View topic - Big Fish (and other critter) Stories :: DivePro - Info

Serving The Scuba Community Since 2004

Jan 08, 2009

http://www.diveassure.com/Ver1.1/registrations/DiamondsReg.asp?referrer=DIVEPR

Big Fish (and other critter) Stories

DivePro - Info Forum Index » THE WORLD OF DIVING » Marine Life

Author

Message

Thalassamania

Post subject: Big Fish (and other critter) Stories

Posted: Apr 04, 2007 - 02:13 PM

Guppy

Joined: Dec 31, 1969
Posts: 4
Location: New England
Status: Offline

We were servicing some current meters, tide gauges and continuous plankton recorders out on Aden rock in the Gulf of Maine. The bottom there’s about 110 feet. It was a great day; one could just make out the surface from the bottom. A lot of herring were in the area for their late summer spawning. Down we went through a loose school to the tide gauges. It took about ten minutes to dump the data and reset the gauges; the light level was low enough that we needed our dive lights.

Our tasks done, we were getting ready to leave … in the blink of an eye there was a snap from an eerie deep green to pitch black. Mounds of herring pressed close in. I was blind. No gauges, no buddy, not even my dive light was visible. I raised my light, pointing straight toward my mask. The beam burst into a million mirrored reflections off the herrings’ scales. I took a slow deep breath and began to ascend. Carefully I maintained slight positive buoyancy. Neither could I see my gauges nor judge my upward progress by anything except the scintillations of my light reflecting off the herring that had closed tightly in upon me.

As quickly as the dark had closed in on me it suddenly was gone. My eyes were momentarily dazzled. I exhaled sharply and sank back into darkness. Another breath started me up slowly and this time as my head broke out of the tightly packed herring school, I exhaled gently and stopped my ascent. From my chin down and out as far out as I could see, there was a black mass of squirming fish so closely packed that there was little room even for water.

I rotated to my left through about ¾ of a turn. I could see one of my three comrades coming up out of the herring mass, perhaps twenty feet away. She ascended about ten feet and pitched back to horizontal, leveling out and smoothly neutralizing her buoyancy. A circular shaped motion of her light indicated she was fine, had seen me and inquired as to my status with that unique economy of the underwater “OK”. I brought my seemingly detached left hand up out of the darkness and responded with a circle of my light.

Suddenly she pointed jerkily to her left, arm stiff and outstretched. I swiveled my head right, and there is one of the most incredible sights I’ve ever witnessed. Six Giant Bluefin Tuna are moving toward us, in formation, the pass right between us. Each fish is the size of a dinner table that would seat eight. They’re moving fast yet appear to not be moving a muscle. They glide past us, each with a huge left eye that stutters on me for a fraction of a second and then moves on to seek it’s normal prey. We watched them almost disappear, circle right, and move to the other side of the herring school. Then they came right back by us and then went left to the other side of the sea mount.

The black shinny mass beneath us started to break up, the herring resumed more normal individual distances expanding their school upward and outward, once again enveloping me in darkness that slowly lighted to the deep green of the first part of out dive. I swam up to my teammate and trimmed out. We moved to the down line and ascended to our deep stop. Being well out of the lee of the sea mount the current was rather stiff so we tied off our Jon lines, waited a minute and then ascended to our 20 foot deco stop.

Decompression complete we signaled the Zodiac, the Coxswain waived us off as he was already heading to pick up our other two team mates at the alternate surface float. Once we were in the Zodiac everyone was talking excitedly about the Tuna, there had been a big school of them working the herring and every one of us had been blessed with a good long view of at least several of them.

Thalassamania

Post subject: RE: Big Fish (and other critter) Stories

Posted: Apr 04, 2007 - 02:15 PM

Guppy

Joined: Dec 31, 1969
Posts: 4
Location: New England
Status: Offline

In the late 1960s and early 1970s, when I was a student at U.C. Berkeley, it was considered by many to be the world's foremost representation of the impersonal megaversity. But within Research Diving Program I found an oasis of incredibly diverse and honest people who truly loved and cared for each other. Our shared experiences had profoundly deep effects on us all.

There were many unique aspects to the Research Diving Program at Cal, it was very much a 1960s version of DIR, identical gear, and most of it black. There were unique exercises that no one else performed like the free diving doff-and-don, the doff-and-don buddy-breathe, the circuit swim and the Edward’s Field Crawl. But one that is indelibly engraved in the memory of every Berkeley Diver is the hand signal test. It is as much a part of being a Berkeley Diver as a skin-tow-side black no-zipper wet suits or an instrument gauntlet. And trust me, unlike the sixties, if you were there … you’d remember. You stand nervously on the pool deck, John Osterello gesticulates wildly at you and then stands there, judgment personified, belittling your intelligence and insulting your progenitors as a result of your inability to translate his arm and hand motions into something intelligible. Well, hand signals are important, but they don't always work the way you intend.

