I were going diving.

With very little wind and a clear blue sky, conditions couldn't have been better as we carried our gear down to the beach. Around us other divers were making the most of the day with reports of good viz fuelling our urgency to hit the water. With my heavy twinset and Dan's closed-circuit rebreather, it's fair to say that we both may have looked a little out of place as we made our way to the water's edge. Getting in the water is easy enough but the climb back out over Chesil's signature rolling pebbles is hard work – a single cylinder or sidemount is arguably a more optimal choice.

Sea life magnet...

Leaving the surface, we started our descent finning down the gentle pebble-covered slope towards the point where most Chesil divers start their dive – the wreck of the SS Prevesa. Now unrecognisable, a small skeletal section is all that remain of the Greek cargo steamship that foundered in thick fog off Chesil beach in January 1920.

Despite its diminutive size, this little section of wreckage serves as a veritable magnet for sea life. A multitude of fish species both large and small take shelter in its rusting remains whilst both spider and velvet swimming crabs peer out at passing divers. Even the occasional lobster can be found hiding under its shattered hull plates.