S.S. Cayru
This Brazilian steamship was built at Hog Island, Pennsylvania. SS Cayru was torpedoed by German submarine U-94 on March 8, 1942, broke in two and sank about 130 miles (209 kilometers) east of Atlantic City, New Jersey. All hands-on board abandoned ship, but only the lifeboat with the master and 26 other men was found. The other lifeboats with 47 crew members and six passengers disappeared.
This ship was believed to be in dive able waters until recent research placed the wreck well beyond the Jersey Coastal shelf. Several searches were conducted, and several head boat captains laid claim to the discovery of this eluding wreck. George Hoffman led a search offshore in the late seventies. He described a wreck in shallow water 165 feet, where he claimed the wheelhouse lay upside down in the sand about a hundred feet from the boilers. After much research and deduction, I believe this wreck was most probably the S.S. Miraflores. Another wreck search was launched in 1982 by me and Debra Whitcraft using the captain Applegate. Andy Applegate long claimed that he had found the missing wreck. I put together a group of experienced divers and launched the charter. Those members included several high-profile divers and captains including Eddie Boyle, Bob Yates, Rick Jasyn, Bob Ehle, Bart Malone, Cathy Warehouse, Harley Sager and several others... A very annoyed Captain Andy Applegate phoned me prior to the trip after hearing that I was advertising the trip as a Cayru dive. He told me the trip was off and I was banned from the trip. He was very protective of his wreck numbers and after seeing the names of the divers on the trip he was afraid of his secret wreck being discovered. After some smoothing over the particulars of the charter with Deb, he reluctantly put me back on and took the charter. One has to believe that money may have played a higher influence in this brief standoff. Whatever influence, Andy had good reason to be alarmed. This wreck was highly prized and there were rumors of many attempts seeking to pirate the co-ordinates. On a rough ride in high seas the captain Applegate plowed some sixty miles south out of Atlantic City to the dive site.
When the hook dropped Bob Ehle, Rick Jasyn and I made no haste to leap off the bow and push our way down the anchor. There we were shocked by what appeared to be a giant paddle wheel standing upright casting a shadow over the debris field below. We anticipated a freighter but were rewarded with a much older vintage steamship. Lobsters masked the wreckage making use delusional as we stuffed our bags stretching the mesh. At a depth of 150 feet our limited excursion and enduring decompression found us back on the boat deck collecting our observations. Ray Milligan recovered a manual pump and others discovered a few other brass articles. Confirmation of the identity has been disputed since the discovery, but most evidence points to a paddle wheeler lost in a collision in June of 1865 called the Admiral Dupont.
 |
| Akron under construction |
 |
| Clive Clussler searches for Akron |
Atlantic Divers helped to provide co-ordinates and support for the search off Atlantic City.
 |
| kitchen in Akron
Misty Blue
|
 |
| Misty Blue at work |
These photos were taken by Gene Peterson Wednesday morning April 13, 1983 the next day.
 |
| Misty Blue spot light and air horns |
Mexicano
 |
| Mexicano ship buider |
 |
| Rich Allen on left |
Read more:
Shuffled Wrecks by Gary Gentile (Identifying the Mexicano)
S.S. Norvana / York
The S.S. Norvana was an American Freighter built in 1920. displacing 2,677 tons. On the 19th January 1942 she was torpedoed by German submarine U-123 when on route from NUEVITAS for PHILADELPHIA. She sank north of CAPE HATTERAS in 100 feet of water.
Originally laid down as Lake Eaglerock, she was completed in November 1920 as Lake Gatun for US Shipping Board (USSB). 1926 sold to Stanley Hillier Inc and apparently sold for scrapping to Ford Motor Co, River Rouge MI in 1927, but withdrawn by US Shipping Board. 1929 transferred to Merchants & Miners Transportation Co, Baltimore MD and renamed York. 1941 sold to North Atlantic & Gulf Steamship Co, New York and renamed Norvana.
Texel "A sweet wreck discovery"
On June 2nd, 1918, Texel, on a voyage from Puerto Rico to New York with a cargo of sugar, was sunk by the German submarine U-151 (Heinrich von Nostitz und Jänckendorff), 60 miles south of New York. Although there were no casualties Texel stimulated over one thousand registrants to join the military, when she became another victim of Black Sunday.
S.S. Miraflores "Lost with out a trace."
