Lobster Diving, Alone and Confused By: Dr. Howard W. Wright
Lobster Diving, Alone and Confused
By: Dr. Howard W. Wright
I think about my father every now and again. I will hear one of his favorite songs in an elevator or see something that would have made my dad laugh and I smile. He died 10 years ago of emphysema – from smoking. Here, alone, treading water at night in the dark off the California coast, waiting for the dive boat to pick me up, makes me think about a lot of very odd things. The dive boat is late and I bob up and down offshore watching the lights of Redondo Beach appear as I crest a wave and then disappear as I drop into a trough. In the solitude I think of sharks, drowning, and my dad. I try and focus on my dad.
I started free diving when I was 10. My mom and dad lived on the top of a 300 foot sand cliff overlooking Torrance Beach, a suburb of Los Angeles, and every chance I got I would go to the beach and dive. My buddies and I would grab our wetsuits, weight belts, masks, snorkels and fins and hike down the cliff, diving from morning to night. In 1971, I turned 15 and made the transition from free diving with a snorkel to SCUBA diving with tank and regulator. I was a member of dive clubs throughout high school and college, hitting the water as often as possible from San Diego to Dana Point, Laguna to Catalina Island.
All that diving came to an end when I got into dental school at Washington University in St. Louis, met my wife, raised a wonderful son, magnificent twin daughters and started a dental practice. St. Louis was great except for the fact that I was I was 1800 miles from the ocean. Not until thirty years later, with the help of my cousin Bob, did I get back into diving and ultimately find myself in 60 feet of water off the Kings Harbor breakwater, lobster diving at night, waiting for my ship to come in.
I learned to lobster dive from a good friend named Kenny, a great guy and experienced dive master. I met Kenny at a dinner party and was fascinated by his stories of night lobster diving and the idea of finding and catching the monsters. Lobster diving was different from conventional diving. You dive with twin lights, one on your mask and one in your hand, you dive at night and you dive alone.
The first few times Kenny took me out hunting for lobsters, or bugs as they are called, we dove together as a two man team. Initially Kenny taught me how to orient myself in the dark, making controlled descents and ascents using only my gauges. Underwater navigation is important for any diver, the challenge of navigating while night diving amplifies the seriousness of that skill to an extreme. Dropping down in sixty feet of water with absolutely no points of reference except your compass and depth gauge can be intimidating particularly when diving in Redondo where the 500 foot deep Redondo Canyon lies a mere hundred yards to the southwest.
Once comfortable diving at night, Kenny showed me how to find the lobsters. The reddish-brown California spiny lobster, while similar to the popular Atlantic lobster, lacks their large powerful claws. To make up for the absence of these pincers, the California spiny lobster is covered in needle sharp spines, horns and a long pair of spike covered antennae. The lobster’s tail which propels the bugs backward, is composed of overlapping hinged hooked plates which open and close like sharpened scissors. Without a doubt, thick heavy duty gloves are a must when snagging the bugs.
Lobsters are nocturnal, spending daylight hours deep in holes or under rocks hiding from seals and octopus. Once the sun goes down, the lobsters move out of their dens and travel freely across the sandy bottom or perch on rocks eating sea weed, algae and sea urchins. The easiest way to find a lobster is by patrolling the bottom near structure or by looking for the antenna protruding from a mat of seaweed or sticking out from around a rock. Caution is critical when searching for lobster for if you light up the lobster, it will scoot like a fat rat retreating into the nearest hole. The technique of shining just enough light to grab the lobster while keeping the light low enough so it doesn’t bolt is a key to successful lobster hunting.
It is because of this skittish nature of the bugs that lobster divers typically hunt alone. Two divers working the same area usually frighten the lobsters into their holes long before a diver is close enough to pounce. Once you see a lobster the first thing to do is switch your main handheld light off relying only on your small mask light to see. Moving slowly, your vision now limited to area the size of a basket ball, you gradually swim just above its body and in one swift swipe grab the lobster like you’re squeezing a loaf of bread. Once grabbed, the lobster will immediately shoot backwards, spinning and twirling trying to escape. This is where a strong grip and good dive gloves are a must. Moving the lobster first to your side like a running back clutching a football, you then use your measuring gauge to see if it is legal. If large enough, you transfer the bug into your game bag, switch on your main light and again begin sweeping the light across the bottom searching for another bug.
Tonight had been a good night. I had my limit of seven lobsters, one weighing 4 pounds, but a good night of lobster hunting made for a difficult night of treading water. The game bag clips on my left hip hanging down way below my knee. Kicking on the surface, it seemed like there was no way to keep the cumbersome bag of bugs from tangling in my legs. Underwater the game bag trails weightless and unnoticed alongside me as I swim, but on the surface the filled game bag simply frustrates.
Up until this time I had only been treading water for a short while; but on the open ocean at night, slowly drifting in the dark, even a short time felt like an eternity. Holding my handheld dive light over my head, I swept the water like a lighthouse hoping to attract the attention of the boat. My buoyancy compensator was inflated and all I had to do was stay calm and remain upright keeping the daydreaming under control. I have waited for the boat before but never this long.
