Monday, June 19, 2006
ADVENTURES HAPPEN
36th annual Panama City Open Spearfish Tournament. Team “Good to Go”: DJ, Al, Mike and Bob.
FRIDAY 16 June, 2006: 0430 warm, hazy, E breeze, we loaded our gear and headed out to enjoy a weekend of good friends being together diving.
Rounding the rocks for a SE course to the Empire Mica we were greeted by a 2’ chop that pounded us a bit for the entire 2-½ hr trip. By the time the sun was showing through the haze,
all of the gear that was loosely stowed had sought its own level to the lowest regions of the cabin floor. Al’s barnacle encrusted fishing lures hanging from his “dive treasure” fishing poles dislodged themselves and, swinging wildly from the rocket launchers up top, pretty well destroyed Mike’s fine tuned rods before we had gone more that 5 of the 50 miles.
Not wanting to waste time preparing equipment before the tournament Al and Mike used some of the travel time to tie up some new bands for Mike’s spear gun as we crashed our way through the waves.
Al decided to wait before preparing new bands for his gun; he uses every one til the last pull, which is signaled by that nasty rap to your fingers as it parts in the middle. DJ decided it would be more practical to go below and sleep awhile. I guess she sleeps pretty quickly, she didn’t stay below long. The loud thumps I had heard earlier were her bouncing off the cabin ceiling.
The water looked clear indigo blue until we got to the shallows of the cape when it began to show a little color of turbidity as result of the storm earlier in the week. The evidence of sea life did pick up a bit with dolphins and pelicans helping themselves to the bounty of the sea.
It was a relief to throttle back and enjoy the calm as we began the above water survey of the dive site using the bottom machine to pick what part of the 465’ freighter we wanted to dive first. We weren’t hampered in our search by other boats, as we were the first of the day to arrive. The result was that we dropped anchor to lead us to the boiler section in the aft 1/3 of the vessel.
Our anticipation ran high as we silently began the routine of suiting up and adjusting equipment. Mike of course, first prepared the flat line and set it out, hoping to be the first to put meat in the coffin. Splashing into the light current the vis looked pretty good on the way forward to the anchor line. No one took time to shoot any of the cudas that monitored our decent with baleful eyes; we knew there would be monsters lurking in the cavernous hold of the wreck. Passing through the thermo cline at about 50’ of the 100’ descent I was a little dismayed as the water went from clear to brown. Vis was not so bad as to be unworkable, but not enough to enjoy the splendor and mysteries of the wreck. I checked the anchor and it was draped over one of the boilers and snagged on some beams. I freed it to a secure spot on the boiler and began my hunt. At 100’ and low vis the dive was soon over and I didn’t see much of anything, no grouper, snapper, aj’s or cuda. On the way up I did take a cuda of about 20# for the fish fry on Sunday. Back on deck I found the other divers had about the same luck or lack of.
We used some of our sit time to reposition over some of the higher structure toward the forward part of the ship. A fishing boat had arrived and they soaked some baits in the area around us but they didn’t have much luck in catching anything either, other than occasionally getting snagged on the wreck and bending their poles for awhile until they realized the hopelessness of raising the Mica.
There isn’t much more for me to report of the next dive, just more of the same. Not really a disappointing dive, just not what I was anticipating from this distant wreck. Al usually hangs back and sees that the rest of us get into the water with all necessary equipment and provides the needed assistance. Some think he does this out of a sense of responsibility developed in his many years as a dive master and sea captain. I think he is just waiting for the rest of us to clear off the small fish from the site so he can collect the trophies, because that is what he usually does. Al arrived back at the boat after the rest of us because of the above mentioned and passed his gun to me warning there was a small green fish on the line. The small green fish turned out to be the tournament winner, a 37# cuda.
We soon departed the Mica after I made a quick return to free the anchor that had slithered down to become hopelessly tangled in the debris. The reverse trip was over the same 2’ chop but in the comfortable direction that provided an easy ride of about 35 nm to the Iron Duke. Mike and Al took this dive and reported great vis and an assortment of fish so it looked like things were picking up. DJ and I were looking forward to having a dive on the Sherman X, an 80’ steel tug not far off the return course. We also enjoyed the improved vis. DJ managed a keeper snapper and grouper. The best I could do was sending a small anchor to the surface on my lift bag.
The lift bag turned out to be a real training exercise. Mike and Al had seen it drift by the boat but too far out for an easy retrieval so they got a bearing on the drift so we could pick it up after the dive. DJ arrived back at the boat quite some time after me, I think she is like a frog and breathes through her skin. We lifted the anchor and I set our course down the drift line. We knew the bag would be quite a ways because it had been at least 30 min since it had drifted out of sight. I thought it would be an easy pick-up because we were working down sun. After looking downrange for more than a mile I knew we had somehow missed it. Damn, now it is “WILSON! WILSON!, WHERE ARE YOU?.” DJ got the binocs; each of us searched our quadrant as I made our way up and down either side of the drift line. The search took on the intensity of a search for a lost diver. We had to find WILSON. A call to the coast guard was considered but we all figured they probably wouldn’t be successful and if they were we couldn’t afford the fine. So, I took another pass up the other side of the drift line. Excitement built as each of us thought we saw something, made our way to the point, only to find it must have been an apparition. Finally Al called out “There’s WILSON!” For me that was the highlight of a great day of diving. Good friends working together to save a lost companion. OK, so it was just a lift bag, but for a while it was WILSON.