January Wreck
In the early fall of 1980, George Hoffman was invited by Dennis Bogan to investigate a small wreck south of Manasquan Inlet. Bogan’s grandfather had discovered the site in the early 1930s. Dennis became more interested in this and other such sites after becoming a certified diver. Already familiar with much larger well known sites, he became curious about diving his family’s scroll of secret sites. Bogan’s grand father and his descendants had been in the fishing business since the turn of the last century and presently the tradition continues. Dennis conveyed the story to George of how the little wreck was discovered. He explained that his grandfather had happened upon the wreck by accident when he noticed a thick school of fish boiling near the surface. He recanted how many sites were found likewise when virgin fishing grounds decorated the coastline. Hoffman was a well known New Jersey dive boat captain. Bogan sought out Hoffman’s bond because of his legendary diving exploits and because of his in depth knowledge of local shipwrecks. George Hoffman was the discoverer of numerous wrecks along the coast and an obsessive artifact hunter. Bogan would benefit through his guidance and Hoffman would nourish this new kinship to become privy to a fleet of yet to be dived Bogan wrecks.
Although this relationship rewarded Hoffman with many new wrecks, the first day of their joint venture proved to be an unsurpassed exploit. They sailed out of Manasquan Inlet on the gigantic party boat Paramount. Hardly a secretive excursion in the hundred foot vessel. Perhaps the routine of daily fishing journeys camouflaged the mission as Bogan, Hoffman and a deck hand passed beyond the sea wall and plowed south. They shortly reached their first destination and dropped the bow anchor ahead of the little mark on the bottom scanner. Next a grapnel was lowered directly into the snag hooking the debris. The trip was scheduled to be a look and see only, but as fate would dictate the day escalated into the most memorable of Hoffman and Bogan’s joint searches. Leaving only the mate on the deck, they jumped off the high bow. Descending to the site, George immediately knew this was a fortuitous venture. As George checked the grapnel waiting for Dennis to descend, he hovered over the tiny wreck and scanned the remains.
It appeared to be a very small schooner less than 70 feet in length about half the size boat anchored over it. It was small but somehow different from many other snags he had investigated. His excitement was overwhelming. He had to contain his emotions to objectively access the remains. Uniting, they finned down to the mid-section of the wreck. Fanning the sand with just a few the waves of a hand uncovered some small decorative relics just faintly silted beneath sand. George was ecstatic, but this was just the tip of the iceberg. Much more lay buried deep beneath years of accumulation.
Pg. 2 Some of the first discoveries included elaborate lantern pieces and a fancy dragon’s head cane top. To George, the ornamental nature of the finds made the wreck unlike any thing he had dived before. As Dennis returned to the anchor, he swam to a shadow just off of a small debris field in the sand. There he knelt down and fanned an outline of a short pipe like silhouette. He recalled the form immediately grasped his attention. It was heavy brass, tapered and the end was rounded with no opening. As he pried under the narrow end, the three foot long object popped free from the protective suction. Unmistakably the elongated form now revealed it’s true identity. “A cannon!” he shouted to himself. Although loud enough that even though his regulator, George hovering over his shoulder could hear his exclamations. George recognized the significance of the find and at once marked the piece with his hundred pound lift bag. Together both divers dragged the heavy treasure over to the boat’s grapple line. Unprepared to lift the precious find properly, George secured it to the wreck and signaled for Dennis to ascend with him. Dennis hesitated to leave the valuable piece of artillery, but did so knowing that Hoffman was an expert at recovery. He must have had a good reason to leave the discovery. Back on the Paramount both divers rejoiced in their luck...but their job was not done. George explained that they needed to secure a line from the boat, switch to a larger 200 pound bag and then they could safely raise the heavy cannon to the surface. George realized that if the bag sank due to a misfortunate event such as a steep wave or leaky bag, they could retrace the line from the boat back to the cannon.
In the past, overzealous divers have lost grand artifacts by shooting untethered bags to the surface, only to have them drift out of sight and sink in unsearchable waters. Hoffman was too smart a diver to allow this to happen to a once in a lifetime discovery such as a brass cannon. Yet this little wreck would yield many more such once in a lifetime discoveries in the next few months. Hoffman’s expertise prevailed . The recovery went smoothly without a hitch. This small signal cannon served on vessels for warnings in fog and for protection when necessary. Now it clarified his persistence as a wreck hunter. The little wreck would prove to be the highlight of Captain Hoffman’s well touted career. This day’s events remained a secret for months and for good reason. Due to the decorative discoveries including the cannon and fancy dragon head, Hoffman believed this may be some kind of treasure ship and to discuss the find would invite piracy of the coveted location. The fall offered only a few more opportunities to return to the little wreck. Hoffman knew all too well his competition would jump at the chance to find any virgin site, much less a bountiful wreck like this. He would never go back to the wreck on a good weather weekend day and he would not sit on the wreck in such an advertisement like the Bogan’s massive Paramount. He waited and under the veil of secrecy he picked his days, but the opportunities remained scarce. As a dive co-ordinator for the Dive Shop of New Jersey I remained in close contact with Hoffman. Over the years he gained a respect and trust for the group of divers I had gathered to dive with him.
