Grand
Isle Dive - July 15, 2005
Hurricane Dennis effectively
canceled Dr. Ashton Blessey's
original plan for a vacation
along the Florida gulf coast.
The arrangement was to rent a place at
Mexico Beach for
a week and dive the surrounding
area. I was invited.
Thanks to Dennis an alternate location
was chosen. He would
head west and dive the rigs out
of Grand Isle, Louisiana.
I wasn't too keen on the idea since
the drive alone would take
over four hours and I didn't
feel comfortable being the lone
freediver while Ashton and his twin
brother, Sidney made dives
on air. I thanked him for the
invite and offered to go another time.
Wednesday evening the phone rings and
it's Ashton with exciting
news. "Michael, we shot cobia
today on some shallow rigs, pack
up the blue truck and come on down".
"Really?" I responded.
"Will you go there again
tomorrow?" I asked. "Sure", was his
reply. "Let me talk it over with Robin
and get back to you".
I have been traveling a lot
lately and I didn't want to push my luck.
We had just finished watching our
future son-in-law pitch
in the Minor League All Star
Game at Baybear Stadium and
I apparently made enough brownie
points by going to get the
go ahead with her good graces.
Thursday morning arrives with some
urgency. I forego my
morning cup of coffee and head
straight to the park for
a routine 5K jog and then to my new
friend and Chiropractor,
Dr. Rob Stewart for an
adjustment. Every diver needs a
good Chiropractor and I am fortunate
to have one that will
allow me to drop in at my
convenience... which is quite often.
Afterwards, Rob treated me to a
belated birthday lunch at
Wintzell's Oyster House.
When we finished eating I asked
him what time he had to be back at the
office. "3:00 p.m."
"Would you mind helping me go
fill my coolers with ice?"
"No problem", he says. With that
I drive us to my favorite
ice "pit stop" and we load up
two big chests for my trip.
I kid him about needing another
adjustment before I drop him
back off to work and I head
home to pack my stuff.
By 5:00 p.m. I am on I-10 headed west
in my new Tundra Double
Cab. An hour and a half
later I'm in New Orleans. The next
three hours are spent driving at a
snails pace across the
bayou's of the Louisiana delta.
Particularly LA-1 through
Larose, Cut Off, Galliano, Golden
Meadow and Fourchon where
the speed limit averages from
25-45 mph.
About 12 miles from Grand Isle, I am
behind two vehicles poking
along. Suddenly a car
zips up behind me and attempts to pass.
He comes around me and realizes he
can't make it... I slow to
let him back in line. As
soon as the oncoming car goes by, he
floors it. Thinking I've found a
local that knows what he is
doing, I kick it into high gear
and follow in kind. We are up
to 70 mph and cruising. Suddenly
the car I'm tailing turns on
his blue lights. "What? I
can't believe this"! He taps his
brakes and I get the message as he
speeds on off to an apparent
emergency. The next 10
miles seem to last forever. I just know
he is waiting for me down the
road. After all, my truck sticks
out like a sore thumb with a
tag that reads: UWHUNTR. To my
relief, this does not happen.
Shortly after 9:30 p.m. I locate the
Sand Dollar Hotel. Ashton,
Sidney and friends Sabriena and
her sister Mariena have fresh
cobia and spaghetti on the
stove. I eat and then unload my gear.
A quick run down for the
following days diving was discussed and
soon everyone hits the racks.
Friday morning I'm glad to see the
boat in the water at the dock.
The room came with a designated
boat slip... nice!
We ice up and are on our way.
The seas were 2-4', not the
1-2' I was expecting but its
rare that we are blessed with
smooth waters anyway. There are
thunderheads to the east
so we head south.
The surface is green all the way and
I'm wondering if we are
ever going to hit a tide or
weed line. Finally about 12 miles
out we hit some sargassum patches and
the water appears to get
a little cleaner according to
the prop wash.
Five miles later, we come upon a group
of rigs. "Which one
do you want to dive?" Ashton
inquires. "That one", pointing
to the closest one. We pull up
and secure the rig hook.
"Michael, get in and give us a
visibility report", Ashton
directs. I suit up and am in the
water within 5 minutes.
The water was deceiving from
the surface... as I knew it
would be, giving us no more that 5-6'
visibility. I swim
up to the structure and make a
dive... nothing. I can hear
what sounds like a pile driver coming
from the rig. I dive
deeper looking for the break in
the murky layer only to have
the sound get louder and more intense,
vibrating my body.
I haven't experienced this on
the rigs of Alabama and am
baffled by what is making the sound as
the rig was unmanned.
I swim back to the boat and report
that there are no fish and
there's a loud pounding noise
coming from the rig which is
probably the reason the fish are
absent. If I were a fish,
I wouldn't want to be living
next to all that racket either.
We drive to the next rig and I make
another dive to find the
same environment. What
gives with all this noise? I'm still
puzzled about what the rig is doing as
there are no personnel
on the rig to be feeding pipe
to what sounds like a pile driving
operation.
Ashton takes us out another 5 or 6
miles. By now we are
about 30 miles out and in 200'
fsw.
