You might know me already or at least know about me. I came to Key Largo, Florida, in 1978 to open Captain Slate’s Atlantis Dive Center. Early on I had an affinity for the marine life on our reefs, and my earliest mentor, Steve Klem, had established ongoing fish-feeding activity on the Ciudad de Washington wreck. An article in Skin Diver magazine nicknamed him “the pied piper of Pennekamp Park.”
We were in the same marina in Key Largo, and Klem took me under his arm. We would moor on the reef, and I’d watch and learn from him. We shared an abiding love for all the creatures in the sea. He told me I might incur a bite now and then if a fish mistook me for bits of bait. It would never be malicious or intentional, but I couldn’t ignore the hazard.
I’ve had minor accidents over the years, but on May 28, 2022, my luck and my life changed. I was feeding critters on the reef as usual. I’ve fed sharks, barracudas, eels, and goliath groupers for decades, and this day felt no different than countless others. The mate with me that day was new — she had been on a boat perhaps five times but wasn’t entirely up to speed with my fish-feeding protocols. The critical mistake was that she did not put my regular bait bucket, which has a spring-loaded top to help me control the feeding pace, on the boat. Instead, she brought the 5-gallon chum bucket we use to feed fish morsels to nurse sharks, typically on the second of our Creature Feature dives, and I didn’t double-check it before we left the dock.
When we arrived at Pleasure Reef, I realized I didn’t have my feeding apparatus and knew I’d be tempting fate if I tried to feed with what I had. But we had 21 guests on board, and I did not want to disappoint them, so I took a chance.
The eels are classically conditioned and gathered in the sand around my fins in anticipation of a feed. As soon as I started, the top of the bucket popped off, and a lot of blood from the dead fish blurred my vision. I stuck my hand in the bucket to sweep the fish out, and
in the process I didn’t see one of
my favorite eels swim into the bucket. I was wearing chain-mail protective gloves, but when I put my hand in the bucket, the eel grabbed my wrist just above the glove’s protection. I had accidentally put my hand right in front of her, and the result was devastating.
The bite came close to severing my wrist, putting me immediately into survival mode. I managed to get the eel to release with my left hand. My buddy Frazier Nivens, who had been filming up to the moment of the bite, saw the damage and took off with me up to the surface. We somehow climbed aboard the boat.
I’ve known first aid since I was in the Boy Scouts, so I looked for something to use as a tourniquet. I saw a kid with a GoPro camera with a strap, so instead of explaining where the first aid kit was, I had him put the strap around my wrist to stop the bleeding. Fortunately, the next diver on deck was an experienced medic. I told him where the first aid kit was, and he triaged me.
I had lost a lot of blood, so our only option was to call the Coast Guard to pick me up in their fast boat and take me to shore. I’ve had significant bites before, but when I looked at my wrist this time it was so deeply separated that I could see my arteries and tendons. This bite was a major one, and my arm was in bad shape.
With the cut artery, I didn’t have the hour it would take to get to shore in my boat. The Coast Guard was amazing, as they have been throughout my 46 years of working with them on rescues, being towed, fatalities, you name it. They raced out in their ridged-hull inflatable boat with three 300-horsepower engines, got me on board quickly, and took off, going wide open all the way back to shore. When I asked, the coxswain said we were doing about 65 miles per hour.
It was the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend at about 9:30 a.m., and we were going through Snake Creek in Islamorada as other boats were coming out. I expected we would slow down and maneuver between them, but the coxswain hit the siren and turned on the foghorn and all the lights. We never came off the throttle as he weaved in and out of the other boats. I couldn’t believe that ride, and remembering it gives me goosebumps even now.
The Coast Guard crew got me to the ambulance, but I wouldn’t let the first responders unwrap my hand. I knew how bad it was and didn’t want it to start bleeding again. They had already called the Life Flight helicopter, and within 10 minutes we lifted off for Kendall Regional Hospital in Miami. I was in surgery just two hours after being 30 feet (9 meters) underwater and 5 miles (8 kilometers) offshore. Thanks to our first responders and the Coast Guard, you will get the best rescue possible if you get hurt in the Florida Keys.
The expert team at Kendall Regional reattached my hand, including all the veins and arteries, in an operation that lasted more than 10 hours. I stayed in intensive care for 31 days. Every other day I had either a skin graft or another surgery to try to restore blood flow to my fingers and save them. It never worked for my little and index fingers, both of which the doctor had to amputate.
I consider myself lucky to have survived at all with the amount of blood I lost, not to mention with a fully functional wrist. When I pulled my hand out of the bucket with the eel attached, I was sure people would quit calling me Capt. Slate and call me Capt. Hook instead.
I had seven months of rehabilitation and have now been back in water for more than a year. I still feed the critters and have fun with them. My incident was not the animal’s fault.
I choose to do what I do for two reasons. Whether we have one diver or 40 divers aboard, I enjoy the heck out of it. More important, it presents what some might consider dangerous marine animals in a different light. I hope my divers will be inspired to protect and respect these animals. None of the animals I feed, including nurse sharks, arbitrarily attack a diver. Mistakes happen, and I paid the price for it.
I didn’t tell this story publicly to seek notoriety. It’s not something I’m proud of. It was my fault, and I take responsibility for it. If I get bitten again, it will also be my fault. I chose a dive safety magazine to tell my story for the first time because, as horrific as the accident was, the infrastructure was there to rescue me and get me to emergency care.
I was lucky to be where we could call the Coast Guard, but if I’m in some far-flung part of the world and have a dive accident, my first call is to DAN.
When we go underwater, we engage in an adventure sport, and sometimes things go wrong. Having a safety net that you can depend on is critically important.
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© Alert Diver – Q4 2024