With terrible weather throughout the SE United States we have been waiting for a weather window to run across to the Bahamas to practice with our Riffe Pole Spears we have been developing. The water has been so cold for so long at home no one has even been in the water for the last few months.
When the weather finally broke we left at 0400 in the morning on a 34ft Yellowfin with Twin 275 Outboards and hauled ass across the Gulf Stream to the Bahama Bank. 4 hours later we were at our destination, checked through customs and assembling our pole spears for the week.
Over the next few days we saw plenty of good fish and dove patiently together videoing and diving safely together taking the time to work each fish out of the holes and only shoot the ones we really wanted.
The very first dive I dove to 30 feet to clear the bubbles out of my wetsuit and turned to find a 10ft Hammerhead checking out my fin tips. “Ok so its going to be like that,” I’m thinking the whole trip is going to be shark infested but amazingly we only saw a few others the rest of the week.

It is so cool hunting with a pole spear. With the guns we have now anyone can take a shot from 20 ft away and get fish but with a pole spear you have to learn the fish and gain their trust to get within 3-6 feet to get a good shot on them. Then when you do get them you have to get your hands on them and wrench them to the surface before the sharks get there or they carry all your gear over the drop off into the Abyss.
This is a lot easier when you have hogfish and lobsters that most people shoot in the Bahamas but we always push the limits of what people deem possible and I want to see what my gear is capable of.
Turns out, almost anything is possible with the right patience and equipment.
I watched Brad in 2000feet of water stalk a school of Wahoo that until a few years ago I’d never believe possible to take with a Pole Spear. On the video you can see Brad dive and the one fish he has picked out come off the rest of the school to within only a few feet of the end of the spear and then in a flash the fish is gone and the float line is running through his hands and the buoy screaming by. That shooting pelagics with a pole spear is possible still blows my mind. That is two wahoo I’ve seen shot with a pole spear in the last year and this one I have on video!!!
The drift before that the same drama had unfolded with Brad shooting a nice Dolphin (Mahimahi) stoning it with a shot to the spine in the open blue.

Another day found us on the reef breathing up to shoot a nice hogfish in a hole. Just as I was to leave the surface an Amberjack comes past and I dive to only twenty feet and wait as he changes course to investigate. If it had been two minutes earlier I would have easily shot him with the float line attached and just fought him from there but hunting in the holes we had already detached it.
Got to stone him. Got to stone him. Got to stone him.
Thats all that was going through my head as he comes close and I can see those strong shoulders flexing for a fight.
Whoosh! I release the pole spear and the tip hits him just behind and above the eye.
STONED!!!!!
Oh shit. Never mind. He takes off spiraling down to the bottom 50 feet below with me hanging on to my precious equipment. As we are falling I’m working my way down the shaft to the tip and the fish and first try to grab him at about 45 feet. Immediately he head butts me and my mask is now affixed to the side of my face over my right ear and I’m blind. On the video all of this is captured perfectly but I think Brad was either laughing or coming to help either way he doesn’t get out of the way and the fish knocks the camera from his hands and all you can see is whitewater on the surface as I skull drag him to my precious air. IN the midst of it all he also managed to impale my leg with the spear puncturing my leg and wetsuit in the process.
That was the first and last amberjack we shot on the trip. At only 25lbs he was small but feisty and I was kidding myself thinking it was a good idea to shoot him without a float line.

[caption id="attachment_505" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="The coolest and the wettest boat at the same time. Silvio\'s 70 year old Dugout canoe"][/caption][caption id="attachment_501" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Atlantic Cubera Snapper 86 lbs "][/caption]

After working in Brazil for the past few years watching Tuna and Marlin and Mahi swim all around I finally got the chance to do some hunting and get back at them.
The first few days were spent in the Blue water and we landed 5 Big Bull Dolphin from 25-46lbs and lost a Blue Marlin around 400lbs that broke the Cable on the slip tip. The shot was good in his head but he turned and ran back through the bungey and put some weird pressure on the rig and likely cut it with the bones in his head.
We found a good school of Dorado and took 5 of the 25 that were there and then played it cool waiting for a Big White Marlin we had seen to get a shot that would never come. Lots of Small tuna too but didn’t bother with them knowing the billfish were there.

Next few days were spent hunting in the deep caves amongst the boulders shooting Dusky Grouper which proved to be 1000 times smarter then their American Cousins the Red Grouper. As soon as they see you they haul ass to a “small” cave which upon closer inspections turns out to be part of a massive network of caves and you rarely see them again. It was about 50 dives to see one fish looking in caves with the light. Unlike us spoiled here in the US they have to work hard to find their fish. It was rare to see and shoot one out of the hole.

Silvio and Carlos were on top of the best diving and put me on it and were great guys to have. Thank you so much for taking care of me and sharing your waters.
Our three days Silvio took me out in his 30 ft Dugout canoe that was carved out more than 70 years ago from a single tree in the Brazilian Rainforest. He bought it to restore it and on a whim threw an outboard motor on there and it ran great. We cruised in flat seas at 20+knots and received a constant shower of spray as if we were in a hellish gale with 10 ft seas.
I loved every minute of it even when it did get rough and we were bailing buckets of water out of the bottom of the boat wondering which landmass would be the easiest swim if we went down.

Last stop on the trip was Cubera Island.

Rumor had it there were some monsters there and it wouldn’t disappoint.
First dive on the pinnacle the water was a bit off and I’m hovering at 80 ft looking into nothingness when I see a shape on the edge of visibility. Hunter that I am I start in that direction but quickly change my mind when the shape gets bigger, and bigger and BIGGER! I’m already heading for the surface praying this isn’t the last dive I ever make. 10ft? 20 ft? How long is this damn thing and why is it coming closer still!!!
At 50ft I’m starting to bring my gun between us when I realize that at more than 40 feet long it can only be a whale and seconds later a monster Fin Whale comes coasting by eyeing me as he cruises past.
Once my heart started pumping again and I cleaned out my wetsuit and made another dive.

at 50 feet I could make out some shapes below in the mid water with still no bottom or the pinnacle in sight. With 180 feet of water all around and the top of the rock at 90 and only the size of a car the chances of hitting it were slim to none in the middle of the ocean.
I can see fair sized Cubera Snappers slowing milling around another big White one that is just below them. The smaller ones begin to swim away as I coast closer revealing the monster and by the time he sees me its too late and I put a near perfect shot just behind the head.
Did I mention I was only using a Riffe 130 with a reel? Whoops. Not the usual choice for hunting big fish in bluewater and within seconds I was kicking hard for the surface and he was pushing hard for the bottom with the new Horizontal Reel proving its worth.

With the right amount of pressure and the easy to adjust drag I made it to the surface and kept him on the bottom and within a few minutes had the 86 lb Cubera in my hands.

There are more there. They aren’t easy to get but I know there are bigger ones there and we’ll be back. I hope that I never have to shoot another at 85 feet with a reel and don’t suggest it to anyone as it more often than not ends in lost gear or a blackout.
Thanks to the guys in Brazil I can’t wait to get back!

[caption id="attachment_514" align="aligncenter" width="550" caption="Yep those rocks continue into the water and they are what makes the caves so damn challenging"][/caption]
[caption id="attachment_516" align="aligncenter" width="550" caption="Yes I\'m tall. It takes a big fish to look big in my arms but if this little Brazilian cook from one of the restaurants was holding it it would look gigantic"][/caption][caption id="attachment_518" align="aligncenter" width="550" caption="miniature African Pompano. The trailer fins were almost 3 times the length of his body. Would have been awesome to have in a fish tank"][/caption]

Because there are so many people travelling in Australia and it is such a gigantic country, it makes sense that you should purchase one of the cheap vehicles there for trips of more than a few weeks.   I’ve always rented a car or borrowed from friends while there but knowing that I was going to be spending the better part of 3 months there I decided in 2004 that I would go ahead and take the plunge and purchase a chariot that would take me to all the places I’d ever wanted to go and then some.

In past trips, I had been particularly fond of some of the SUVs there. I envisioned myself with a 4WD Mitsubishi Pajero (Trooper) tricked out with a Snorkel for fording deep rivers on the way to secret surf rendezvous and deep in the Bush.  Cruising in style and picking up ladies along the way.  Those Pipe dreams were quickly squashed though as soon as I opened up the Trader and realized that with a budget of $2000 AUD, some ugly vehicle (SUV) would be the only thing I could afford.