SATURDAY
We were a little less aggressive on our start time. 0700 seemed more appropriate. Our original plan was to pillage the reefs 20 nm to the west and maybe hit a couple of structures on the way back in. After checking with Ian, Eddie, and Aaron, we decided otherwise. They had tried that and not found much for fish but a lot of filamentous algae covering the reefs. Eddie did come back with a good story of a shark that decided to nibble on his fin. Our revised plan was to work the offshore bridge spans. DJ picked T-10 to start with since it provided us with the best run for sea conditions. I don’t remember anything significant about the dive there because all of the excitement happened before we got into the water. Mike promptly set out the flat line and it wasn’t long before the reel began to scream. DJ picked up the rig and the fight was on. It was obviously a good fish from the long drag- stripping runs that it made. Then the fish changed tactics and forced DJ into a rail dance as she worked her way around the boat, somehow keeping the fish off of the anchor line. By the time she had arrived back in the cockpit on the other side of the boat, the fish was pretty well worn out and she brought it in to the gaff. Mike held the lid and I swung it into the box. The fish looked pretty peaceful lying there as I took a couple of pictures.
Against protestations, DJ decided to remove the hook barehanded rather than wait on the pliers. 
That turned out to be a bad decision. The fish knew “get even time” when she saw it and managed to snatch the stinger hook right through DJ’s finger.
Fortunately, that was its last act of defiance because it did no more flopping while DJ was secured to its jaws with steel leader and hook. It didn’t take long for Dr. Bob to open his medical kit and get out the cable cutters he uses for spear gun rigging. They made short work of the leader and the barbed end of the hook, freeing DJ’s finger from considerable misery. Next, it was Dr. Mike’s turn with the hydrogen peroxide, gauze, and tape. It was all over in about 5 min and DJ declared she was fit to dive again.Mike and I dove the bridge. The vis was great, maybe 50,’ and it was buzzing with fish. We were mobbed by AJ’s but most were small. I did see one that I thought was keeper size but I didn’t figure I could get to him. It looked as if someone had made a bad shot on him high in the back and the point had pulled out, so not likely he would be interested in taking a close look at me. I took a look around the bridge for other prospects and found none. About time for me to head back to the anchor line and the boat and Mr. AJ comes by for a salute. I was glad to see the shaft find its mark just behind the eye and the fish was dead. Just as I finished stringing the fish and putting my gun back together, a large man in a gray suit stopped by for an inspection of what was going on. Thankfully he didn’t stay to visit but I had my head on a swivel all the way up the line. The AJ was bigger than I had first assessed and turned out to be the tournament winner at 29#. The scar I had thought was from an errant shot, on closer inspection, appeared to be a shark bite.
In the clear water, I had noticed the interesting hard bottom surrounding the bridge. Back on deck I encouraged DJ and Al to go down, free the anchor, and ride the anchor line for a drift dive over the hard bottom. They agreed it would probably be a novel trip and rolled in with that as their dive plan. The plan changed a little after they got to the bridge. Al shot a monster red snapper
and DJ searched for and found several lobster. After they returned we took a lunch break and then Mike and I did the planned drift dive. The dive turned out to be interesting, with sights of large barrel sponges and odd starfish but we didn’t come up with anything for the fish box.
Next stop was the F-106’s for Al and DJ to plunder. It was here that Al was able to get the last pull out of his bands; consequently he didn’t get any fish. DJ did get a nice grouper but it shortened her dive. The point was buried in its head and took some on deck surgery to remove it.
Then we went to T-9. Just as we arrived the warning horn sounded to let me know the serpentine belt had parted and the engine was hot. Mike and I decided to dive while the engine cooled and we would install the spare belt after the dive.
I never claim to know it all about spear fishing and I greatly value Al’s advice on technique and method. So, as I was suiting up I asked him how he managed that nice snapper on the last bridge span. His reply was “I called him to me.” Of course I asked, “What call did you use?” His response, “WOOHOOO!!” I wasn’t sure that was all I needed to know so I asked him how he managed to get such a precise shot to stone the fish when he hit it. The response, “I closed one eye.” Armed with this new information, I rolled in. Again the vis was great. Approaching the bridge I saw a few snapper hanging out on the sand but none looked big enough to be interesting, so I continued around the span looking for larger game. As I rounded the far end of the bridge, I was met face to face with a very large snapper. Somehow my gun was positioned awkwardly and I fumbled to press the safety off. The snapper had turned and headed for the bottom. I thought I was going to have to watch him disappear under the bridge, but he took one look back over his shoulder, giving me enough angle off to make the shot, and it stoned him. I guess you have no trouble imagining what my story was when I got back to the boat. WOOHOO!! 17#’s, biggest of the tournament.
Back on deck we still had the belt problem to deal with. The spare belt didn’t seem to fit. I later found the problem to be a defective idler pulley. “SeaTow” was on call, so we got them headed our way. Being 15 nm out gave DJ and Al time to make another dive and finish up the day with a couple of “bugs” and some nice shells. They were climbing out just as Tony, my next-door neighbor, arrived in his big yellow boat. With some precise maneuvering he soon had a line secured to the bow eye, we pulled anchor and sat back for a quiet slow ride back to the hill. Just what we needed to review what great adventures we had in two days of diving.
Check out DJ's story at: tyc49.blogspot.com