Pg. 3 This kindled a mutual friendship and respect. He trusted my discretion when chartering his boat the Sea Lion. To put it in George’s words there were wreck divers and then their were tourists. The Sea Lion was not a boat for tourists. I was privy to some incidentals of his secret wreck and over the next few months he made a commitment to take my group there. He re-emphasized his great concerns of being caught on the wreck. To avoid the risk of being detected he insisted that we wait until the bitter winter had forced all his competitors to drydock. “January”, George promised we will make our first attempt to dive the mystery wreck. This may seem over protective and clandestine but Hoffman had been caught on some of his special wrecks before and had become all too cautious after losing good lobster haunts. This was no lobster snag. This was a barrel of future charter money and possibly a real treasure trove. One noted wreck George had lost was the Bonanza, his favorite lobster wreck. Hoffman nicknamed it the Bonanza, because of the plentiful number of large lobster captured on the first trips and thereafter. On one such trip to the wreck, unbeknownst to him, a small fishing boat passing by made note of the Sea Lion anchored over the confidential spot. Shortly thereafter, the fisherman passed the location on to Captain Ray Ettel of the legendary White Star from Barnegat Light. Ettel also took out divers, in fact namely chartered by the Dive Shop of New Jersey. Ironically, Ettel took the group out to the wreck on the same day that George took a group there. The White Star was already anchored on the site as the Sea Lion steamed up to what George thought was his own private hunting ground. Hoffman’s temper erupted. He radioed Ettel curiously, questioning his being there. George and Ray
were friends, but Hoffman was put out discovering the White Star brazenly moored over his precious site. As the conversation continued, Hoffman’s temperature began to drop as he licked his wounds. George finally asked Ray what he called the wreck? The sharp witted captain tactfully replied. “ I call it George’s Secret Wreck”. The radio deadened... As winters go, November, December, 1980 and January 1981 were viciously cold and wet. Hoffman and his mates had to shovel snow and break ice off the Sea Lion two times to prevent it from capsizing at the dock. Furthermore, the wind relentlessly prevailed. Despite the bad weather in November, George had managed to get out to the site once more with a hand full of mates. This weekday trip unearthed another significant find, a sextant plus some silver spoons and china. George provided me with just enough details to lengthen the waiting list. The sextant, another once in a lifetime discovery added fuel to the fire. Yet, the harsh weather continued and after weeks of discouragement, the weekly phone calls to the George and prospective divers stagnated with obscure discussions of the election of Reagan, the Iran hostages release and football. The Eagles lost the Super bowl and now divers were eager to roll off the couch. While others sensibly hung their fins and traded them for ski boots, this group of wreck diving addicts remained anxious to get in the water.
It was late February, the long awaited day finally arrived. The cold bit through our outerwear as we waited for the mates to cranked up the diesel. After a short procession of equipment loading, we gathered around the stove to ward off the chill. George barked out the familiar order “Cut me loose and we plowed out of the slip.
