So it’s off to the hotspots with much singular opinion being loudly and expansively shared about the current, weather, swell and a various other anecdotes about previous dives being thrown in for good measure. It’s with an even drier than usual mouth that I finally see the quarter mile whipping past under us and my companion, whom I shall call John (Although his real name is DIRK %^&$%^ FABRIE) has continued to shout advice and laugh manically through the entire 15 minute surf launch ordeal and even the skipper, my old man, is looking a little white knuckled and more steely than usual. He looks hundreds and hasn’t stopped talking since he opened his eyes at 4:30 this morning – he is more than excited – he is PUMPED and he wants everyone to know it! Keeping a wary eye on this human hi-bounce ball that apparently drinks and talks all day and night without any ill effect I suggest we give the launch a go. This strikes my companion as hilarious and he slaps me on the back, dislodging a rib and startling the Captain into a stomping frenzy in my head and gut. In fact, standing on the beach eyeballing the big Kahuna out there I remark that it feels like a goat slept in my mouth. Predictably, the next day I’m not feeling as inspired as I may have indicated the night before. It’s February and there’s a cyclone off Madagascar, the surf is huge and an old dive buddy and I spend most of the first afternoon and the early evening drinking the Captain into a peg-legged, parrot swilling mess. Anyway, I didn’t get to use the gun – who knew that small kids could take up so much time? I spent the remainder of my time in Australia suffering from sleep deprivation and the fear of pulling a loaded nappy watch.įast forward a month or two later and we are at Sodwana. While loading the gun into the car the nylon wrap let go and there seemed to be a problem with the line release it didn’t fi t snugly. The shop assistant offered to put on a double wrap of nylon for me which cost almost the same as a new spear. I don’t recall the brand – the name seems to have escaplezed me at the moment… He pulled down a green and black number that has all the weight and feel of my great-great grandfather’s rooinek skietyster on the wall behind the bar back home. We passed the end of the rack and almost out into the toilet at the back. “Maybe you would like to see a few of the entry level guns?” He asked politely. He showed me one or two and perceptively he realised that the idiot before him was either destitute or held a foreign currency. The shop assistant kindly intervened maybe he had seen this type of befuddlement before? I explained that I was looking for a replacement – 1.4 with 7 mm spear and 20 mm rubbers. The next gun I looked at cost the equivalent of a small car with two fishing skis made of Kevlar woven carbon on its roof racks – clearly I was heading in the wrong direction. I began to do the cheap seats shuffle towards the end of the rack. There were many guns in this shop and I’m pleased to note that my favourite gun builder from Durban is well represented (ED please note: I have mentioned him 3 times in these stories now and he hasn’t even sent me a sticker – I might have to start plugging the other oke) I eyed a few of his models and muddling over the exchange rate I deduced that they would cost the equivalent of a small car back in South Africa. Shortly thereafter, I found myself in a large well equipped dive shop in Brisbane, located in a suburb that I could barely pronounce and any attempt at spelling it here would exceed my allocated word count. My previous having been reduced to a splintered and tri-mangled wreck – just looking at it made me feel a bit naar, so it was unceremoniously dumped. Having emerged more or less intact out of the business end of a small vessel after being run over earlier in the year I was in need of a replacement gun. It started as I recall exactly like this…. It’s a story about circumstances, persistence and plain old bad luck. This isn’t a story about the merits of various guns or gear, or which dive brand is best compared to others. Have you ever persisted with a piece of dive equipment because you had to make do?Įven though you may have not really needed to make do – you still did – grimly holding on to the belief that you would somehow triumph and overcome the obvious?
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