While standing in line to cast my ballot in early voting
the other day, I struck up a conversation with an avid sport fisherman and car
enthusiast. Our discussion lasted the 40
minute length of the line. He asked if I did a lot of fishing. I explained that other than a few outings to
the local pond with a bamboo pole and plastic red and white bobber when I was a
kid, I never developed into a fisherman, unlike my younger brothers. I did mention that as a diver I did a bit of
spearfishing and took shellfish, crab, and lobster.
I recall that on the first day of basic diver
certification class, when the instructor, Dave Rowell, asked “why do you want
to learn to dive” most student divers responded, “it’s something I always wanted
to learn to do” not “I want to kill fish.”
Dave emphasized the need for “marine preservation” throughout the
class. He made it clear that no game was
to be taken during the class. Doing so
made practical sense. Many student
divers find learning and mastering the basic skills and knowledge in a short
period of time challenging enough.
Adding how to use a pole spear, spear gun, or abalone iron would push
task loading to the breaking point.
Course lectures and the written materials briefly
discussed identification of marine species and emphasized avoiding dangerous
marine animals over killing tasty ones.
Lectures were more of what the marine environment could do to us, not what
we could do the marine environment.
During our training dives we saw a few different fish species. After the dive, we spoke excitedly of these
contacts as encounters with “exotic” species whose name we did not yet know. I am not sure anyone thought of them as a
dinner entrée. Only at the end of the
class, when Dave spoke about local species, did he mention that some could be
taken and consumed.
In the 1980s when I started diving, it seemed rare to
dive with someone intent on hunting. Lobster seemed to be the exception, it was the most sought after
game but many divers’ enthusiasm for going after lobster seemed to quickly wane
as the season progressed. Most divers
did not carry abalone irons, gages, or game bags. Those divers that did seemed
to do so as an afterthought, taking a shellfish like abalone, rock scallops,
crab or lobster opportunistically. Only
one or two divers on a boat of 25 divers might have a pole spear or speargun
and fish stringers.
I decided to give spearfishing a try after a cookout at a
friend’s house featuring delicious fish tacos made from locally caught calico (kelp) bass
(Paralabrax clathratus) and California
sheephead (Bodianus pulcher). The host of the bar-b-que was an avid skin diving
(breath hold or free diving) spearfisher but even he admitted he got most of
his fish from line fishing on the various “party boats” out of Santa Barbara
Harbor.
Learning the particulars of what species could be taken,
when, where and how was largely done on a learn-as-you-go basis. The most common but highly unreliable source
of this information, especially on the “how” came from your peers. I do not recall a single dive shop in the
Santa Barbara area offering a specialty course on how to hunt, collect, and
prepare marine organisms for consumption.
Dive shops carried abalone irons, gages, and other tools needed for
taking shellfish. The shops offered a
single type of pole spear—the Hawaiian sling attached to a six foot yellow or
red fiberglass shaft with a three prong “paralyzer” tip and a very limited
selection of spearguns.
Most shops did not distribute copies of the California
Department of Fish and Game regulations. The shop copy was buried
amongst the various catalogs, dive magazines, and other information crammed in
the neglected magaine rack. Divers
were expected to get personal copies of the regulations when they purchased a
fishing license at the local bait and tackle shop or sporting goods store.
Going Spearfishing
On Friday, November 9, 1984, I boarded the Barbara Marie a 42-foot dive boat out of Channel
Island Harbor (Oxnard) with my dive buddy, Mark Bursek. I
recognized the skipper, Mick Kronman, a local commercial fisherman and
correspondent for National Fisherman. Mick and I met playing racquetball a
couple of years before. He supplemented his income driving the dive boat for
Charles Curtis, owner of a Camarillo dive shop.
Mark was a slightly more ripe shade of green than I when it came to
spearfishing experience. The boat did
not have an air fill system. The boat’s below deck compartment carried dozens
of spare tanks. Each diver boarded with
one full dive tank. A diver’s empty tank
was replaced with a full spare tank.
Mark and I each had a yellow six foot long fiberglass pole
spear with paralyzer tip purchased from the same dive shop—Aquatics of Santa
Barbara. We did three dives at Anacapa
Island.
Dive Details
|
Dive |
Maximum
Depth |
Length
of dive |
|
1 |
57
feet |
25
minutes |
|
2 |
45
feet |
25
minutes |
|
3 |
48
feet |
36
minutes |
We targeted calico bass, probably one of the most
plentiful and commonly hunted fish. I
had no problem identifying a calico bass, after all, they just kind of hang
suspended in the kelp. Once underwater,
the ones I saw looked too small to be of legal size. All fish look larger underwater than they
really are. Judging a legal-size fish
takes practice. I quickly discovered the
larger kelp bass got that way because they had a real knack for sensing when a
diver was approaching. I did notice that
the biggest kelp bass would swim leisurely through the kelp but sharply turn
and quickly dart away when I or Mark approached.
“They hear the sounds of the regulator and get spooked,” a more
experienced spear fisher later explained, “spearfishing with a noisy regulator
is kind of like deer hunting accompanied by bagpipes.”
Bat Ray Encouter
We did encounter a flight of three bat rays (Myliobatis californica) that swam by us, turned, and then swim back toward us. The largest had a wingspan of what looked like five feet.
Marty Snyderman in the book “California Marine Life” notes “bat rays are among the most graceful of marine creatures in California waters. Watching a bat ray majestically weave its way through a kelp forest is a treat divers never tire of….Bat rays possess formidable barbs located at the base of the tail. The barb is used as a defense mechanism when the rays feel threatened….if you don’t step on a sleeping bat ray you are highly unlikely to experience a threatening display.”
They were graceful swimming away from us but looked menacing as they turned and swam toward us. We reflexively brandished our unslung pole spears in the mistaken belief that the rays could be a threat if they approached too closely. After all, this was one of the hazardous marine animals that I had learned about only a few months earlier during my basic certification. They presented no real threat, just a mistakenly perceived one. I attribute that perception to the appearance of the creature and my lack of experience, especially in the dark kelp forest in the waning light of a November afternoon. They just majestically swam past us. I soon realized our defensive posturing was completely unnessecary.
Aftermath
After those three dives my pole spear took up a lengthy exile at the back of my shed, never to emerge until I sold it a few years
later. I did develop an interest in
taking shellfish and quickly a hierarchy of preference emerged based on taste, effort to
catch, and ease of preparation. Also, I
came to consider that spearing fin fish while using scuba gear is not really
sporting.
Years later, I resumed spearfishing as a means of
helping eradicate invasive lionfish while diving in the Caribbean. I also tried my hand at spearfishing invasive
species in Hawaii while freediving.
Those episodes will be described in future tails from the logbook.
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