Pg. 4 The day started with a frozen intake line to the head which to the delight of the heavy coffee drinkers was remedied with a few capfuls of antifreeze. Soon we rounded the south jetty and cruised through the mottled seas toward the little sailor. Over the site John Moyer and I prepared for the dive strapping on our heavy weight belts, double tanks, and further burden of tools and lights. Others were doing the same as cup hit the surface indicating the mate had secured the hook, we plunged over the rail. As we descended, the outline of the small wreck appeared. Others were fanning out in a collaborated effort seeking a spot to dig and blow a century of camouflaging sand off the wreck. Creative divers reversed their scooters, wedged themselves up against the wreckage and blasted away sand effectively. This scooter technique was used for the first time in the past to unveil the Brunette. After digging up doorknobs, keys, locks, bottles, powder horns and hardware there, we soon realized the tool was exceedingly productive. So the digging technique continued on the January Wreck as it became known. George’s promise to go there that January stuck, even though we did not make it there actually until late February. The wreck lies on it’s port side and one can quickly cover the limited length of the disintegrated hull. I moved methodically along the contagious pile of timbers, fanning by hand looking for dark muck. From past experience I knew this was where decomposing materials protected cargo and personal items. Swimming along the bottom I pulled up a loose teak deck grate, a brass lock, a dish and a silver spoon. As I moved from point to point I kept digging and searching. Lastly I settled into a spot where the deck laid horizontal with the bottom. I gently feathered the deck and a glimmering
gold coin rolled out. The moment was surreal, a euphoric condition overcame me. The coin was unmistakable and I realized it’s significance at once. Carefully I tucked the coin inside my glove. As I fanned again another appeared and then another... I had to catch my breath. The limits of time, cold and air narrowed my search to a halt. I had already exceeded my planned dive. Now, I realized the meaning of Hoffman’s expression. “Dive ‘til it hurts. Hang ’til it stops.” I was already cold on the bottom and my long decompression in the winter waters was painful. As my numb fingers clutched onto the coins in my mitt, I was warmed by the jubilation of my discovery. John decompressed by my side. I tried to refrained from trying to express my excitement. Knowing that he would not understand, I would wait and confess to him in private back on the boat. When I got onboard a group of divers had gathered in the back of the boat showing their finds. My deck grate amused them as they displayed their bottles, spoons, cups, and collections. When they shunned my grate I realized the irony of their touts. In my mitt I held a divers most prized recovery, treasure...gold coins. I bit my tongue, for I knew what would occur if I revealed my secret. Carefully I put my mitt down on the bench and started to take off my gear. Moyer ascended the ladder, he intuitively questioned me about my dive. “What have you found? You can’t be this excited about that broken old grate? My expression must have been a tell. Before I could get out of my gear completely and grab the mitt. Don Stone knocked my mitt off the bench while making room for Moyer.
Don’t touch that mitt I blurted, perhaps too exuberantly. I was trapped. The back of the boat became congested with curious divers. Stone shook my hand holding the mitt and all heard the clinking of the coins. With the sudden conflagration of bodies pushing to the back deck, Hoffman came out of the wheelhouse and stood next to me. “What’s in the mitt Peterson?” I could not deflect George’s inquiry. I slowly opened the mitt and out rolled the double eagles... All on the deck, exclaimed loudly “gold”. George reach out his hand and congratulated me saying “ Good grab! P a r t n e r.” I figured this was going to happen. It was his wreck, his boat and he had hinted this mutual understanding to all before the find. George figured this was just be the beginning of the cornucopia.
During the surface interval, it was difficult to fend off the pirates beckoning information of the treasure trove’s location. They soon became impatient waiting for me to enter the water and set out on their own. After all finally splashed, I waited anxiously for time to pass, hoping to enter when their time, gas and warmth petered. Waiting at the bottom of the anchor line the sharks gathered waiting for the bleeding fish. I managed to bait the school to a worthless patch of real estate. There I fanned the sand as a congregation of dive lights hovered. Soon they were digging and scratching in a frenzy. As the cloud of silt thickened I fled in the fogbank to my secret eagle depository. Moyer had innocently swam
to the exact spot of my discovery. His weak vision and foggy mask allowed me to dig a coin right out from under him. I elbowed him and exhibited the find to his chagrin. As we cruised back to the dock George insisted we go back to his house and discuss the business of our new formed partnership. Moyer and I sat at George’s kitchen table where the coins were laid out. George placed a bottle of Yukon Jack on the table. He cautiously dispensed the spirit into three shot glasses . “Let’s toast boys”. He started. “To more good days like this.” As we sipped, he exclaimed “This is good stuff.” He continued. “A couple shots of this and you’ll slap your mother. I have little recollection of the exchange afterwards... in the next few days George had the coins graded and a fair exchange was made between the two of us.
As the months passed, The true identity was discovered when some chard's of glass were pieced together. The last four letters of the a window glass spelled out K I N S. This information was passed on to diver and historian Eric Garay. Eric researched through his micro files of wreck data and found a name and a location. The Francis Perkins appeared to be the conclusive match. The Francis Perkins was pilot vessel which foundered on January 24, 1887.