This time I request that Ashton and
Sidney suit up to make
a dive. Heretofore, they
are usually getting ready and I'm
bringing fish to the boat. Until
now, this was not happening.
I test the waters and see that
the water is dirty on the surface
but clears some after about 30-35'.
True to form, as Ashton and Sid gear
up and after a couple of
more dives, I see a decent
triggerfish about 12' away and hammer
down. The spear goes in one eye
and out the other. This was not
a planned shot but I'll take
it. Unfortunately, with a shot like
this the shaft clears the fish and it
ends up half way down my cable.
Trying to get the fish, gun and shaft
in a position to return
to the boat, I noticed that it
was trying to swim in circles.
I really don't like it when they do
this because it twist my
steel cable into knots, so I
get busy unwinding the cable from
around the fish as it is making wild
passes by me biting like
a pit bull. I manage to
dodge most attempts of getting bit
until I'm handing my shaft up to
Ashton. I look back down
to see it coming again and kick
backwards. It lurches up
and bites me on my forearm.
Lucky for me it is blind and
does not latch on.
"Ouch!!!" "Here, take this fish"
I excitedly yell to Ashton. "It bit
me!" Ashton pulls it
out of the water.
Everyone on the boat is staying well
clear of this blind biting fish.
I unhook my cable from
my shooting line so as to make
it easy to pull the cable
on through rather than trying to get
it off the shafted end.
Within the next few minutes everyone
was in the water.
Swimming back over to the spot where
the triggerfish was,
I noticed another one a little
bigger than the last but it
is gun shy and heads down the water
column. I continue to hunt.
One thing I've noticed about the rigs
of Louisiana is that
they appear to be much more
dangerous than the ones we have
in Alabama. The vertical pipes
are closer together and there
is much more bracing, making
freediving around them hazardous.
This combined with low visibility made
me extra careful. And
just like home there is the
ever present barracuda checking
you out. I think my "bling
bling" attracts them too but after
all that is why I wear
it. I don't mind having a barracuda watch
my every move but I do have my
personal space to protect. One
comes too close and I have to
jab it with my spear tip.
Needless to say, it kept a safe
distance after that.
Before long I swim upon a school of
mangrove snapper and aim
for the biggest one, shoot and
swim it back to an empty
boat. I put my new Wong speargun
gently in and climb out to
retrieve the fish. A
couple of guys working on the rig are
hanging over the rails watching with
approval and give me a
thumbs up as I make eye
contact. With the fish on ice,
I jump back in.
The current is enough to keep me
kicking the whole time in the
water except for when I can get
a hand hold on a big barnacle
or find a dangling piece of
rope. I don't care too much for
getting in the dead zone behind
a big rig leg because it seems
that the fish are mostly in the
hardest areas to swim to. Like
in or up current of the
structure and even 30 or more feet away
from the rig.
After a while I look back at the boat
and see Ashton and Sid on
board. I know that they
will require time for a surface interval
to off gas so I keep hunting.
After numerous dives, I spot the
triggerfish that eluded me
earlier and take a shot. I hand it
up to Ashton and there's another one
for the cooler.
I continue to swim hoping for a cobia
or some other pelagic to
show up to no avail.
Probably due to the poor water conditions and
low visibility. I think the
muddy Mississippi River must be washing
out to the west, as was the
surface current.
Soon, I can feel rain hitting my back
and spattering on the water
next to me. The storm we
tried to avoid earlier must have caught
up with us. I hoped that the
lightening I saw earlier was not
present and I didn't hear any
thunder so I swam under the rig
to get out of the rain so to speak.
When the rain stopped, I looked over
towards the boat and Ashton was
giving me the "let's go"
sign. With all aboard we headed to another
spot and everyone got in and out
without much success. Ashton saw
a cobia on his dive but
couldn't get in position for a shot.
I spooked some mangroves with a rushed
shot and that was about
it for here.
We hit one more rig on the way back
and I managed to get one
more mangrove but the sky was
overcast and it got dark quick
with the dirty surface layer. I
more or less just goofed off
by this time. I had been
swimming hard all day and didn't want
to push it this late in the day.
Especially since I was diving
alone. Soon Ashton and
Sid surfaced and we called it a day with
snapper and triggerfish in the cooler.
The ride in was a little better than
the ride out and we made it
to the dock by dusk.
Ashton and Sid cleaned the boat and their
gear while I cleaned the fish and the
girls cooked dinner. After a
hot meal we all kicked back and
chilled for a while. Sid grabbed
a rod-n-reel and went fishing for some
specks and red fish. Later
the pair of twins went to the
local state park to try their luck
fishing there for a while... at least
until the mosquitoes almost
carried them off. I
stayed at the room and gathered up my gear.
While I was trying to locate my
mask, I met a couple of spearfishermen
who noticed my Daryl Wong gun
propped on the balcony drying out.
We traded dive stories for about an
hour as it got late and everyone
went their separate ways.
Ashton decided and I concurred that
diving here was no better than
Alabama. Maybe it would
be worthwhile if we were to go to the lumps
for some big game fish but for general
spearfishing I think it is
overrated. With that we
check out the following morning.
Mike Wade
Stickmen Freedivers
Mobile, Alabama