The way the swells were picking up I could only really look out into the black ocean every dozen seconds or so when I rode the crest of a swell. Behind me the breakwater was roaring with six foot waves smashing against its rocks. Floating in the water waving my light in the general direction of where the boat was supposed to be can be disheartening. After ten minutes in the dark a man can get nervous, I had been treading water for fifteen.
The breakwater surrounding Kings Harbor is just over a mile long. It rises twenty five feet above the water and is in the shape of an L with the harbor entrance toward the south marked by a large green navigational light. For this dive I was dropped at the center of the L in sixty feet of water with the plan for me to swim south. Moving off, I searched for lobsters on both the sea floor and the breakwaters vertical rock wall until, low on air, I surfaced where I had intended, finding myself without a boat, both alone and confused. Where was the boat? Why wasn’t it on station? Then, suddenly, floating in the inky black water, I noticed that I was surrounded by small green lights bobbing much like I was. These fist sized lights were scattered in every direction as far as I could see. What neither I nor the dive boat considered was the hoop netters.
Hoop netters are fishermen who catch lobsters by placing bait in the middle of a circular net, lowered to the bottom and tethered to a lighted float. The floats are illuminated by glow sticks and working all through the night, the hoop netters pull up in their boats, retrieve their nets, snag any legal lobsters and then drop the nets back down. Hoop netters place as many as 20 hoop nets in an area, running back and forth for hours getting lobster. While diving, I had seen a large number of hoop nets on the ocean floor but I didn’t think it was important. I was catching lobsters by hand, they were trying to snag them with a net, and everything was good. That was until, bobbing on the surface, I realized why the boat couldn’t find me. I was one light amongst dozens. I was like the proverbial needle in a haystack.
The world is stock full of rules, guidelines and procedures. At this point, my arm aching from supporting a five pound dive light over my head for going on 20 minutes, the rules my dad relayed to me as a kid started popping in my mind. The number one rule stated that when you are lost, stay where you are. Search and rescue teams share story after story of individuals moving from “last known locations” to areas where you would never think to look. There are exceptions but not many. One such exception is lost at sea. That being the case, we shift to rule two.
I can’t think of the instance or what provoked the comment, but treading water in the dark, I can clearly remember my dad relaying it, his thin six foot four inch frame leaning over me, giving me that stern you better listen to me stare. My dad was quiet; he rarely spoke, so when he actually talked to me, I listened. My dad had those deep Abraham Lincoln looking eyes and I clearly remember him pointing his finger at me saying, ”Howard, when you find yourself in a tough situation you have to move. If you don’t know where to go just do something, pick a direction and go. If it gets worse then turn around and go the opposite direction, but you mustn’t stay where you are and allow yourself to get hammered.”
Move. I decided to swim the half mile to the entrance of the harbor. I knew I had to get out of the forest of bobbing hoop netters lights, I knew the harbor entrance had docks I could climb on and most importantly I knew I could swim the distance. Rolling onto my back like a sea otter, I started to swim. It was nine at night with crystal clear sky. The stars were beautiful and as I kicked I watched the stars through my mask trying to line up a swim angle off Orion’s Belt so I didn’t have to constantly roll over to see where to go. I felt like swam forever kicking on and on, swells pushing me off course and kelp tangling my fins. Every once in a while I would feel a brush against my leg or hear a splash in the water and I would focus on my Dad. No sharks, no drowning.
Fifty yards from the entrance to the harbor I heard the rumble of the boat, Kenny both furious and elated at me. I think he was more anxious than I was, but it was close.
To a large degree I felt embarrassed for feeling so lost and alone. I had only been in the water for 40 minutes but it felt like an eternity. I’ve read about airmen and sailors that survived at sea for weeks or months. I had been in the water for only a little over half an hour
I had an emergency Storm whistle, I always dive with one, but I didn’t use it. I held it right in my gloved hand during most of the ordeal but for some silly reason felt that if I blew it I would indeed be in an emergency situation; by not blowing it I was all good. “Foolish,” Kenny told me, he had repeatedly shut the engine down and listened for the whistle. Mark Twain said, “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt”. I still dive at night and I still dive alone. To a large degree, I lobster dive because it is exciting. I love the smell of sea weed, the taste and feel of the water as it seeps into my mouth and burns my eyes; the amazing beauty of the undersea plants and animals, and hunting for lobster and also the danger. It can be difficult and it’s not for everyone. As I got out of the water on that harrowing night, I told myself I would never do it again. Two days later I called Kenny asking when the next dive was and if there was room for one more.
If you enjoyed reading Dr. Wright’s stories, check out his amazing autobiography, Trials of the Whistle King. Get it at stormwhistles.com or through Amazon or on Kindle.
Dr. Howard Wright grew up in the South Bay having attended South Torrance High School and later graduating from the University of California, San Diego. He moved to St. Louis to attend dental school, married his wife and raised a son and twin girls. Having invented the Storm Whistle, the loudest whistle in the world, Howard was able to retire from dentistry after just 20 years and shift his attention to education where he, for over the next dozen years, taught chemistry, coached wrestling and mentored students as dean. Dr. Wright, while being very active in scuba diving, surfing and biking, is also a prolific writer having written a number of academic articles, commentaries on fishing and outdoor sports, an adventure trilogy for Hawaiian language students and his own autobiography. When asked what is his greatest inspiration, Dr Wright answered, “His faith in God, the love of his wife and the devotion of his family.”