The entire So California—-Baja—-Pacific Coast, summer of 2003 was a diving disaster. For hundreds of miles the red tide turned the blue to brown and the fish disappeared or could not be seen. It was so thick in some parts of Baja that the desalinization plants ceased to function.In my 14 years on “The Rock” called Cedros Island, a barren island 50 miles off the coast of Baja, I had never seen such dirty water for so long. Otherwise the ocean conditions at Cedros were phenomenal, with no wind, perfectly glassy water, tons of bait and ideal for diving—-except for the visibility. The typical 60-80 foot vis was down to less than half that, and now I had a nice yellowtail tangled in a rock at 55 feet and I could not see him till I was near 40 feet, my max depth. Fifty-five feet in cold water is too deep for me, but from 35 or 40 feet down, I could see that the shooting line swivel was wedged in a deep crack and the fish was still swimming around the bottom with the slip tip toggled. The current was running so we threw a marker buoy on the rock and I made repeated attempts to get down as I really wanted to recover my spear and my slip tip as well as the fish. I was getting close, but was too burned out to make the last ten feet and have any energy left to free the fish. What else could I try?

Ana suggested that I use her weight belt also, so that I could get down easier and we could tie it off to a rope so that she could pull it back up when I let go. My initial concern was that I could not clear fast enough or maybe I would burn my air freeing the fish and could not make it back up. Also I had never tried this before and if something unexpected happened I was on my own. After thinking it through I decided to try it, since I was almost there, and I really did not want to loose my shaft and tip.

I hung on to the side of the aluminum boat and breathed up as the current carried us toward the drop point, up current of the marking buoy. With my 22 lb. weight beltand Ana’s 18 lb. weight belt in my hands I would be using 40 lbs. of weight. One last breath, I let go of the boat, tipped up and with no kicking started my fall. I closed my eyes and tried to totally relax as I felt the water rushing past my body. At about 45 feet I opened my eyes and released Ana’s belt when I saw that I had hit the rock perfectly. I felt unbelievably great, no need for air and no panic as I stood on the bottom to assess the situation. I pulled in the spear, grabbed the loading tabs, cut free the mono shooting line, and started to pump for the surface. Five wasted seconds and I could see that I was not moving off the bottom.The fish was still swimming down against the slip tip.I looked up and knew the fish would win this tug of war before I got to the surface. I had time for only one grab for the fish and it had to be the gills. Otherwise, with the cut shooting line, the fish, the shaft, and the point were history.

It felt great as my hand slid in and around the big gills on the first try. I turned his head up and held him overhead and to the side like a torch. As I felt his still considerable power cut in, I knew I would make it. His dying efforts would bring me life. The last twenty feet I just watched in awe as his slow motions powered me to the light. Awesome. The system worked fantastic. I took the elevator down and got my fish, spear and tip and took another elevator up.Maybe I had discovered the secret, senior, fish retrieval system. I proudly held up the 46-pound yellowtail for Ana to see. I was as surprised as she was.

Thinking about it later, I felt that I might try this again, but the critical ingredient to arrive alive at the surface is to have the UP elevator working perfectly. Not very likely this could repeat. Though I hope I don’t have to take these extreme measures in the future, at least I know that I have another retrieval option to consider that just might work.

The murky water for the entire month was the final straw that convinced me to sell out my dive base on Cedros. It was time to escape the “Rock” and head for warmer water and points South. The Island had been a great Adventureland for me with total freedom and an abundance of big fish, abs and lobster. Parts of the harsh, isolated Baja environment would NOT be missed. The island is almost solid rock with little vegetation and it did not rain again last year. There are enough abandoned cars and trucks in town to make a monster artificial reef. There are black widows, scorpions, packs of wild dogs, rocky roads, and dust everywhere. The fruits, vegetables, and gasoline etc.etc. will probably be here manana—which means not today. And the transportation to and from the Island is always on the thin edge of failing.. The people are fantastic—helpful, happy, uncomplaining, hard working and friendly. I never felt any bad vibes as the only Gringo among the 6000 Mexicans.. When I tried to sell my house no one had any money because the lobster season had not started yet. But there was one young man, Marcial, 24, who had just finished his eight-month drug rehab program at the center on Cedros. He grew up in the border town of Tijuana where drug abuse is the norm for young guys. One night, high on crack, he tried to kill his father. When he finished the rehab on Cedros he was ready to go home again and heard about my house. He called his father and for some strange reason the father volunteered to send the $5000 to buy my house if the son would stay on Cedros. It worked great for all of us—I got to escape the “Rock”, Marcial got an awesome deal on the house, and the father got to sleep nights. When I juxtapose the daily life of those on Cedros with what we speardivers get to see and do in our daily lives the difference is astounding. One thing Cedros Is——Is a lesson in Gratitude.