With 3 surfboards, 3 spear guns, all my dive gear, camera equipment, clothes, Eskie (Igloo Cooler) and countless other gear I was still going to need something big enough to get all my stuff into but more than likely not as tough and cool as a Land cruiser.  So I started looking at station wagons and vans.  In NZ, all the surfers drive station wagons and everyone thinks they are pretty cool.   In the states, you look like a soccer mom. (Not that there is anything wrong with that.  Thank you mom for driving me all those years But when you are 27 years old its tough to get away with and pull the fairer sex.   Vans were my other choice but they were the hardest by far to find since every other feral European backpacker seemed to be looking for one as well.

After a week of looking at the absolute worst vehicles imaginable, I was beginning to lose hope.  Every one I looked at was a fright, missing headlight, no door,  only one window that would roll down,  Spider Farm, 10 year old tires, it was looking pretty bleak.  Then as if in answer to my prayers appeared the Corona.

The $1200 For Sale sign caught my eye as she passed by me in traffic.  I quickly pulled a U-ey and caught up with her as she pulled into what would be her former home.  A quick test drive and $1100 AUD cash and she was mine. And I was instantly in love.

I drove her home proudly showing her off for all to see and reveled in the fact that she had some of the core qualities of other women in my past. At first glance she was clean, cool,  young(relatively that is 1984), fast(130 kph), had plenty of booty(boot is Aussie for trunk), and as we would find out later wasn’t afraid to get a little rough and dirty or pound some drinks.

After a few days of driving around Sydney, Brad Thornbrough and I set off on our adventure with my girl stacked to nines with gear and booze and ready for action.   Within an hour of getting on the highway we started to get to know our girl a little better.   Seems she not only liked her drinks, since we had to put a quart of oil in every few hours, but she could also shake her booty with the best of them.  Not knowing cars, I couldn’t say exactly what the problem was, but I do know that when you push the gas pedal or release it, the car is not supposed to seem to realign itself on its chassis each time.   But,as they say in Australia, no worries.  The AC that I was so proud of was the first thing to go as it just gave up and began exchanging the hot air from inside the car with that of the engine compartment.

With no major disasters though we arrived at the small beach town of Crescent head in NSW which is the home of some of my favorite waves on the entire coast.   With a few hours of light remaining, we left the main town and navigated the dirt road that would lead us to  Brads first Austrlaian Surf session at a secluded break just 10 k’s distant.   This road runs along the swamp land and is graded “every couple of months” as our local friend and certified Wildman Simon Latta informed us.  It hadn’t rained in a while so the road was in good shape and we made 80 Kilometers per hour and were in the water in no time.

A few hours of trading good waves washed away the dirt and stiffness of the long drive and with the sun setting we celebrated our good fortune with a  cold Victoria Bitter and headed back to town to set up our campsite for the night.

Laughing and talking about the prospect of seeing a Kangaroo on the way back we cruised along the dirt road at a safe speed  until it changed into asphalt again and I was able to pick up speed.  With thick brush on either side we were only afforded a milleseconds glimpse of a brown shape before a thump and crunch was heard as a Kanga commited suicide on the front left side of the vehicle. “Whoa!  Did you see that!”

It happened so fast that there was no way to avoid the animal and even if there had been it would have resulted in us going off the road and hitting a tree.   We stepped out to survey the damage and found that the front left side was crushed in and under, the headlight was smashed,  under the hood the battery had broken loose from its mounts,  the grill was pushed in and the Kanga was a complete and total loss.   It was the equivalent of hitting a furry rock for the amount of damage it did to the Corona.

As we’re standing there in the road in the middle of no-where,  a car full of Aborigine’s pulls up and says,”You goys’ awlright?”  Yeah we’re fine but the Kanga has seen better days.  “Mate, you got some good meat on her. Should take those hind legs for the barbie.”   Yeah that’s a good idea, Thanks.

Despite the stellar advice from the thoroughly intoxicated Abo’s we decided against adding to the destruction of the Cerveza that would surely result by throwing a bleeding carcass in the back seat and instead cleared the road to continue on our way.

My girl was beaten up a bit but the damaged only seemed to be skin deep. And there is so much more to a relationship than looks right?   Brad reminded me  of that fact the very next morning as I backed my girl over the water spicket in our campsite crushing yet another panel and the passenger door therefore modifying her even more.   Dumbass.  The door still opened but it now made a hellacious creaking sound and took away from her over all astetics.

The night of the Kanga it started raining and it didn’t stop for the next week and a half.  Back-tracking to the scene of the crime and then past, we discovered that our smooth dirt road had turned in to a continuous series of potholes, rocks and mud.   Where we had done 80 k’s the night before we now bounced along at 25 and it still felt like we were Off-Roading.  We had no business in our vehicle on that road but I’ll be damned if we didn’t give it our best effort and as the days went by and we figured out where the biggest pot holes were, our speed increased and our lack of regard for the vehicles well being plumeted.  Twice a day back and forth we sped, blowing past 4WD vehicles picking their way carefully along the dirt road and scoffing at their babying their machines that were better fitted for the task at hand than our own.

And then our girl started to get angry.  There was a Surf School in town and having made friends with the instructors and some of the sexy young students were invited to join them for dinner our last night in town.   Enroute to our date the Corona must have caught wind of our intentions and showed her disgust with us by sputtering and gliding to a stop right at twilight in the most mosquito infested section of the road way out in the middle of the bush.  Brad was quickly under the hood but despite his jiggling of wires and cleaning of the fuel filter she made not a sound for 30 minutes.  Temper tantrum over, she started up like nothing had ever happened and the remainder of the evening we let her rest while we (unsuccessfully) chased around sunburned hotties who thought the world of us after we delivered a cooler full of fresh fish and lobster for the feast.

Hung over or still half drunk at 0500 the next morning we crawled back to the Corona on our way North to meet some friends for a dive 200 Km’s away.   Back on the open road once again it felt good to smash the pedal down and we laughed once again at the booty shake and as we became more cognoscente we started to notice some new quirks as well.  With the exception of a muscle car or Harley, no vehicle has any business making as much noise as we seemed to be now.  The roar that resulted from the pushing of the accelerator quickly overcame that noise of something rattling underneath us that could only mean that there was something significantly wrong with the Muffler, if it was there at all.
So what do we do about it?  Nothing.  Drive on, go diving and we’ll worry about it some other time.

That some other time turned out to be the very next day as we attempted to climb the hill to Simon’s house back in Crescent Head.  As she sputtered 50 meters short of our destination I spun her around to face down hill in hopes of keeping the gas flow going to the engine and possibly saving her from passing out on us again.  No luck. I glided to a stop in the shade of a big Gum Tree and let her sleep it off while Brad and I both tinkered with whatever we could think of underneath the hood to get her going again.  As before it didn’t seem to matter what we did and she just decided after 45 minutes or so that she was ready to go again and fired right back up.  Whatever.  The next couple days proved that she didn’t like hills so we avoided them at all costs.  Since we were now staying at Simons, we would navigate our way up the hill at short increments like stairs one block at a time until we were on the same level as his house.  It was a longer route but it seemed to prolong her daily run and prevented her from passing out before we did, a role reversal that neither Brad and I were comfortable or had experience with.

A week later and she was still dying on us every so often and we were convinced that it was a fuel problem.   We decided we could live with it.   By now it was nearing a month since I had bought the car though and in order to keep the Transportation Authority off my back I had to reregister the car before the 30 days was up or I would have to go through a big to-do in order to get the title switched over.   So we headed north again to Coffs Harbor and Civilization.

Once there we checked in to the Hoey Moey, our little Hotel on the beach and then headed off to the RTA to do the paperwork.  After getting there we waited in line for a half hour before being told we needed our passports to register it.  Back out to the car we go again and head back to the hotel only to have her sputter and die again only a K down the road.  We tinkered around under the hood unsuccessfully as usual, until a feral Aussie Bum came over and offered to help. Not wanting to risk saying something to my girl that I would regret later, I told Brad I was going for a walk and took off before I lost it completely.  So now we were so helpless that a Bum was going to work on our car!?

