RMS Rhone — A Dive We Never Planned | The Denver Diver
An unexpected father-daughter dive on the RMS Rhone during our family sailing week: the propeller, a numbered porthole and knowing where to stop.
Marine life has colonized the RMS Rhone's remaining structure. Original photograph courtesy of Brian Thomas / The Denver Diver. We hadn't come to the British Virgin Islands to scuba dive. My brother and I grew up on a lake in Minnesota, which meant we grew up sailing. Little boats, bigger boats, pretty much anything we could get our hands on. If you grew up on a lake in Minnesota, you probably know the feeling. Years later, we decided to share some of that experience with our families. We chartered a 42-foot Beneteau catamaran with four berths and enough living space for everyone to spread out, relax, and enjoy a week exploring the British Virgin Islands. The plan was simple: sail, swim, spend time together, and teach the kids some of the skills we'd learned growing up. Scuba diving wasn't on the itinerary. But sometimes the best dives are the ones you never planned. Fifteen minutes to change the afternoon During our sailing week, I overheard a conversation with Sail Caribbean Divers. A few customers hadn't shown up for their scheduled dive, and the boat was leaving in about fifteen minutes whether they arrived or not. I couldn't resist asking. If those divers didn't show up, could we take their places? Three spots were potentially available. Ella and I took two of them. The rest of the family stayed aboard the catamaran. We departed from Cooper Island. Within minutes, we were preparing to dive one of the Caribbean's most celebrated shipwrecks. The logistics couldn't have been easier. We'd brought our own masks and fins for snorkeling, and the operator's rental equipment was perfectly adequate for the dive. The water felt warm enough to us that we went without wetsuits. As we prepared our gear, our divemaster told us about the remarkable few weeks ahead of him. Approximately 500 children from the United States were coming to the islands as part of a scouting program, learning skills that included sailing, swimming and scuba diving. He expected to certify 35 young divers the following week alone. Those were the numbers he gave us, and I remember thinking about the opportunity those kids were going to have. We'd come to teach our kids to sail. He was getting ready to introduce another group to the ocean underwater. Meanwhile, Ella and I were about to descend onto the remains of a Royal Mail steamship that had been resting beneath these waters since 1867. A ship lost in a hurricane The Rhone wasn't sunk to become a dive attraction. She was lost during the hurricane of October 29, 1867, off Salt Island. The distinction matters when you're looking at the wreck. This was a working ship caught in a disaster, not a vessel carefully prepared for divers. The historical accounts describe the Rhone trying to get away from a dangerous anchorage at Great Harbour, Peter Island, toward open sea. The attempt ended at the rocks off Salt Island. It is a more complicated story than a captain simply deciding to continue an ordinary voyage in bad weather. Sail Caribbean Divers' history describes the storm and attempted escape; the National Parks Trust identifies the wreck's resting place in Lee Bay. Today, the broken ship is both a historical site and habitat. But being able to recognize parts of a ship doesn't mean its remaining structure is sound. Two groups, two different dives Illustrated route reconstructed from Brian's recollection and reviewed by Brian. Gold marks the stern route, cyan the return to the midsection, and orange the bow circuit and return to the boat. AI-generated illustration; wreck geometry is schematic, not surveyed or to scale. Not a navigation guide. There were four less-experienced divers in our group. They went with one divemaster to explore the exterior. Ella and I went with a second divemaster, starting near the enormous stern propeller and following the opposite side. With the stern pointing east, we descended from the north and swam under the propeller and out the other side to the south side. The wreck was lying on its port side, exposing the top of the ship. We followed it from east to west, then turned north around the broken-open section to look for eels, sharks and other critters. We came back along the starboard side to examine the portholes. Then we returned along the side toward the midsection. From there, we followed the east side of the bow section, rounded the front, and came back down its west side. We turned through the gap between the bow and midsection and returned to our mooring line. That's a description of our dive, not a route recommendation. The wreck has deteriorated, and an opening that worked for one group on one day is no assurance that it is appropriate for another. Our route included limited swim-throughs. More extensive interior exploration was out of the question given the deteriorating structure. There was plenty to look at without pushing farther inside. Exposed iron framing. Sections of the ship breaking down. Moray eels, a nurse shark and lobsters sheltering among the wreckage. The propeller gave us one way to understand the ship. The wildlife gave us another. What had once moved people across the ocean was now providing places for marine life to hide. A numbered porthole and a story On the return, we examined a porthole with a number still on it. There's a story associated with the Rhone's so-called lucky porthole: that a passenger escaped through it and survived the sinking. It is part of the wreck's diving lore. I haven't verified that escape through a contemporary historical record, so I wouldn't present the legend as established fact—or describe that person as the ship's only survivor. What I can say is what we saw: a porthole, still identifiable after all that time underwater, with a number that connected this broken structure to the ship it used to be. It's a feature to observe without touching or disturbing it. One last detail at fifteen feet At the safety stop, the operator had an extra precaution in place. A standalone cylinder stayed on the boat, with a regulator on a roughly 20-foot hose reaching down to about 15 feet below the surface. It was there as a precaution. It wasn't a reason to stretch our own gas supply or stay down longer. That detail stayed with me alongside the propeller, the porthole and the animals living in the wreck. Being ready doesn't mean saying yes to everything We hadn't planned to dive that afternoon. Having our masks and fins with us made the opportunity easy to consider. Being certified meant we could consider it—but we still had to decide whether the dive suited us. That responsibility doesn't disappear when a divemaster is leading. You need to understand the plan, recognize your own limits and be willing to stay outside an opening or call the dive. Looking back at a warm-water dive without a wetsuit, I'd also separate comfort from protection. A light rash guard can offer limited protection against minor scrapes. It will not protect you from sharp wreck metal. The goal is to glide without touching anything above, below or on either side of you. Planning more wreck dives? Read Wreck Diving in Cancun: Two Days, Three Wrecks, and How to Choose. The Rhone gave Ella and me a dive in the middle of a sailing trip. We didn't have to turn the whole vacation into a dive trip to have that experience. Sometimes it starts with a question and fifteen minutes to get ready. Planning your own mixed family trip? Start with Family Diving, and tell your operator about everyone's experience before you book.
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