After the discovery, news soon spread along the coast. Pioneer diver Norman Lichtman hired George Hoffman's boat and employed a commercial salvage team to work the wreck in the early spring. Only few more coins were dredged up due to poor weather and shark activity. Some other interesting finds included some false teeth, deadeyes, portholes some large serving platters, dishes cups, silverware, a ornate boat hook and several silver coins. As a part of the team I set up a dredge and an airlift on the wreck to mine the site. The continuous flow of bottom growth made an effective chum slick drawing bluefish and curious sharks. A few large mako’s chased divers from the water throughout the operation. Fortunately, when wearing a hat much of your vision is precluded. You knew there was something amiss when your safety diver disappeared. The tenders often failed to tell you what was behind you, fearing you would bail out of your required decompression. Dennis Bogan was chased back to the boat, barely making it to the ladder as a giant mako passed underneath him. The secret location of the January wreck was short lived. Hoffman’s rival Captain Charlie Stratton of the Bottom Time nailed the Sea Lion over the wreck on an afternoon that August. Hoffman cursed when a smokey wooden boat that was canted to the side arose on the horizon. The silhouette was unmistakable. Stratton strapped all the dive tanks to one side of his boat which gave it a distinctive tilt as it motored toward the us. George wanted to pull the hook, but John Dudas was still hanging at his ten foot stop. Stratton circled us stopping his boat abeam of the Sea Lion. He did this on both sides of our position, opened his window, gazed at us with his binoculars and then boldly wrote down the loran numbers while George helplessly stewed.
Now that the wreck was no longer a secret, other rival dive boats made weekly excursions to the sight. Another group made efforts to salvage the Perkins as late as the 1990's . An exhausting attempt was made to mine more gold without success. Further efforts failed to produce the quantity of booty recovered by the original groups. Currently, Captain Al Pyatak still runs trips to the January Wreck on the Sea Lion. Over the years, I have been back to the Francis Perkins a handful of times. There buried beneath the sand are a lot of memories and still the possibility remains that more treasure is just below the sand. Perhaps some lucky diver will happen upon the right spot.
The S.S. Texel was discovered by Atlantic Divers as a part of the search for the S.S. Carolina in the mid-eighties and early nineties.
In the early eighties, Gene Peterson of formerly of the Dive Shop of New Jersey and currently of Atlantic Divers began searching with numerous fishing and dive charter boats for noted wrecks off Atlantic City and Cape May. These included such noted wreck as the Cayru, the S.S.Carolina, the Dorty B. Barrett, the Azua and the S-5. Accidentally many other wrecks were discovered in theses ventures. Credit should be given to these captains for their efforts whether by discovering or by taking on exhausting efforts to search for the unknown. They were a valiant part of the discoveries and should be noted. They are Ray Ettel, Norman Lichtman, Eddie Boyle, Andy Applegate, George Clover, Wayne Cippola, Bob Driscol, Joe Rott, George Hoffman, Steve Schiendelman, Ron Dotts, Don Cramer, Bob Archambault, and Bob Meimbresse.SS Texel, built by Rotterdam Droogdok Mij., Rotterdam in 1913. At 3210 gross tons, Texel was off the coast of New Jersey when she became a victim of German aggression and became a factor in the pushing Americas war effort during World War I.
On June 2nd, 1918, Texel, on a voyage from Puerto Rico to New York with a cargo of sugar, was sunk by the German submarine U-151 (Heinrich von Nostitz und Jänckendorff), 60 miles south of New York. Although there were no casualties Texel stimulated over one thousand registrants to join the military, when she became another victim of Black Sunday.
January Wreck
In the early fall of 1980, George Hoffman was invited by Dennis Bogan to investigate a small wreck south of Manasquan Inlet. Bogan’s grandfather had discovered the site in the early 1930s. Dennis became more interested in this and other such sites after becoming a certified diver. Already familiar with much larger well known sites, he became curious about diving his family’s scroll of secret sites. Bogan’s grand father and his descendants had been in the fishing business since the turn of the last century and presently the tradition continues. Dennis conveyed the story to George of how the little wreck was discovered. He explained that his grandfather had happened upon the wreck by accident when he noticed a thick school of fish boiling near the surface. He recanted how many sites were found likewise when virgin fishing grounds decorated the coastline. Hoffman was a well known New Jersey dive boat captain. Bogan sought out Hoffman’s bond because of his legendary diving exploits and because of his in depth knowledge of local shipwrecks. George Hoffman was the discoverer of numerous wrecks along the coast and an obsessive artifact hunter. Bogan would benefit through his guidance and Hoffman would nourish this new kinship to become privy to a fleet of yet to be dived Bogan wrecks.
Although this relationship rewarded Hoffman with many new wrecks, the first day of their joint venture proved to be an unsurpassed exploit. They sailed out of Manasquan Inlet on the gigantic party boat Paramount. Hardly a secretive excursion in the hundred foot vessel. Perhaps the routine of daily fishing journeys camouflaged the mission as Bogan, Hoffman and a deck hand passed beyond the sea wall and plowed south. They shortly reached their first destination and dropped the bow anchor ahead of the little mark on the bottom scanner. Next a grapnel was lowered directly into the snag hooking the debris. The trip was scheduled to be a look and see only, but as fate would dictate the day escalated into the most memorable of Hoffman and Bogan’s joint searches. Leaving only the mate on the deck, they jumped off the high bow. Descending to the site, George immediately knew this was a fortuitous venture. As George checked the grapnel waiting for Dennis to descend, he hovered over the tiny wreck and scanned the remains.
