Having sampled the diving in the Mar Menor region, I travel down the coast to Aguilas for a few days. There are two routes possible, faster, longer and quicker inland by autopista (motorway) should take under 2 hours, and the route my driver takes, following "nacional" roads between coastal towns. It takes a bit longer, but provides some interesting scenery.
Fertile valleys and plains are crowded with fruit and vegetable farms, mile after mile of polythene greenhouse. Derelict windmills line the banks of irrigation channels like losers in a jousting contest with Don Quixote, now superseded by more modern irrigation systems.
We skirt Cartagena, a major port since Roman times, before climbing into the coastal mountain range for some stark and dramatic scenery. Higher in the mountains we pass abandoned mine workings, tall chimneys reminiscent of Cornwall, before descending to connect with the autopista for the final few kilometres into Aguilas.
The local population in Aguilas is only 30,000, yet in peak season there are as many as 200,000 visitors, 80 percent of which are Spanish. The result is a tourist town that retains a very Spanish atmosphere. There is no heaving drunken club scene or plethora of "British" pubs and fish and chips. Just a thriving pavement café culture.
The journey to Montoya by RIB takes about 15 minutes. On the way we pass an old railway pier used to load iron ore to ships in the 1920s. Now it is used by a fish farm. One of the old steam locomotives is on display on the seafront.
The dive site is marked by a line of mooring buoys in the bay before Cabo Cope. As we arrive other boats are already tied to the buoys at various stages of dropping and recovering divers. Pepe brings us in to an empty buoy at the middle of the line.
With negligible current, fixed moorings and clam surface conditions the standard practice is to drop kit lines over the side and leave the boat unattended. The kit lines are then used to secure equipment when climbing on board later.
Many of the local divers just throw their kit in the water and jump in after it. The conditions are so nice and the sunshine so hot that this may be the more comfortable way to start a dive. With a camera to protect I prefer to don everything while sitting on the tube and roll in knowing that everything is already firmly attached to me.
We descend through warm clear water and an aggressive thermocline into colder water. The buoy line is securely bolted to a 3 metre high reef at 30 metres.
Whilst settling down I have a look at a large black and white spotted nudibranch, but not for long as the main subject of this dive is not the rocky reef but three wooden fishing boats sunk as an artificial reef nearby. We strike out along a rope marking the route to the nearest boat about 30 metres away. On a good day it would no doubt be visible from the reef, but not today as visibility is marred by the same stringy cobweb plankton that had filled the water at Cabo de Palos.
Being wooden the fishing boats are in various states of decay. The oldest is just the keel and a few timbers, the reef being as much the pile of rocks used to sink the boat as the timbers poking out from under. The most recent boat is fairly intact and only a couple of years old with just a few rotted planks and the paint gone, the rocks retained securely inside the hold.
All are swarming with shoals of orange antheas and grey-brown damsel fish. Large grouper glide across the deck and between timbers. Not actually hiding from me, but not volunteering to pose for portraits either. The whole area is marine reserve with fishing and spear fishing prohibited.
There are lots of eels, particularly on the more broken wreck. Morays and congers living in holes almost next door to each other. If it came to a fight over dinner my money would be on the congers.
After a comfortable couple of hours chilling out on the terrace above the Club Estela dive centre, second dive is at Isla del Fraile, so named because the silhouette of the island is reminiscent of the double peaked hat worn by a friar.
Here the mooring is in 8 metres on a mixed seabed of rocks and sea grass, leading off to a boulder slope to the south. Again the thermocline bites with a vengeance as we pass from 23 degree surface water to 18 degrees at 12 metres.
The plankton in the deeper water does not seem as dense here, one of Pepe's reasons for selecting this site as a second dive. We work along the slope in the colder water, then back in the warmer shallows.
There is nothing in the way of spectacular big scenes, so I busy myself with sea anemones, small corals and fish hiding under the rocks. The free swimming fish seem to congregate annoyingly right at the thermocline, where the oily effect of mixing water makes them appear constantly out of focus and I move from cold to hot and shockingly back again.
Before going out for the evening I scan through the TV channels. I find The Missing Link, instantly understandable despite my Spanish being limited to beer, food and fish identification. A semi-circle of contestants is presided over by a black coated and bespectacled lady with a stroppy schoolmistress attitude. Contestants are dismissed with a harsh "Adios".
At La Cueva de la Virgin a small cave in the reef has a shrine built in its entrance, painted and glazed tiles depicting a scene of Mary with baby. The whole image takes on a soft focus feel where my camera port has misted slightly as I passed through the thermocline.
It's a nice dive in itself, greatly enhanced by more old wooden fishing boats sunk off the reef. The oldest is in a similar state to the oldest at Monytoya, while the most recent still has a glossy sheen of white paint.
None are big enough to make a single dive, yet travelling from one to another I can appreciate the progression of decay and the unique character of each wreck and its inhabitants.
Later in the afternoon, after lunch and siesta, I walk along the seafront and climb the hill where an impressive castle presides over the bay. I had just finished reading a biography of Thomas Cochrane and could not remember if Agulas featured in any of his raids and cutting out expeditions.
On a Friday night the town is filling up with Spanish visiting for the weekend. I find a nice little place in a hillside alleyway serving various meats, cheeses and fishy bits on toast.
Preparing my camera on Saturday morning my understanding of Spanish television increases when I find the Flintstones, renamed Pedro and Pablo, but with the usual personalities and visual gags.
Pepe is expecting a busy day with weekend divers from the cities, so we start an hour earlier to beat the rush. At my request we head for La Cueva de la Virgin again so I can get some more photographs without the fogged camera port.
The wind has changed pushing clean water in from the east. The difference below the thermocline is unbelievable. The cobwebs of plankton are gone as if a fussy mermaid has been spring cleaning with her feather duster. The sun is out and everything sparkles in a clear blue background.
It must be something about Spain. The dives so far at Aguilas have all been quite pleasant without being anything to rave about, then suddenly I have a dive which is absolutely fantastic.
I ask one of the regular weekend Spanish divers visiting from Madrid which his favourite site is. He replies that whilst La Cueva de la Virgin had been good, in his opinion Montoya in similar conditions was even better.
For my last dive I am faced with a difficult decision. Should I repeat La Cueva de la Virgin again where I know the conditions are perfect, or take a chance on similar conditions now prevailing at Montoya just half a kilometre away?
I take the conservative choice and stick with what I can be sure of, besides, there is still one wreck at La Cueva de la Virgin that I have not seen. I am rewarded with another sparkling dive with the added bonus of a sunfish stopping by to be cleaned by the wrasse above one of the wrecks.
Back on the terrace above the dive centre I ask the diver from Madrid what his dive at Montoya had been like. Not surprisingly he had experienced similar sparkling visibility and had as dive as good as any he could remember. So maybe my selection was incidental, but then maybe I would have missed out on the sunfish.
Sunday is decompression day with my flight late in the afternoon. I take a lazy morning then head for the beech to watch the start of the local triathlon. I have time to catch the swimming leg and the start of the cycling before it is time to leave for the airport. If my flight had been a day later I could have entered - well, that's my excuse and I am sticking to it.