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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

 

When I was a kid I heard about people shooting Wahoo and Tuna and I could never fathom how it could even be possible.

When fishing, I can only remember hooking them and the line peeling off the reel faster than anything we ever hooked. In every magazine all you hear is how fast they are and these blistering runs so how could it be possible to ever chase one down and put a spear into it!?!?

 

I think I shot my first one when I was about 17 yrs old or so and I was super stoked.   We were in the Florida Keys in the summer for lobster season fishing for dolphin and I jumped in on a weedline.  A school of Hoo’s came by and I was so excited I could barely contain myself and steadied for a shot on the closest one.  

As the spear hit him and he took line on the reel faster than I could believe!

I was so pumped when I got him in my hands I knew that I was hooked on hunting these for the rest of my life and shooting grouper would never be the same again.

That first “WAHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” scream when I hit the surface is still one of the most rewarding sounds in our sport and it never gets old.  

My first wahoo weighed  4 lbs and had I not been so excited I’m sure that my family would have used it to troll for dolphin seeing as it was just a shade bigger than the ballyhoo and mullet we were using anyways.

 

Cut to a dozen years later.

GR Tarr and I have been on the hunt for a 100lb Wahoo for a number of years and have been carefully studying where, when, and how of Monster Wahoo.

One of my goals for last year was to shoot a 100lb Hoo and I concentrated my efforts on being in  the right place at the right time and waiting for the right fish.

Every time I’ve seen a fish that was even close to 100 lbs I’ve had my hands full with another fish, sharks eating another fish, or its been laying on the dock and someone else has killed it.

We landed 80 lbers and 90 lbers and dozens in the 50-60 lb class but couldn’t break that fabled 100 lb barrier.  Craig Clasen, Brandon Wahlers, Bill Delabar, and our other buddies all smashed good ones but the right one wasn’t there yet.

When it finally came together was one of those days that should never have happened. 

The electronics on the boat were screwed up. The fog was so thick we almost ran aground multiple times. The water was dirty and nasty and there weren’t that many fish around.  

When we finally found the school of fish, the boat fishing near us hooked up a 500 lb Mako Shark and broke it off so we knew that somewhere in that murky water was something hungry for anything unsuspecting swimming in that murky water…. Not cool. Not comforting but the sight of 60-80 lb fish swimming all over was better than any liquid courage I’ve ever had and both Bill and Chad had secured 65 and 75 lb fish within the first half hour.

Breaking through the murky layer at 30 feet it takes you a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the clear dark water below.  When they do the sight of two, five or fifty wahoo is insane and I don’t have to tell you the strength it takes to be patient enough to wait for that one big fish to start teasing them in from the back of the school.  

After 5 dives and no big fish I dropped into the murk to find a group of 60-70 lbers directly below.  Dropping right at their backs to 50 feet they were past the chance for a good shot.  Angling towards them the lead fish turned stiffly and the rest followed presenting a shot with my custom Riffe (Wahoo Whacker) 150 cm Eurogun.

The fish sped off with the ice pick tip clearly visible in the dark water as he flashed into the depths.  

A few nervous minutes later I worked him up not being able to see 4 inches in the dirty surface water and lifted him into the boat to join another pair of Chad and Bill’s in the 60-80lb class!!!  What a day!

Trying to relax on the surface, I found that closing my eyes gave me a few extra seconds of clarity when I broke through the murk. My eyes were relaxed but getting your heart rate down with no reference point, no visibility, not able to see any fish from the surface, and knowing there were toothy critters about was unnerving to say the least.

Leave the surface,

Five long hard kicks

Open my eyes

Murk Murk Murk

Clear Water and there are 50 Wahoo from 50-100 lbs all around me. 

The only way to describe it is to picture one of the old World War two movies with the dog fights and the planes flying all over coming from every angle, above, below, and at different speeds.  Pure overload of the senses and a Spearfishermans dream.  Nearly within arms reach is a quad of 70 lb fish. To my right and 20 feet out is a stud that must be 90+, Coming down out of the murk is 10 fish that look like torpedos dropped from planes falling from the clouds above.  Everywhere I turned were fish and I knew that this was the dive where I was going to have the one chance to land that one fish that we had all been searching for.

And there he was. 

At the edge of visibility, huge shoulders, mouth slightly agape, staying way out.  Between us were more than half a dozen fish that any other day would be the fish of the year and were much easier to take.  He was at the back of the school, not interested…..

Turning, eyes locked on him, I changed my posture and the reaction of the fish around was instantaneous.  Half of the school seemed magnetized and started zipping in and out around me doing their best to be as close as possible without actually being on top of me. The Big fish came in steadily and at the magic moment a 90+lb fish came to his side and paralleled him effectively blocking my shot!   Milliseconds felt like minutes and at the last possible moment I pulled the trigger at 18 feet shooting over the top of the 90 lb one hitting the monster just behind the pectoral fin.

 

Hitting the surface I yelled to Chad that I had just shot “the ONE!!!!”

With a 100 ft bungey and Riffe 2 Atmosphere float he ran hard but never took the buoy below the surface we gave chase and loaded a backup gun and feared for both the fish and our own legs while I worked him up from the depths. When he was 50 feet down I made a dive to check him out and found the shot secure.

Working the shooting line closer I had my hands on the shaft and still couldn’t see the fish the water was so dirty.  Seeing the massive shape appear I pounced on him and wrapped my arms and legs around him screaming with excitement at the monstrosity now in front of me. 

In the boat the fish on the deck was literally twice the size of the 65lb one we had just landed so we knew that it was a potential world record and by far the biggest any of us had ever seen.  

A half hour later the remaining buoys in the water take off and disappear below the surface and its a full 3 minutes before they surface 300 yards away and Bill works a 95 lb fish to complete our cooler(s) for our 9th Wahoo of the day over 60 lbs.  

 Back at the dock we are bouncing around ideas on the size and are blown away when the official scale reads 118.4-119 lbs.  

Just a few lbs shy of the world Record but by far the biggest Wahoo I’ve ever landed.  After a little research, there have only been about 12 fish landed over 100 lbs that anyone has bothered to talk about. The “ONE” is still out there. We are going to find him. It is only a matter of time. There is more than one place in the world so expect some hard core trips in the coming years and some serious striped speedsters being landed.

 

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