It appeared to be a very small schooner less than 70 feet in length about half the size boat anchored over it. It was small but somehow different from many other snags he had investigated. His excitement was overwhelming. He had to contain his emotions to objectively access the remains. Uniting, they finned down to the mid-section of the wreck. Fanning the sand with just a few the waves of a hand uncovered some small decorative relics just faintly silted beneath sand. George was ecstatic, but this was just the tip of the iceberg. Much more lay buried deep beneath years of accumulation.
Pg. 2 Some of the first discoveries included elaborate lantern pieces and a fancy dragon’s head cane top. To George, the ornamental nature of the finds made the wreck unlike any thing he had dived before. As Dennis returned to the anchor, he swam to a shadow just off of a small debris field in the sand. There he knelt down and fanned an outline of a short pipe like silhouette. He recalled the form immediately grasped his attention. It was heavy brass, tapered and the end was rounded with no opening. As he pried under the narrow end, the three foot long object popped free from the protective suction. Unmistakably the elongated form now revealed it’s true identity. “A cannon!” he shouted to himself. Although loud enough that even though his regulator, George hovering over his shoulder could hear his exclamations. George recognized the significance of the find and at once marked the piece with his hundred pound lift bag. Together both divers dragged the heavy treasure over to the boat’s grapple line. Unprepared to lift the precious find properly, George secured it to the wreck and signaled for Dennis to ascend with him. Dennis hesitated to leave the valuable piece of artillery, but did so knowing that Hoffman was an expert at recovery. He must have had a good reason to leave the discovery. Back on the Paramount both divers rejoiced in their luck...but their job was not done. George explained that they needed to secure a line from the boat, switch to a larger 200 pound bag and then they could safely raise the heavy cannon to the surface. George realized that if the bag sank due to a misfortunate event such as a steep wave or leaky bag, they could retrace the line from the boat back to the cannon.
In the past, overzealous divers have lost grand artifacts by shooting untethered bags to the surface, only to have them drift out of sight and sink in unsearchable waters. Hoffman was too smart a diver to allow this to happen to a once in a lifetime discovery such as a brass cannon. Yet this little wreck would yield many more such once in a lifetime discoveries in the next few months. Hoffman’s expertise prevailed . The recovery went smoothly without a hitch. This small signal cannon served on vessels for warnings in fog and for protection when necessary. Now it clarified his persistence as a wreck hunter. The little wreck would prove to be the highlight of Captain Hoffman’s well touted career. This day’s events remained a secret for months and for good reason. Due to the decorative discoveries including the cannon and fancy dragon head, Hoffman believed this may be some kind of treasure ship and to discuss the find would invite piracy of the coveted location. The fall offered only a few more opportunities to return to the little wreck. Hoffman knew all too well his competition would jump at the chance to find any virgin site, much less a bountiful wreck like this. He would never go back to the wreck on a good weather weekend day and he would not sit on the wreck in such an advertisement like the Bogan’s massive Paramount. He waited and under the veil of secrecy he picked his days, but the opportunities remained scarce. As a dive co-ordinator for the Dive Shop of New Jersey I remained in close contact with Hoffman. Over the years he gained a respect and trust for the group of divers I had gathered to dive with him.