I rolled out of bed early on a Friday morning in 1972. It had rained the night before but the sky was now clear and only the evaporative cooling chill of the early morning remained on the streets of Berkeley, California. We loaded our dive gear and the Zodiac into a beige minimalist university van, that provide little creature comfort, and no where near enough heat to offset the remaining evening chill ... Lloyd Austin, Ken McKaye, Carole Kane and I. This was going to be a great day. I had finally had a properly fitting 3/8" inch (today you’d call that a strong 9 mil) wet suit from Harvey's (I'd only sent it back three times). Lloyd and Ken swore that now I'd be warm. The sun rose up over the east foothills as we headed south on the Nimitz. By the time we reached 101 south in San Jose, the air had warmed and the ride down had settled down into the usual drowsy morning, interrupted only by a stop for breakfast in Gilroy at the Busy Bee diner.

What can be more beautiful then Pt. Lobos at 09:00? There was a flurry of activity getting the Zodiac set up and putting our dive gear together. Lloyd and Carole took the Zodiac over to Children's Garden while Ken and I set out for Blue Fin Cove on our surf mats. After our dives we sat on the picnic bench at Whaler's Cove and watched the chipmunks scurry in and out of the rocks. Lloyd wondered how my new suit was. I answered that it was so warm that, for the first time, I noticed that my hands were really cold. Lloyd and Ken told me that what I needed to do now was get rid of those five finger ScubaPro dress gloves and get a pair of three finger mitts. We drove into town to fill our tanks at the Aquarius Dive Shop and I sacrificed next week's food money to buy a pair of three finger mitts.

As I pulled my new mitts on for the afternoon dive, I considered the effects of only having three digits on each hand, just an opposable thumb, a forefinger and the remaining three fingers welded together into a single rather ungainly appendage. I asked Lloyd and Ken what the hand signal for a shark would be, since when wearing these mitts I could no longer make the “peace sign” that was the traditional “dangerous fish” signal. They looked at each other, chuckled, and said, “when was the last time you saw a shark at Lobos?” We all agreed we'd never seen a shark there, so it wasn't a problem.
We put all our gear, except our fins on and got into the Zodiac at the boat ramp. Lloyd piloted the Zodiac over to the far kelp bed in Blue Fin Cove. Ken and I rolled out backward, gave Lloyd and okay and watched as Lloyd and Carole motored away toward their dive site, over by the cone shell wall.

This had become one of the spectacular central coast days, blue sky, bright sun and 60-foot plus visibility. On a day like this Blue Fin Cove is perhaps the most spectacular dive site in the world. Let the tourists have Palancar Reef, the wall on Cayman Brac, Rosh Muhammad and Heron Island, all the frantic motion and frenetic neon of those underwater Times Squares. Give me the kelp forest. Subtle deep greens broken by shafts of light that look like a Sunday school painting. That's for me. We hovered above the reddish-purple encrusted rocks, Ken with his slate and I with my new gloves. Our objective was for me to learn the names of the fish found in this aqueous forest. Ken was patient enough to offer to teach me. He would point to a fish and write recondite Greek or Latin nomenclature on the slate. I'd read what he wrote and try to commit it to memory.

After about twenty minutes we'd worked our way up from sixty to forty feet. Ken pointed to a cabezon, in among the rocks on the bottom, and wrote, “Scorpaenichthys marmoratus.” I was looking at the slate and trying to wrap my tongue around the phrase when Ken tapped me on the shoulder. He held his right hand up. He clenched his last three fingers into his palm, and raised both his thumb and pointer finger. Exactly the gesture you'd make when you told someone, “it was small . . . you know about an inch . . . this big.” I started looking around the bottom for a little Scorpaenichthys marmoratus. I could not find one.

Ken smacked me on the shoulder insistently. He repeated the gesture. I shrugged. I was mildly annoyed. I knew what he was saying. I was trying to find the damn fish. Ken poked at me again. I held up a clenched fist to tell him to wait. Ken wrenched me around and made a gesture with his right hand with all five fingers repeatedly contracting into his palm and flexing out again. He pointed up at forty-five degrees. The biggest blue shark I had ever seen was coming straight for me! At slightly more than arm’s length it pitched up, went over us and languidly disappeared at the limit of visibility.