Returning I found the engine purring and the bearded vagabond elbow deep in grease and oil telling Brad how to keep her running smooth.  Amazing!  I offered the drinks in my hands to him and he said, “No Worries Mate, you don’t owe me nuthin.”   Typical Aussie hospitality, even if you live on the streets.  I dropped Brad off at the Hotel and headed back to the RTA and she died again on the way.  Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!  With the temp near 100 degrees now I walked down the road and bought a $2 six-in one screwdriver that we would from henceforth refer to as “the tool kit”.  I called Bazza and within 30 minutes I had taken everything apart that I could think of with no success. He hitched a ride and true to form she cranked up as soon as he was in sight.  By now though the RTA was closed and the only thing I wanted to do was get the hell away from this damn car.

Happy that she was running but a bit wary as to her life expectancy we decided finally to give in and take her to the mechanic to see if he could figure out what was wrong with her.  They looked her over and an hour later told us that they couldn’t find anything wrong but cleaned the fuel pump and said try it as is. And she was, in a sense.  $150 and a new fuel pump and a little cleaning of the fuel lines and they said she should be good to go.   Excellent.   We hopped back in and a few blocks later were parked in front of the RTA again. 30 minutes later the paperwork was done and the Corona was officially in my name.

And then the obvious happened.  We turn the key and nothing.  C’mon.  Again. Nothing.  Ahhhhhhhh!!!  Damn this car!  To make matters worse, every single person that walked into the building had to walk right past us and every comment just added to our embarrassment.

I called the garage and told them to come get the car but they wouldn’t do it because they said their truck was away and we’d have to get another company to do it.  8 blocks away.  We would have pushed it but there was no way I was going to embarrass myself more in this small town by doing that.   A redneck tow was offered by some teenage White trash wanna-b hip-hop gangsta kids but then we found out that they in fact, didn’t even know anyone that had a car to do it, so that was out as well.  An hour later I was so frustrated I called a tow truck and forked of the most painful and pointless $100 of the trip so far to have him pick it up and take it not even 5 minutes away. Even now it makes me so angry to have had to do that.

‘Whatever you did didn’t work.’  I say to the mechanics.  “Ok leave it with us and you can pick it up in the morning.” After plying them with a few more beers they said they’d do what they could to make her road worthy and told us to sell it as soon as we got a chance.   We left it over night and slept well knowing she would be all better in the morning.

What was wrong with it?  A lot, apparently.  “How much do you want to spend?”  The mechanic asked me over the phone.  “The carburetor is screwed, as is the fuel pump, fuel filter, and most of your electrical lines and connections.  The Muffler has been abused something fierce and needs some repairs, that loud noise is because of a hole it has in it.  Mate, that wiggle when you use the accelerator is not from the alignment being off, she’s real f-ed up.  That’s the universal axle or the bearings deteriorated so much that she’s losing it. She ain’t  Road Worthy.”  Just make it so she’ll run and keep it as cheap as possible.

There was a little drinking involved that night.  OK, a lot.  This damn car was driving me insane and I just wanted it to run.   We decided the next morning to push up to Byron Bay to chase this girl that Bazza had met after we picked the car up and planned on selling the car once there.   We picked the POS up and packed all of our stuff in for the trip North feeling confident that the $150 we’d just invested in it would be sufficient to get us the 3 hours North to Byron and Freedom from this machine. Home free….

Or so we thought. Once back on the open road, my foot found the gas pedal and we were passing cars and cruising at 130kph in no time.   And then we got pulled over.  Dammit!  The policeman was driving in the opposite direction and flashed his lights at us before spinning around and pulling in behind us.  Bazza and I just started laughing.  What luck we have.

He took my information and when he came back I asked him what seemed to be the problem.

“Please step out of the vehicle.”

“Besides the fact that it looks like you’ve been using it as a 4WD in the bush and is dirty and dented.  Your taillights are out, as are your blinkers and left headlight.  You’re going 20 k’s over the limit, you have no rear view because of all the stuff in your car and it sounds like your muffler is damaged.”

“This car is a POS.” Yes sir I know.

I gave him the spiel about us making a movie and how we had hit a kanga the night before and it must of done the electrical in.  Him, I, and Bazza laughed our asses off at how bad of shape the car was in and we talked about diving and surfing.  He said he’d write us a ticket for just the Blinker being out but we had to promise to stop and fix everything at the next Petrol station.  All the while Bazza is filming and taking pictures as I stand beside our battered car and have this cop telling me that I don’t have to pay the ticket if I don’t want to.  “If you are thinking about coming back to Oz to live I’d pay it but if not I’d just throw it in your photo album for a good laugh later.”  Priceless.  That is the first and last time I ever expect to hear that from a policeman anywhere in the world.

(As luck would have it that is the only ticket I didn’t pay of the 8 or so I received from speed cameras and will no doubt be the one that screws me when I try and come back. Handcuffs at the airport anyone?)

WE kept our word and Bazza fixed the lights at the next gas station and we were back on the road again, recharged knowing that lightning rarely strikes in the same place twice so we figured we had paid our dues for the car that day already.

“You hear that?” Bazza asks me.

Hear what?

“That clicking noise.  That’s a new sound.”

Where’s it coming from?

“Sounds like from the engine.  See! It gets louder every time you step on the gas.”

What do you think it is?

“I don’t know but I can tell you its not good and it sounds like its getting worse.”

At this point we were about 20 K’s short of the turnoff for Yamba and in the middle of nowhere.  (Not that Yamba is really anywhere either.  It’s a town of about 6000 if that.)  There are no Servo’s (Service Stations) until then so we have no choice but to keep going.

With the temperature gauge rising Bazza leans out the window filming and wetting himself he is laughing so hard because the “tink, tink, tink, tink” sound has grown steadily louder and is now “clank, clank, clank.”

Moving over to the slow lane the noise increases to the point where we are both laughing so hard I can barely steer.  Really now what the hell could this be!  We reach the Exit and have to make a decision whether or not to gamble and go the 18 k’s to Yamba(which actually has surf and things to do) or take the safe route and go left to Maclean (town of 1200) which is only 4 K’s distant.   The choice is easy.  We go left.

There was no reason to call ahead, the entire town knew we were coming and why we were here.

200 meters ahead of us people were whipping their heads around at the god awful sound of our approach.  There was no hiding our shame so we embraced it.  Brad waved to the towns people like I was escorting him to Homecoming but the shouts of encouragement (or so we’d like to think) could not be heard over the now deafening sound emitting from underneath our hood.  Little kids were covering their ears and pointing as it now sounded like someone was hitting the engine block with a sledgehammer every half a second.

So it was with great surprise that before we even came around the corner to the service station the three mechanics started walking outside and laughing at us.

“She’s fucked Mate!”

Tell us something we don’t know.

“No Mate. She’s really fucked.  Go ahead and get your gear out she needs a new engine before she’ll run again.  That sound you hear, that is the bearing at the bottom of the engine that has dropped out and it’s banging around inside the block.  There is no fixing this one. “

OK. It’s beer o’clock.  Thank goodness for the eskie.  We cracked a few beers and tried to get as much info out of the mechanics as possible about the chances of getting on our way again.   They freely accepted the beers but there was no getting around the fact that it was time for me to part ways with the Corona and we set forth to find a new chariot to take us on more adventures through the country. As luck would have it, our new chariot was closer than we thought and the sight of the purple curtains and the column stick shift did little to deter us from claiming our prize and heading off into the sunset in record time.  The Toyota Lite Ace (a mini van of microscopic proportions) was to be our new home and with no time to lose we put her back on the open road barely hearing the mechanic say to keep her under 90 kph. Or did he say it at all?  Anyway we were back on the road and out of Maclean and… overheating and broken down on the side of the road 10 minutes later.

Stripped of our new car we were forced to wait out  repairs before we could get on the road again.  That night we slept in a room above the most raucous, and possibly only, bar in the town of Maclean and being the only Americans trapped there in the history of this Scottish Australian  town, you can only imagine how well we fit in… but that’s another story.

