Bobbing for spears
When I got back to the boat, the Birmies were quite "merry" as they put it, but I was there just in time for dinner: A brilliant chili with rice made by Vic. Tony broke open the bottle of wine without hesititaion that he'd been saving since he bought the boat. It was a good night.
We got to talking about fishing and he decided he needed to show Matty and Me his speargun, which he loaded and launched into the bay. But he'd forgotted to attach the line to the gun (it must have frayed the teflon cable, he decided) and so, before long, he was out in the water, 10 to 15 feet deep, in the middle of the night, diving in search of his missing spear.
Before long, Matty joined him, and I managed to pursuade myself not to, knwing it was a futile task. After an hour, they surrendered, and retured to the boat shivvering and wet.
But first thing in the morning, Matt rowed the dinghy out till he found our exact position from the night before with the aid of a handheld GPS and coordinates they'd written down the night before. From there, it should have been 20 yards or so to the northwest, by our best wild guess. I jumped in and headed for the spot, determined to be a hero. Tony went straight down and pulled up the spear immediately. There was only about 6" visibility in the green water, and he said as soon as he touched down, he put his hand on it.
So I got wet for nothing, but maybe it helped me smell better, even though it was dirty water.
I do admit, I've gotten quite a kick wandering around the Sheraton, which has real flushing toilets, looking like a shipwrecked tomato.