in… out… in… out… last one in now,  all the way to the top. fill every void with air, bend at the waist, grab the un-grabable with eyes closed. spit the plastic mouth piece and kick slowly, smoothly, hips like a pendulum on an imagined axis, always searching for efficiency.  efficiency is what’s needed for the job ahead. close, very close now. eyes open and make the turn. there it is, a seascape on the moon, a little pressure, just enough to stay in place. who’s around? who’s interested in what’s going on over here? Tarefa (Tahitian)/ Uku (Hawaiian)/ Jobfish(Australia, New Zealand, US). no matter the name, this fish is a prize. no, it is more than that, it deserves more than just being a prize or another story of conquest. this fish is food, it is nourishment for the community, it is vitamins and nutrients vital to a mother creating life in her womb and, least not of all it is validation that we can be truly connected with our food, from where and how it is harvested, to preparations limited only by one’s creativity…

So, does this go through my head every time I make a drop? No. No one would believe me if I said it did anyways, so let’s skip the bullshit. However, I will also admit that not a session goes by where I don’t think about that at least once. I make a conscious effort to. To remind myself of this, to set my intention, to let it be known that I am not here to kill mindlessly but to harvest responsibly, sustainably, and selectively. This is the freedom that spearfishing has given me: liberation from dependency on a system that is not sustainable, the ability to feed my family and community from the sea wherever our floating home takes us. This is a good feeling.

The satisfaction we feel when we consume a meal largely, if not entirely composed of things we were able to hunt and/or gather, that is satisfaction you can taste. We can feel it delivering energy to every cell in our body, exciting our sense of taste to a place that causes us to drop fork and knife and grab our food like savages, leaving behind only bones for the dogs. Well, that’s because we are savages and we relish in it. We relish in our freedom. And, as savages we respect and offer our gratitude for the bounty the sea has bestowed us.

These are not the only reasons I spearfish. I Love to hold my breath, I love to observe fish behavior and, albeit temporarily, exist in this wonderland beyond the most wild of imaginations. I love the gear. I have a deep appreciation for the craftsmanship and design that goes into the guns I use (KAP Spearguns, Hawaii). The advantages gained by having the right gear are not to be dismissed and, as this is not an editorial or gear review piece, I won’t get into all that. I will say that on the subject of the right gear, a speargun is not the only topic in that conversation. The pole spear (9ft carbon, polestar with three prong tip by Evolve) is likely the most productive tool I own. Pound-for-pound for putting fish in the boat, depending on location and species to be targeted, the pole spear is formidable in the arena of effectiveness. In addition, it offers the opportunity to learn and become proficient in another technique. For those who perhaps no longer feel challenged by the gun and those taking their first steps into becoming a hunter, the pole spear has a place.

Shit…sorry …I owe you all an apology, I started running my mouth about gear and I said not a few moments ago I wouldn’t do that this time around. So, what I would like to say is spearfishing means something to everyone who does it. We each find it fulfilling in some way, whether it’s something we must do to survive or an excuse to hang out with our hunting buddies, my hope is that we all find common ground in our respect for the sea and the gifts we receive from it. Because that is what that fish, that tako,that clam or lobster or conch, the nori in our vegan wrap or in that sesame furikake is, they are all gifts— gifts we happily accept and, in great humility, petition for again and again. I believe these gifts are an endless resource and, around the world, coastal and island cultures have survived… thrived on the gifts of sea for eons, entirely due to sustainable fishing practices. 

We can look into the heart of Polynesia at the ancient fish traps of Raiatea, the fish ponds of Molokai in Hawaii, or the practice of nomadic living by moving around an atoll, motu to motu, to allow the resources harvested to replenish themselves naturally, as was once practiced by the Paumotu people of the Tuamotus. These are just a few examples. And honestly, each of those topics more than deserves an extensive and in-depth conversation. But for now, they’re a few examples that we should be looking to for guidance on the question of sustainability, as well as looking to for the wisdom of those who have come before us, making it our duty to understand the weather and moon and how those energies affect what we fish for, our responsibility to forge a more comprehensive connection to the sea we ask so much of, to listen and to see what it is she may be telling us. Thus, most importantly, we have an obligation to ourselves as individuals to be held accountable for our actions as fishermen/hunters/farmers, to ensure our future as well as those who come after us. Never take more than the gift we have been offered and hope, only hope, that it is offered again tomorrow. The day we start to expect that gift to be waiting for us is the day we fucked up, the day we lost sight of our intention, distracted from the life at hand.

…my brain is telling me its time to breath, not interested right now thanks for the reminder though… it’s just getting interesting now, not one uku or two or three, or three dozen, there must be well over 100 of these silver bullets milling around in front of me, the small ones are the closest, they clearly have much to learn as did I in my youth, the middle group are coming within range but with leaving it just as quickly, there’s certainly a few fish in that group that would be a most welcome addition to the weekend meals, but in the back that’s where the kings and queens are, the monsters well over 30lbs and likely nearly 30 yrs or more old, would it be an amazing session to land one of these behemoths no doubt… first convulsion, this is good, only 8 or 9 more of these small contractions and i’ll break thru the wall… 4,5,6… 9,10, ok I think it’s over now. My brain has realized my body has this under control now, thankfully these small quick moments in the water have not scared the uku off, in fact its roused their curiosity and some of those more mature from the middle group have come in to take a closer look, straight ahead at first their iridescent square brow and large eye looking right me… scratch the coral… just a little closer, any moment now and this fish will turn broadside giving me the opportunity to take its life, to allow me to pull it from the sea.. squeeze slowly steadily, lead the target aim small miss small, bang! And the recoil of the gun surprises me as much as all the fish in the area, everybody is gone, except one, one who floats lifeless but not yet dead, the last of my duties… and its definitely time to come up now, I know this because I grow more comfortable down here each second and as much as I would love to stay, I need to go. A shallow water black out is not part of my program and it is avoidable today… reaching towards my right ankle I find my knife, slide it from its sheath, the precision point of yet another finely crafted piece of gear finds its way into my gift’s skull ending its suffering and preserving its valuable meat… high out of the water as high as I can hold, 14lbs of fish while scrambling away from the fucking sharknado brewing below me, one last kick to propel me up the side of the boat and in, heart pumping out of breath fish in the boat shaft in the boat., awesome. Success, don’t revel in it too long, knucklehead, you need at lease one more if everybody at home is to eat and the sun is going down… go ahead. ask again maybe she’ll say yes.