Throughout my experiences on, in and around the ocean I have seen many awesome things happen. I have had some of the best times of my life with my family and friends while surrounded by the big blue. This particular experience is one I will never forget, even though I was only spectator for the initial shot. My usual dive buddy Drew was with me along with my dad, who rounds out the crew. We had been diving several wrecks during the morning with little to show for our efforts. This was despite great weather and a good moving tide which usually keeps the wrecks lit up with life. After deciding that we were wasting our time my Dad suggested we try to drift the edge of the gulf stream with chum and flashers in hopes of some pelagics. So after a quick jaunt across the glass smooth ocean we slowed to find a decent weed line spread about a hundred yards across. There was no mistaking the distinctive dark golden mass merging the gap between water and air. Drew was first to suit up and hop overboard with flashers in hand, as I set up the chum block. Shortly after I joined Drew watching the chum slowly disappears into the depths and taking turns jigging the flasher to make it dance and throw light off in all directions. Almost a half hour had passed without seeing a single fish worthy of being shafted. I decided to get out my reef gun to try and shoot a blue runner for some fresh burley. As I was descending to find the school of blue runners I had been watching I saw several Amberjacks slowly making their way up the chum slick casually eating every piece of silvery sardine on the way up. I decided to go back to the surface for a few quick breaths while the fish continued up and to let drew know that fish were below. Since he had my Andre Gold 160 he would shoot after I shot my fish so that I wouldn’t have to try to close the gap on fish that were already spooky with a smaller gun. By the time I kicked over and headed down the fish were suspended at about 50 feet watching the flashers bounce up and down. The first fish to turn broadside at ten feet had the shaft slide right through his gill plates. Almost instantaneously he bolted for the bottom almost 200ft below. As line poured from my reel I kicked hard for the glimmering surface above. Much to my surprise the fish stopped running as soon as I stopped pulling on the reel line. My fish started to make his way back near the school when I noticed drew dropping below the surface as fast as his carbon fiber fins would push him. Since my fish was doing steady circles I figured he was going to put a kill shot in my fish, but it wasn’t long before he passed my fish and kept kicking down. At this point my fish was almost completely bled out so I followed Drew down to see what he was chasing down. I had cleared my ears only three times before I saw the Stud Amberjack at the back of the school that Andrew was now lining up on. As if I was watching in slow motion Andrew let all four bands inject the Slip Tip into the massive shoulder of the fish. The massive AJ decided that going down was the best option for getting rid of the stainless steel hanging from it. A wave of adrenaline flushed throughout my body as I hit the surface yelling at drew to grab his float before it went under. He never made it to the float before it went down like a lead weight The fish took all 75ft of Blue Tuna float line and Float down to about 60 feet. I watched in horror as the float continually seemed to crinkle up smaller and smaller the farther the fish dragged it. Drew and I followed the float from the surface for several minutes before my dad tossed me a second float line and float setup. With two lung packing sips of air I slipped beneath the glassy surface and began to slowly descend to the still submerged float to clip off the second float line. I gave drew the ok to start clipping and pulling the fish towards the surface. After gaining back all of the second float line and most of the first, the fish seemed to float its way to the surface where it was lip gaffed and dragged into the boat. It was only then that I could see just how monstrous this fish was. It wouldn’t fit in any cooler on the boat and it made my 50lber look small. My dad wanted to get the fish iced down so we put the fish in the center well of the boat and dumped all the ice out of two coolers to cover the behemoth. That night we invited several neighbors and friends over for a large BBQ and to trade fish stories. Of all the fun times I have had on the boat this, without a doubt, has been the best result of teamwork with any of my diving buddies.

