For an hour I went around fishing for kudos from everyone until Gun wised me up. “Shut-up, Caleb. You know just enough to get yourself into trouble.”

Then, I spoke to everyone about their most dangerous experiences, exposing myself to worst case scenarios as we approached a new dive site.

Ally spoke first. “When I was an instructor in northern Florida, a guy died on me.” She looked down, and scuffed her feet on the gritty deck while everyone made uncomfortable fidgeting movements.

I wanted to hear all about it, but because it ended so badly no one else did and Ally’s story died, too. Instead, I suggested, “Ahm, so, Gun, what else happened on that Trip From Hell you had?”

“Oh, there’s a few of them...Trips From Hell. Another one, me and Jimmy here, we just finished doing an underwater video on a thousand-foot tanker. Working aboard this sixty-foot workboat, we were also bringing back two huge propellers that were overweight—”

“In a gale,” Jim interrupted, making an annoyed face.

“Yeah, coming back from Andros Island, we picked up these two engines in Nassau, weathered in at Andros for two days. Then, we had problems with water.”

“The rudder was leaking,” Jim blurted out.

“The exhaust pipe came loose from the transom,” Gun explained. “And water was getting in at a pretty good rate. We were hauling these five-bladed propellers—the type that’s all engine, propeller and rudder combined into one. Whichever way you point the engine it also steers the boat. These mothers weighed nine thousand pounds, and we had two of them strapped on the deck!” He almost laughed when he looked at Jim’s aggravated expression.

“On this boat?” I couldn’t believe it.

“Yep,” said old Jim. “The ‘skeeters were so bad on Andros we couldn’t sleep. That was near Morgan’s Bluff.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Gun said in a scornful tone. “You’re memory’s going. It was an outpost island, Joulters Cay. No tourists, no mosquito control. A lot of shallow water around, nobody goes there.” Gun wrinkled up his own forehead in disbelief.

“When the sun goes down, first it’s the No Seeums,” Jim said, “then the ‘skeeters so big they could carry off a baby!”

“I was never so scared my boat would capsize,” Gun admitted.

It sounded like a brief history of hell. “Was the weight illegal?” I inquired.

“No such thing as illegal weight,” he answered. “But, too much for the boat to carry safe, sure. We left in weather too extreme for the size of boat and the cargo. Just an Act of God we made it.”

“So, what is this place, Morgan’s Bluff?” I asked.

“It’s a town where Morgan’s cave is,” Gun replied. “That end of Andros Island is a big high bluff, one-hundred feet or more. Which is very high when you talk ten-foot high islands all around.” He squinted, and made telescoping movements with his hands like a pirate lookout. “Imagine sitting up there with your spyglass, searching for ships laden with gold.”

“And wenches!” Carl mimicked a crusty old pirate’s voice again. “Where’s all yu’r wenches?”

“Every ship had a few wenches, you know,” Joni told me.

“I’m sure the cabin boy was very happy about that!” I said.

Most of us sat drinking on the dozen or so oversized coolers filled with beer, juices and soft drinks; others dozed in their bunks. The boat plodded ahead on the smooth seas with the engines roaring and compressors refilling air tanks in the background. Joni caught big fish off the stern.

Lumbering Carl and the light-skinned black ex-commando Killis were both in their forties, any similarity ended there as they seemed to differ and disagree at almost every turn. Killis wore wire-rimmed glasses and was quiet and serious about everything, well-suited to the special forces trade. He spoke in few word sentences such as “Good” or “Nice work” and I got the feeling he was always watching out for something. Carl Iman was the jolly overweight sort who owned a string of convenience stores and seemed serious about very few things except hunting. He was loud, often amusing and sported the latest scuba equipment, constantly joking about needing counseling while drinking Heinekens. I started to like the characters on this trip. Maybe I did belong.

When we anchored again, it was in sixty feet of water that resembled liquid glass. The spectacular variegated bottom seemed close enough to put my hand out and touch. But, I saw a couple sharks in the water. I became fearful again as all the Hammerheads mechanically suited up for twice as deep a dive as the first one.