Well … thump, thump … thump, thump … I could hear my heart ... now I knew exactly what Ken had meant. We dropped to the bottom, knelling back to back amongst the bryozoan encrusted rocks, scanning the water above. I glanced quickly down at my pressure gauge ... a thousand PSI ... about half a tank. It wouldn’t last me ten minutes unless I calmed down. I took three slow deep breaths. There we go … now … maybe I had thirty minutes at that depth. How long should we wait?

I caught Ken’s eye, shrugged and pointed to my Doxa. Ken shrugged. There had always been a bit of resentment when it came to this watch. Lloyd had a Rolex, but then that was appropriate; after all he was the Diving Safety Officer. I had (and still have) this beautiful Doxa, but I was just a lowly undergrad. All the other divers in the program used sports watches from Sears that went for about thirty bucks with a one year guarantee. When the watch eventually flooded, the paperwork from a new diver would result in a replacement. Anyway, Ken tried to “flip me the bird” at least that’s how I interpreted the upward jerk of his forearm and the raised three last digits.

The we heard the rackety whine of an outboard motor. The noise stopped. We looked at each other, simultaneously shrugged, each raised a thumb and nodded his head. Back-to-back we surfaced. Lloyd and Carole were right there in the boat. Ken shouted, “shark!” as we clamored into the boat. That was the first time I'd ever committed the heresy of entering the zodiac with my tank and weight belt in place. On the way back in I asked Lloyd and Ken, once again, what the “3-finger mitt” signal for “dangerous fish” was. They laughed and told me not to worry about it, I'd never see another.

Supper at Le Coc Dor was magnificent. Lloyd had speared a pair of Lings (outside the reserve of course) and they were lightly poached in wine with a little fennel. We drank a really amazing fume blanc and chuckled over the day's contretemps. Back at the motel we got a good night's rest since we had to teach class the next day.

The morning class session at San Jose Creek went well. After the dive, as was my tradition back then, I raced my team of students into the beach on our surf mats. Louis Meyer almost beat me. Our deal was that the day he did beat me to the beach I'd buy the pizza on the way home. But I had the strength of desperation with on my side that morning, I had just bought my new three finger mitts … I could not afford to lose!

While the students went into town to fill their tanks, Lloyd and Gay Little were going out to Gay's study site in the Zodiac. So Ken and I, and a diver whom I'll call Frank, asked Lloyd for a lift so we could do some spearfishing (remember, no food money for that week). Frank had a full tank and Ken and I each had about half a tank.

Frank, Ken and I descended into fifty feet of water over the rocky canyons off San Jose Creek. It was Ling Cod city. I shot three. They’re a delicious, but truly stupid, fish. I just stacked them up on my spear. Ken tapped me on the shoulder and slashed his hand across his throat. He pointed to Frank, pointed to me and banged his fists together. He pointed to himself and raised his thumb. I gave him an okay. Ken started up and I went after Frank.

Frank was the only University of California diver I knew (not Berkeley might I add, but Santa Barbara) who was not a perfect buddy, but he was a faculty member and a very strong swimmer. We were at about fifty feet, he was out ahead and I was having trouble gaining on him. Over the next few minutes he managed to stay about twenty feet in front of me, just at the limit of visibility. As I almost caught him, I feet a tap on my shoulder.

There’s Ken, snorkel in place, pointing to his mouth. I gave him my regulator. Two breaths, I took two, Ken took two. Ken's hand began to gyrate, with sinking stomach and rising respiration rate I recognized the motions from the previous day.

I reviewed the situation as I tried to slow my breathing: we’re at fifty feet, Ken has an empty tank, we’re buddy-breathing. I’ve got a spear with three dead Lings on it. Frank’s once again disappearing at the limit of visibility, and there’s a shark in the area. I quickly went over my options and choked back an initial impulse to give Ken my spear with the dead fish and my tank and make a free ascent and then tread air back to shore.

Ken and I continued to buddy breathe, two breaths for me, two for him, two for me, two for him. I give Ken the spear with the bloody fish, pointed to myself, motioned in the direction Frank had gone and banged my fists together. I pointed at Ken and raised my thumb. Ken noded, flashed the okay and started up. I went after Frank.

It took me a couple of minutes to find him. When I did, I yanked on his fin. He kept going. I tapped him on the shoulder. He held up a fist ... “Wait!” I tapped him on the shoulder again, he started to swim away. I grabbed him by both upper arms and turned him toward me. Frank’s professorial displeasure was clear, he thought I wanted him to carry my goody bag, and he wanted no part of that. I made Ken's “inch-long” gesture of the day before with my right hand. Frank look confused. I put both my palms together and make a motion like a clam opening and closing. Frank recognized this as “chomp.”

