OK, Nobody completely tells the Truth about lobster diving exploits. Falsehoods abound, as a necessary part of preserving Secret Lobster Locations.
Standard Question: "So, uhh, . . . . where'd you find those Bad Boys?" ???
Standard Answer: "Oh, . . . . in the Water! ::)
And it goes downhill from there. The Absolute Worst though, and the ones that give the sport a Bad Name, are the Braggarts. >:(
One year we had a Braggart at the shop where I work. The guy found out I scuba dived and that was it. He got all excited about going out for lobster during mini-season (a two-day jump, the week before the regular season starts), and immediately invited himself along. There was no good or polite way to tell him to Take A Hike (that year, anyway! :) ), so I informed my regular dive buddy that we would have a Third, this year.
I thought. :-X
The first thing the Braggart did, was to promptly invite my best friend and his wife diving with us, also. Figured the more divers in the water, the more lobsters we could keep. True, but over-simplified. After all, you have to catch them first. 5 divers with gear and two tanks each, was more than my 18-foot sailboat could handle and forced us from a boat dive, into a Beach Dive. More sand, much harder work, a longer swim and less down time. Thanks to the Braggart's Big Mouth. :P
Swell. >:(
I don't choose my friends for their Valley Forge, Father-Of-His-Country type heroic qualities. Or, for their diving skills. I had dived with my friend Jim on many occasions, but his tendency toward mal de mer, chronic sinusitis and his lack of formal diver certification, tended to make me choose easier missions and calmer waters, than you frequently get during lobster mini-season. His wife, while certified, was rarely without child in those years. 12 kids later, she's frequently too tired to go diving. My Godson uses her gear, nowadays when we go out.
All week long, we had to listen to The Braggart in the lunchroom. He kept lording it over everyone else, about how they'd be eating their pathetic lunches Thursday and Friday, while he and I were out there, barbecuing the First Batch of Lobster, right there on the beach. To hear him tell it, we had already caught them, cleaned them and were getting ready to put them onto the grill; all this with the season still a week away! Maybe he'd bring some leftovers in on Friday, out of sympathy, if we did really well. The first alarm bells began going off inside my skull. You know, the ones wired to the B.S. detector circuits. But no, when I checked, he actually did have a diver's certification card, owned some fairly nice gear (all the best brands) and seemed to have a rudimentary idea, of how to catch a lobster.
Thursday morning dawned.
More or less.
In truth, it was a miserable day. Heavy overcast is normally good, because the lobsters don't crawl as far under their holes and are easier to see. Heavy wind, kicked up waves and treacherous beach surf, are not so good. OK, Truth be Told; NOBODY had ANY business being out on the water, that day. SCA, means small craft should not even be on the water, much less guys diving from the beach!
Tragically, my co-worker was not the only Braggart out there, that day.
By dawn's early light, a few cops and some firemen, had loaded up their boat just after their night shifts ended and headed out Port Everglades in their 18-foot open boat; smack into the 6-foot seas, with the 8-foot rollers. And macho'ed each other, into toughing it out. The Head Braggart decided he wasn't going to wait on his slower brethren to get their gear ready. He told them he was going to go in first, to get first crack at the biggest lobsters and he promptly hopped over the side, and sank like a stone. Too bad he hadn't cracked open the tank valve on his regulator, first. His friends waited for him to surface with a water conditions report.
Never happened.
They may have waited, but the tide didn't.
The whole Atlantic Ocean tried to cram itself into Port Everglades, as it does twice a day, making perilous waves even more intolerable, until the boat capsized. Some of the guys were suited up, some were not and all were clearly struggling, in the rough waters. :o Another boat, seeing their plight, had to come to their aid and nearly capsized too, attempting to rescue them in the rough waves.
Reality Check, guys: If we're diving on the reef because that's where the lobster are, isn't that also the first place where the waves are going to really kick up, if it gets a little rough? ???
Their rescuers were by now, screaming for everybody to get aboard so they could get out of there. :o They nearly capsized their own boat, while circling the over-turned boat. There was nothing for the people in the water to hang onto, but a slick hull and a lower unit. They didn't want to leave their braggart buddy behind, so two of them went down and in a few minutes, located and dragged his lifeless form to the surface. Abandoning any pretense of trying to negotiate Port Everglades, the boat simply slammed in towards the beach as best they could, radioing ahead for help for their stricken friend, while vainly attempting jaw-breaking CPR in the bouncing boat.
We knew about none of this and pieced it together later, from the newspaper and TV accounts and the rumors at the Dive Shops, and the innuendos about the breathalyzer tests and whatnot. We lost three divers that particular year: One local braggart (an experienced Fire Rescue Officer, who should have known better) was too foolish to turn his tank valve on. One diver had an apparent heart attack in West Palm Beach, and was found drowned, but with over a half-tank of air still remaining. A final diver in south Miami-Dade County was swept out to sea in the strong currents, along with his two dive buddies; only his body was never recovered.
