50% of Your Career Happens Off the Dive Site
Dive schools teach decompression tables. They don’t teach you how to handle the commercial diver lifestyle—the runs ashore, the port nights, the reputation that follows you for years.
You can be the best diver in the world—perfect buoyancy, flawless welds, brilliant troubleshooting skills—but if you can’t handle yourself on a run ashore, your commercial diving career is over.
A “run ashore” is what happens when you’ve been offshore for 28 days straight. No alcohol. Isolated on a boat with the same people. Working 12-hour shifts. Then you hit port with money in your pockets and weeks of pent-up energy.
You can imagine how that goes.
Dive schools teach you decompression tables. They teach you how to use equipment. They don’t teach you how to handle offshore life – the time at sea, the runs ashore, the relationships, the commercial diver lifestyle that matters as much as your diving skills.
Today I’m sharing two stories: one from Trinidad where I thought we might get killed, and one from Aberdeen that got me fired. Both taught me lessons that shaped my career more than any technical course ever did.
Are they entertaining? Yes. But they’re also warnings.
The diving industry is small. Everyone knows everyone. And one night can follow you for years in this offshore life.
Trinidad: The Night We Became “Celebrities”
The boat pulled into Port of Spain, Trinidad. We’d been offshore for four or five weeks, and my mate Eddie (the deck foreman) and I decided to have one last run ashore before flying home the next day.
We ordered a taxi. Local driver took us to a bar. Had a couple of beers. Getting pretty jolly, having a good time.
Then I looked over at the bar and saw a guy dressed in a basketball top and cap—local Trinidadian guy—and I thought: “He looks exactly like Kanye West.”
Not new Kanye with the weird fashion. Old Kanye.
So I told Eddie: “Look, that guy over there looks like Kanye.”
Eddie’s Brilliant Idea
Eddie gets up, walks over to the guy, and says: “My mate over there thinks you look like Kanye West.”
The guy looked at Eddie. Looked at me. Did not look happy.
His mate sitting next to him burst out laughing. Then the first guy grinned. Ice broken.
They started chatting, asking what we were doing in Trinidad. We were told on the boat not to tell anyone we’d been working offshore, especially not on a dive boat. Too much money involved, makes you a target.
For some reason, Eddie decides to tell them his name is Charlie. Then he asks: “Have you heard of Charlie Boorman?”
Charlie Boorman is a famous actor and motorcyclist who did the Long Way Down—a TV series where he and Ewan McGregor rode motorcycles from London through Africa.
Eddie told them: “I’m Ewan McGregor, and he’s Charlie Boorman.”
I had quite long hair at the time. Did look a bit like Charlie Boorman, I suppose.
They believed it.
“We’ll Show You the Real Trinidad”
The two Trinidadian guys decided they’d show us the “real Trinidad”—the parts tourists don’t see.
They each had a car and decided who was going in which car. Maybe that should have been a red flag.
But we were full of drinks, so we went.
Stop 1: The Trans Bar
First stop: a bar full of gorgeous women. Really beautiful. Lots of makeup. Maybe a bit too much makeup. Very friendly.
But something felt off.
I looked around more carefully and noticed the Adam’s apples.
They’d taken us to a trans bar. We were completely out of our depth.
We just went with it. Had a few more drinks. Everyone was friendly. No problem at all.
Stop 2-5: Bar Hopping Through Port of Spain
We got back in the cars and drove around different bars, different areas they wanted to show us.
I remember one funny stop where we needed fuel. We pulled into a gas station. There was a guy lying unconscious on the ground, and another guy with spray paint literally painting everything white—his clothes, the ground, everything.
I went into the garage, came back out, and the guy was spray-painting the wheels of one of our cars.
We shouted. He ran off into the night.
So now we’ve got white wheels and a guy painted white on the ground.
I’m thinking: What the fuck have we got into? Where are we? What is this place?
3-4 AM: The Street Market in a Rough Area
Later that night—maybe 3 or 4 am—they took us to a street market. Very rough area. Surrounded by locals. Everyone’s been drinking heavily. Some people on other substances. Strange behavior everywhere.
Eddie and I looked at each other: “We’ve survived so far, but it’s getting pretty hectic and we don’t know where we are.”
We made a plan and told our hosts: “Look, it’s late. We need to get back to the hotel. We’re going to get a taxi home now.”
Both guys looked really serious and said: “You’re not going anywhere in a taxi. We won’t allow it. It’s not going to happen.”
This Is It. This Is Where We Get Robbed.
I thought: This is where we get killed. They’ve lulled us into a false sense of security. They’ve taken us to a place we have no idea where we are. Surrounded by all these guys. This is literally where we get robbed and murdered.