The day started out at 7:45 am, and a windy one at that. My dad and I had the boat iced and ready to go the night before so off to the ramp we went. My dive buddy Andrew showed up and we were racing off to the inlet shortly after stowing his gear. As we slid towards the inlet my dad commented on choppy water that looked like marching elephants on the horizon. It was going to be a rough day, and boy was that an understatement. After a little discussion we decided upon a wreck we frequent during rough weather because it tended to hold better visibility than some of the other wrecks that were slightly shallower. A couple clicks on the GPS and we were dashing off through the short 3-5ft chop on top of a six foot northeast swell. That combined with a 20knt NE wind made for a kidney jolting ride to the wreck. I was glad to here my dad pull back on the throttles as we arrived to the wreck. A quick glance over the side of the gunnel disproved my assumptions about water quality being better. We circled the wreck to locate its two different parts. We still got the feeling this drift was not going to be ideal. Despite the conditions, Drew and I were excited to suit up and see what the murk below had waiting for us. I decided to use my Andre 145 mimetic because it was rigged with a reel, which on these quick drifts was nice for getting in and out of the boat. With a nod from my dad, I slid into the hazy green water and was shocked to feel an unusually cold sting hit my face around my mask skirt. I didn’t hardly have time to get my bands loaded before my buddy Drew zeroed in on something below us. With an effortless leg raise he slid silently beneath leaving the chaos of the surface behind. I followed him visually until about forty feet and he disappeared into the gloom below. I started my descent when I saw his 75ft floatline pull the float straight-up like a tombstone. I didn’t get very far before I saw my dive buddy frantically racing for the surface with his eyes wide open and white, like large gold balls. I was shocked at his reaction. Drew is typically mellow and not one for being wary in the water. I hit the surface before him only to swallow a snorkel full of cold water as a white capped wave broke over me. He hit the surface, signaled for the boat and quickly explained his rush to me. He said at 60ft he could make out a school of Permit surrounding the wreck just off the bottom, which was 95ft below us. So he dropped as far as the floatline would let him go and squeezed a shot off at one of the larger fish in the school. He explained that he hit the fish low because of the long shot and not ten seconds later the biggest bull shark he had ever seen engulfed his prized Permit in one swipe. By this time my dad steered the boat beside us. We clamored onto the boat between swells, and retrieved Drew’s limp floatline. I could sense Drew was heart-broken to have lost a nice fish to the tax man. I told him we would do another drift and that I would spot him while he got another shot at the fish. Unfortunately, the shark wasn’t so nice to Drew's shaft and it was bent in an awkward S configuration. Now it was my chance to get a fish. I was excited to know there was a school of really nice fish waiting for us 95ft beneath the disarray of the surface. We began our second drift. This time Drew spotted me. As I was breathing up, I saw the unmistakable ball of silver forty feet wide below us. Something had spooked the fish off the wreck, and I was going to capitalize on their vulnerable position. I took two lung packing sips of air and kicked beneath the surface. The school, already being spooked, immediately bolted back towards the bottom after seeing me. I followed slowly behind them. Once the school got back to the wreck they appeared somewhat calm and I was able to gradually glide to the deck of the sunken freighter. Knowing I didn’t have much time to get a shot off plus kick my way 85 feet back to the surface, I scanned the school for a fish that stood out, but to no avail. These fish all seemed to be the same size. Thus the first fish to give me a good profile shot was going to feel the steel. It didn’t take long for my shot to materialize, and after calmly swinging the Andre up and superimposing the tip of the shaft on the fish, THWACK, my reel started dumping line as this aquatic freight train raced over the edge of the wreck. I kicked as hard as I could to beat the fish to the edge before he cut me off. Fortunately, the fish decided to stay with the school as they started to ascend above me. Drew met me halfway to the surface and I gave him the ok signal. Line continued to vacate itself from the reel. I decided to stop the fish by locking the reel down and going for a ride. The fish tugged, pulling me underwater several times and slow began to tire. I was able to gaining line hand over hand. Once I got to the cable shooting line it was just a matter of grabbing the fish’s tail and bear hugging it to the boat. But the ocean wasn’t quite ready to relinquish the fish to me, as Drew pointed out a dark brown shape vertically rising to meet us on the surface. I signaled for the boat while Drew did his best to discourage the shark from taking my fish. The shark and I exchanged stares for what seemed like an eternity. The boat motor’s noise prompted his exit. My dad was ecstatic at seeing the fish and quickly lip gaffed it into the boat. The boat was rocking so badly that it was difficult to stand on a slimy deck with a 40 pound fish in hand. Drew and I commenced to the bow for some photos. We put the fish in the cooler, and began the rough ride home. Reflecting upon the trip, it was the worst conditions and best outcome I have ever experienced for underwater hunting. It was