Blues, Greens, Browns, and Bronze
Lobster mini-season with the Oris Carl Brashear
The drive down through the keys can be a trip highlight depending on traffic. For this particular trip, that was the case. While most make the trek by way of US-1, I thought Card Sound Road would be a nice change of pace. I am wearing the Oris Carl Brashear bronze diver. It is on loan for this trip specifically as it will spend the majority of the upcoming 4 days in the shallow Gulf of Mexico. While originally attached to a fabric strap, a temporary navy blue rubber strap is in place to preserve the original variant. This is a handsome watch. As I drive over the bridges the sun drips back towards the horizon and lazily warps the setting light through the domed crystal. Few things remind me of the golden age of the sea like patinaed bronze does, even more so wrapped around a rich navy-blue dial. This belongs in the water. In the back of my mind, I hope that Mr. Brashear, a master diver himself, would have appreciated his namesake being used for a whimsical day on the water.
Bullying begins at midnight. I do not participate in this as if presented with the choice, I favor a long night's sleep whenever possible. While I dream, the more inclined in the house go out onto the flats of the middle keys and begin the search for spiny lobster as they scurry away from the flashlights. In shin-deep water they can still be agile and hard to net, I am told. The full harvest begins at daybreak.
For this part I am awake. We have our marked locations on the GPS near the house and they are typically crawling with full-size spiny bugs. As soon as the sun crests the horizon and greets us, it begins. In go the divers with their tanks strapped to them, nets and tickle sticks their weapons of war. I am SCUBA certified but I have a secret, I don't enjoy it. I love the idea of diving into the water, I love the romanticism of floating freely amongst the coral. The problem lies within my head. An experience of complete freedom for most, becomes a prison for me.
Once the divers are in, I gather any available equipment. Before reaching for an available net, I check the time and am reminded that I have already let Mr. Brashear down. Snorkeling? Wearing his watch? This is not lost on me. Either way, being in 8-10 feet of water with only my thoughts is where I thrive. This early in the morning the water is cooler than you anticipate, quickly pulling the air out of you. Pressing on, I soon find myself above a rock formation with a lone set of antennae probing the water almost frantically. It looks to be of legal size so I head towards it with a plan of netting it the old-fashioned way. With my hand.
It escapes my grasp and fires off away from the rocks and settles into a flat, grassy flat maybe 9 feet beneath the surface. Having made a mental note of where it landed, I come up for a quick breath and immediately head back down. I am hit with something I had not noticed prior, complete silence. As I maintain my buoyancy and hang in the water like an ornament, I am reminded that I am not welcome here, I am a visitor. It is important to remind yourself that you will drown before the water lets you in. Now out of breath, I abandon the chase and come up empty-handed. Maybe next time.
The limit is reached for all souls on board within a couple of hours. Having achieved our goal with the whole day ahead of us, we head back to unload the prize(s), hydrate, and have lunch. The second half of the day will be a fishing trip. On this particular day, the conditions are just right, and through the haze of the humidity the sky and water blend perfectly. To the point that if you attempt to look through the distance, you lose some depth of field and are faced with a hazy bluish-gray wall.
The two fishing boats head out towards the Atlantic to run down mahi-mahi. Schools like to use the shade from seaweed lines as cover and hopefully, we will run into some. Standing atop the fishing tower and looking down past the bronze seaweed into the dark deep blue I realize this scene nearly perfectly matches the livery of the Oris. Was this intended? I have my doubts but smirk to myself behind the buff.
Almost immediately after this realization, there they are. The yellows and blues and greens flash in the darkness like distant bursts of lightning. It's hard to tell how deep they are but our lines are out. Having pointed them out, our captain quietly adjusts course to tempt them with the bait. Our lucky day, fish on. Plenty of keepers to come back with us and we have covered at least a couple of meals with our efforts.
We're homeward-bound now. There is not much left to do on the ride except have a Sculpin IPA and watch the horizon. Another mini-season in the books. Thanks for joining us, Mr. Brashear.
