Last weekend we enjoyed exceptional weather and exceptional fun on our Gulf Shores excursion. Saturday morning we met at Down Under Divers at nine and headed for Alabama Point Jetties. Since there were so many folks we parked on the foundation of an old building and walked across the sand to a very easy entry. Visibility was as far as you could see. We drifted against a mild incoming current all the way to the end of the rocks and got there just as the current changed to outgoing. There is an awful lot of activity going on in those rocks. We saw a smooth butterfly ray. I thought it was a flounder at first but then realized that eyes were in the middle of the body. The graceful creature hung out for a few minutes and then swam away. Other great finds were puffer fish, burr fish, toad fish, numerous stone crab, sculpin, and mullet. Sunlight filtering through cracks in the rocks created a wonderful array of dancing light. When I stood up at the end of the dive I was right next to a Blue Heron. I don’t know who was the most startled.
We arrived at Sea and Suds just in time for a table for eight and enjoyed a wonderful lunch. Thanks May-May for your great suggestion. One absolutely fantastic treat is the miles of unspoiled beach between Gulf Shores and Orange Beach. I hope the state never sells this jewel. I couldn’t help but wonder how much ugly greed it would take to plow this marvel of nature and build a concrete monument to man’s vanity called a condo.
I hadn’t been to the Whiskey Wreck since 1990. Taking a chance I went first to tie the flag off and whether it be blind luck or skill I hit the wreck dead center. There is more than eight feet of relief right now and the wreck abounds with life. One cute feature turned out to be the schools of baby spadefish. I found a giant water pistol and a piece of terracotta pipe. Shells lay everywhere but we were careful not to grab the home of a hermit. Water temperature above 90 degrees we enjoyed a very long dive just going round and round the wreck. I have aspirations to find the last bottle of whiskey on the whiskey wreck.
Saturday night we went to a place called Tacky Jacks for drinks and dinner. It seems that if you build a quaint place on the water and give it a cute name and sell beer folks will flock there to spend their money. I suppose that if you go back home and tell folks that you ate at Floyd’s Café it’s kind of mundane. If you proudly boast “I had a beer at Tacky Jacks” then everyone will respond “cool!”
We started early Sunday and headed for the boat. All went well as we loaded our stuff and headed out. The Captain’s name was Bubba. He says that only his mama and the IRS knows his real name. The boat is a 42 foot Newton especially built for diving. My only complaint is there isn’t a lot of room to sit after all the gear is in place. The boat runs fast and we chased a thunderstorm all the way out. Radar showed the storm to be two miles wide and eight miles long traveling at the same heading and speed as us. We watched a water spout dance around and lots of lightning in the distance. Once the boat stopped at the Oriskany the storm kept moving and the sun came out. The Newton is long and narrow and rollers from the storm rocked us around for a while. Then the sea smoothed out and you could see your face in the water. For a while we were the only boat on the site.
Magnificence and pure sensory overload is the only description of your descent on the Oriskany. The old lady lives well in her retirement. Once the home of fighting machines and sailors and a deterrent to any aggressor, she serves again as a hotel to God’s creatures. Her decks abound with every description of marine life. One thing I didn’t see this time was blennies. Maybe they’ve migrated somewhere and will be back. This is my fourth or fifth trip and I see something different and something new every time.
For lunch the crew threw out a loaf of white bread and some mystery meat. We dined in luxury. During the ninety minute surface interval we ate and slept and talked and swam. Fate or activities of the poor people never entered our minds.
The second dive proved just as great as the first. We surfaced knowing that we had a long drive home and work in the morning. Exactly two hours after pulling the hook we arrived at the marina. The smooth water revealed lots of exciting sights to the observer. Turtle heads, bait fish, seabirds, and the occasional dolphin.
We took the Foley Beach cutoff on the way out and it proved well worth the toll. We stopped in Atmore to get gas. Atmore is the home of the state penitentiary but is also home to the Poarch Creek Indian Reservation. There were shelves full of Indian handicrafts in the store. I looked excitedly and then realized they were all made in China.
Oh well, back home and back at work. Again looking very forward to the next big adventure.
We arrived at Sea and Suds just in time for a table for eight and enjoyed a wonderful lunch. Thanks May-May for your great suggestion. One absolutely fantastic treat is the miles of unspoiled beach between Gulf Shores and Orange Beach. I hope the state never sells this jewel. I couldn’t help but wonder how much ugly greed it would take to plow this marvel of nature and build a concrete monument to man’s vanity called a condo.
I hadn’t been to the Whiskey Wreck since 1990. Taking a chance I went first to tie the flag off and whether it be blind luck or skill I hit the wreck dead center. There is more than eight feet of relief right now and the wreck abounds with life. One cute feature turned out to be the schools of baby spadefish. I found a giant water pistol and a piece of terracotta pipe. Shells lay everywhere but we were careful not to grab the home of a hermit. Water temperature above 90 degrees we enjoyed a very long dive just going round and round the wreck. I have aspirations to find the last bottle of whiskey on the whiskey wreck.
Saturday night we went to a place called Tacky Jacks for drinks and dinner. It seems that if you build a quaint place on the water and give it a cute name and sell beer folks will flock there to spend their money. I suppose that if you go back home and tell folks that you ate at Floyd’s Café it’s kind of mundane. If you proudly boast “I had a beer at Tacky Jacks” then everyone will respond “cool!”
We started early Sunday and headed for the boat. All went well as we loaded our stuff and headed out. The Captain’s name was Bubba. He says that only his mama and the IRS knows his real name. The boat is a 42 foot Newton especially built for diving. My only complaint is there isn’t a lot of room to sit after all the gear is in place. The boat runs fast and we chased a thunderstorm all the way out. Radar showed the storm to be two miles wide and eight miles long traveling at the same heading and speed as us. We watched a water spout dance around and lots of lightning in the distance. Once the boat stopped at the Oriskany the storm kept moving and the sun came out. The Newton is long and narrow and rollers from the storm rocked us around for a while. Then the sea smoothed out and you could see your face in the water. For a while we were the only boat on the site.
Magnificence and pure sensory overload is the only description of your descent on the Oriskany. The old lady lives well in her retirement. Once the home of fighting machines and sailors and a deterrent to any aggressor, she serves again as a hotel to God’s creatures. Her decks abound with every description of marine life. One thing I didn’t see this time was blennies. Maybe they’ve migrated somewhere and will be back. This is my fourth or fifth trip and I see something different and something new every time.
For lunch the crew threw out a loaf of white bread and some mystery meat. We dined in luxury. During the ninety minute surface interval we ate and slept and talked and swam. Fate or activities of the poor people never entered our minds.
The second dive proved just as great as the first. We surfaced knowing that we had a long drive home and work in the morning. Exactly two hours after pulling the hook we arrived at the marina. The smooth water revealed lots of exciting sights to the observer. Turtle heads, bait fish, seabirds, and the occasional dolphin.
We took the Foley Beach cutoff on the way out and it proved well worth the toll. We stopped in Atmore to get gas. Atmore is the home of the state penitentiary but is also home to the Poarch Creek Indian Reservation. There were shelves full of Indian handicrafts in the store. I looked excitedly and then realized they were all made in China.
Oh well, back home and back at work. Again looking very forward to the next big adventure.
