The Lost Fleet by Barry Clifford

Author:Barry Clifford
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2002-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

23

The Documentary That Officially Wasn’t

OCTOBER 28, 1998

LAS AVES

So there we were. All dressed up and no place to film.

Mike Rossiter began a furious series of communications with everyone who might do us some good. He called Antonio, he called the BBC, he called the Venezuelan ambassador whom he had previously contacted.

Communication with the outside was very difficult. We didn’t have cell phone coverage. All calls had to be made via radio and ship-to-shore communications, which are primitive and awkward. Mike’s job was to get the filming done, and he took every step. Somewhere out there, beyond the sharp line of the horizon, we knew that because of Mike’s calls, dozens of people were mobilizing, trying to untangle this bureaucratic Gordian knot.

Ron Hoogesteyn took a more direct, pragmatic approach. The navy ship was some way off and could not see what we were doing on board the Antares. Once we were out on the reefs, we would be out of its sight. Ron felt that as long as we were discreet, we might as well start filming.

I was dubious. Could the navy crew really be so oblivious, or so lackadaisical? All they had to do was to come out in their boat and they would see what we were doing. But Ron was a local. As captain of a boat that earned her living in those waters, he knew better than I what to expect from Venezuelan officials, and he knew we were within the law. I figured it was worth a try, but issues of filming were Mike Rossiter’s call, not mine.

Mike was torn. As a representative of the BBC, the last thing he wished to do was to embarrass a government agency by ignoring its orders. On the other hand, it was his job to make a documentary. The BBC had already invested quite a lot in getting us out to the site and ready to dive. We had valid permits. No one wanted to see all that money and effort thrown away.

Those things considered, Mike decided we should go for it. I am sure that he would not have made that decision if he had not felt in good conscience that he had done everything required of him to secure the necessary permits. Whatever snafu or bureaucratic meddling had led to the navy’s refusal to recognize our permits was not the result of any oversight on Mike’s or Antonio’s part. While the people in Caracas and London whom Mike had mobilized to straighten this mess out began making calls of their own, banging on doors and cutting through red tape, we prepared to do some diving.

The Antares carried a smaller dive boat called the Aquana, which was twenty feet long or so. It was capable of carrying a surprising amount of gear. A canopy top provided shade to a small portion of the boat. She was steered from a center console and powered by twin seventy-five-horsepower Yamaha outboards. While their best days were long gone, they could still move us right along with the skiff’s flat bottom.

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