I looked at Eddie. We said our goodbyes—the type of goodbyes where you might not see each other again—and got into separate cars, accepting our fate.
As we drove away from the crowd, I was looking for an area where I could stop, drop, and roll out of the moving car. But the guy was driving so fast, that opportunity didn’t come.
Then we drove to a nicer area. A road I recognized from the beginning of the evening.
They drove us straight back to the hotel.
The Twist: They Were Just Good Guys
We got out of the cars. Eddie and I looked at each other with relief and confusion.
The guys said: “Okay, can we get your email addresses, your phone numbers? If you ever come back to Trinidad, it’ll be great to take you out again. Thanks for the entertainment tonight.”
They were just good guys. They wanted to show us their city.
Eddie actually went back to Trinidad later and met up with them again. Had another great night out.
The Lesson I Still Don’t Know How to Process
We were incredibly naive. It could have ended very differently. We got lucky.
They say “don’t trust strangers in foreign ports” and there’s a reason for that.
But sometimes the world surprises you.
I still don’t know which lesson to take from that night. But it’s always in the back of my mind.
Aberdeen: The Run Ashore That Got Me Fired
Different job. Different port. Picture the scene:
We’d been at sea for two weeks. Back in Aberdeen. I’d been out drinking most of the day with my mate Ali. We ended up at some random bar where there were about 10 divers getting pissed, plus a load of Irish fellas working on a construction site next door.
We were having such a good time that these Irish guys decided to join us for drinks. They had a few, went back to work, then came back shortly after saying they’d all been fired from their job.
So we carried on drinking with them anyway.
The Gilly Situation
I came back to the boat pretty drunk. My mate Gilly had just come off shift and wanted to go out, but no one else was available.
Because I was already in the state I was in, I said: “Well, I’ll go back out again.”
We snuck off the boat. You’re supposed to sign in and sign out with security, but we’d been told not to go out. So we left without signing out—which is obviously not a good thing, and I wouldn’t advise anyone to do it.
Got even more drunk. Came back to the boat without signing in. I told Gilly: “Go to bed.”
He went to his cabin. I went to mine. Happy days.
The Horror Movie Scene
In the morning, I got a phone call on my cabin phone. It was Gilly, frantic:
“Mate, come to my cabin. PLEASE come to my cabin.”
I ignored it. Hungover. Not dealing with this.
Phone rang again. Ignored it.
Phone rang a third time: “PLEASE come to my cabin.”
Fine. I’ll go see what he wants.
I opened his cabin door and was greeted with a sight that looked like a horror movie set.
Blood everywhere. Blood on the walls. Blood on the floor. Blood on the bed. Blood on the bed underneath (he was on the top bunk).
Gilly was sitting there in a towel wrapped around his waist, confused, saying: “Stu, what happened last night? Please tell me what happened last night.”
I told him: “We got back last night. I sent you to your cabin. I went to my cabin. Went to sleep. What the hell happened?”
He said: “That’s what I’m asking YOU.”
He moved his towel.
There was a massive gash in his knee. Completely split open. You could see inside. It was horrific.
“Stu, You’re a Diver Medic, Aren’t You?”
Gilly looked at me: “Can you stitch this up so I can keep diving?”
I looked at him: “Dude, a surgeon’s going to have difficulty stitching that up properly. I can’t stitch that up.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’ll go get Skipsy.”
Skipsy’s Reaction
Skipsy was one of the supervisors and a mate of ours. I found him and said: “Can I have a word?”
He looked at my face: “Whatever you’re about to tell me, don’t bullshit me.”
I told him everything. “Where is he?”
“Still in his cabin. Come and have a look.”
Skipsy walked into the cabin: “Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened here?”
What Actually Happened
Looking at the evidence, we pieced it together:
Gilly had the top bunk. After getting into bed, he needed to pee. Instead of using the ladder, he tried to jump down.
He slipped and caught his knee on a shelf bracket—the small aluminum U-channel brackets that hold the retaining bars on the shelves. It opened up his knee badly.
But he was so drunk he didn’t notice.
He went to the bathroom, did his business, came back, climbed back into bed. Blood going everywhere. Woke up in the morning, looked around, saw all the blood, and went into full panic mode.
The Company’s Response
Skipsy said: “I’m going to have to tell the OCM” (Offshore Construction Manager—the big boss).
The OCM was a lovely Welsh guy who seemed stern but had a heart of gold. He covered for us.
Gilly got sent to hospital and then home after treatment.
I got the “naughty corner” treatment. They gathered all the divers and said: “On the next crew change in two weeks, there’s no drinking. Especially no one goes anywhere with Stu.”
