blobbottlebob
Well-Known Member
Hey all. Here is a story (hot off the press) about some of my underwater interactions with undersea life. This is fairly long and contains very few references to bottles. Sorry. It is some small consolation that I had all of these experiences while hunting for bottles.
I appologize in advance to any and all carp lovers. You may want to skip the last section if you keep goldfish in a bowl and cannot stand the thought of any harm befalling upon its wild bretherens.
I hope this thread will encourage you to relate your own experinces, diving, fishing, turtle-ing or otherwise. Thanks for any feedback in advance!
FISH STORIES By Bob Libbey
My hobby is scuba diving. I love to be underwater looking for stuff and junk. Along the way, I’ve had plenty of encounters with the inhabitants of the freshwater lakes and rivers where I dive in Wisconsin. Occasionally, I’ll spot a turtle. From a land-based perspective, turtles are usually hard to catch. They can duck underwater, change directions, hide in the mud and hold their breath for extended periods of time. When trying to escape from a diver, none of these strategies work. They are fairly easily captured. If I catch one, I will remove any leaches that I find and release the turtle unharmed.
It is more common that I interact with fish. Most often, the encounter is fleeting because most fish are either afraid of me, or of my bubbles gurgling up from my gear to the surface. I can recall popping into an opening of a weed bed that was occupied by several disk shaped crappies. The fish have a striking (almost checkered) black and white pattern across their bodies and fins. They were suspended alongside some weed stalks hovering perfectly still. The scene would have made a picturesque fisherman’s postcard. One exhale, though, and they scattered.
Muskies
Sometimes my encounters are longer. Whenever I see a musky, I stop what I’m doing and try to appreciate this majestic animal. Unlike crappies, muskies are not skittish about air bubbles. They are the top predator in the food chain, so, they have little fear of being eaten. They will sometimes swim towards and around me, seemingly checking me out. I always do the same.
One cold December day, I was diving about five or six feet deep in a lake that is normally murky. Because of the cold water and low boat traffic, the clarity was quite good. As I was rooting around for bottles, I suddenly got the feeling that I was being watched. That’s strange. I looked up to see a large musky about ten feet in front of me. It was sideways (relative to me) so I could see its entire length. Its coloration was pale. The vertical stripes along its side were nearly invisible. It seemed to be staring right at me. I looked at it for a minute then, BANG. It was gone. Muskies can kind-of coil themselves into a spring. It allows them to lunge forward so fast that you can hardly see them move. This is effective for catching the fish that they eat. Normally, they move quite slowly. (I assume to preserve energy). I have rarely seen them lunge off when they were not startled. No big whoop. I went back to bottle hunting.
A minute later, about two feet off to my right, an object coasts into my peripheral vision. It was the musky. I turned to face it and POOF. He was gone. Then I began to look for this fish. He pulled alongside shadowing me this time from the left. This behavior seemed very odd. Maybe it was territorial? However, I know that this fish was not spawning or nesting at the onset of winter. I began to consider the possibility that this thing might actually attack me. What would happen? Well, I had a quarter inch of neoprene over my entire body except around my face. This was almost entirely covered by my mask. I was only about twenty or thirty feet from shore. If anything happened, I could just stand up and walk out of the water. I didn’t think that there was any way possible for this fish to hurt me even if it was trying. Still, I guess it freaked me out a little. I kept an eye out for the fish but after his third pass, he never returned.
On another summer day, I was diving alone on the north shore of my favorite lake. I was not finding anything, so, I kept going farther and farther out. At twenty-nine feet, I began to wonder if I would return empty handed. Just then, I felt something smooth and I grabbed it. It was too soft to be a bottle but maybe it was man-made. I thought that I’d pick it up and take a look. As I pulled it towards my mask, it wriggled left then right. It startled me and I let go. Nothing on the bottom moves at twenty-nine feet! There was now a cloud of particulate that had been kicked up in front of me. Gradually, I inched forward through the fog to see what was there. As I came through, I saw a large musky on the other side. The fish had turned to face the cloud as well. He was neither threatened nor threatening. He looked like he was trying to figure out what had just happened. He was perfectly still staring at me with that large under-bite. We looked at each other for a minute or two then he slowly drifted away.
Largemouth
I also have encounters with bass. Once a largemouth reaches a certain size, it loses its fear of divers. There are several huge bass that will follow me around especially when I dive in the early spring. I wonder if they are so hungry from a long winter that they are eager to follow any chance for food. I suppose with all of the fin kicking, I could scare up a few crayfish or minnows. Sometimes as I’m clawing around with my hands, they come right up to my fingers ready to pounce on any critter that darts off.
