Northland: Under the weather and feeling just fine

The HMNZS Canterbury was sunk in Deepwater Cove last year. Photo / Northern Advocate

I'm 30m down in the clear water of the Bay of Islands, swimming through the narrow passageways of HMNZS Canterbury, seeking to exorcise a painful memory. Suddenly, through the underwater gloom, I spy the object of my mission: a row of toilets. Success.

Flashback to 2003, just before my 26th birthday. Sitting in a bar in Invercargill, I read the confusing instructions to a packet of seasick pills and wondered whether to swallow them.

Next morning I'd board the frigate Canterbury to head for the storm-tossed Sub-Antarctic Islands and photograph the Minister of Conservation launching the Auckland Island Marine Reserve and - rather more thrillingly - get the chance to set foot on some of the most remote islands in the world.

Born with a cast-iron stomach and a love for the sea, I had planned to ignore the advice of the Navy and not take the pills, but following much debate with a colleague and after listening to a Meteorological Service Report warning of massive swells, I swirled them down with the last of my beer and headed off to bed.

So much for the cast-iron stomach. Within hours of leaving Bluff Harbour, I had been sick in the officers' mess, overfilling an inadequately small paper bag that proceeded to self-destruct.

I quickly made my way to the toilets, where I hugged a toilet bowl that I continued to miss, while sliding back and forth on the floor in time to the waves until I finally fell asleep.

During the voyage I split most of my time between this cubical and my bunk deep in the bow of the ship, a spot I shared with the Gunnery Boys, a nice bunch of macho, sex-starved blokes who had their TV playing Band of Brothers or porn 24 hours a day.

Thankfully the seasickness subsided when I stood on land, so I was able to make the most of the chance to explore the islands, including seeing the southern albatross on Adams Island when we got stranded due to bad weather (I was secretly pleased to be staying the night in the wet and cold in one of the remotest places in the earth rather than on the rolling sea).

When the voyage was finally over, I swore never to go to sea again. I threw out every item of clothing I took on that ill-fated voyage due to the repugnant smell of vomit. Thereafter I found myself getting dizzy just looking at a boat.

Fast-forward to a few days before my 31st birthday. Despite that vow five years ago, I am heading out of Paihia with Dive HQ, my hands are clammy and I'm feeling queasy. A strong swell is running and I find a spot near the back of the boat where I can stare at the horizon and force fresh air into my lungs.

Bizarrely for someone who suffers from seasickness, I have developed a love for underwater photography. I keep on telling myself the sickness is all in my mind, but every time I still end up leaning over the side of the boat.

As we head for Deep Water Cove, a divemaster spots that I am a lighter shade of pale and asks if I feel OK. I nod, hopefully, and try to ignore the motion of the waves.

We're heading for the final resting place of the Canterbury, after it was decommissioned by the Navy and sunk last November by the Canterbury Charitable Trust, transforming it from a warship to an artificial reef.

When we reach Deep Water Cove, my dive buddy and I descend down a line into the darkness of the ocean. Soon, strange shapes come flicking in and out of view, tricking the mind, until they finally merge into the strong shape of the Canterbury's bow.

It's amazing how quickly the sea has claimed her as its own, with countless sea creatures finding homes where gunners and lieutenants, missiles and depth charges once held sway.

I hover off the bow and pause to photograph the eerie vision of the ship looming out of the darkness. We then head towards the stern while I try to recapture in my mind a picture of how she used to look. All too soon we have to surface as decompression times loom.

It is a fascinating dive and, as we head back to shore, I am already planning a return trip to explore the inside. Several weeks later I meet up with Shane Housham and Julia Riddle, owners of Northland Dive, key players in the campaign to have the Canterbury scuttled in Deep Water Cove.

Shane, a trustee for the Canterbury Charitable Trust, loves wreck diving and under his guidance I'm soon back out at the cove, underwater and navigating deep inside the ship's narrow corridors.

The light we carry illuminates only a short distance in front, and when I look back it is into a very dark place.

It is hard to relate to this underwater maze as the old Canterbury ... until we enter a block of toilets, the very ones, I imagine, that I once embraced.

The water is so still and undisturbed that when I take a photo of them, for old time's sake, the flash of my camera makes it appear that we are not underwater.

Later, after exiting the hull, we ascend on a line from the middle of the ship and I have to take an extra-long safety stop.

Looking down, I can still make out Canterbury's bridge deep below. Shane entertains me with perfect bubble rings while I reflect on my nemesis and how this is a perfect way for her to spend the rest of her days - slowly rusting away, becoming more and more a part of the sea for which she was built, while providing joy to thousands.

Since then I have not been seasick. Somewhere down there I rediscovered my sea legs.

A quick fast-forward to last weekend. I dive on the Canterbury again and the sealife has blossomed in the interim. It's a beautiful sight.

For more information, go to the Canterbury Charitable Trust's website.