Video:

Why you need an Official Scale. World Record Dogtooth Tuna

Yesterday I was moved to tears by the most incredible fish i have ever seen in my life. 
Diving in Indonesia is one of the most frustrating and difficult projects I have ever embarked on and without an amazing amount of patience, stamina and skill there is no way that you can be successful in a diving environment such as this.
Starting the day we jumped in to a mere 4 knots of current and drifted for 4 hours landed two Dogtooth tuna 40 and 100 lbs which are both excellent fish in any locale. 
Taking a break during the day we went and visited a deserted beach on a faraway shore and as we explored teh little spit of sand and the surrounding countryside Craig and I gave thanks for such a beautiful and unspoiled place on earth that we were able to enjoy.
With the two fish in the boat and our time expired we decided to head back to the mainland 2 hours away. Something in me felt wrong though and I persuaded the boat driver to stay another hour ($15 more) so that we could dive in the ever increasing current for one last shot. 
With a rain squall coming hard on us and the visibility darkening we decided on one last drift. Craig had just broken one blade on his fin and told me, “This is the last drift, make it count, I’ll ride shotgun and bring the second gun so you can shoot your fish twice…”
5 minutes later i was relaxed and diving down through the warm surface layer to the cooler water below relishing the change in temperature that these type of Tuna love so much. At 50 feet i stopped kicking and glided down to find a school of dogtooth tuna surrounding me from 15 to 120 lbs. Patiently i glided deeper and caught sight of the black back of a slightly bigger one on the bottom at 90 feet. Passing the other smaller tuna the big fish turned slightly just as i reached the end of my float line and i squeezed the trigger.
Thunk!
The fish immediately shook his gills and then made two circles on the bottom banging the shaft against the coral in an attempt to break free of the object now lodged in his after half. 
As the great fish strained for deep water i pushed hard for sunlight and grabbed my passing floats on the surface just in time to tell Craig, ” I shot a TOAD!!!!”
Nervous the the fish would pull out i fought him as gingerly as possible and within a few minutes we had him in sight. As he neared the surface I could see he was hurt bad but there was no way i was going to lose this fish and I grabbed my 115 Omer America with a reel from Craig, cocked it, dove and approached him. At 12 feet my lungs were screaming for air at the exertion of the last few minutes and I prayed that my shaking hands would aim true.. whoosh! The fish went stiff and i surfaced pulling the ever growing fish to me.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
I can’t wrap my arms around him! I have never screamed so loud in my life. The rocky cliffs a mile distant reverberated with the sound of my voice and then mingled with that of Craigs and the boat driver. 
With a raging 10 kt current approaching I handed the tail of the fish to the boat driver and jumped in the boat to relieve him but even with Craig and I pulling we could not budge the fish from the water. Trailing the fish to calm waters the three of us pulled the beast into the boat and then there was complete silence.
Looking at the 6 ft long fish at my feet my mind shut down and I was flooded with emotion at what I had before me. Never in my life could i have imagined this possible. Craig and I stared in utter silent disbelief. 
Dogtooth Tuna. What I have always preached as the most challenging and difficult fish in the world to land. Diving 30 miles from civilization in 6-10 kts of current. The whitewater rafting we had done the week before doesn’t even compare to the whirlpools and down currents and 5 ft standing waves we encounter every drift here. 
I can’t describe to you how incredible this day is and how meaningful it is to me. Of all the fish in the world this is the one record i have coveted the most. 
200.6 lbs. 6 feet long and 4.5 feet in girth.
I am the luckiest man alive. 
Cameron

VIDEO:

World Record Dogtooth Tuna on boat

STEVE BENNET’s story

I want to start this email off by giving God all the glory right now, the fact that I’m even around right now is nothing short of a miracle. Without Cameron Kirkconnell’s quick thinking and actions, I’m sure I’d be laying in 180ft of water off the west coast of Florida. This is my account of the incident, and much of it will overlap with Cam’s which I will include at the end of this email for those who have not read it. This all occurred while freediving, there were no tanks involved whatsoever. I was wearing board shorts and a rashguard, no wetsuit and no weightbelt, water temp was around 85*F.
We had planned this to be the last dive of the day, 70 miles offshore of Englewood, FL, in 180 ft. of water and it was approaching 6:00pm. On a previous dive, we had spotted a cubera snapper in the 100lb class, between 75 and 100 ft, and discussed our tactics on the surface prior to the drop. We’d always joked around about rigging a fishing rod directly to the shooting line on the gun to reel the fish in, and for one time out of the thousands of combined shots that we had taken, Cameron decided to give it a try. After a thorough 5-7 minute surface breathe up, I dropped down to somewhere between 75 and 100 ft (I was not wearing a freediving computer) to look for the fish. After about a minute of searching, I decided to head for the surface as I could not find the fish. Cameron observed much of my ascent and dropped down to look around for the cubera with his “fishing reel Hawaiian-breakaway setup.” I remember swimming upwards and seeing ripples on the surface appx. 25 ft away in the crystal clear water, and instantaneously, bam, I was out cold, shallow water black out. As Cameron lined up the shot on the cubera, the white handle of my speargun sinking past him caught the corner of his eye, moments before he pulled the trigger. At this time, he looked up to see me sinking head first, unconscious and convulsing, about 60 ft away from him laterally in the water. 
He immediately dropped his weight belt and swam full speed at me with hopes to get a shot off at the meat of my thigh for a good holding shot, but could not be confident that such a shot would hold at a distance. His second thought was to shoot my calf, but the bones of my lower leg blocked the shot as I was facing him. For a split second, my fiberglass longblade fins turned broadside towards him and he squeezed the trigger, wham, a perfect penetrating shot to the center of my fin. Cam has said that, at this point, it was the closest he had ever been to blacking out himself. However, he made it to the surface and proceeded to instruct everyone on the boat to cut the achor line and reel in his shaft, because I was on the other end and had drowned. 
When I reached the boat, I had been under water for appx. 3 and a half to 4 minutes at depth; my body was limp and completely blue, I was also bleeding out of my eyes, ears, nose and mouth. I had a faint pulse but was unconscious and not breathing, and my airway was not opened. This is what is known as a “dry drowning” because the glottis in the back of my throat had closed, not allowing air or water to enter or exit. Cam tilted my chin back and head to the side, blowing air across my cheeks and under my eyes to stimulate breathing as you would an infant. 
At this point, still unconscious, some foamy, blood-like fluid (called “sputum,” the result of a pulmonary edema) leaked from the side of my mouth. After a short time I sputtered a small cough and took what Cam described as a 1% lung capacity breath. Another 30 seconds later, I did this again with more sputum foaming from my mouth, and after 10 minutes or so of this repetitive action, I had about 15% lung capacity. This entire time, Cameron and the others on the boat were on the radio with the Coast Guard to get oxygen out to us ASAP. I can’t say that I was aware for much of the time prior to this, but I remember hearing Cam’s voice assuring me that everything would be okay as I drifted in and out of awareness in my own mind. Another 5 minutes later, after a total of 15-20 minutes of unresponsiveness, I finally slurred out some words and could lightly squeeze his hand. From this point on, as the boat was speeding towards shore, I slowly regained motor functions and lung capacity (up to about 30%), until the Coast Guard helicopter arrived, 45 minutes after the original accident, still 55 miles offshore. They lifted me in a basket into the copter, and I was at Tampa General Hospital within 30 minutes.
I still had very little lung capacity as they were filled with the sputum from the pulmonary edema, I was throwing up blood that was in my stomach, and my entire body ached. Luckily I dodged two other bullets which were of concern: the blood from my ears and eyes. The blood from my ears was caused by the fact that I had not equalized as I sunk from appx. 25ft to 80ft, but somehow I did not burst my ear drums and my hearing was not affected. The blood from my eyes was a result of the massive mask squeeze on my face caused by the fact that I had also not blown air into my mask to compensate for compression as I was sinking, but once again I escaped without injury. I spent a total of one day in the Trauma Center, two days in the Intensive Care Unit, and one day on the hospital floor, with the majority of the time spent concentrating on reducing the amount of fluid in my lungs. There was absolutely no long term damage to my body or brain, and my lung capacity is back to nearly 100% after only days.