“Don’t worry,” Jim told me while strapping on his snoopy-style aviator hat inside out, and tying down the earflaps. “It’s basically the same as ten feet…as thirty feet…as ninety feet.”

“But, sharks…” I almost pleaded.

Gun’s ears pricked up. “Sharks are such pussies,” he declared like I should know.

“Right,” Jim agreed. “They’re basically lazy pussies. They’d rather not take the trouble to kill you themselves.”

“Unless you’re small, or bleeding,” added Joni while screwing something onto the end of one of her poles.

“So, what is that?” I finally asked her.

“It’s a bang stick. See, it’s got a screw-on powerhead. You can put it on the end of a spear-gun tip.”

These bang sticks were making the booming underwater noise.

“Look out,” Jimmy warned me. “That’s a standard NATO explosive head and cartridge round.”

“Standard military issue.” Joni waved the weapon. “Pretty good little blaster.”

“That it is,” Gun confirmed.

I must have looked terrified about going in yet I would at least try to go as far as the previous dive. To my amazement I continued going down, and down, right into the heart of this fascinating mystery I was living, all the way to sixty-six feet, where I wandered around the anchor area with no ill effects for almost an hour. The tight feeling of pressure against my body was almost comforting. Again the world felt and sounded and looked newer than ever! A six-foot shark prowled the region, appearing in and out of the distant shadows but uninterested in me. That was incredible. I became used to seeing it around. For some reason I wasn’t too scared anymore. The shark seemed so comfortable in its absolute superiority over everything, so embedded in its element as the fearsome top predator…unless you were small or wounded like Joni was saying. The divers crisscrossed its path, lancing other fish including small barracudas at will.

Ally’s camera had a piercing light but as usual she swam away from the others, and vice versa. Old Jim relaxed, sitting pretty atop a coral plateau, yet ripping out pieces as he repeatedly lunged at passing fish with his spear. Other fish, whose destiny was tasting bad to humans, went about their lives in peace. Gun was scooping up one lobster after another, setting his bag up behind them and scaring them to dash backwards straight into his trap. In the background were more muffled blasts of explosive caps. I saw a giant eel for the first time and was more terrified of it than the shark. It had a way of moving its mouth to breathe in slow engulfing motions, and all those ferocious teeth!

As we reached five-hundred PSI of air in the tank, I began to ascend. Back on the surface there was less acknowledgment than I expected.

Killis had speared one grouper, probably for his dinner. Carl, Gun and Joni quickly drained their sacks full of beautiful black rocks and thrashing lobsters, both perhaps illegal. Ally frowned, not liking what she saw and stomped off.

“I can’t believe that shark cruising around!” I exclaimed. “Not even interested in us!”

Joni remarked, “That shark was thinking about you—Nah, too big. Not wounded. Too much work. Next.”

“Sharks are pussies,” Gun repeated with disdain. His lobsters scampered around the deck, and they made weird alien sounds when he proceeded to de-tail them alive.

Ally popped up on deck again and buzzed right over to Jim with a determined look and lips clenched. “That coral probably won’t be alive next year because of you sitting there tearing it all up.”

“Well, I might not be alive next year either, Missy,” Jim answered with an old man snicker.

Ally considered the carnage of fish and corals strewn on deck. “Good thing you’re all Gun’s friends or I’d report you.” She glared right at Joni. Ally didn’t care what they thought. Carl, who was un-holstering his spear-gun pistol made an indifferent look with his lip curled up. Joni made a small conciliatory head movement while Gun grinned away.

Now I was always talking about diving and asking questions. The Hammerheads said a hundred feet was common for exploring wrecks. They spoke of three-hundred foot dives with no breathing apparatus being common, dwarfing my own accomplishments today. Three-hundred feet with no apparatus seemed impossible but it was true. Even Gun seemed unimpressed with me. I took it in stride, just hoping for a little solid land now.

NEXT CHAPTER