The anticipation is palpable as the last of 38 divers wheel their bags full of gear up the ramp to the 88-foot Vision, which is moored at the pier in front of Truth Aquatics in Santa Barbara, Calif.  At the stroke of midnight, Captain James Hrbach fires up the twin diesel engines and steers the proud vessel toward Santa Catalina Island 78 miles to the south.  In the morning, the divers awaken to the smell of buttermilk pancakes, sausage and eggs frying on the grill in the boat's galley. The place is alive with chatter about diving and underwater photography, which will be the focus of everybody's attention for the next four days. (Photo is a hotlink. "Vision" is the left-hand boat.)

   "Good morning divers," Hrbach roars over Vision's PA system. "We are currently anchored at Iron Bound Cove in about 40 feet of water. There is a kelp forest off our starboard side and visibility is great. Gates open in 20 minutes. Watch your air, watch your depth, and be safe!"
   Divers gulp down their last half a cup of coffee and head out to the diving platform on the stern. One by one they start piling off the boat into the 55-degree water while sophisticated underwater cameras tethered to lines are lowered by crewmen into their outstretched hands.
   Ten years ago, scuba diving off the rugged California coast was a young man's game. Nowadays, with the advent of drysuits and other advances, the sport attracts men and women of all ages, shapes, and sizes.

   Mike Johnson, 37, has witnessed the shift in the demographics of diving. In the early days of building his dive shop business in Sacramento, most of his customers were athletic men in their 20s and 30s. They were into spearfishing halibut, sea bass, lobster and other game fish that hide out in the giant kelp forests submerged in the seas around California's Channel Islands, a string of eight islands from San Diego to Santa Barbara.
   "Anymore, we're seeing more retirees," said Johnson.
   The macho spearfisherman has all but been replaced by a kinder, gentler scuba diver, one that is more environmentally conscious and content just to swim with and take pictures of the fish.
   "We have seen a major shift from spearfishing to photography," said Johnson, who now sells more underwater cameras than spearguns at his dive shop.

   Retired real estate developer Bill McLaughlin, 70, of Sacramento is having the time of his life scuba diving in places like Truk Lagoon, which is full of see sunken Japanese war machines, the Blue Hole of Belize which contains stalagmites, Papua New Guinea in the South Pacific, and the Great Barrier Reef of Australia.
   "Diving, I think, is the expression of freedom," said McLaughlin, who plans to dive at least another five years.
   "There is so much to see and learn," he added.
   McLaughlin is currently working on taking underwater videos.

   Underwater photography is so popular that Mike Johnson now has no trouble filling a four-day underwater photo workshop and contest every year at the end of January. He brings in divers from all over the country to compete for more than $10,000 in prizes and to learn about underwater photography from some of the best underwater photographers in the business.
   Underwater photography is complicated by the fact that light behaves differently under water than on land. For one thing, water quickly filters out red and yellow light waves, resulting in a blueish cast at depth. Light also bends under water, making objects appear closer and larger than they actually are. The photographer must compensate for this while keeping an eye on his life support system to make sure he doesn't run out of air or ascend too quickly and get the "bends," a potentially lethal disease caused by rapid decompression.

   "If you can dive the California coast, you can dive anywhere in the world," said Johnson, who explained that California diving is more rigorous because temperatures mandate use of a wetsuit or drysuit, which can make some people feel claustrophobic.
   "If you can dive the coast of California and take good pictures, you have a leg up on most other divers," he added.
   Dolphin Scuba's www.dolphinscuba.com underwater photo shoot gives divers that leg up in a hurry. Camera manufacturers' reps bring a wide assortment of camera systems for divers to try. Film is processed immediately on board after each dive, then critiqued by professional photographers. An hour or two out of the water gives divers' bodies enough time to get rid of the nitrogen built up in their blood. Then its back into the water to shoot up another role of film, making exposure adjustments as necessary, based on results from the last dive.

Dallas Forbes, a scuba instructor with Aquatic Sports in Portland, www.aquaticsports.com, examines a roll of slides that he shot while leading an expedition of Oregon divers on a photo shoot in the kelp forests off the California coast. On his right is Cari Blomquist, a graphic artist from Reno, Nevada, who was along taking digital pictures.

   Aspiring photographers are able to knock years off the usual learning curve associated with underwater photography, according to Joe Wysocki, owner of Optiquatics www.optiquatics.com of Malibu, Calif., one of the trainers recruited for the Channel Islands photo shoot.
   "It would take years to reach this level if you were to do it on your own, a week at a time, while you were on vacation," said Wysocki, who developed and helped critique more than 150 rolls of film in 3 1/2 days.
   While underwater photography is logistically and technically more difficult than most types of land photography, the rewards are well worth the effort. The California coast is known for its kelp beds, which are often described as the underwater "redwood forest of the Pacific."

On the surface, kelp beds look like thousands of lily pads all squashed together in a big, slimy green mass. Under the water, however, they look like trees, jutting up as much as 120 feet from the bottom.

   These nutrient-rich forests provide food and cover for countless species of aquatic life, which can be found at every level of the water column.
   "It's all about the kelp," said Johnson. "Kelp is the basis for life on the California coast."

(C) 2002 Rick Swart  of the Wallowa  County Chieftain