A few days later Ana and I were diving one of our places that always has fish. As some of my gear was already packed I decided to use an old ski rope as a float line. It was a woven poly line with a rough exterior. Who needs a real float line and what difference could it make anyway? In the mild current the rope hung in the first five feet of water. We had not seen many fish at this, always-incredible place, and the normal 50 – 70 feet of vis was down to about 20 feet. After half-hour in the dirty water I was frustrated and really ready to shoot something. The yellowtail were not coming by often and the ones I saw were too deep or too far. Hanging at about 30 feet and ready to come up for air, I was surprised by a big broomtail that came up off the bottom and headed directly for my reflective fins. At about ten feet away he turned and offered me a perfect broadside. Because I prefer to shoot big yellowtail, I don’t often shoot these fish, but it was the wrong day to tempt the purple predator. I rationalized that it was either me or a slow death in the Mexican nets. I took my time and lined up the shot, because I knew the bottom here was giant rocks and caves and too deep for me to get him out.BAM——

Good head shot, but not stoned, and I chose to burn the little energy I had left trying to power up and keep him off the bottom. I got a quick breath and continued pulling on the line as fast as possible, pulling me down and the fish hopefully up. The slack rope did not float but hung suspended all around me. I got back to the surface again and realized I was totally wrapped with the sticky ski rope adhering to my suit. I could feel the fear flood over me as I realized the danger. I knew that this big fish could kill me with one strong run, which could come any moment.I pumped to keep my head on the surface, pulled on the fish with one hand and tried to get the ski rope off with the other hand. It was like Velcro against my suit and not rigid enough to flip loops over my head. I was pulled under again and when I got to the surface I waved for Ana in the boat because I knew that I could not free myself. Two more times I was pulled down and came back up with my battery totally dead. I got more scared realizing I was absolutely fatigued and that I had no reserve left. I was petrified the fish would make an unstoppable power run to the bottom at any time taking me with him.And then——- the Angel showed up in the aluminum boat.SAVED!

As I held to the boat with one hand and the fish rope with the other hand, Ana leaned over and untangled me. Now that I was rested and safe, I could enjoy fighting the fish. The head shot was effective enough that the fish had not made it to a crack or cave. I got the fish up, stayed clear of his gill rakers and his teeth, and ran a rope through his mouth so that we could extract the spear. I now try to remove the spear in the water so the shaft does not get tweaked when we pull the fish in the boat. The beast weighed in at 90 lbs. and I felt happy to be leaving the “Rock” with one more nice fish under my belt.

Now I know that float lines are not all the same and that ski ropes, just because they are strong, cheap and available, will not suffice for a float line. Float lines work well because they actually stay on the surface, are smooth, and rigid enough to avoid most tangles. Good float lines are the way to go—-We may not always have an Angel in an aluminum boat standing by to save us.

As I thought, the final Escape From the Rock would be tenuous. At the last minute the fishing coop agreed to carry my 1000 lbs. of gear, my truck and me on their boat that was carrying ten thousand live lobsters to Ensenada——Tonight.Most big stuff like the boat and house was sold but I knew I would have to walk out the door and leave lots of things. It was escape tonight or maybe not for weeks. At this point I did not want the cheese—I just wanted my nose out of the trap.We left the harbor at 2 AM and I was amazed that in such chaos and confusion it had actually worked and I had made my escape.

Thirty two hours later, after a night of huge seas washing over my truck with me in the back, we made it to Ensenada—the mainland, civilization, restaurants, gas stations, car washes and real paved roads that led back to LA.Still in one piece and ready for new dive adventures, I had ESCAPED ALIVE FROM “THE ROCK”.GRATITUDE

DIX&ANA ROPER
OCTOBER 2003
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