Originally Posted by
Kelly Jessop
For the NSS convention in Lake City, FL. there was a guide book for attendees, and I did several submissions, and one was on Lafayette Blue. The property owners that occupy the area have never been fond of trespassers,but there is one incident that occurred that I included in the guide book I would like to share here.
“A Funny Thing Happened on the Way From the Cave….
Jeffrey Bozanic
Susan and I dragged our weary bodies towards the campfire at Ginnie Springs. It was after 10 pm, and we were hungry, cold, and tired. “Where have you guys been?” we were asked. “We expected you hours ago!”
“Have we got a cave diving story for you!,” was our reply….
It was December 31, 1984. I was up from school at Miami to run the 24th CDS Cave Diving Workshop (I was Workshop Chairman), and to go to Ginnie Springs for the annual New Year’s Eve party. It was early, so Susan Drake (from Tallahassee) and I decided we would drive north and dive somewhere we had not been before. After talking to someone (I cannot remember if it was Wes Skiles or Lamar Hires), we decided on Green Sink in the Lafayette Blue System.
It was a pleasant drive, and after poking around a bit we found the sink. As we drove up, we found that a large group of somewhat disreputable looking motorcyclists appeared to have ensconced themselves at the opening for the day, presumably to celebrate the coming of the New Year. Given the noise level and the number of empty beverage containers strewn around the vicinity, it was apparent that the festivities were already in full swing, even though it was still early afternoon. Wishing to avoid any conflict, we decided discretion was the better part of valor, and decided to dive one of the many other openings in the area.
We drove back on dirt roads until we found a likely looking spot. Near the entrance was an old, deserted cabin. Windows were broken, trash decorated the front and porch, paint was peeling (where it was visible), and it reeked of abandonment. We called out several times just to be sure, but the only answer was silence.
We took our time suiting up, and finally entered the water just after 4:00 pm. The visibility at the entrance was very poor, maybe five feet or so, but gradually improved to between 15 and 30 feet as we moved into the system. Flow was low, and the bottom very silty. Parts of the cave were quite low, and occasionally we stirred up some silt as we traversed the system. There was a thermocline at about 35 ffw in depth.
I spent most of the time looking for and collecting animals. In particular I was looking for crustaceans to send to Jill Yager, to be forwarded on to Beep Hobbs and John Holsinger. In my collection bottle were amphipods, isopods, and crayfish.
This was my second dive using the newly released Edge dive computer. I had invited Craig Barshinger, the designer of the computer, to speak at the workshop in Branford, and he had brought several of the units up with him. This was the first commercially available electronic dive computer that actually worked, and I loved it! The day before in Devil’s Ear it had saved me 53 minutes of decompression time, and I could see that it would be a great tool for cave diving… if I could only figure out how to afford one!
We swam past two openings to the surface, and finally turned the dive at the third one we reached (Brenda Sink). After a pleasant dive of an hour and a quarter, we returned to where we had started, and climbed out of the water… just in time to see Susan’s car disappearing into the distance behind a tow truck! This was our first shock of the day.
Our second came moments later, as a wild man waving what appeared to my eyes to be a very large shotgun started ranting and raving at us. “What the **** are you doing on my property?! Who the **** do you think you are?! Get your ****ing asses over here, NOW!! I’ve already called the sheriff, and you ****ing stand right there and wait for him!!”
Mind you, I am not particularly accustomed to firearms, especially when the business end is pointed in my direction. When combined with the lunatic at the other end of the weapon, my thoughts were anything but sanguine! I began to shrug off my double 104s, only to be bathed in yet more of my new friend’s vindictive language, “STOP! Your ****ing ##### can take her stuff off, but you keep your ****ing #### on and ****ing stand right there!”
I attempted to reason with him, but he was having none of it. Anything Susan attempted to interject was met with the reply, “Shut up, #####!” So we continued to stand there listening to his very one-sided exposition until the sheriff arrived, some 45 minutes (seemed like hours!) later. One of the things he yelled was, “I couldn’t decide if I should slash your tires and blast a few holes in your car, or just call the sheriff!” I’m glad he chose the latter option!
Deputy Herman Frier had the man put his gun away, and pulled him off to the side to talk to him. He also gave me permission to take my equipment off, which by that point in time was beginning to feel like an elephant was sitting on my back. After five or ten minutes, he returned, had us load gear, and drove us off.
Frier cited us for trespassing, and told us while we were technically under arrest, he was letting us go on our own recognizance. He said that the property owner, Jerry Metzger, had the right to press charges, and that we might have to return to the county for trial, but that he would try to calm him down and prevent that from occurring.
He informed us that Metzger used to ride with the Hell’s Angels motorcycle gang in Los Angeles, and after ten years had “retired” to his home (yes, the shack) here. He did not like company (obviously), as he was afraid that someone would eventually be coming to repay some of his earlier (undisclosed) “kindnesses” while he was active with the Hell’s Angels.
Apparently Sheck Exley had befriended Metzger some time previously, and had passed the word through the community to avoid his sinkhole as a dive site. Frier asked us to renew that advice throughout the community. Judging by the gales of laughter from those listening to us around the campfire as our tale unfolded, we were successful in that effort!
At any rate, by the time we finished, ate something, and warmed up, it was time to go diving again. Susan and I celebrated the New Year with 61 other divers in Ginnie, having learned a new lesson… know where you are before you go diving! We were never called to trial, so I guess charges were dropped, and the only real cost of the adventure was the $20 (a lot of money then for a poor graduate student) I had to fork over to the tow truck operator to get Susan’s car out of hock. Fortunately, the rest of the next year went much better!
