Posted by DougD on October 13, 2001 at 21:57:15:
Warning: This is a long one.
Last night marked my first night dives and my first lobster hunt. I went out on the Pacific Star with my dive buddy. It was our 10th and 11th dives together. He couldn’t get off work early so the adventure started with me arriving at his house and shlepping his gear to my truck to save some time. After loading up I reviewed my dive tables and ate a Chocolate Chunk Iron Man bar while I sipped my Starbucks double latte, which was supposed to be a double cappuccino. The fact that the bartista got my order wrong and I didn’t have time to make him get it right turned out to be the least of my troubles on a beautiful October night in California.
My buddy finally arrived at his Pasadena residence at around 5:45 p.m.ish and we were on our way shortly after that. Luckily the Friday traffic wasn’t too bad so we made the boat a good fifteen minutes before she (the Pacific Star) pulled way from the dock. One of these days I’m going to actually have a stress free drive to a dive site, but last night was not the night. We scrabbled to get our gear arranged before the boat pulled out. I’d taken my motion sickness pills earlier in the day, so the swells didn’t really bother me…until, later.
The boat arrived on the first site well after dark and the captain said he hoped we liked kelp. I usually do, but at this site you couldn’t get away from it. There was a lot of new growth and every move was a tangle. Those stupid ABS buckles on my Mares Planas seemed to grab every strand of kelp in my wake. Also, the visibility sucked here (maybe 8’ at best) and using my Light Cannon was like driving in a thick fog with the high beams on. I tried switching to my “low-beam” (UK 300) back-up like and found it to be utterly useless for the conditions. We couldn’t see the bottom, or the rock ledges, until the fairly significant surge was just about to slam us into them. I only saw one lobster the whole 43 minutes and he escaped safety into a sea urchin-guarded hole before I could move in for the grab.
Now I don’t want to rag on my buddy, he’s a good friend, but I spent most of the first dive trying to keep track of him (probably why he saw all the “shorts” and I didn’t). He didn’t seem to be making any effort to stay in contact with me, which is his usual m.o. He seems to always want to go his own way, but never seems to know which way that is, and ends up leading us around in circles. I knew if I took my eyes off him we would be separated, which, in-fact happened near the beginning of the dive. I grabbed a stalk of kelp, put my light against my chest and finally got a glimpse of his light a few minutes later. Hey, I don’t have a problem being the follower, but I’d like to be in the lead for at least half of the dive. Finally, lack of air forced us to end the dive and we surfaced. We probably covered an area of no more than 30 square feet, if that. Oy vay!
I don’t know why, but lately nothing really seems to go my way. I get back on the boat, and the dive master says that if we want a refill simply remove our first stage from our tank and it shall be done. Now, I don’t have He-Man grip or anything but one twist of the knob on my Mark 20 and the damn thing strips out. The frigging first stage is stuck to the bottle. I try banging on the knob with the butt of my knife hoping that maybe that will knock it back into a position where it will grab, but that doesn’t do any good. After a few minutes of trying I ask one of the crewmen if he can fix regulators. He tries the knob and confirms that it is fuh-cocked.
“What’d you do to it man? Did you really torque it on there or wha
“No,” I reply. “I just put it on there like I always do. It’s brand new, this is only its 3rd time out.” I add defensively. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, have you?"
“Nope,” he says with a look of suspicion. The crewman then calls over to a guy named Chris Russell, who, after repeating the question, “What’d you do to it, crank it on there really tight.” My answer is the same as before, "I’ve never seen anything like this before, have you?” Chris starts going after the knob with an old rusty multi-pliers tool. He tries to pop the knob off but it won’t cooperate. He apologetically grips onto the exposed threads, crushing them in the process, but can’t get a good enough hold on it to make it turn. Finally he asks the guy doing the fills for a hammer. I am quietly freaking out on the inside, but I’m still hoping this will work out for the best so I just go with it.
After hammering at it for a few minutes the cap still does come off but is warped enough that it magically grabs and we are finally able to turn the knob and remove the yoke. Chris says he sells Scuba Pro and I shouldn’t have any problem getting a replacement knob. He also says that as long as I can get a seal I’ll be okay to dive the second dive. After the bottle is filled I am able to put the yoke back on and tighten it as normal. I open the valve and it holds tight, no leaking. Naturally, I’m go into the water.
During the interval I diplomatically discuss the concept of the buddy team in diving with my friend. I suggest that since he lead the first dive that I would like to lead the beginning of the next dive and then we can switch. My buddy agrees, or at least I thought that he did.
The next dive is everything I wanted in a night dive. Everything the first dive was not. We are away from the kelp, over a large rocky shelf area approximately 25 ft. in depth with great visibility. Just like being at the bottom of my dad’s pool. Within a minute of reaching depth I spot my first lobster, the biggest one I will see that night. Unfortunately, I screw up the attack and grab for him with the wrong hand. The lobster wiggles from my hand, turns, and bounces right off my chest. I try to cradle him but he’s too quick and gets away. My buddy who is not paying attention to what I am doing (soaking in the sights, I suppose) misses the whole spectacle. I try to communicate to my buddy what has just happened but he is still looking around for his own lobsters.
Within a minute I spot a second lobster. My buddy sees this one and watches me stalk it down. I grab him! My first snag! But I measure him and he’s a good half-inch too short. I swim on expecting my buddy to be there by my side. I see the next lobster and he sees me, but stupidly he tries to hide under a rock that offers no protection. I look over my shoulder and see my buddy maybe 30’ away looking in the wrong direction (after his own lobster). Two other divers are passing my 2 o’clock. This lobster looks to be a good size, so I swoop in and lunge for him. It’s a fight, but I get him pinned! Without my buddies light to help me measuring is a problem, so I stuff him in my bag ‘cause I’m sure he’s legal.
I look around and there is no one is sight. I start back in the direction I last saw my buddy, but he is gone. I wait a few minutes and he’s a no-show. I surface, but he’s not there. I wait, but he is still a no-show. What to do? “Screw it,” I tell myself, and go solo. I descend and catch two more bugs (I’m starting to get the hang of it), but both are clearly too small once they are in my hand. Finally after about 15 minutes on my own I start to feel guilty about not looking for my buddy so I start back in the direction of the boat. I don’t see any lights or any divers after a few more minutes so I decide to surface and head back for the boat, which is about 50 yards away. When I get there my buddy is already on board. Unfortunately for me I swallow a mouth full of water on my way in, and end up losing my taquitos, graciously provided by our crew during the interval, before the boat gets moving again. Happy that my buddy and I are both safe on the boat I don’t bother to mention to him that he has failed me as a teammate, again. When the crewman comes around with fresh baked cookies and brownies I have to decline.
Well, this is getting long, so I guess I’ll stop now. Oh yeah, the bug I bagged was less than a 1/8 of an inch too short so I had to toss him back into the drink. Most people had the same problem. I don’t think very many lobsters went home last night. Well, I may have gone home empty handed, but I am definitely hooked on bug hunting.