All we saw at the time was an ambulance leaving John U. Lloyd State Park, just as we were driving in. Were we concerned? ??? Nope.
Sobered by the brute reality of the harsh weather conditions? ??? Nah.
We were Fatalistic, Thrill-Seeking, Lobster Divers and True Macho Men Of The Sea.
Adrenaline Junkies. :o
"Yay! One less diver! More lobster for Us!" We joked. We thought at that time, it was just another case of a diver getting mangled a little, on the jetty rocks that line the entrance to Port Everglades. Happens every year. Getting all the news later that night, we would remember and feel ashamed of our cruel and callow jokes. :(
On the trek clear across the parking lot and on to the beach, The Braggart ran his mouth continuously, about our assured success. He even decided how we were going to split up the catch, by tossing a coin in turns and the winner choosing first (obviously the biggest lobster), and going round-robin in turn, until the catch was split up by everyone who went out there and had caught a lobster. He said even though he was going to catch the biggest monsters out there, it was the least he could do, after being invited along. I watched the knot of John's jaw muscle working back and forth, as he fought to keep his temper in check. >:( I wondered if the Braggart could aggravate him enough while underwater, to cause him to bite the end of his regulator mouthpiece off! :P
We got out to our diving spot and assessed the conditions.
Not good. :o
Violent surf was all we saw and water visibility was non-existent. For visibility, there's Gin Clear, and then there's Fair and then there's Pea Soup. This water was about three grades lower than Pea Soup. But There We Were, with all our gear and By God, we were going after Lobster! :P My regular dive buddy John, or myself, singly, had more diving experience than the other three divers totaled, all put together. John and I had dived this spot a lot, in the weeks before mini-season, scouting out and marking likely spots. We had done it in rough seas a few times, but nothing like it was today. So our first concern was for those without our experience level, in terms of capability and terrain.
My friend Jim and his wife, attempted to penetrate the surf in conditions that were clearly beyond their capabilities. Watching them floundering around, :o I geared up quickly, all except for my lobster gear, a fact not unnoticed by John; who quietly picked up my stuff and added it to his own. We knew without even discussing it, that I was going into the surf if necessary, to pull my friend and his wife out.
Meanwhile, the Braggart, oblivious to anyone's needs but his own, was asking what all the delay was about and when were we going out to get those bugs? ??? I mentally tossed a coin, over whether or not I would go in after him, if necessary. The look on John's face told me, he had already tossed his mental coin back at the parking lot. >:( Any guesses on THAT decision? ???
I needn't have worried. The surf was a far better deterrent, than any words I could have come up with. It took about four serious slams, the final one resulting in a lost facemask and lost swim fin, for Jim to give it up. It only took one serious slam in the ribs, for his wife to get the message. :( They offered to sit it out on the beach and keep an eye on our dive flag/float so they could see where we were and warn off any boats that could not see a 2-foot high dive-flag float in 6-foot waves. We graciously accepted, without asking how they expected to see a 2-foot high float in 6-foot seas, from the beach. :-X
Now it was down to just John, myself, and the Braggart. More mental alarm bells went off in my head, as he attempted to penetrate the surf with his fins on, a rank Beginner's Mistake. We amused ourselves briefly, ;) watching him beat himself to death in the surf, as we slogged out to where we could get under all that pounding, put on our fins and head out. Because of all our previous scouting, we knew where to enter the water, by a certain tree lined up with the park concession stand and we knew the course to steer for (120ยบ), that would take us to a distinctively pork-chop shaped reef about 4 hundred yards out. Barely being able to read our compasses, with our hands in front of our facemasks was a fairly sobering thought, but we also knew the reef was just beyond the surf line and sufficiently deep, that the surface waves would not interfere with visibility all that much.
Sure enough, the visibility soon cleared up (a little), and we saw our first set of horns. John and I saw the lobster at the same time and also knew from long practice, that it was "short" (legally too small, to keep). As a test of his skill and ability, I pointed out the lobster horns to the Braggart. Instantly galvanized into action at the mere sight of the bug, he rammed in between my buddy and me, knocking us out of the way and flew over to the hole. :o Next, he jammed his tickle stick into the hole, like a mischievous small boy ramming a broomstick into a hornet's nest and proceeded to violently stir the stick around in the hole, until there was no visibility anywhere near him, from all the silt he stirred up. :P I wondered for a moment, just how far back in the hole the lobster had managed to cram itself. ???