I can not stress enough how amazingly fortunate I was. I am not aware of anyone else surviving a shallow water blackout after being retrieved from such depth without major physical and mental damage. Every little thing worked out perfectly, and if anything was different, I can say with 100% confidence that I would not be here. If I had watched the whole thing from a third person standpoint, I would also say that there is no way I should have survived. Why we decided to rig the gun to the fishing reel on the boat for this one shot out of the thousands we had taken in our lives, I don’t know. How my gun sank right next to Cam, I don’t know. How he saw the gun before pulling the trigger on the fish and thus not having a shot left for me, I don’t know. Why the shaft penetrated my fin perfectly without cracking it or breaking, I don’t know. Why my fin didn’t slip off while I was being reeled in resulting in me sinking, I don’t know. Why my ear drums didn’t burst and my eyes sucked out of my head, I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m here, and God is great. Cameron’s multiple freedive spearfishing world records speak for themselves as far as his diving ability is concerned, but I’m sure he would agree that this was the best shot of his life. There is nobody else on the planet that I would trust more to take a long range shot directly at me to save my life in 200ft of water. 

The scariest part is that this could happen to anybody at anytime, and those with more experience are even more susceptible to shallow water blackout. If this email and my story saves one person then everything that has happened was more than worth it. To everyone, dive safe, always dive with a buddy, and don’t push your limits because NO FISH IS WORTH YOUR LIFE!

Steve Bennett
sbennett1127@gmail.com

 

CAMERON KIRKCONNELL’s story

Sad but rewarding story from yesterday diving. I am going to write it all out in full but am stil la bit shook up and need to help out his family in the hospital today.
Was diving in 180 ft of water with a friend Steve Bennet who is a 21 year old from Tarpon Springs. We were diving on an area of broken bottom in strong current from an anchored boat. Making one dive down and getting swept away each time before swimming back to the boat and resting to make another
he dove to down and was on his way back to the surface, I watched and he looked fine and regretfully left the surface myself and headed down. I dove and while I was down at 75 ft his gun floated past me,
i immediately looked around and saw my friend upside down drifting unconcious and convulsing about 60 ft away at that same depth.
With a strong current and no one else in the water and one chance I ditched my weight belt and swam hard towards him extending the gun to shoot him. I was well past my breath hold limit and knew that there was no point of us both dying but there was only this once brief glimmer of hope to even get his body. I couldn’t get close enough to be confident of penetrating his meat in his leg shooting him in the fin
headed for the surface and was as close as I have ever been to blacking out in my life. before the dive, by pure luck we had secured my gun to a huge fishing reel on the boat in anticipation of me shooting a 100 lb Cubera snapper which we had seen at depth.
I screamed for the boat to cut the anchor line, reel up my gun because it had Steve on it.
Suffice to say despite my yelling of orders and trying to tell them quickly that steve had drown and we were about to have to perform CPR on him they had no idea the gravity of the situation.
we pulled him to the boat and he was completely limp, bleeding from his eyes, nose, mouth and ears and was completely blue.
I put him on the back of the boat and checked his vitals immediately found a faint pulse and no breathing. From freedive and medical training, opened his airway while talking confidently and softly to him and blowing lightly across his cheeks just under his his to trigger the breathing reflex like a new born. within the first minute and just before I was going to start rescue breaths, some foamy blood leaked from the side of his mouth and i turned him on his side and supported him so as to ease the flow of fluid from his lungs. 
a short while later he sputtered a bit and was able to take in what i would estimate was a 1% capacity breath.
20 seconds later he made another one and expelled more foamy blood from his mouth and nose. with each sputter he expelled more and within 10 minutes he could take about a 15% breath but was still completely unresponsive and from what i could see in a comatose state with only his body barely functioning. 
The whole time we are on the radio with the coast guard and are 70 miles off shore.
After 15 minutes he started to slurr and for the first time was able to squeeze my hand slightly letting me know that he could hear me.
From there i sat him in my arms and over the next 20 minutes as we sped in as fast as the boat would go he regained more and more motor functions and was able to talk more and more. 45 minutes from the time it happened and still 55 miles off shore we rendezvous with a coast guard helicopter and airlifted him to Tampa General hospital.
He has severe lung damage but is alive and has no noticeable brain damage. He is stable and will live a lot happier having not been shot in the leg or having sunk to 180 feet never to be seen again. The best shot I have ever made
This is the single heaviest thing that was ever happened to me or any diver I’ve ever talked to. Throughout the ordeal if i was looking at it from the outside i would have told anyone with a 99% certainty there was no chance he would ever regain conciousness or be able to be recovered from that depth or the fin would have stayed on or the second diver would have been able to get him or the fin dould not have split. Once in the boat… the worst sight I’ve ever seen. NO one should be able to live through that. the human body is an amazing thing and that he came back is a miracle. 
Thank your lucky stars tonight because it is possible for everything to align perfectly and work out sometimes
Cam

 

 

CAMERON KIRKCONNELL’s story

It has been 3 weeks since this happened with Steve and I am only now able to talk about it without fighting back tears. For the first week I couldn’t sleep worth a shit or close my eyes without having flashbacks about it. The most painful image that I couldn’t shake was the moment before I pulled the trigger when his body turned to face me and in that split second realized I couldn’t penetrate the bones in his legs and would either have to shoot him in fin or somewhere in the torso. At 20 feet and with no air there was no room for error. 

While it was happening, from the moment I saw his gun… There was no thought. It was complete focus and calm and instinct. My close dive buddies and I have talked about this for years as the kind of diving we do is extreme and we have to take everything into account and every scenario to make sure we don’t have to think in times like these…

That image flashed for 3 solid days without fail. 
With it my mind second guessed every time it appeared and ate itself up reflecting on what could have been. Tears welled up in my eyes and I closed them again to shake the image from my head.

The pressure of the shot was felt. 
The wrong decision to grab him and drown myself contemplated.
The decision to go to the surface without trying to reach him.
What if’s:
had I not been patient and only shot the medium sized Cubera Snapper in front of me instead of waiting for the 90 lb one with the white spot on his face that I mistook the butt of Steve’s gun for.

If I missed… and grabbed him… I would have died alongside my friend never to be seen again. 
… and if i didn’t grab him… it would have haunted me the rest of my life having not tried to save him.

What if we hadn’t been able to revive him in the boat. What would I tell his parents? My parents? My friends? Myself? You cannot let your friends die without doing everything in your power to save them.

As selfish as it is… a friend of ours tells a story of growing up in South Africa and a group of four divers working 100+ deep water off the remote coast of Mozambique. One guy passes out on a deep dive and his partner dives down to recover him… and blacks out as well on his way up from depth. The third diver descends and grabbing his freind on the bottom heads for the surface and on the way up blacks out and now all three bodies are on the bottom in 120 feet of water. One guy left. On the surface. 500 miles from help. 
I can’t imagine the mental strain he had to go through deciding not to dive to help his three friends. 

Debate it, but he made the right decision. He lived. Anyone of us would have to be in a straight jacket after the mental abuse you’d inflict upon yourself swimming then driving back to tell their families that you just couldn’t help them. The most helpless feeling in the world. 

I got dozens of phone calls and emails from friends and family and random people from all over the world. 
I didn’t answer most. But appreciated everyone’s heart felt support for what Steve and I went through. 

Through the calls I heard many a story of friends who had recovered others or had friends, sons, brothers or fathers die in their arms. These are the people I called back if I could stomach it.

Too often people are embarassed by blacking out. It happens and you hear a rumor about it and it goes away. We’re afraid that our peers will think less of us. They’ll question that we’re a good diver. That we were doing something wrong and are a kook.

This needs to change. 

By not learning from our mistakes and informing everyone of what happens we are contributing the problem. 

Steve is going to be the hero for years to come. 

Through his honesty and selflessness in bringing this story to the mainstream he will both shock and calm all who this story touches. 

Diving deeper and longer will always have its allure. It is possible to do safely, with the right training and most importantly with the right maturity. 

Whether you are 15 or 50 that maturity is still the most important thing.
You need to know your body. You need to be humble. You need to know your limits and be happy with them no matter how deep everyone else is or says they are going. You need to be in shape for the diving at hand. You need to know that you will get another chance to shoot a fish. That you can let your gun go even though it is $1000 and your favorite but not worth your life. You need to know when to cancel your dive plans due to the visibility, current, sharks, boat traffic, rain and fog and visibility out of the water for recovering divers. You need to let someone know where you are going and when you will be back and trust them to make the right call to send help when need be. 

You need to be mature enough to know…

how to make that most difficult decision when the time comes to save yourself when a friend is already dead or dying and there is no hope of recovering him without killing yourself. 
I would like to think that he will watch over you from heaven but I for one would never be able to forgive myself if someone died trying to save me.