And then he noticed that Ken was missing!

Frank looked around for Ken. Sure enough ... Ken was not there. I could see Franks eyes expand to fill his SwimMaster Wideview mask as it dawned on him that Ken had been eaten by a shark.

I dragged him into a thick patch of kelp and we surfaced, back-to-back. Lloyd, Ken and Gay were in the boat waiving at us. We flopped into the boat, a tangled mass of rubber, metal, flesh and Frank's still loaded spear gun. This was the second time, in as many days, that I had broken the cardinal rule of Lloyd’s Zodiac and boarded without first leaving my weight belt and tank on the lines that usually hung off the side of the boat.

Lloyd and Gay had seen a blue shark at her study site, maybe 100 yards away from where we were diving. They'd returned to the zodiac and motored over to our bubbles. As they arrived Ken surfaced. Lloyd yelled to him, “There's a shark, go get them.” Ken didn't mention that he was out of air, he free dove fifty feet, down my bubbles and from there we join the story as previously related.

It’s now thirty-odd years later, and what I want to know now is do we have a workable hand signal for dangerous fish when you’re wearing three finger gloves? If we don't, don't worry about it. It's a hand signal you'll never need. When did you last see a shark at Pt. Lobos?

Thalassamania

Post subject: RE: Big Fish (and other critter) Stories

Posted: Apr 04, 2007 - 02:21 PM

Guppy

Joined: Dec 31, 1969
Posts: 4
Location: New England
Status: Offline

I was working for US AID on an Inter-American Bank from 1974 thru 75 on a project assessing the fisheries resources in Lago de Nicaragua. Most of the work was stock assessment stuff, tag and recapture studies, the usual, there was a little diving. I’d heard stories about the Bull Sharks in the lake and I had some concerns so I usually dove with a shark billy and I had a Farallon Shark Dart (Magnum model) mounted in a PVC tube on my backpack. The Farallon Shark Dart is a sharpened hollow spike with a high pressure Carbon Dioxide cylinder at one end. When you poke the spike into a shark, a sharp pin punctures the cylinder and the gas travels out the hollow spike and into the shark. The gas inflates the shark like a balloon and it is forced to the surface. This picture is of the small version, the one I had used the giant CO2 cartridges.

Anyway, to make a long story short, whilst diving to do some transect work I had a Bull Shark start circle me and start displaying aggressively (back arched, pectorals down, etc.). The circles got smaller and smaller and finally he was in real tight and I was holding the shark’s head away from me with the billy, We were spinning from right to left. The shark flicked away from me and cut my leg rather badly with what I can only assume was his pectoral fin, he went out about fifteen feet and turned back at me, I reached over my shoulder and pulled the Shark Dart (with a shaft about two feet long attached) up out of the tube and over my shoulder. I glanced about for my Comrade Diver, but he was no where to be found.

The shark came straight at me and I fended him off with the billy, I brought the dart around and stabbed him with it. Nothing happened. I pulled the dart out of him, still with the billy pushing against his head. I could see that I’d not pulled the little orange clip off the dart to arm it.

It was one of the moments like when Butch and Sundance jump off the cliff, OH ...! I was pretty scared, I could not arm the damned thing without using my left hand (which was holding the shark off) or my teeth (which were holding my regulator). After what seemed like a long time spinning around with the billie held against the shark’s head (likely it was really five to ten seconds, but time is hard to judge in adrenal drenched retrospect) the shark once again retreated and went back into aggressive displaying I dropped the billy on its lanyard, reached up and pulled the clip off and recovered the billy as quickly as I could.

The shark charged once again, and once again I parried his head with the billy, as we started to turn I poked him hard with the dart and it went off with a woosh. I could see his guts being forced out his mouth and he went head up. I had a little trouble pulling the dart out due to the angle.

I checked my compass and headed back toward shore which was a few hundred yards away, after going a little way I decided to surface and look for Comrade Diver. He was a little ways off and was pulling the dying shark with a transect rope he’d secured about the tail. I went over to him and lent a hand. We towed it into shore and gave it to the old woman that was sort of in charge of the little village we were staying in. The cooked the whole thing up and we had a rather nice fiesta. Bull shark washed down with a bottle each of Flor de Caña Especial.

I cut the jaws out and brought them home. For years they were nailed to the wall and I used them to hang keys on. A friend of mine, an artist named Peruko Ccopacatty (who is a rather well know metal sculptor) saw the jaws hanging there and asked for them so that he could make me something appropriate to hold it. He made me a metal tube sculpture that is clearly squaliform, but that also looks a bit like a cross, and has the jaws mounted in it. It’s on my wall to this day.