Demons in Your Head

Demons in Your Head by John Anderson

When you’re free dive spear fishing a kilometre or so off Chatham Island in 15 metres of water with only three metres of visibility, clad in a black wetsuit, black fins and black mask so that you bear a striking resemblance to a seal, I think it’s fair to say, a lot of things go through your head.

Like “What the hell am I doing here?”

An amateur psychologist might tell you it’s all about actual risk versus perceived risk. While the perceived risk is high, the actual risk is, in fact, very low indeed. They would tell you it is the actual risk which you must keep in mind. Well, that’s all very good in theory, but as you stare down into those murky green depths, doing your best to calm yourself in preparation for your next dive, you realize theory ain’t worth shit.

What matters is the perceived risk. The perceived risk that, any second now, 1500kg of submarine freight train, traveling at 40 kilometres an hour, is going to mistake you for it’s more usual pinneped prey and, in a frightening flash of pearly white teeth, send you to meet your maker and leave your family to bury a casket that weighs only half as much as you did.

The abundance of White sharks at the Chathams could be explained, I would guess, by a lack of fishing pressure, both on the sharks themselves and also their prey (in the seals case, indirectly). This lack of fishing pressure would also explain the presence of another majestic fish once abundant around the coast of mainland the mighty hapuku.

On the mainland, fishing pressure has reduced their populations to the deepest habitats, far out of reach of even the best free dive spear fisherman, but the ‘puka is by no means an exclusively deepwater species and on the Chathams they can still be found in water as shallow as a few metres.

So, if like me, you have always wanted to spear a hapuku, you are left with two choices;

1)      Learn to dive thirty metres and spend time ie: years diving suitable habitat adjacent to deep water hoping that one will have moved into the ‘shallows’ or

2)      Go the the Chathams and face the demons in your head.

Once there you will still need an experienced spear fishing guide and, in the case of the Chathams, that mans name is Floyd Prendy. Floyd is a commercial free diver, gathering paua, crayfish and kina for markets in and overseas. In his spare time he also makes up exactly half of the Chathamsspear fishing fraternity. At last count Floyd has accounted for eight hapuku, which makes him ’s, and therefore the worlds, most successful hapuku  spear fisherman by a factor of at least four.

Our first dive was a real eye opener. Crystal clear water with fish life like you have never seen- the bottom carpeted with paua and schools of BIG blue cod and blue moki. This spot was one of Floyds better hapuku reefs, all of 50 metres off the shore in 6 or 8 metres of water. The ‘puka weren’t home though. This was no surprise to Floyd- we were very late in the season and he hadn’t seen them here for some time. His best spot was at a place called French Reef, on the northern end of the island but a big northerly swell was keeping us confined to the southern end for today. We divided our time hopping between ‘puka spots and trying to help Floyd gather his paua quota for the day but, being new to the game, we struggled in the 9mm suits the cold water required and it quickly became apparent to me that I was just getting in the way.

Once the day’s paua had been caught, Floyd took us to a place where he thought we may get lucky and catch one of the giant red crayfish that the Chathams are famous for but again, we were too late in the season though there were certainly no shortage of crays in the one kilo range to keep us entertained. Floyd had previously speared bluenose on this particular reef (about 7metres deep) and was pleasantly suprised to learn that the spear fishing record for this species is still vacant. Something tells me that the name Prendy may soon begin top show up on the official N.Z record list.

We ended the day diving some of Floyds other ‘puka spots, these ones further north though still sheltered. We had originally planned to dive these reefs the next day but the forecast had gone to custard so we reasoned we had better get in while we still could.

It was late in the day by the time we arrived at these spots, the sun hitting the water at a low angle. The fact that these reefs were much deeper and further offshore coupled with the gloomy late afternoon conditions soon had my mind working overtime, conjuring shadowy apparitions at every turn of the head or tail flick from the innumerable big blue moki present in plague proportions on all these low, flat reefs. They weren’t at all like I’d imagined a ‘puka reef to be; simply slightly corrugated, mussel covered rock sitting maybe a metre proud of the surrounding sandy wasteland. Here and there guts cut into the reef and it was in these, we were told, that the ‘puka reside-but not today.