My friends that have saved someone from blacking out all have had the same reactions.
In their minds they have seen their friend or loved one die right in front of them. They know that it is up to them to keep them alive and all the while a thousand things are running through their mind preparing for the worst. They have just witnessed the most tragic thing imaginable and had the entire weight of that persons life on their shoulders even if it is only for a few brief seconds. 
When the victim recovers consciousness, they usually only remember seeing the surface or taking one breath and now are confused as to where their gun is or why you are looking at them so upset and scared and have them in your arms. While you were stressed out more than you have ever been in your life they have taken a brief hiatus from consciousness. 

When Steve finally came to and was able to talk… 
One of the first recognizable things he said was Thank you. ( and I Love you as well but I don’t want to get his girlfriend jealous) 
That is the single most comforting thing I have ever heard in my life. If you have never done this for someone that has recovered you from blacking out or a Samba, make a point of it. I don’t know if I have a weak heart but it is imperative that you realize what that person has been through in the past few moments. The bond between divers is a strong one and we need to be there for each other. 

Upon hitting the shore that day I immediately called Steves Father. 
When he picked up the phone the wave of emotion that had been built up for the past few hours broke and I cried uncontrollably as I told him how sorry I was. As i write this wipe away tears and replay it in my mind I’m still so sorry. I wish I had watched Steve closer and never had to go through all of that. I’m so thankful that he is alive. I’m so thankful that he and his family didn’t blame me and welcomed me with open arms and thanked me and hugged me at the hospital and continue to help make sure that we can keep this from happening to more of the amazing people in our diving lives that mean so much to us.

Save lives starting with your own. Become a better safer diver and those around you will follow.

Cameron Kirkconnell

The title gives it away but this is the second part of the day after Chads 54lb Mahi Mahi…  

At this point in the day we could have turned around and still had an amazing day. With the conditions as they were and it only being 1300 we regrouped after some pictures and geared up to get back in the water again. By now we’d had a good look at the object floating and I can only imagine that it was a FAD (Fish Aggregation Device) that must have broken loose and drifted up from Mexico of somewhere in the Caribbean.  I’ve seen bigger things floating and ones that have been in the water longer but this was probably the best one I’ve ever been able to jump in on. Underneath was a pair of Dolphin, Chads bull that was 54lbs and the Cow which headed for Cuba and we weren’t able to land that was probably in the high 30’s.  Hundreds of small baitfish, filefish, ocean triggerfish, and two dozen tripletail from 2-15 lbs surrounded us at all times. Circling the entire medley was a pack of wahoo that ranged from 12-25 lbs. While Chad and Tobin took pictures and Iced the two fresh wahoo, two tripletail and big Mahi, I hastily rigged my custom Japanese Pole Spear and clipped it off to a breakaway bluewater rig and buoy system we have been experimenting with. I set up about 100 yards from the FAD and on my first dive the school of wahoo circled and I picked out a good sized one that came within striking distance.  The first shot penetrated so far through the fish that the Carbon Fiber of the pole spear a full 2 feet from the tip was in the fish!  Holy Crap!  The fish took off and within seconds the mass of the pole spear tore through his back and I was back to square one.   Taunting me as I re-rigged I took my time and got another good breath and dove to 30 feet and leveled off.  At the edge of visibility below I saw the tail of a single fish and pushed down deeper gliding into the front of the school.   Watching intently I remained calm and the reaction of the striped speedsters was reflected in their calm, curious paths all around me.  Being at the center of the slowly circling school was amazing and if I’d had a gun it would have been easy to shoot any one of the fish and take the larger of their numbers.   Today however I was up for a challenge and now just had to wait for the right fish.  And here he comes, a small one from the right has that look, that something that shows that he is going to come in and stay on this path and not care if I close the distance. I glide, extend and strike and the fish is off like a shot.  The pull on the pole spear in my hand for a fraction of a second and then nothing makes me think that I’ve lost him but then I see my bungey streaking past me  and I hit the surface to yell “WAHOOOOOOO!!!” Sweet!  Tobin jumps in and Chad laughs and throws me a “Kill Gun”  in the form of another pole spear. We gingerly fight the fish and upon inspection of the shot it has passed through more than 12 inches of flesh from his back exiting just aft of his gills. My first wahoo with a pole spear!  We have been trying it for awhile and had some good chances and hopefully by the end of this year will shoot some even bigger ones. I’m sure there are more buys out there that have done it, or at least lied and said they have, but for me it was a fish of a lifetime. I’ve landed Wahoo up to 119lbs and I can easily say this was one of my top five fish despite its small size! Can it get any better!  

 

We figure we can’t go wrong so head further offshore insearch of tuna but only make it another .25 mile to find a 55 gallon drum floating. Tobin and I are in the water again and with just Chad’s 7 ft pole spear I am on Tripletail patrol again. Coming up from a fruitless dive Chad yells “Big Dolphin coming!” and look over to see a solid bull swimming on the surface between Tobin and I.  We wait for the fish to turn and present a shot but he starts to head of and we give chase.  With the fish on the surface swimming away I dive to ten feet and kick hard in pursuit.  Keeping the fish above me I am almost out of breath and just out of range when the fish does a crazy Ivan and turns straight down heading for the Abyss.  I’m in the right spot and smash him with a shot behind the head. Tobin later said he could hear the crack of the fish’s bone from 30 feet away and as the fish paused, stunned, for half a second and I pounced on him enveloping him with my arms and legs he heard another crack which was the head of the pole Spear breaking off and sinking to the bottom 2000ft below. SO now I’m just under the surface with a big Dolphin in my arms that has nothing but a 6 inch spear tip in him and nothing to hold onto. As quickly as I touched him he came to life and commenced a First Day of Prison beat down on me.   On the surface I bent him in half and Tobin grabbed his tail and we laughed our butts off at what a cluster we had just created.   With Tobin’s help I got my hands in his gills and we got some pics and loaded him into the boat to complete the day with a solid 28lb Dolphin with a pole spear, no float line or buoy. Final tally: 2 dolphin 28 and 54lbs. 3 wahoo (weehoo), 8 red snapper 8-16lbs, 40 lb cobia, 12 tripletail 5-15lbs    

 

 

 

Chad Morris with the Holy Grail of Mahi Mahi. 54 lbs  of Jealousy

 

 

Contrary to popular belief I do work sometimes it just happens that it is something that I enjoy and that keeps me on the water. 

This past month I’ve been getting ready for a new job as Captain of a 600ft long ship that will be based in Brazil and I will have an incredible schedule of one month on and one month off to travel, dive surf and enjoy life.  While 12-18 hour days of work day in and day out for one month will be tough the rewards balance it out and make it all worth while. 

So that last month I’ve been doing different training on the Gulf Coast and had a few chances to dive and had one of the best days on the water I’ve experienced in years. 

As with any good trip, the most important part of it all was the people involved.

 

Chad Morris of Baton Rouge is one of the most gracious hosts and best guys to have on your team.  There are so many ego’s and jackasses in this sport it is a breath of fresh air to find someone who is more talented and has more to offer his fellow spearfisherman than 99% of the guys out there. 

Chad designs his own guns and shoots incredible fish seemingly without trying. In a world of 120 ft divers and world record hunters, he consistently goes out, dives 50-75 ft and shoots more fish than you do.  In the hell divers rodeo a few weeks ago,  he participated in the Hell Divers rodeo and shot what was hands down the fish of the tournament.   Freediving, with his own gun, his own chum, his own dive plan and by himself in the water he landed a 95lb Yellowfin Tuna.   In a true testament to what competition in this sport has lost, he planned a trip the same as he would any other: in pursuit of trophy fish that were also the best ones to eat and someone would be proud of bringing home and putting on the table.

At the weigh in the Tuna was disqualified and not even eligible despite being one of the largest fish in the entire tournament!  Had it been a 95lb Stingray he would have scored higher. Scary, but true.  As a consolation to the incredible fish, he laughs and reminds me that he placed second in the JAck Crevalle category and still won a Pole spear. Whats wrong with this picture?!!?!?!

