Guests
Don B, his son David, Biggsy, Seashooter, and Kitefisherman all troopers down to the last man. Muchas gracias to Kite who volunteered a turn at the wheel yesterday when Jim Z, and I were near the exhaustion point.

Mommy, Mommy, Make The Bad Man Stop!!
I get real nervous anytime the marine weather synopsis is a paragraph long. That usually indicates alot of "funky of sh*t going down in the city" if I can borrow a line from the Steve Miller Band. Needless to say, I was one nervous m-fer analyzing our chances while hunkered down in the secret weather lab high atop the Doppler Tower. Various scenarios were played out from going as planned to a single overnighter leaving Saturday AM. We all met in the Hatch Friday, and the dockside consensus was to strap up the shrimping boots tight, and go for the MG. We knew it was going to be sloppy on the way out, but the forecast was calling for a gradual laying down of the seas as the weekend progressed.

The first omen of doom that we should have listened to was when I was asked to turn on the fresh water. I indicated that it was already on. Jimmy Z went below, and tapped on the tank which retorted with a very hollow sound. Examining the bilge, we noticed that it was a little high, and FULL OF FRESH WATER! Apparently (we haven't looked at it closely yet) a dive bag, or an errant wave must have knocked something into the pipe or seal, and dumped our shower water. Looks like we were to be some salt crusted dogs come Sunday. Annoying, but not essential to slinging mad steel.

We were able to put in a full round of dives on some rockpiles 40 mi. out which brought up the usual suspects hanging from the stringers, and then made way the next 40 mi. to the MG in 2'-4', but very doable seas. We got anchored up, and those that fished got in a fair bite of mangos, and red grouper before turning in to get a some rest for the steelslinging that would take place the next day.

During the night a hellacious rain squall passed through which turned out to be the front that was the cause of all the weather forecasting angst. We awoke to an angry ocean with huge rollers in all directions. Jimmy Z made the decision to stay on the hook for a while to see if the seas would lay down, and a few guys caught some more red grouper. By mid morning we were in solid 8' seas, and building. At that point it was time to pull the plug as it was unsafe to put divers down in those conditions, and head inshore to see if the east wind would knock down the seas enough to to get in some diving. Pulling the anchor was reminescent of the scene from the Perfect Storm that is displayed in my avatar to your left. Yes, it was as delightful as a day in the Magic Kingdom. Our heading inshore put our snout right into the sh*t, slightly quartering on the starboard bow. SEVENTY FIVE miles at 8 knots in eight footers with some occasional bigger ones, and sh*t shaking around more than Muhammad Ali's hands on the Tilt-a-Whirl, somebody please kill me now.

There was never any doubt with the Jolly Rogers as she plowed through the maelstrom with impunity. Although the cabin was a disaster area from stuff getting knocked about, I was, and probably speak for everyone else, never under any fear that the boat not would pull us through. She is one solid beast of a boat. It was a full abort once we arrived in the local waters many, MANY hours later. Although the seas had layed down a tiny bit to 5'-7', it was even sloppier with waves coming in unusually fast in all directions. It was almost like going through whitewater rapids with all the whitecaps, and waves hitting you from every side.

After what seemed like an eternity we reached the Head-Pin, the first marker in the channel ten hours later. Like a battered prizefighter still swinging haymakers in the tenth round, the JR2 had made it back to the Hatch once again.

I feel terrible for the guys all who all came a long way (Louisiana, Ft Myers, Boca Raton) to do this trip, but diving far offshore has it's inherent risks, and it is what we must accept, or go take up golf like every other suburban schlep-ass. While we knew it was going to be sloppy on Friday, and mutually based our decsion on that, the forecast got blown bigtime. NOAA's finest does it again. Everyone took the whole experience with a grain of salt, and all guests have upcoming trips in the next few months. I have the dates red-flagged in my charter book, and we'll be doing something special on each. I'm sure that Don B will be visting Madame Marie in the Nawlins hex shop to get the ju-ju curse lifted that got laid on us this weekend . Standing by.

AJ Suarez


__________________
I'm D4B, and I approved this message.

This will go down in history as one of the top four roughest JR2 trips that I have been involved in, and the first that caused any loss of diving. Here in chronological order are the the other three. Feel free to vicariously enjoy the hell-spawned misery.

December 1998
The classic winter cold front blasts through the MG as we are finishing up our dives on Sunday. A lovely ride home in 8'-10' seas. This is where the famous line, "Green, coming through!" originated from. Onboard was Capt. Gene Heidenreich, a man who makes an NFL offensive lineman look like the proverbial 90 pound weakling, sprinting through the cabin as if he were running for Olympic gold to get to the deck for a massive chowder session.

September 1999
Tropical Storm Harvey does the disservice of speeding up in the Gulf while we are having a great time in the MG. While the Carnival cruise ship Tropicale flounders around 100 mi. to our south in 12' seas after an engine fire debilitates all their power, we also have our hands full. An unnamed Spearboard member becomes unhinged, begging us to leave, and screaming that we are all going to die Saturday night as the sh*t hits the fan. The ride in Sunday was quite refreshing as the tropical storm induced gentle undulations of the sea rocked us all to sleep...into a nightmare we could not wake up from.

January 2000
The classic!! The old gang in it's glory days. Deepfish, Freeshaft, Reef Raider, Financial Advis, and myself. Staring right into the face of massive seas that were forecasted to lay down by Sunday, we launced the JR2 right into the heart of darkness being tough m-fers, and all. That Friday night tested how badly we wanted it as we took an epic ass whipping, getting beat on like a low-rent circus monkey. I'll never forget the image of poor Freeshaft hunched over the window in the captain's chair blowing pressure washer torrents of hurl as Deepfish and Reef Raider (both of whom never got sick) contentedly ate doughnut holes. Financial Advis was in the worse shape of us all, hurling and gunnel hunching for three days straight even after the seas had laid down. I give him props because he never missed a dive, and many times we had to physically push him over the side like a walrus because he was too weak to even stand up.

Sunday found us with flat calm seas on the Middle Grounds wreck. What followed was the most incredible steelslinging on one wreck ever. We all ended up backdiving the spot four times filling the the H.O.D. to capacity on every drop. A fish box bulging at the seams makes you forget very quickly the pain, and anguish that the sea brings forth.

AJ Suarez