At that point in my diving career, I had a bit of a reputation. Not undeserved, I suppose. I’m not trying to give myself accolades for being a pisshead—just putting that out there.
Two Weeks Later: The Fitty Bar Incident
Two weeks later, we’re back in port. Me and Big Paddy obviously go out drinking. “We’ll just have a few pints, we won’t get too drunk.”
We did get drunk.
On the way back to the boat (berthed at Clipper Quay in Aberdeen), we decided to stop for one last beer at the Fitty Bar—the bar closest to our quayside.
What we didn’t see: the client rep sitting in the corner.
We ordered our pints. Started drinking. The client rep came over:
“Put down your pints. Go back to the boat. Quietly. Do not pass go, do not collect £200.”
He could have fired us on the spot—”run us off the job” in diving parlance. Instead, he gave us a warning.
I went back to my cabin thinking I’d done well because I was safely in my cabin.
Paddy’s Mistake
Paddy didn’t go to his cabin.
He went to the galley—big no-no when you come in drunk—got himself a load of food, went to the smoko (smoking room), and fell asleep.
When he was found, he had:
- Half a loaf of bread on his chest
- Crumbs everywhere
- A lit cigarette in his hand, burning down with a big trail of ash
He was found by the same client rep who’d warned us in the Fitty Bar.
“I’m Sorry, Stu, But You’ve Been Run Off the Job”
In the morning, there was a knock on my cabin door. The OCM.
He opened the door. I was lying there bleary-eyed. In his gentle Welsh lilt, he apologized:
“I’m sorry, Stu, but you’ve been run off the job.”
I looked at him: “Yeah, it’s a fair cop. I’ll pack my bags.”
The Happy Ending (Sort Of)
I left the boat. It was about a 20-minute walk to the train station.
By the time I got to the train station, I’d had two phone calls from agencies saying: “We know you’re available and we’re looking for somebody for this job.”
My brother had called a couple days before asking if I wanted to go surfing in Devon.
I told the agencies: “Sorry, I’m busy. I’m not available.”
Went surfing with my brother instead.
Oh, to be young with no responsibilities.
The Lessons: What This Taught Me
Looking back now as a client rep—dealing with guys like I used to be—here’s what I learned:
1. The Industry Is Tiny
Everyone knows everyone. Supervisors move between companies. Client reps talk. Your reputation follows you.
One night out can follow you for 10 years.
I got lucky—I got on other jobs and nothing was held against me. Some guys don’t get second chances.
2. 50% of Your Career Happens Off the Dive Site
The runs ashore, the relationships you build, the reputation you earn—this matters as much as your diving skills.
You can be the best diver technically, but if you’re unreliable, unprofessional, or a liability on runs ashore, you won’t get work.
3. Learn Before You Get Fired, Not After
I made those mistakes and learned from them eventually. But I could have learned before getting fired instead of after.
Don’t be the guy who has to learn the hard way.
4. Culture Has Changed (Mostly)
It’s not as bad now as when I was a young diver. The culture has shifted toward professionalism, safety, and accountability.
But runs ashore still happen. Port nights still exist. And the temptation is still there after 28 days at sea.
Be smart about it.
What To Do on Your First Run Ashore
Here’s the advice I’d give young divers now:
1. Go out with the right people – Find the experienced guys who know how to have a good time without ending careers
2. Know your limits – After weeks at sea, your tolerance is lower and your judgment is impaired
3. Remember you’re representing your company – The client is watching, even when you think they’re not
4. Sign in and out properly – Breaking simple rules shows you don’t respect procedures
5. If something feels wrong, it probably is – Whether it’s a dodgy situation in Trinidad or one more drink in Aberdeen
6. Your reputation is everything – Protect it like your life depends on it, because your career does
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Final Thoughts
Those runs ashore—Trinidad and Aberdeen—taught me more about the commercial diving career than any technical course.
Trinidad taught me: The world can surprise you. Sometimes people are just good. But be careful who you trust in foreign ports.
Aberdeen taught me: Your reputation is fragile. One night of poor decisions can follow you for years. The industry is small and everyone talks.
Now as a client rep, I see young divers making the same mistakes I did. Some learn. Some don’t get the chance.
Be smart out there. Your career depends on what you do underwater AND what you do in port.
The next episode will be about fitting in offshore—including a nickname I didn’t know I had for about two years.
Thanks for listening. If you’re getting value from this, share it with someone who needs to hear it. And if you’re starting out in the industry and want to go deeper, join our community.
What’s your wildest run ashore story? (Keep it PG-13!) Share in the comments or join the conversation in our community.