Tobin Derry is a Air Force Diver who is presently in Panama City but bound for Okinawa for the next few years.  Having grown up in Hawaii he is used to diving in challenging conditions and working to find good fish. This was to be his first chance to hit the Rigs so he was excited to have the chance to join us and our anticipation could scarcely match his for the day ahead. He did the Red Bull Run in one night and my first glimpse of him was half asleep in the 90 degree heat of the early morning surrounded by the state bird of Louisiana (Mosquitos) sprawled across the front seat of his truck. Dedication to the sport. I like it.

 

Exiting the Pass we knew it was going to be good with flat calm conditions and our first stop with 20 feet of murk on the surface giving way to crystal clear but very dark water underneath. After a warm up dive the Red Snapper revealed themselves and a school of 50-100 greeted us each time we made it to their depth.  On my fourth dive I took a good head shot on a 25 lb one only to have the Pole spear slip tip not detach.  I was pissed but after two more  dives and the same thing happening I switched to a Gun to catch up with both Tobin and Chad’s pair of 12-18 lb Red Snappers in the box.  

By 0930 we were limited on the Endangered RED SNAPPER and added a 40 lb Cobia to the mix to even out box and could have turned around then and claimed a great day on the water. Instead we settled into the bean bags and prepared for the long run offshore to the Tuna Grounds to utilize the 300 lbs of ice in the twin coolers. 

The long run offshore to the tuna grounds was cut short when we kept finding more and more flotsam and weed patches and after running over a few schools of small Dolphin we found a good log and slowed down.

With the slick conditions as soon as the boat came to a stop, Chad and his daughter headed towards the log and Tobin and I struck off towards a 100 meter long weed patch. Over the next thirty minutes we dove around and underneath and the amount of bait and life was staggering.  Bonito, blackfin tuna, small wahoo, Dolphin, Tripletail, Barracuda and hundreds of small cigar minnows, Hardtail/blue runners/tuna crack, and assorted little delicacies for the hunters lurking below.

Pole spears in hand we took a handful of good sized Tripletail in the 6-12lb range and for the rest of the afternoon jumped from one weedpatch to another slowly filling the boat with  more and better sized ones.

Arriving at one good looking bundle of trash in the water Tobin and Chad grabbed guns and I the pole spear we headed towards it on the surface. Immediately we spotted a school of about 30 small wahoo from 10-25 lbs but in the distance we saw the flash of something huge right near the structure.  Chad and I were ahead and the sight of a gigantic bull dolphin coming our way was one that would stop most hearts and lead to some serious Bull Fever.  The cow had to have been 35lbs and the head on this Bull looked ridiculous underwater. For a few seconds we watched and closed the Distance and Chad calmly pulled the trigger hitting the giant just behind the head in the right spot. I think we both screamed in excitement and within seconds I let fly with the pole spear into a pair of 12 lb Tripletail stoning them both in quick succession.  Looking down the entire school of Wahoo was circling Chads fish and with both trips in hand I dove down and lined up on one but they were just out of range. Hitting the surface I yelled to Tobin to dive and he made a text book descent bringing the school within range and stoning a 15lb hoo like he’d been doing it all his life.

Bouncing off the walls by now we all three had our hands full with more than a hundred lbs of fish in almost as many seconds.  Reaching the boat 100 yards away Tobin jumped in and threw me a gun just as Chad reached the side of the boat.  Diving to a whopping 20 ft I waited and was not disappointed to have a few curious wahoo come in and with Chad watching and laughing stoned another twin to Tobins’.

Back in the boat we took some pics and confirmed that Chad’s monster was the biggest Mahi we had ever seen in the water much less shot. Back on the dock the final weight would be 54 lbs!!!!!  A new state Record and incredible fish.

To be continued. Its still only 1300 hours….

 

With GR out of town and no one able to go out I thought it best to get in the water no matter what and deemed his boat just the craft for the job.

I think I must have called 15 people trying to get them to go out of Tarpon Springs but being a thursday and the last minute only two good friends who had only done their Open water course in Scuba were able to make it. Neither had ever shot a fish so I was stoked when they said they would be happy shooting anything and I could shoot all the rest.

 

 

 

With reports of good cobia out far we headed that way and were greeted with 3-5 ft seas making us turn north towards Bayport and some small ledges and artificial reefs. 

First spot and two miles away I wish I didn’t have such good eyes as I can see a boat dead on the numbers. A quick change of plans and we anchor over the first spot and first drop the bottom is alive with gag grouper from 2-20 lbs.  

Sweet!!!   

Second Dive I lay in the sand and wait as the school comes in for a look and shoot the largest of approx 20 fish in front of me.  At the surface my smile fades as 8 feet away from me a giant brown shape appears and engulfs the entire 18lb Grouper.  Bastard!    I lock down the reel and get dragged down behind the 400 lb Goliath Grouper as he heads back to the bottom.  As much as I hate losing fish to sharks I hate it tens times more to these overgrown, overfed and underfished denizens of every ledge and artificial reef in Florida.With constant pressure on the line he must have paused to re-situate my fish and in that moment I pulled like hell and released it from his massive jaws and wrenched it to the surface with him chasing the whole way. 

Damn those things.

 

A few dives and few 15 lb Gags later I hop back in and get the other guys suited up and into their tanks.  With some finessing they reach the bottom and the gags surround and then scatter and surround again along with some enormous Jewfish and making for an interesting dive.  

With their air running low Jacob shoot his first fish up in a hole a decent size Gag and we are ready to pick up and head for the honey hole when a large dark shape looms onto the scene.

From above I immediately think it is a BIG shark and dive into the haze to confirm only to have it speed off insanely fast catching only a clear view of the tail as it zooms off.  

All the grouper are now huddled below and outside of the one ledge and could care less about me being there as the one turns into 3 then 8 big Bottlenose Dolphins chasing them around.   Talk about a sight!   The massive animals were cruising at top speed circling wide then darting in and chasing the individual fish out in to the sand to a certain death. 

Upon hitting the surface Jacob’s eyes were huge and he says that it was the most scared he has ever been in his life when he saw the first huge shape come zooming out of the gloom right past him thinking it was  a massive shark coming to tear him in half.

WIth 4 Gags in the boat and only two left for a limit it was time to get to some structure that would hold some cobia or other pelagics so we didn’t have to end our day only an hour into it.  

Next spot the boys both got a nice Amberjack and were stoked on the ass kicking they both received.  

After 30 minutes and no cobia or anything else big I switched to my little 90 cm Euro to shoot some snappers inside the wreck. No floatline no reel since it was only 50 feet deep and I figured anything I shot would be no bigger than 5 lbs I’d just muscle it to the surface.  First dive sitting on top of the structure and of course here comes a 30 lb Permit swimming straight at me.  

Not fair.  

8 feet out he turns broadside and I smash him in what I think to be the right spot and proceed to get dragged a good 20 seconds before the 400 lb Mono breaks (halfway down the shooting line)  and I’m left with only the gun. 

Not a good day for gear!

New shaft and next dive down a nice gag comes in and I shoot him at the end of my breath and get the back of the shaft lodged in the structure so I can’t bring the whole thing to the surface.  No worries get it next dive.

Back down and there is no fish, no shaft and no gun! Where did it go!   Quick look reveals the culprit and a big tail slowly beats back and forth as a 200 lb Jewfish tries to retreat into the depths of the wreck only with the shaft sticking out of both sides of his mouth he is stuck in the small hole.   Grabbing the gun i commenced an old fashion underwater beat down and smashed the big brown blob twice hard before he spit the whole thing and pushed me out of the way to escape to open water.  

“Are we supposed to scale our fish too?”  the guys in the boat ask as this is the second Grouper of the day to come in almost white from the rough mouths of the Goliath’s.

With a good box already and the weather laying down we run wide and find a big wreck with no other boats and within the first hour round out the cooler with a 65 lb cobia and a 20 lb Permit.  The school of Cobia had around 15 fish and there were 3 the size of the one I landed so I’m happy I passed up the 30-50 lb ones and waited for the good one.  

There is such a small window of opportunity when the cobia come through on the west coast of florida but that first push is epic if you can get on it. Most of the schools have 10-100 fish and the average size is 30-50 lbs with some 80 lb fish possible.  Last year we hit is as well with GR Tarr and Ed Walker and had a school of more than 50 fish with one big daddy in the 100 lb class evading me the whole day. That day ended with 3 in the 60 lb class as well and kept us praying for the same conditions the next year.

