Highways have collisions: it is normal. People who use marine waterways: recreational and commercial divers, pearl collectors, shell collectors, along with the original owners---fish who hunt and are being hunted---have collisions regularly. Some make headlines; others do not. Lobster divers, conch divers, crab divers and abalone divers have to learn how to coexist with their not so friendly
highway users. Unlike skin divers who often feed marine predators and who develop a trusting relationship with their underwater sea pals, crustaceans fishers oft-times compete with big predators for the same food supply-hence the mistrust.
As a recreational diver, you learn not to interfere with conch piled into a heap. As tempting as the beautiful seashells and as succulent and healthy as the meat might be, someone or something heaped them up: leave them alone. The rules are simple: if the owner comes, usually a hungry mother shark or barracuda, who stockpiled food for young (most times nearby) prepare for a confrontation or a quick exit or both. I firmly believe that people who visit the same underwater recreational sites are identified and classified by the marine inhabitants as friends or foe. Every certified scuba diver I know abides by the rules.
We try to get as much legislation passed as possible so that fishermen have their areas and that we have our own areas where we can interact with our friends so that there are no mistaken identities or conflicts. Hence, most Tropical and Caribbean Recreational Dive sites are off-limits to commercial fishermen-supposedly.
Some tropical destinations are so environmentally-protected; yet, there are areas that are free for all. In such areas, whereas the discovery of beautiful unchartered trenches lined with beautiful conch, lobster and sea crabs are unavoidable, especially if one has an underwater video camera, identification of underwater neighbours is critical. I have had a few direct stare downs with rows of teeth. The five-second period when I hope they recognized me as friend-usually by squeezing my plastic bag of broken stale bread (never meat items) works, and has worked so far.
One day, I was exploring a nearby reef. A school of squirrelfish beckoned me to an outer reef. I had on my mask, snorkel and a new pair of duck fins. Each kick gave me about 15 feet of propulsion. As I slid through a short underwater cave I saw the most beautiful brain coral. It was over 10 feet wide and about another 9 to 10 feet in height, and almost perfectly circular. As I curled my body to view the other side I almost smacked into a slender water-shaped marine torpedo--a silver grey six-foot barracuda. I had no feeding pouch. I was at its mercy. It looked at me sort of disgustingly and what I picked up was this: "Is that how you swim, you clumsy thing?" Then the beast gave me a demonstration of grace and effortless movements. Since then I learned to move underwater ever so gracefully and without the amount of energy I used prior to that free lesson.
THE ONE WE FORGOT IN THE HATCH.
One day, my charter company overbooked fishing trips. As the captain of a charter Bertram zoomed in, I called him on the VHF and he agreed to do back to back charters. The captain jumped off, went to a nearby cafeteria while we restocked the boat. The guests tipped the captain and told him to save a piece of the wahoo for them later. They agreed to meet at happy hour. After he pulled in, the guests were busy posing with their catch. They were happy and proud. It was around Sailing Week. Many sailors had never seen fish so big. So crowds gathered and took pictures as guests stretched fish, tail first to show off their prizes. In the back of the boat were two wahoos, one sail fish and two bull dolphins--none less than 80 pounds.
The next set of charter guests were already waiting. I ripped open two bags of ice and poured them in the huge cooler at the back. I then began to pack the beers between the ice. All of a sudden rows of angry teeth pushed through the ice aiming for my hand. The captain forgot he had put a huge six-foot barracuda in the cooler. It was still alive. Overboard I jumped to get away from the jaws of death, as all patrons and visitors alike had a hearty laugh. Fortunately the fish fell back in the boat while crew rushed to rescue the fish and left their boss in the water. Can you imagine what they said: "We can always get another boss, but another fish---they were not sure." How could I fire them when everyone else thought their remark was funny--actually even I.
LAST CALL-Near fatal.
I began writing and needed a lot of head space. The Alps worked during the summer months. During winter, the Caribbean called. A friend gave me his houseboat to stay on. It was tied up to a private L-shaped dock. I was not familiar with the surroundings. The double-decker was fully equipped: speakers, cooking utensils, bedroom and shore power; so I could use my laptop. I did not know that conch fishermen cleaned their conch above the dock; neighbourhood barracudas knew that. As I awoke to shower before sunrise, I dropped my soap between the boat and the aft deck. Since the sun was rising, I decided to wait 10 more minutes so that the daylight would help me out.
The water was crystal clear. I could see the soap on the grassy bottom. I don't know why I put back the large hunting knife. I figured: jump overboard, roll over, get the soap and back on deck. So, armed with snorkel and mask only, I jumped over. As I got the soap and tucked it in my shorts, a long slender barracuda faced me, blocking my passage to the open water. I was under water and had about two minutes of air left. I had few alternatives. When I turned around underwater, I got totally disoriented and realized I was swimming under the dock. With no air in my body left, I had less than one minute to find a way out to get air--otherwise: kaput. It was big. I could see daylight behind the barracuda, which meant he was on the inner side of the deck.
Everywhere else was covered; the sun seeped through with streaks of light only. I was cornered. I had no other option. I had to charge the big fella. I needed air. I had to plan it well. Straight at him hoping he would move; then pass the deck, swirl around as if to attack him again, grab the deck, pull up:no room for errors. I charged and he moved, not slightly, but completely out of the way; while he circled, I arched my body as If I were coming back at him, lounged up, crabbed the deck with one hand and acrobatically pulled myself up. As I landed on the deck my chest almost exploded. I was completely out of air.
To tell the truth, I am not sure if those guys are as mean as they look. I know this much: they are curious; they are strong and they are excellent swimmers. I do not believe they will attack a person unless provoked or if you interfere with what they consider as their meal. My advice to deep-sea swimmers: Do not swim with glittering objects. Leave your stainless steel watches on board or at the hotel. Professional rubber watches with compasses-yes. Remember all highways have rules. There is enough room for all of us, if we play by the rules.
Basil C. Hill: Certified recreational diver, radio host, lecturer and author.
