Long Point (aka The Old Marineland), Rancho Palos Verdes, California

Dove With Reverend Al, SCJoe and John

In With: 2900 psi
Out With: 1200 psi
Max depth: About 30 feet
Waves: Regular small swells, sort of mildly rough
Visibility: 0-5 feet
Water Temperature: 54 degrees
Total Bottom Time: About 25 minutes

To dive or not to dive?

That was the question.

Reverend Al, the crew and me sat for 25 minutes on the cliff looking at the swells, the surf and the overcast conditions.

We were going to call it, until two chicks and Max Bottom Time said they were going to go for it.

Yes, if everyone jumped off a bridge, I probably would, too.

One of the chicks, “Angelshark” was spear fishing.

She asked, “Which way are you going?”

“120 reef.”

“Okay, we’re going the other way.”

I followed Reverend Al, SCJoe and John off the Cove.

I think I might be a little overweighted with my really old wetsuit; I sank like a brick until I inflated my BC.

The group descended off the point at Pigeon Shit Cave and followed Reverend Al to 120 reef.

Visibility sucked!

I followed fins, kept an eye on other divers and briefly scoped out the shadows of the reef…

…five feet at best.

Previous to descending, I told Reverend Al, “If I wave you off, I’m telling you ‘bye,’ so don’t worry about me.”

Just as I was going to head in, Al turned towards the cove… we were heading in.

In 15 feet of water, vis turned to zero; I ascended and surface swam in.

Everyone else was on the surface within two more minutes.

I came ashore over the “easy” way out (so it was explained to me!) – no big rocks to lean on, but fairly flat, compared to other parts of the beach.

The beach has changed so much here, I constantly have to rethink my exit strategy.

Nick and his newly certified girlfriend Jill were on shore watching our exits.

Jill was apparently taking pictures of my exit – probably for her future reference of what a macho rock beach exit looks like.

Now for the debriefing!

We had an assortment of beer, Korean ribs, rice, kim chi and pork something.

This is probably why we didn’t call the dive earlier; we needed to “earn” our beer and barbecue.

New diver Jill consults Ed over his 20 plus years of diving experience.

I warned her, “If you start diving here, we’ll corrupt you.”

“I’m already corrupted,” she said.

Nick and Jill then started to complain that this blog “is gay.”

Spear fisherwoman Angelshark poses with her gun at the back of the Duster.

Everyone loved the food and beer; it was a nice change from the standard hot dogs that everyone else brings.

The whole party wrapped up a little after noon.

Crappy diving conditions, but another perfect day!

Trying to relive my childhood of blowing up M-80s and cherry bombs, I could not pass up an opportunity to work on a pyrotechnics crew organized by someone I know from my real job.

We met at 9 AM in the parking lot of Big Canyon Country Club.

Big Canyon is an exclusive country club for basically those in our society who are beyond rich.

The current initial membership fee is $350,000 dollars just to join, $800 a month in fees and you have to wait for a current member to either die or sell you his membership.

Pyro Don gave us a briefing on what the day was going to consist of – mainly, no smoking, no drinking, count the fingers you have now and compare that number to when you leave.

One of the things he said was, “You are hired help here, don’t mingle with the members of the country club… and if a door is open, they go in first.”

We unloaded the bobtail truck full of the mortars and inspected and cleaned them of the remains of the last show.

The explosives come from the factory prenumbered per our order, so we sorted them out in groups of 50.

After some sort of event on the main fairway ended at noon, we trucked everything down to just off the green and started nailing together the mortars per our blueprint.

Row one is on the left, row two on the right and at the end of that row is the grand finale.

The golf course was still open, so we constantly had to worry about getting crippled by stray balls.

The Fire Department kept watch on how we were assembling the mortars.

Pyro Norm instructs us on how to wire the mortars.

The numbered bombs are placed on top of the numbered mortar tubes.

We then started wiring the mortars to the firing line – that’s the center piece with the terminal connectors on it.

Me with a high explosive; I feel so macho now!

Other crew members wire the grand finale.

Final wire inspection.

After the mortars have been cleared as “good,” we taped over the ends to verify after the show that the round is empty.

The firing board sits 100 feet away from the first string of mortars.

So, the question was posed, “Who wants to fire?”

Nobody else raised their hand, so I did.

I mean, who would turn down a job with the word “fire” in it?

Pyro Don said, “Great!”

Everyone else said, “If the show sucks it’s your fault.”

I sat at the firing board checking all the connections.

The firing board has connection leads that go to the charges in the mortars.

A firing pen is touched to the ordered leads and connects the circuit, setting off the propellant charge.

The board has a “test” and “live” setting and an on/off switch; Test just checks the connection without detonating the charge.

We had four bad connections that were fixed.

The finale crew protects the setup from falling burning embers by covering it with Aluminum foil.

The mortars were all set up.

It’s chow time.

Now it’s the boring part – waiting for dusk.

On a trip up to use the servants’ toilets, I scoped out the ultra-rich man’s 4th of July party.

I noticed that the super rich are the best looking people in existence; I didn’t see one ugly person and not one fat person.

A waitress at the Country Club was so excited to meet the person who was actually going to fire the rounds that she almost fainted; but, I tend to have that effect on women anyway.

One last self portrait before the show; Pyro Don radioed the DJ at the party telling him we have two minutes to show time.

I put on a set of head phones and listened to the multi-band queue track that syncs the fireworks to the music.

So, while everyone else is going to be watching the fireworks, I’m going to be staring at a board, and while everyone else is listening to the music, I’m going to be hearing, “Get ready to fire…fire one…two……..three, four, five……..six, seven, eight…”

I set off the first mortar … Boom!

The concussion hit me; I thought, “Hey being this close is cool.”

I was not down wind from the fallout.

So for almost twenty one minutes, I just connected the circuit with the numbered leads when the queue track instructed me to.

When I set off the grand finale and hit the last firing lead, I was able to look up at the last minute to see our work.

The audience went wild with their applause.

Pyro Don went down to check the area for unexploded ordinance; every charge fired which is apparently very rare.

He had to put a few fires out – just “cake boxes” (clustered boxes of mortars) that had caught on fire.

The area was clear; pieces of fireworks were littered all over the place.

I asked Pyro Don, “Who disassembles and cleans all this crap up?”

“We do.”

It took us two hours to disassemble the mortars and repack the truck.

So, after a 14 and a half hour day, I was finally able to pack up and go home.

I had fun, got fed, a free cap and pay that compares to a Divemaster – but this night I detonated more explosives than I could have ever hoped to in my entire life.

The next time I see a fireworks show, I will have so much appreciation for what goes in to it.