 

 

 

Gear: 

Riffe 120 Euro with horizontal reel, 90 cm euro,  3 mm green Cryptic Suit,  and the usual mask snorkel fins and for green water 10-40 ft of vis

 

Fresh off the trip to Micronesia I was straight back into job hunting trying to find a ship job amidst all this foolishness with the American Ship Captain being held hostage on his own lifeboat off the coast of Somalia.

Having just returned from the same area and not seeing any action taken by the US in a few days was less than encouraging and I have no desire to go back to that area of the world.

Got a line on a good job opportunity through a company in Texas and flew out there to interview.

Within the first thirty minutes of the 2 day interview process they told me I was there man and now, (despite having my unlimited tonnage Captains license for that past 4 years) and officially Captain Cameron Kirkconnell and will be in command of a 600 ft ship that operates off the coast of South America.  I am beside myself excited about it as the job is a good one and I’ve been working hard to find something good in our crumbling Merchant Marine fleet.

Job in hand I got on the phone and started hustling for  a dive trip.

Luckily Keith Love (Texas Bluewater Assassins) and Jeff from Maximum Scuba took pity on me and we met up early the next morning to head offshore into solid 4-6 ft seas.  

I could have cared less and was happy just to be on the water and celebrate.   With hopes of making it way out we were resigned to stay in shallow and swarmed by dozens of Red Snappers who luckily for them are still out of season.  

 

 

 

Keith had said the chance for a Warsaw was good and I did my best to relax in the heaving seas and bit of current to make some deep dives. 

After 15 dives to 75 ft or more I self proclaimed myself as the Snapper Whisperer as the entire school would meet me at 30 feet and follow me down to the lower parts of the rig like lost puppies.  Every movement I made was under close scrutiny and I wish I had a camera to record the 25 lb snapper literally 2 feet from the front of my mask and some smaller ones close enough to touch.  

It was painful but amazing and I learned a lot about Red Snapper’s habits and what movements and other tricks kept them coming in and pretty much committing suicide.   

Off to the next rig Jeff and Keith gave me a good hour in the water to try again before they headed down on Scuba and I started the process of diving to depth at all of the most productive spots of the rig.  (Incidentally this was a rig that I had dove 4 years prior and remembered the structure and irregularities that hold fish having seen it in clear blue water)

After working the entire rig with nothing but a small Permit to show for it I made a dive out wide in hopes of shooting a big cobia or Mackerel that would be circling.  Resting in the hazy green void at 70 ft I waited and was surrounded by my loyal Snappers and Blue Runners as usual.  

Looking down into the darkness towards the end of the dive I could barely make out the shape of something else that was strangely still and out of place from the swirling cauldron of Red and Blue surrounding me.   

I coasted down and my hopes soared as the form took the shape of a decent sized Grouper and I pulled the trigger of my Riffe 130 Euro hitting him squarely in the top of the head.  

Ready for a war I was let down that the fish simply rolled over and I pulled him easily to the surface and rejoiced in my first Warsaw Grouper while Freediving.  

The feat of shooting them is nothing extraordinary. It is finding them that is the difficult part as this species spends the majority of its time at depths of 500 ft and greater.   As far as we can tell in North America only a handful of these fish have been shot freediving and most have been flukes.  We have been targeting them for a few years in Louisiana without success and on the East Coast of Florida as well and while chances are good we will get one eventually I have to give most credit to Keith for putting me on them and giving me the opportunity to dive first before they went down on tanks.

GEAR:

Riffe Euro 130’s with Horizontal Reel for all three guys rigged with 9/32″ hawaiian flopper shafts.

3mm Green Cryptic Suit (Green winter water and water temp 69 degrees), Riffe Stable snorkel for the rough seas to keep it clear of water,  Amber lens Naida mask for the crappy visibility to pic out the details and brighten up the overcast day.

 

NOTE:

As far as I know the only people to shoot Warsaws freediving: Jason Wentmore’s buddy off the East coast in 30′ of water!   Chad Palan in South Florida.  Keith Love’s friend in Texas and unconfirmed reports in Brazil. That is a pretty small group.

 

Physical description:

The warsaw grouper is the only member of the genus Epinephelous that has 10 dorsal spines, the second of which is much longer than the third. The color is a grayish brown to dark reddish-brown background with numerous small, irregular white blotches on the sides. The color appears much lighter around the nape and along the posterior margin of the operculum. All of the fins are dark brown, except the white-splotched spiny portion of the dorsal fin.

Biological description:

The warsaw grouper has a wider distribution along the southern United States than the other large grouper, the goliath grouper ( E. itajara). Warsaw range from North Carolina to the Florida Keys and throughout much of the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico to the northern coast of South America. The species inhabits irregular bottom, notches, valleys, and drop-offs, occuring in the continental shelf break in waters 350 to 650 feet deep. Other species inhabiting this productive deep-water zone are snowy and yellowedge groupers, tilefish, and silk snappers. Warsaw are long-lived, reaching up to 6 feet and over 300 pounds. The warsaw’s huge mouth enables it to engulf prey whole after capturing it.

Last day on the water Healey and I bailed and stayed with rumors of the surf being up and a big night on the town. Alcohol and diving don’t mix so we let GR and Craig and DJ head back up to the good wall and the Moose knuckle.

First couple of dives in GR had a 100+lb Tuna in his sights but it wouldn’t come in close enough so he instead shafted a 30 lb one that was closer.

Only a half day and the seas were back up as well as the sharks.  Ended up with 2 tunas in the boat, 2 lost to sharks and a big Jobfish lost to the sharks as well.  The pics can’t do it justice when a swarm of ten haul ass after your fish as soon as you pull the trigger and it is over before you know it.   Welcome to Micronesia. It gets old fast believe me.

Meanwhile Mark and I had a session on one of the outer reefs which was a hell of a lot nicer in our minds than getting beat up near the Moose knuckle chasing Doggies.   Waves were fun but pretty mixed up and it turned another guy out there with us into a piece of human hamburger when we got sucked over the falls, slammed on his back, flipped him over and slammed again on his chest. He said when he hit his back he could hear it crunch and then when he hit his chest it felt like he had been hit by a car.  Not cool.   Ten minutes later and one of the boys had to run his boat in for him and I haven’t seen someone in that much pain in a while.   Some broken ribs is never cool and his back looks like he got attacked by a tiger.

Today was better. We made it back to the house last night before 2 in the morning, barely.

Surf was up and only three of us out trading head and half high waves until we could barely  paddle anymore.  Great session and a good way to end the trip.

Tonight we start dispersing. GR, Healey and I to Hawaii for a few days to shoot it up. Troy back to Guam, Craig to Louisiana, DJ to North Carolina.

All in all it was a great trip. Troy went above and beyond organizing everything and the boat we used was perfect.   Scott our boat driver did an amazing job and went over the top treating us right. Seriously the best treatment I’ve ever had on a dive charter anywhere in the world.

No one got hurt, but a lot of gear died.

Mark lost a 130 Riffe Euro, shaft and new reel to the biggest Doggie of the trip.  He had his laptop, cash, backpack and camera, and video camera taken from the truck the first night.  Bent three shafts on his 12o Euro shooting a Doggie and a big “Parrot”.  and a pair of flip flops. and bent his slip tip base giving a love tap to an over aggro toothy critter.

GR had a camera housing implode at depth and destroy a brand new Sony HC-9 video camera. two bents shafts and two lost ones (one sharks ate the Tuna and cut the shaft off, the other Tuna got lodged in the bottom in 160 ft of water and broke off).

Cameron bent one shaft, and Mark lost my snorkel so that counts against my total.  I would say I lost my dive knife but because I actually threw it at a 100+ lb Dogtooth to make him turn and come back while I was reloading my gun I am an idiot. When i did go and look for it I had a school of small doggies come in and circle my head and took my fat aggression out on their leader and never did find my knife.

Craig and Troy did better than anyone I think.  Craig didn’t bend but one shaft and might of lost a pair of booties that I stole but other than that it was ok.

The pics are off the chart. DJ Struntz has mad skills and Riffe, Salt Life, and Hawaii Skin Diver Magazine, and Quiksilver (Far Pacific)  gave us good support  for this trip to make it come together.

With all the guys we had together on this trip we had some serious planning sessions on gear, travel and techniques and no doubt the next one will be even better than this.  So much fun. Can’t wait to do it again.

Cameron Kirkconnell