Dive Quest

                My new favorite summer hobby is spearfishing. It combines fishing and snorkeling, two activities that I enjoy, but it doesn’t just combine those activities but improves on them. It is better than normal fishing because I get fish to eat (in theory), but I get to see them, and interact with them in a way that is more similar to hunting than normal fishing. Spearfishing improves on snorkeling because I have a good reason to push my limits physically, and I get to carry weapons. Spearfishing is also just intrinsically bad ass all by itself. You don’t have to wear a shirt while you are doing it, and the end goal is to stab some smug fish right in the face (they think they’re so cool breathing water and not paying taxes). Catching fish while spearfishing is also called taking fish, which is stupendous. It is like some sort of sweet text adventure.

               

>inventory

               

You are carrying: swim fin x2, snorkel, mask, weight belt, diver down flag, diving knife, pole spear

>go west

You go west. There are submerged trees here. There are fish here.

>look fish

You see carp of various sizes all around you, a catfish laying on the bottom, two northern pike swimming in the trees, and one walleye ahead.

>take walleye

You use your pole spear to take the walleye.

Congratulation! You have completed Dive Quest!  You score 8.3 out of a possible 8.7 points!

                Spearfishing also allows me to entertain elaborate fantasies about meeting dive chicks who look good inwetsuits, and discovering lost U-boats filled with Nazi war-gold (I’m not sure which of those scenarios is more unlikely). Anyway, enough exposition, and onto the story of my first “successful” diving expedition (the quotes indicate skepticism).

                It was the 3^rd of July. There were light clouds in the sky, a light south wind, and temperatures in the high 90’s. I had been out diving about a half dozen times before, seeing a total of two walleye, without ever getting close to spearing something (I won’t kill anything that I won’t eat, which includes the carp and catfish that had been my only reachable targets so far). I went to my usual spot out at the end of the quasi peninsula between Cow and Spring Creeks, for people familiar with the Pierre area (a latitude and longitude of 44°33’23”N and 100°29’56”W, for people not familiar with the area, who are also map nerds). The spot featured nice sandy (aka some sand, some razor sharp gravel) beaches, and plenty or area to look for fish in, as long as I wasn’t being boxed out by the detestable boat fishermen. I was going to try a point that I hadn’t previously explored, but had seen some of the aforementioned boat fishermen at (seriously what is up with those guys?). My main goal was to perfect my diving technique using my new weight belt, and I wasn’t really expecting to see any walleye. The south side of the point was an insipid rocky ledge that held some hope of housing walleye, but planed off at too shallow a depth to be really viable. Visibility was excellent (for the area), and I could see at least 20 feet in the water. The only fish I saw were the always pervasive carp, and a few bass.

I had gone about 150 yards offshore and there was no real change in the ledge, or fish population, so I decided to check on the north side of the point. Crossing over the point I saw something interesting. Carp… scores of them. They were complete unafraid and swimming all around me. I counted coup on a few before it quickly lost its sense of achievement. They ranged in size from about 18 inches to over 30 (I literally measured a few of the fish with the 20 inch marker on my spear, so I am reasonably confident in this number). Carp are one of the ugliest fish in the sea, but it was still fun to be swimming among so many fish, and was enough to make my day. I wasn’t looking for carp though, I was looking for walleye, and I was feeling confident enough in my diving technique now that I thought I might actually be able to get close to one.

When I reached the other side of the point I saw a very promising sight… submerged trees. Small feeder fish gather in cover, and were the prey goes the predator follows (I read that on the internet, so it had to be true).  Carp still abounded in the area, but I couldn’t see around the bottoms of the cover very well, were the walleye were likely to be. I cocked my spear and flawlessly executed one of my new super stealth dives. I cruised along the base of the brush scanning for fish, and what should I see not six feet in front of me but a telltale white spotted tail. It was the wild and wily walleye!  It was swimming away from me, and I knew I would never win in a race, so time was of the essence. I suppressed the sudden urge to panic and extended my spear for face stabbing. At this point the walleye was about eight feet ahead, which is the outer limit of my range, so it was now or never. I aimed for his nose, released my spear, it shot forward, I felt it connect, and then… the walleye swam away. I was left with nothing but a glimpse of a wounded fish and a crushing feeling of disappointment.

One must know his prey

I was also overcome by an unfathomable bloodlust. Blood was in the water, and now I had to kill something. The first thing I saw that was even remotely edibly appealing was a northern pike (appealing through the red mist at least). The pike let me swim right up to it, and due to my earlier failure I decided to adjust my aim this time, and aimed just in front of the fish. I released, and the spear shot straight in front of the pike’s nose, true to its aim. The fish never so much as flinched. It was beginning to dawn on me how ridiculous I was behaving, but the bloodlust, unfathomable as it was, remained unsatiated. I soon spotted another northern, and it being the stereotypical cocky apex predator, I was able to get within close range. He looked to be nearly 30 inches long, which is a respectable enough size. Now understanding the stoic nature of these slimy bastards, I aimed for the gills. I smote him with a solid blow, but failed the full skewer. The pike floated away, exhibited a strange vibrating death spasm, and sank to the bottom. I had to surface due to a regrettable need for oxygen, but quickly dived again to claim my kill. I now took the opportunity to crudely measure my trophy fish with a twenty inch mark I had placed on my pole spear. To my chagrin, the fish barely cleared twenty inches, and was fairly skinny to boot. Fun Science Fact: Due to the refraction of light between air and water mediums (like that found in a snorkel mask), all objects appear 30% large underwater. I was tempted at this point to abandon my catch. I didn't really want to eat a northern this small, and I really didn't want to clean one, but I had promised myself earlier to eat everything that I killed, so I kept it.

I had apparently acquired a karmic burden for the unnecessary killing of this fish, and the rest of the day did not go well. I got the line to my diver flag tangle in the trees multiple times, fishing line wrapped around my feet and pulled the dive knife off of my leg the one time that I needed it (I blame boat fishermen, I mean come on guys), and my right trigger finger had lost all feeling due to the action of cocking and shooting my spear repeatedly (it has been almost 48 hours and it is still not back to normal). I only saw one more walleye at a distance and soon decided to call it a day since now I needed to clean this fish. The shore was where the worst of my new troubles assaulted me. Wind is good for two things, keeping you cool on a hot day, and keeping flies down. It wasn't windy. An impromptu orgy of flies had started on my gear bag while I was away, but there was no hesitation in moving the location to all my exposed skin when I arrived. I packed up as fast as I could and began the quarter mile walk back to my truck, as my composure quickly crumbled. My only defense was walking like epileptic an riverdancer, and shouting expletives (the expletives didn’t actually scare flies away, but they made me feel better). By the time I reached my truck I was within a hairs-breath of losing my sanity, and had nearly repaid my karma dept. Still, once in the truck I found that my favorite radio station had switched from 80’s and 90’s hits to country, and my last trial was trying to clean my fish. I’m not very good at cleaning fish, and a northern is a really sucky fish to clean, especially when they are small. Luckily I had a fairly dull fillet knife to help… make it suck even harder. This is everything that I ended up with.

Mmm, fish sandwich

Even if most of that story sounds like complaining I still had fun, and consider the day a success. I might have killed a walleye (walleye are known for being able to swim for minutes after death… in my head), I saw a lot of fish, and I got a pretty good sandwich out of it. I should probably get some gloves before next trip though, so my finger doesn't fall off.

TLDR: I suck at spearfishing.