Pg. 3 This kindled a mutual friendship and respect. He trusted my discretion when chartering his boat the Sea Lion. To put it in George’s words there were wreck divers and then their were tourists. The Sea Lion was not a boat for tourists. I was privy to some incidentals of his secret wreck and over the next few months he made a commitment to take my group there. He re-emphasized his great concerns of being caught on the wreck. To avoid the risk of being detected he insisted that we wait until the bitter winter had forced all his competitors to drydock. “January”, George promised we will make our first attempt to dive the mystery wreck. This may seem over protective and clandestine but Hoffman had been caught on some of his special wrecks before and had become all too cautious after losing good lobster haunts. This was no lobster snag. This was a barrel of future charter money and possibly a real treasure trove. One noted wreck George had lost was the Bonanza, his favorite lobster wreck. Hoffman nicknamed it the Bonanza, because of the plentiful number of large lobster captured on the first trips and thereafter. On one such trip to the wreck, unbeknownst to him, a small fishing boat passing by made note of the Sea Lion anchored over the confidential spot. Shortly thereafter, the fisherman passed the location on to Captain Ray Ettel of the legendary White Star from Barnegat Light. Ettel also took out divers, in fact namely chartered by the Dive Shop of New Jersey. Ironically, Ettel took the group out to the wreck on the same day that George took a group there. The White Star was already anchored on the site as the Sea Lion steamed up to what George thought was his own private hunting ground. Hoffman’s temper erupted. He radioed Ettel curiously, questioning his being there. George and Ray
were friends, but Hoffman was put out discovering the White Star brazenly moored over his precious site. As the conversation continued, Hoffman’s temperature began to drop as he licked his wounds. George finally asked Ray what he called the wreck? The sharp witted captain tactfully replied. “ I call it George’s Secret Wreck”. The radio deadened... As winters go, November, December, 1980 and January 1981 were viciously cold and wet. Hoffman and his mates had to shovel snow and break ice off the Sea Lion two times to prevent it from capsizing at the dock. Furthermore, the wind relentlessly prevailed. Despite the bad weather in November, George had managed to get out to the site once more with a hand full of mates. This weekday trip unearthed another significant find, a sextant plus some silver spoons and china. George provided me with just enough details to lengthen the waiting list. The sextant, another once in a lifetime discovery added fuel to the fire. Yet, the harsh weather continued and after weeks of discouragement, the weekly phone calls to the George and prospective divers stagnated with obscure discussions of the election of Reagan, the Iran hostages release and football. The Eagles lost the Super bowl and now divers were eager to roll off the couch. While others sensibly hung their fins and traded them for ski boots, this group of wreck diving addicts remained anxious to get in the water.
It was late February, the long awaited day finally arrived. The cold bit through our outerwear as we waited for the mates to cranked up the diesel. After a short procession of equipment loading, we gathered around the stove to ward off the chill. George barked out the familiar order “Cut me loose and we plowed out of the slip.
Pg. 4 The day started with a frozen intake line to the head which to the delight of the heavy coffee drinkers was remedied with a few capfuls of antifreeze. Soon we rounded the south jetty and cruised through the mottled seas toward the little sailor. Over the site John Moyer and I prepared for the dive strapping on our heavy weight belts, double tanks, and further burden of tools and lights. Others were doing the same as cup hit the surface indicating the mate had secured the hook, we plunged over the rail. As we descended, the outline of the small wreck appeared. Others were fanning out in a collaborated effort seeking a spot to dig and blow a century of camouflaging sand off the wreck. Creative divers reversed their scooters, wedged themselves up against the wreckage and blasted away sand effectively. This scooter technique was used for the first time in the past to unveil the Brunette. After digging up doorknobs, keys, locks, bottles, powder horns and hardware there, we soon realized the tool was exceedingly productive. So the digging technique continued on the January Wreck as it became known. George’s promise to go there that January stuck, even though we did not make it there actually until late February. The wreck lies on it’s port side and one can quickly cover the limited length of the disintegrated hull. I moved methodically along the contagious pile of timbers, fanning by hand looking for dark muck. From past experience I knew this was where decomposing materials protected cargo and personal items. Swimming along the bottom I pulled up a loose teak deck grate, a brass lock, a dish and a silver spoon. As I moved from point to point I kept digging and searching. Lastly I settled into a spot where the deck laid horizontal with the bottom. I gently feathered the deck and a glimmering
gold coin rolled out. The moment was surreal, a euphoric condition overcame me. The coin was unmistakable and I realized it’s significance at once. Carefully I tucked the coin inside my glove. As I fanned again another appeared and then another... I had to catch my breath. The limits of time, cold and air narrowed my search to a halt. I had already exceeded my planned dive. Now, I realized the meaning of Hoffman’s expression. “Dive ‘til it hurts. Hang ’til it stops.” I was already cold on the bottom and my long decompression in the winter waters was painful. As my numb fingers clutched onto the coins in my mitt, I was warmed by the jubilation of my discovery. John decompressed by my side. I tried to refrained from trying to express my excitement. Knowing that he would not understand, I would wait and confess to him in private back on the boat. When I got onboard a group of divers had gathered in the back of the boat showing their finds. My deck grate amused them as they displayed their bottles, spoons, cups, and collections. When they shunned my grate I realized the irony of their touts. In my mitt I held a divers most prized recovery, treasure...gold coins. I bit my tongue, for I knew what would occur if I revealed my secret. Carefully I put my mitt down on the bench and started to take off my gear. Moyer ascended the ladder, he intuitively questioned me about my dive. “What have you found? You can’t be this excited about that broken old grate? My expression must have been a tell. Before I could get out of my gear completely and grab the mitt. Don Stone knocked my mitt off the bench while making room for Moyer.