one hell of an adventure, but I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Saturday morning started out at 54 degrees, and cold feet from walking barefoot on the deck of the family boat. Loading the fish cooler and gear has become routine in the last month, mainly due to the good weather we have been having. Every Saturday spent diving and fishing. This morning was unusually cold, I could see my breath in the early morning light, and my feet were freezing. The 3mm’s of open cell rubber between my skin and the chilly air was keeping me quite warm while loading the ice into the cooler for the day’s diving. After an uneventful 20 minute ride through town, we arrived at the local boat ramp. Luckily the chilly weather had the usual weekend warriors sleeping in instead of crowding the boat ramp. My dad dipped the boat in, and we idled out of the intracoastal towards Jupiter inlet. My best friend and dive partner Drew was along for this trip too. As we suited up and joked about my dad’s quirky practice of wearing dive booties as foot warmers on cold mornings, the VHF crackled with the voices of excited men boasting about seeing a large group of Cobia traveling down the beach. Their problem was that these migrating fish had lock-jaw and wouldn’t eat anything thrown their way. I heard this and was thinking, “They always bite the spring steel, always!” We blasted through the inlet then subsequently cut a hard right to run south along the beach and look for these “lock-jawed” fish. With Drew on the bow, I was hanging onto the T-top and my dad driving. It didn’t take long for us to spot the large school of Brown logs swimming through the water, not to mention, the entourage of fishing boats gawking at our camo wetsuits as we slowed to an idle. Once we slowed the fished seemed to disappear in the murky surf water. So we started doing circles around where the fish went down. Shortly after 7:30am we spotted the school swim straight under the boat. It was a mad scramble to get fins, gloves, masks, and weight belts on. In the mayhem my snorkel came unclipped from the mask, so in a hurry I jammed the snorkel under my mask strap; I would pay later for not finding that clip. My dad threw my Gold 145 to me and I started cocking bands as fast as I could. The fish were literally surrounding me as they swam bye, and I was kicking as hard as I could just to stay with the school. I took a quick breath and inverted myself for the dive, I was about 10 feet under when the two fish swam within feet of the tip of the shaft. That was the lead fish’s last mistake. Thunk!! as three bands propelled the steel right through the gill plates of the first fish. Of course he wasn’t about to give up yet. With greenish blood pouring from his gills he started doing a violent head shake, trying to dislodge the shaft. This is an expected Cobia reaction to being attacked by unfamiliar camo-suit wearin’ predator that spits metal at a deathly velocity. After a five minute tug of war I managed to slip my hand underneath his gills. That was the end for him. I handed the fish, spear and gun off to my dad who was waiting with my Gold 160 at the boat. My dive buddy Drew was still in the boat looking for a fin and ended up taking my Gold 145 in the water with him, as I swam back after the school with all four bands loaded and ready to fire. I poked my head above the water to ask my dad if he could see the school from his vantage point on the boat. He shook his head yes and pointed over my shoulder and told me to swim down as the school was circling around. So I took a full breath and a few lung packing sips of salty ocean air and slipped underneath the surface. The water was only 15ft deep here but the viz was about 10ft and murky. As I lay on bottom a large shadow started to appear which materialized into about 20lb. Cobia swimming quickly past me. I picked what looked to be the largest out of the group and gently squeezed off a shot at the fish. The slip-tip penetrated just behind the gill plate about level where the lateral line would be. This fish acted just like the first one shaking its head and going nuts. Then it bolted for the school, instinctively trying to catch up into the formation. The only problem was that I had a hold on the float line connecting me to him. So with me in tow, the fish ran hard to catch the school. That’s when my snorkel separated at the mouthpiece from main tube. I sucked in a mouthful of saltwater and air. In a bit of a panic as the float line wrapped around me, I began coughing and choking from the saltwater. The fish continued to drag me through the milky green water. I was doing my best to keep my head above water and yell for my dive buddy Drew to put a kill shot in this fish. My dad ferried the fish over on the boat and Drew helped untangle me from the float line. After getting myself relaxed I told him that I would stop the fish by swimming against it with the float line in hand and he could put the kill shot in. Although it didn’t work quite as planned the fish was quickly boated with the help of a second shaft. As I crawled over the gunwale and slid into the boat, I noticed another cobia lying on the deck that I didn’t shoot. That’s when Drew told me that he used my Gold 145 to get his PB cobia!! Following a few high fives and shouts we began the process of cleaning the Cobia slime and blood off the boat before it dried. With our limit of Cobia in the boat he leisurely headed for the inlet with grins a mile wide and soda spilling from the cans with each wave we hit. It didn’t matter though, because it had been one of the best days on the water to date, and that’s quite an accomplishment considering the little time we have spent together diving our deep blue oceans.

