HOD (hoop of death)= The end result of a successful dive off of the Hatch. Word origin shrouded in mystery......

Guests
Dabull Trouble, Zack, Capt Gene, and his buddies Randy and Wade Fisher. True to his threats, Dabull Trouble brought his "special blend" of spiced baked beans, raw onions, and hot sauce to terrorize us with his thunderous methane blasts which at times seemed to threaten the hull's integrity. JR2 HQ was contacted this morning by OSHA, and we are now required to provide HAZMAT suits to all passengers when DT is onboard. Thanks to Zack's mom for bringing Saturday night dinner, and her special "magic" brownies . Now if Mrs. Singer could send the maid along with Zack on the next trip to pick up after him, we'd be all set .

Sea Conditions
NOAA was dead on except for one small detail. They really meant seas 2 meters or less. It was as rough as the acne scarred surface of a Samoan powerlifter's pockmarked ass Fri and Sat, finally laying down to what we were expecting all weekend on Sunday. As soon as I finish this trip report, I'm hopping in the Camaro Berlinetta, driving to the nearest NWS office, and commencing vigorous beatings with an axe handle to any personnel I encounter. The vis varied greatly from 15'-80' depending on the dive site, and water temps averaged 71-73 degrees.

Look At All The Pretty Grouper I Can't Shoot....Again!!!!
Saturday morning. After a successful half day of slaying the day before, we approached the jug marking a remote site that we have not visited since earlier this year. The engines shut, and Capt Gene, Wade, and Randy descended into the briny abyss. Fifteen minutes later they surfaced minus shafts with stories of amounts of fish they have never seen before in their lives. Team two consisting of Zack, DT, and myself spring into action. With the overcast skies, the concentrations of bait, and small jacks, the water takes on an eerie gloom. DT and I poise ourselves on the lip of the ledge, sniping fish off the precipice with the line shafts of our SS Rhino guns. In the melee, we separate, and no sooner I get massively tangled in heavy mono line. Sure enough, as I'm performing my Edward Scissorhands gimmick with the trauma shears I always carry, a nice size male sand tiger shark with claspers fully apparent appproaches me from the low side of the break. Imagine a big nurse shark looking deal with f*cked up snaggly choppers, and you get the picture. They are not normally aggressive, but not wanting to be this well hung fish's Ned Beatty from Deliverance, I went into turbo scissor mode, freed myself, slipped on the powerhead, but fortunately for both of us he left after a couple passes before I could feed him my Russian flavored copper coated candy. Oh yeah, we backdove the spot twice more, and still left fish down there.

Saturday afternoon. A dive that will live in infamy for me. Another remote site consisting of artificial structure, and one of the few dives on this trip that I did not backdive after a customer. I descended with Wade and Randy into a swirling sea of bait, jacks, and huge size mango pods in mid water. A 30# class cubera immediately comes into focus as I hit the bottom, and I wack it hard right in the gill plates. How it came off the line shaft which I had on for a midwater opportunity while descending is beyond me, but in a split second the snapper is off, and out into the never-never land of sand. No time to feel sorry as the bottom is carpeted with gags. I switched to freeshaft, and proceeded to lay a pimp slapping so hard that even Shaft (hush your mouth!!!) would give this crazy haired white boy a nod of approval.

In the midst of my Braveheart-like battle fog, I noticed movement in my peripheral vision. I turn, sh*t another shark! No wait, sweet feathery mother of Jesus, it's the biggest m-fing cobia I have ever seen! He and one of his buddies who is also a trophy in it's own right is trailing a stingray the size of a B-1 bomber swimming away rapidly. I swim through the structure trying to intersect their projected path, and moving through the water faster than Michael Phelps on crystal meth, I let fly with a missile that cracked the beast right in the skull. The impact knocked the fish on end, and it started sinking headfirst into the bottom. Almost shaking uncontrollably, I begin to load the lineshaft when like Jason in Friday the 13th it comes back to life, throws the shaft (but doesn't bend it), and swims off to join to the stingray as if nothing happened with great torrents of green u/w blood gushing from it's head. I gave chase for about a hundred yards until the cartoon birds started circling around my head from overexertion, and accepted defeat... a second time. To cap it off after shooting a few more fish back on the structure, I lost a true copperbelly gag in the 30# range with attached freeshaft to add the cherry on my ice cream sundae of woe. That was about as pissed off as I ever was holding a 100# plus pound stringer of gags. DT did a solo backdive which turned into a solo night deco dive with an f-ed up shaft, but that's his story to tell.

Sunday morning came with team one loading some serious HOD's on a wreck which put us at our grouper limit. The rest of our dive trip of course was spent being tempted by hundreds of gags that somehow knew they were safe for the day, and taking that frustration out on mangos and hogs. Don't worry, the next trip is soon, and we know where they are.

It was another great trip with some quality people to share it with. Hopefully, they'll post with a trip report from their perspective. You're looking at Feb 2005 if you want to join the HOD squad, you know how to find me. I'm out like a trout, standing by.

Slaytistics
Gag Grouper=70 (Four trips in a row hitting our double rec bag!!!)
Mango Snapper=95
Hogfish=42
Amberjack=9 (Nobody wants to shoot them!!)
Red Snapper=0 (We were surrounded on virtually every dive by dozens of nice size shootable ARS. Out of season ARRRRRRRGGGHHHH!!!!)

AJ Suarez


__________________
Red snappers snapping
Clam shells clapping
Mussels flexing
Flippers flipping
....Down, DOWN!