On one such trip, two large bass were following me. I enjoyed having their company and kept an eye open for anything that they might eat. As I had been working my way into shallow water, I suddenly came upon a pier post. I had not realized I was that close to shore. I looked upward and saw someone standing right above me on the pier. There’s really no graceful way around this situation, so, I stood up, pulled my mask down, and said “Hello.†The gentleman asked what I was doing and I explained my hobby a little. He pointed beside me and said, “There’s a huge carp in the water right next to you.†I replied that it was not a carp, it was a largemouth bass. He said, “No. That can’t be. That fish is too big to be a bass.†I knew that it was one of the bass that was following me but I didn’t want to argue so, I said, “Hang on, I’ll take a look.†I flipped my mask back down, looked under and came back up. “Yep. It’s a bass.†“I gotta get my fishing pole,†he said as he ran off. I waited and waited. Either he couldn’t find his pole or he’d given up on the idea. I swam off and the bass followed.
Carp
So far, I’ve only talked about game fish. It’s funny how much respect and awe I have for these creatures. Oddly enough, at the same time, I don’t have the same feelings about carp. I’m not sure why that is, but it’s something like the difference between a hawk and a pigeon. A hawk is graceful and splendid soaring on unseen currents scanning for prey. A pigeon, on the other hand, will sit on a statue in a park until it’s droppings cover every square inch of stone.
The carp that I run into always seem to be swimming around in a frenzy. They panic merely because of our presence. They dart back and forth in front of us wondering what to do. If they’d just swim one direction, they’d be completely clear in moments. Instead, they stir up the visibility and keep swimming right up into our faces.
One day, I was diving in a murky area. I couldn’t see well at all, just a few feet. I was feeling around with my arms along the bottom swinging them outward as if I was doing a breast stroke. I must have stirred up a large carp that was off to my left side. The fish darted right into the center of my field of vision and stopped. I was not expecting this. In a defensive reaction, I balled my hands into fists and pulled my arms back. Like a boxer, I had one fist on each side of my face.
One thing to remember about diving is that you cannot see very well without a mask. The air pocket in front of your eyes allows you to focus correctly. However, it also creates an illusion that objects are larger and closer than they really are. That fish looked very close and large, but I thought that it was the illusion. With my hands already balled into fists, I did what came naturally; I threw a punch. I expected that the carp was out of range. I expected to frighten it off (for the moment) with my hands before I even got close to it. What I didn’t expect was to land the punch.
The fish took the full force of the shot like a fluffy pillow. The blow hit him dead smack in the center of his body. He curled into a “U†shape with the force of the impact. He did not dart away. After he straightened back out, he very slowly began to meander off. Very very strange. I’ve never heard of anyone punching a fish underwater.
I appologize in advance to any and all carp lovers. You may want to skip the last section if you keep goldfish in a bowl and cannot stand the thought of any harm befalling upon its wild bretherens.
I hope this thread will encourage you to relate your own experinces, diving, fishing, turtle-ing or otherwise. Thanks for any feedback in advance!
FISH STORIES By Bob Libbey
My hobby is scuba diving. I love to be underwater looking for stuff and junk. Along the way, I’ve had plenty of encounters with the inhabitants of the freshwater lakes and rivers where I dive in Wisconsin. Occasionally, I’ll spot a turtle. From a land-based perspective, turtles are usually hard to catch. They can duck underwater, change directions, hide in the mud and hold their breath for extended periods of time. When trying to escape from a diver, none of these strategies work. They are fairly easily captured. If I catch one, I will remove any leaches that I find and release the turtle unharmed.
It is more common that I interact with fish. Most often, the encounter is fleeting because most fish are either afraid of me, or of my bubbles gurgling up from my gear to the surface. I can recall popping into an opening of a weed bed that was occupied by several disk shaped crappies. The fish have a striking (almost checkered) black and white pattern across their bodies and fins. They were suspended alongside some weed stalks hovering perfectly still. The scene would have made a picturesque fisherman’s postcard. One exhale, though, and they scattered.
Muskies
Sometimes my encounters are longer. Whenever I see a musky, I stop what I’m doing and try to appreciate this majestic animal. Unlike crappies, muskies are not skittish about air bubbles. They are the top predator in the food chain, so, they have little fear of being eaten. They will sometimes swim towards and around me, seemingly checking me out. I always do the same.
One cold December day, I was diving about five or six feet deep in a lake that is normally murky. Because of the cold water and low boat traffic, the clarity was quite good. As I was rooting around for bottles, I suddenly got the feeling that I was being watched. That’s strange. I looked up to see a large musky about ten feet in front of me. It was sideways (relative to me) so I could see its entire length. Its coloration was pale. The vertical stripes along its side were nearly invisible. It seemed to be staring right at me. I looked at it for a minute then, BANG. It was gone. Muskies can kind-of coil themselves into a spring. It allows them to lunge forward so fast that you can hardly see them move. This is effective for catching the fish that they eat. Normally, they move quite slowly. (I assume to preserve energy). I have rarely seen them lunge off when they were not startled. No big whoop. I went back to bottle hunting.