For over three weeks, my family and I have been planning a Keys trip to spear off the beautiful coral reefs near Key Largo. The anticipation built during the planning, packing and rigging of our spearguns. We got to the Keys house around 8:00 pm to unpack and get the boat into the water. As I was lying in the bed trying to catch some sleep, I couldn’t help but dream of all the fish I was hoping to see, and maybe get a shot at. We wouldn’t have to wait long to watch our dreams materialize into reality. Six a.m. came faster than I thought it would. Anxious to get suited up and in the water, my dad, Drew, and I walked down to the dock and fired up the twin motors on the family Contender “Double Trouble”. As we rounded the corner of Key Largo and planed up to speed I was already preparing my gear. I pulled my Andre Gold 145 out of the storage locker of the boat, because of its good range, and awesome maneuverability, when chasing fast moving reef species. After 15 minutes of running, my dad throttled back the Double Trouble and was watching the depth sounder intently for signs of promising bottom to look for good fish. Already suited up and sitting on the back of the boat, visualizing in my mind; lining up on a fat mutton or grouper, and pulling the trigger. Going through my routine of practicing my controlled breathing for maybe two minutes, when my dad excitedly announced; that he had marked some good looking structure at about 55 feet. I never heard him ask me to roll over the side of the boat and check it out, because I was already in the water loading my speargun. As I grabbed the first band to cock it back, I noticed the visibility was looking gin clear and the sunlight was piercing through the surface in many different directions. After loading the third and final band, I took two lung packing gulps of air and let my body slowly glide below the surface. After gliding downward about 45’, I started to angle myself so that I would land on top of a small ledge outcropping; where I thought I might spot fish fleeing over the ledge to the sand. Barely touching bottom, I saw the unmistakable black dot of a nice sized mutton cruising away from me in a lazy way. As I raised my Gold 145 to line up on him, he got curious as to what was pointing at him. He made the mistake of giving me a good broadside shot from about 15 feet away. I chose a small spot on his gill plate to aim at and let the steel fly. As the bubbles cleared, I thought I had missed the fish, for he wasn’t pulling shooting line, but instead was slowly sinking off the ledge towards the sand. STONED!!!! The shaft entered just behind the gill plate and passed right through the backbone, immediately turning off the lights. I grabbed my Gold 145 and started kicking for the surface with my prized catch in tow. I knew right then that it was going to be a great day. After reloading, I relaxed on the surface for a few minutes to observe my dive buddy Drew execute a perfect stalk and shot on a nice sized mangrove snapper. As Drew surfaced, we high-fived each other for landing nice fish in the first ten minutes of diving that spot. I made several more drops along the ledge before seeing any more sizeable fish. Concentrating on the bottom, I spotted what looked to be an oversized mangrove peeking out from underneath the ledge 55ft below me. I slipped under the surface as quietly as possible trying not to spook the large snapper who was eying me warily from his lair. I got within about 20 feet of him and he simply flicked his tail and vanished into the hole from which he was looking out of. So I dropped all the way to the bottom and grabbed a handful of sand. Tossing the sand around me, I lined up the Gold 145 where I thought the snapper would be when the sand settled. Sure enough, as the tan colored dust slowly faded towards the bottom I could see a really nice sized snapper staring straight at me with those canines protruding angrily from his jaws. Seeing those teeth quickly tipped me off to what kind of snapper he was. A dogtooth snapper!! Not wanting him to spook from seeing me, I took a quick shot with the Gold 145, and watched as the shaft pierced high up on his head. He immediately took a mad dash for his hole. I let go of the Andre gun and let the float line slide gently between my gloved fingers. Not wanting him to rip off, I played out line when the pull exceeded what I thought was too much. Two dives later, I had my prized catch firmly grabbed with one hand slipped up underneath his gill plate and one hand around the base of his fat tail. Kicking hard for the surface I was mesmerized by the iridescent copper glow of his scales as the sunlight reflected off them. As I signaled the boat, to pick me up, Drew swam up to me saying, “The Gold Mimetic 145 blends in with the coral and your wetsuit,” and to show me his equally nice sized mutton which he tagged after I had shot my Dogtooth. After crawling excitedly over the side of the boat, we took a few brag photos and quickly woofed down pb&j sandwiches. I thought to myself this must be heaven. To dive crystal clear water with your best friend riding shotgun and your dad taking pride in watching his son doing what he grew up so passionately pursuing. Between my dad, my best friend and dive buddy Drew, and myself, we took many great memories and several nice fish, along with the anticipation of doing another trip.