Don’t touch that mitt I blurted, perhaps too exuberantly. I was trapped. The back of the boat became congested with curious divers. Stone shook my hand holding the mitt and all heard the clinking of the coins. With the sudden conflagration of bodies pushing to the back deck, Hoffman came out of the wheelhouse and stood next to me. “What’s in the mitt Peterson?” I could not deflect George’s inquiry. I slowly opened the mitt and out rolled the double eagles... All on the deck, exclaimed loudly “gold”. George reach out his hand and congratulated me saying “ Good grab! P a r t n e r.” I figured this was going to happen. It was his wreck, his boat and he had hinted this mutual understanding to all before the find. George figured this was just be the beginning of the cornucopia.
During the surface interval, it was difficult to fend off the pirates beckoning information of the treasure trove’s location. They soon became impatient waiting for me to enter the water and set out on their own. After all finally splashed, I waited anxiously for time to pass, hoping to enter when their time, gas and warmth petered. Waiting at the bottom of the anchor line the sharks gathered waiting for the bleeding fish. I managed to bait the school to a worthless patch of real estate. There I fanned the sand as a congregation of dive lights hovered. Soon they were digging and scratching in a frenzy. As the cloud of silt thickened I fled in the fogbank to my secret eagle depository. Moyer had innocently swam
to the exact spot of my discovery. His weak vision and foggy mask allowed me to dig a coin right out from under him. I elbowed him and exhibited the find to his chagrin. As we cruised back to the dock George insisted we go back to his house and discuss the business of our new formed partnership. Moyer and I sat at George’s kitchen table where the coins were laid out. George placed a bottle of Yukon Jack on the table. He cautiously dispensed the spirit into three shot glasses . “Let’s toast boys”. He started. “To more good days like this.” As we sipped, he exclaimed “This is good stuff.” He continued. “A couple shots of this and you’ll slap your mother. I have little recollection of the exchange afterwards... in the next few days George had the coins graded and a fair exchange was made between the two of us.
As the months passed, The true identity was discovered when some chard's of glass were pieced together. The last four letters of the a window glass spelled out K I N S. This information was passed on to diver and historian Eric Garay. Eric researched through his micro files of wreck data and found a name and a location. The Francis Perkins appeared to be the conclusive match. The Francis Perkins was pilot vessel which foundered on January 24, 1887.
After the discovery, news soon spread along the coast. Pioneer diver Norman Lichtman hired George Hoffman's boat and employed a commercial salvage team to work the wreck in the early spring. Only few more coins were dredged up due to poor weather and shark activity. Some other interesting finds included some false teeth, deadeyes, portholes some large serving platters, dishes cups, silverware, a ornate boat hook and several silver coins. As a part of the team I set up a dredge and an airlift on the wreck to mine the site. The continuous flow of bottom growth made an effective chum slick drawing bluefish and curious sharks. A few large mako’s chased divers from the water throughout the operation. Fortunately, when wearing a hat much of your vision is precluded. You knew there was something amiss when your safety diver disappeared. The tenders often failed to tell you what was behind you, fearing you would bail out of your required decompression. Dennis Bogan was chased back to the boat, barely making it to the ladder as a giant mako passed underneath him. The secret location of the January wreck was short lived. Hoffman’s rival Captain Charlie Stratton of the Bottom Time nailed the Sea Lion over the wreck on an afternoon that August. Hoffman cursed when a smokey wooden boat that was canted to the side arose on the horizon. The silhouette was unmistakable. Stratton strapped all the dive tanks to one side of his boat which gave it a distinctive tilt as it motored toward the us. George wanted to pull the hook, but John Dudas was still hanging at his ten foot stop. Stratton circled us stopping his boat abeam of the Sea Lion. He did this on both sides of our position, opened his window, gazed at us with his binoculars and then boldly wrote down the loran numbers while George helplessly stewed.
Now that the wreck was no longer a secret, other rival dive boats made weekly excursions to the sight. Another group made efforts to salvage the Perkins as late as the 1990's . An exhausting attempt was made to mine more gold without success. Further efforts failed to produce the quantity of booty recovered by the original groups. Currently, Captain Al Pyatak still runs trips to the January Wreck on the Sea Lion. Over the years, I have been back to the Francis Perkins a handful of times. There buried beneath the sand are a lot of memories and still the possibility remains that more treasure is just below the sand. Perhaps some lucky diver will happen upon the right spot.