How rude. >:(
Even in the limited visibility, I could see John's reproachful look through his facemask; the one that said: "THIS is the Bozo, YOU invited to go catch lobster with US?" >:( I could only shrug, in return. What bothered us most, was in knowing that we were getting close to our intended spot. Suddenly, I had an inspiration! 8) Realizing how reluctant the Braggart had been to leave the useless hole (said hole, made useless by HIM!), I swung us slightly off course, to the eastern (less productive) side of the pork-chop shaped reef. Sure enough, I soon spotted another short lobster. Instead of pointing him out to the Braggart, I took my tickle stick and net and made as if to try and capture the pathetic little short.
Predictably enough, the Braggart shoved past me and horned in again with his ham-handed lobstering technique. My buddy who had caught on to the strategy by now, quietly slipped over to the other side of the reef. He was waiting for me when I slipped over the top of the patch reef, where we found about 8 lobsters, jammed into a hole that would normally hold perhaps, 3 lobsters. It was simple work to convince a few to vacate the crowded quarters and we got about 6 of the 8 lobsters out of the hole and kept the 5 legal-sized ones, before I noticed the cloud of silt on the other side of the reef, even beginning to dissipate. John and me quickly hopped over to the east side of the reef and made a great show of fanning back and forth along the useless side of the reef, until we saw another hapless bug.
That was how the whole rest of the day, went. Distract the Braggart, catch some bugs. Distract the Braggart, catch some more bugs. We caught quite a lot of them. Too many, in fact. We realized that we could soon exceed our limit, the way John and me were going, that day.
Until I suddenly had an Evil Thought. 8)
As soon as we got the next one, John signaled that we had reached the Limit. I shook my head no, and pointed over to the Braggart's current cloud of silt, and signaled with my fingers. Instead of 12 lobsters between us (6 per diver per day, on that particular year; it's 12 per diver per day, in mini-season, now), we would catch 18 lobsters and give the smallest 6 to the Braggart! After a moment to consider, John nodded in agreement.
Back on shore, we laid out the choices to the Braggart: Either take the smallest 6 (but still legal) lobsters and go home (we had caught some really large lobsters, that made the merely legal-sized ones, look puny), or else, we would be quite happy to toss them back into the Atlantic Ocean and catch them next week, when the regular season opened. Bleeding from the side of his forehead and the elbow, and a little dejected from having lost his net, his tickle stick, his fancy dive knife (the one he had been bragging he was going to clean all the lobsters with) and one fin, between going out and coming back in, from that murderous surf; and Oh, Yeah, NOT CATCHING A SINGLE LOBSTER! :-X He figured (correctly) that coming back with SOMETHING, was about the only way to appease his wife about the lost equipment and the suddenly-expensive-for-him lobster catching trip.
After he left, we divvied up the larger lobsters: 4 for John and his family, 4 for my family, 2 for Jim and his wife (his kids were still too small that year, to eat lobster) and the final two to John's elderly parents. Traditionally, any surplus lobster went either to his parents, or my Mom and Grandmother, on alternating trips. Fresh Caught Lobster tends to spoil you forever, from ever eating them after they have been frozen.
Side Note: During the Regular Season, diving with John and my Son near the same location, my Son found an expensive dive knife and a net. "Wow!" He said: "Wonder what idiot, couldn't hang on to his gear?" ???
John just looked at me. >:( I said nothing. ::)
The Braggart was noticeably silent at the shop, the following Monday. It took everyone else about 4 seconds, to figure out what had probably happened. I said nothing, and just passed around the pictures. Cheered by this, the Braggart loudly proclaimed the SIX LOBSTERS! He had taken home, and pointed to the largest ones in the pictures, as though he had caught them, himself. Nobody was fooled. ::)
But back at the dive shop, on that day, we were in for yet one more surprise.
That fearsome weather had taken a heavy toll on divers, diving from their boats, instead of the beach. Many had gotten too seasick, to dive. Others had to cut their dives short, to get their boats safely back in. Many beach divers had failed to penetrate the surf. The average catch was somewhere between one and three lobsters, per diver, for those few divers that had actually got something for their efforts, besides scrapes and bruises.
All the Dive Shop talk was of the dead divers. The rest of the Dive Shop talk was of the abysmally poor catch, due to the rotten weather. :( While we had our air tanks re-filled, curious (OK, pushy!) >:( divers checked out the ice chest, in the back of the truck. We didn't know it, but that was more (and bigger! :D ) lobsters at one time, than anyone had seen, all day.
lobstersicechest.jpg
"So, uhh, . . . . where'd you find those Bad Boys?" ??? They asked, innocently.
"Ohhh, . . . . in the Water! ::) We replied, even MORE innocently! :P
"How many did ya get?" ???
"18, between the three of us." (John gave me another Look.) >:(
"No Way!" :o
"Way." 8)
"Braggarts!" :-X
John looked at me, again. >:(
I smiled and said nothing.
Charles Brennan
A great story well told sir.. We have deer hunting versions of "The Braggart "