A minute later, about two feet off to my right, an object coasts into my peripheral vision. It was the musky. I turned to face it and POOF. He was gone. Then I began to look for this fish. He pulled alongside shadowing me this time from the left. This behavior seemed very odd. Maybe it was territorial? However, I know that this fish was not spawning or nesting at the onset of winter. I began to consider the possibility that this thing might actually attack me. What would happen? Well, I had a quarter inch of neoprene over my entire body except around my face. This was almost entirely covered by my mask. I was only about twenty or thirty feet from shore. If anything happened, I could just stand up and walk out of the water. I didn’t think that there was any way possible for this fish to hurt me even if it was trying. Still, I guess it freaked me out a little. I kept an eye out for the fish but after his third pass, he never returned.
On another summer day, I was diving alone on the north shore of my favorite lake. I was not finding anything, so, I kept going farther and farther out. At twenty-nine feet, I began to wonder if I would return empty handed. Just then, I felt something smooth and I grabbed it. It was too soft to be a bottle but maybe it was man-made. I thought that I’d pick it up and take a look. As I pulled it towards my mask, it wriggled left then right. It startled me and I let go. Nothing on the bottom moves at twenty-nine feet! There was now a cloud of particulate that had been kicked up in front of me. Gradually, I inched forward through the fog to see what was there. As I came through, I saw a large musky on the other side. The fish had turned to face the cloud as well. He was neither threatened nor threatening. He looked like he was trying to figure out what had just happened. He was perfectly still staring at me with that large under-bite. We looked at each other for a minute or two then he slowly drifted away.
Largemouth
I also have encounters with bass. Once a largemouth reaches a certain size, it loses its fear of divers. There are several huge bass that will follow me around especially when I dive in the early spring. I wonder if they are so hungry from a long winter that they are eager to follow any chance for food. I suppose with all of the fin kicking, I could scare up a few crayfish or minnows. Sometimes as I’m clawing around with my hands, they come right up to my fingers ready to pounce on any critter that darts off.
On one such trip, two large bass were following me. I enjoyed having their company and kept an eye open for anything that they might eat. As I had been working my way into shallow water, I suddenly came upon a pier post. I had not realized I was that close to shore. I looked upward and saw someone standing right above me on the pier. There’s really no graceful way around this situation, so, I stood up, pulled my mask down, and said “Hello.†The gentleman asked what I was doing and I explained my hobby a little. He pointed beside me and said, “There’s a huge carp in the water right next to you.†I replied that it was not a carp, it was a largemouth bass. He said, “No. That can’t be. That fish is too big to be a bass.†I knew that it was one of the bass that was following me but I didn’t want to argue so, I said, “Hang on, I’ll take a look.†I flipped my mask back down, looked under and came back up. “Yep. It’s a bass.†“I gotta get my fishing pole,†he said as he ran off. I waited and waited. Either he couldn’t find his pole or he’d given up on the idea. I swam off and the bass followed.
Carp
So far, I’ve only talked about game fish. It’s funny how much respect and awe I have for these creatures. Oddly enough, at the same time, I don’t have the same feelings about carp. I’m not sure why that is, but it’s something like the difference between a hawk and a pigeon. A hawk is graceful and splendid soaring on unseen currents scanning for prey. A pigeon, on the other hand, will sit on a statue in a park until it’s droppings cover every square inch of stone.
The carp that I run into always seem to be swimming around in a frenzy. They panic merely because of our presence. They dart back and forth in front of us wondering what to do. If they’d just swim one direction, they’d be completely clear in moments. Instead, they stir up the visibility and keep swimming right up into our faces.
One day, I was diving in a murky area. I couldn’t see well at all, just a few feet. I was feeling around with my arms along the bottom swinging them outward as if I was doing a breast stroke. I must have stirred up a large carp that was off to my left side. The fish darted right into the center of my field of vision and stopped. I was not expecting this. In a defensive reaction, I balled my hands into fists and pulled my arms back. Like a boxer, I had one fist on each side of my face.
One thing to remember about diving is that you cannot see very well without a mask. The air pocket in front of your eyes allows you to focus correctly. However, it also creates an illusion that objects are larger and closer than they really are. That fish looked very close and large, but I thought that it was the illusion. With my hands already balled into fists, I did what came naturally; I threw a punch. I expected that the carp was out of range. I expected to frighten it off (for the moment) with my hands before I even got close to it. What I didn’t expect was to land the punch.
The fish took the full force of the shot like a fluffy pillow. The blow hit him dead smack in the center of his body. He curled into a “U†shape with the force of the impact. He did not dart away. After he straightened back out, he very slowly began to meander off. Very very strange. I’ve never heard of anyone punching a fish underwater.
