More than a dozen barracuda floated motionlessly above me in the clear green water, watching me with flat, menacing, unblinking eyes. Not one of them was less than four feet in length. I watched them warily as I continued along the sandy bottom, bubbles trailing from my regulator, hoping they didn't mistake my long, curly tail of hair for some kind of bait.

Isolated patches of sea grass waved leisurely in the slight current. Brightly colored fish darted through the leaves of these underwater forests. A sand shark blended in with the large expanses of barren sandy deserts separating the lush growth, only exposing himself to my eye as I swam over him. Unlike the barracuda, he sped away, kicking up a miniature sand storm as he ran from a larger, more dangerous predator. Man.

I spied a coral formation ten degrees east with the telltale antenna of my quarry waving from beneath a ledge.

Ignoring the 'cuda, I swam to the formation. I was not pressed for time. The water was only eight to twelve foot deep and decompression was not one of my worries. In fact, I thought as I inserted my tickle stick under the rocks, I had no worries at all.

But the day was still young.

The tickle stick is the only legal way of catching lobster without licensing traps. This rule is designed to give the lobster a fighting chance against man though not much of one. You aren't allowed to spear them. Instead, you put a stick behind them and tap them on their tails. The lobster, not being the brightest of creation's crustaceans, turns around and back up in their defensive posture. Unfortunately for them, they backed right into my net bag.

Soon, I had enough for supper if I could get by the hungry barracuda. Experienced divers tell novices that the barracuda is not a danger but all have stories about less than pleasant encounters with the predators. Many have scars to show for it. Blood and shiny objects attract them. Like my Rolex. I hoped none of the lobsters in my bag hurt themselves and added to my risk.

Barracuda are extremely fast. They can cover thirty feet in the blink of your eye. Only a cousin, the wahoo, can move as fast. Wahoo are prized fish. Barracuda are the scourge of the fisherman. They attack hooked fish, leaving an angry angler with only the head of a tasty yellowtail or grouper. Caught and brought in the boat, they make an impressive fish for the tourist to have his picture taken with but smell like a sewer in summer. Most experienced fisherman will never pull them in. Cases of ciguatera poisoning have been recorded in people desperate enough to eat the meat of the larger ones.

Suddenly, two of them made a lightning charge towards me. They were twin flashes of silver as the afternoon sun reflected on them through the water. They stopped inches from me, suddenly becoming motionless, their impassive gaze heightening the frightful visage of fangs below cold black stares.

We stared at each other for tense seconds. The tickle stick in my hand was little defense against this fearsome foe. I would have much preferred to be armed with one of the weapons contained in the scarred gun cabinet aboard the Sea Deuced floating serenely somewhere above me.

Suddenly, they lost interest in the pale human waving his stick menacingly. A flick of their tails and they were gone. I was lucky they did not attack.  

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