My First Spearo Trip
Posted By Peter Scott on 15 August 2006
Telegraph Cove, British Columbia, Canada - Almost at the northernmost tip of Vancouver Island, is shrouded in mist and rain and sudden bursts of sunshine, and enveloped in the dripping wet fecundity of the Pacific Northwest ecosystem.
Erik Young from Edmonton set up this trip. He tantalized everyone on the forums with photographs of amazing marine life, bribed us with DeeperBlue.net t-shirts, and promised fish to make the spearos salivate. I jumped in to see him again, meet some new people and get up close introduction to spearfishing.
Eric Fattah and I loaded up his car really early on a Friday morning in June, a familiar routine for any trip to the islands. But I knew things would be different this time.
Neither Eric nor I had ever speared a fish, let alone handled a spear gun. The last time I had caught a fish was a foot long pike in Lake Huron when I was twelve. It was in the era of having an adult clean the fish and watching in horror and fascination at the entrails sliding into the gut bucket. On this trip to Telegraph, I knew that I would learn a lot about the ways of the spearo and learn another way of interacting with the sea.
Having never ventured out to Telegraph Cove before, I was hopeful that it would live up to the caliber of epic dive sites on Vancouver Island. The walls carpeted with invertebrate life. Corals and anemones appearing in the gloom like aliens from another planet. Orcas and seals playing extreme tag. In other words, a paradise concealed under cold water and cedar-laden landscape. I hoped that Telegraph would deliver the goods for the out of town guests.
Ten people arrived in Telegraph Cove. It was like Team Zissou, gear galore, but without the silver wetsuits. There was Colin, Lee and Jim, spearos in brown and green camouflaged suits, there to fish. Clad in black, fellow monofinner Brianna and her spearo husband Gabe dove everyday and were also handy with their spear guns. Chris and his daughter Claire came from Michigan armed with cameras and an eye for the sublime. Tyler, my good friend and denizen of his secret deep stronghold in Tahsis, BC, came to bring to light the grotesque and tasty mysteries of the deep. And finally, Eric and I were, in Colin’s words, the zealots in the neck-weight, black-suit, monofin wearing, deep diving cult, brandishing our telltale and very scary pink snorkels.
The scene at the campsite once everyone had arrived is worth describing. Not only did Jim make the long journey from the US of A, going from corner to corner across the continent, he also brought his house with him, a cavernous 18-person nylon, mosquito repelling abode that he graciously shared with Colin. More importantly, though, he brought his spear guns, Hawaiian sling, video housing, laptop, space heater, and Cactus Juice. Mmmm. Cactus Juice. Deepest Bear, having risen, phoenix-like from the ashes of charred-fur, also made it to Vancouver with Jim for the first time, again.
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