The next day it blew like a bastard. Floyd decided it was too rough to dive so instead took us for a tiki-tour of the island, searching the shore of the giant lagoon that completely fills the interior of the island for the fossilized sharks teeth that wash ashore there, visiting ancient moriori dendroglyphs (carvings on trees) and a tour up to the northern end of the island where, after a long and recklessly fast journey along the beach, we got a look at the oft-mentioned French Reef, a boiling mass of white water and breaking swell about a kilometer offshore. I had heard of French Reef before; from Floyd who had called the week before to inform us that he had shot a good ‘puka out of a big school there that day but also from the locals who would gleefully tell that it was well known for white shark sightings, a rumour Floyd, when pressed, admitted was true. Joy.

And so now here we are, the day after, drifting around off French Reef in the sandy murk which the swell has created…and I’m very nervous. I can hear my heart hammering away in my chest and the 10 to 15m dives feel more like 30. It is generally accepted that it is on the surface where a diver is most vulnerable to attack and this is foremost in my mind as I lay prostrate there, legs spread at an intentionally un-seal like angle. The more I think about being in ‘the danger zone’, the more my heart races and the longer I must spend there breathing up: one of the seas more perverse jokes. Once on the bottom, one is relatively safe, or so the theory goes, and it is this that allows the diver at least some bottom time. You’re simply too scared to surface.

Mark, the boatman, is constantly circling. The motor was never off on either day we dived- he did not anchor-I doubt he had one. Often on surfacing from a dive, after 10 or so seconds, a slight nudge on your back let you know that the boat was right there. Chatham Islandboatmen keep close- a constant reminder that, out here, you aren’t at the top of the food chain.

I take advantage of the close proximity of the boat and climb gratefully aboard and join Darren but Floyd does not. He continues to dive, alone now, unwilling to admit that, for this trip at least, the hapuku will elude us. Maybe he feels responsible for our failure but, as all fishermen know, you win some, you lose some.

The day drags on but still Floyd dives until, a whoop, a fist raised triumphantly skyward. Floyd has seen a ‘puka.

We pile back into the water but all thoughts of sharks are dispelled. The heart is still racing but in anticipation now. My first dive reveals a low, flat cave with a sand patch out the front. In between the moki and blue cod drift big tarakihi. This is different territory from what we have experienced so far. I surface, breath up and descend again. I can just make out the bottom when to my left, movement mid water. The Chathams is most certainly not the sort of place where you ignore a large shape drifting mid water so I turn my head with not inconsiderable apprehension. Hapuku!. A big school, at least 20 fish, turns broadside right in front of me before beginning to quarter away. I line up the closest and let him have it. A solid ‘thwack’ indicates I’ve hit him and very quickly it is apparent that he’s hurt badly as he hardly runs at all. I have him in my hands before I hit the surface.

For me, this moment is the realization of a dream. Though more or less a point blank shot in only 10 or so metres of water, it was a challenging fish for other reasons, psychological rather than physical. We leave the area for a while before returning to try our luck again but the ‘puka do not show.

On the way back to the ramp we jumped over on a safely shallow reef about two metres deep to grab a feed of Paua and Darren shoots half a dozen blue cod for us to take home ( in about 2 minutes)

All up I think the three of us took 9 fish over the two days we dived. We had come to the Chathams to spear a hapuku and the landing of that one fish had ensured we would always remember it as a complete success. Maybe this is an indication of the change in attitude which is increasingly apparent in the spearfishing fraternity in N.Z- that a successful trip does not require filling the fish bin to overflowing- that ones personal limit does not have to be set the same as a legal limit and that we all have a role to play in conserving the resource for the future.

A huge thank you to Floyd and his family, Mark the boatman and all the people we met on the Chathams for making our stay a successful and enjoyable one.

Goodo,

John