Freediving asks a lot for you to learn.
Breath control.
Equalization.
Buoyancy.
Awareness.
Knowing when to turn around.
Getting back to the surface with enough left in the tank to recover comfortably.
Then I pick up a speargun.
Now all of those things still matter, except I am also looking for fish, reading structure, deciding whether something is legal, getting into position, managing a line and trying not to let the hunt distract me from the fact that I am still underwater on one breath.
That changes things.
Freediving gets me down there.
Spearfishing gives me a reason to stay.
And sometimes knowing when not to stay is the most important part.
The Dive Still Comes First
The biggest mistake I can make is letting the fish become more important than the dive.
That sounds obvious from the surface.
It becomes considerably less obvious when a good fish finally appears after I have spent half the morning staring at empty water.
Now it is moving away.
Maybe I can close another ten feet.
Maybe I can wait another few seconds.
Maybe it will turn broadside.
Maybe I can just—
That is where I have to remember what I am actually doing.
My oxygen supply did not increase because a fish showed up.
The clock did not reset.
My depth did not disappear.
And I still have to make the entire ascent.
A fish can make a perfectly reasonable diver do unreasonable math very quickly.
For me, the dive has to remain the priority.
The fish is optional.
Coming back up is not.
I Am Hunting Structure Before I Am Hunting Fish
Spearfishing is not always about swimming around until something edible appears.
I am usually looking at the environment first.
Reef edges.
Ledges.
Rock piles.
Cuts.
Drop-offs.
Sand meeting reef.
Changes in depth.
Places bait is holding.
Areas where current is moving food.
Anywhere that gives fish a reason to be there.
A reef can look empty from above and completely different once I slow down and start paying attention.
Fish tuck under ledges.
Sit behind structure.
Move along edges.
Disappear into holes that somehow looked far too small to hold them.
Sometimes the most productive part of the dive is not spotting the fish.
It is recognizing where a fish should be.
That gives me somewhere to start.
Chasing Usually Makes Everything Worse
My first instinct when I see a fish moving away is pretty natural.
Go after it.
Unfortunately, fish are considerably better at swimming than I am.
They also seem to take a certain amount of enjoyment in maintaining exactly enough distance to make me think I still have a chance.
So instead of chasing everything I see, I try to slow down.
Watch.
Position myself.
Use the reef.
Let curiosity work when it can.
Depending on the species, sometimes staying calm and becoming less threatening works much better than swimming directly toward the fish like I have an appointment with it.
The more aggressively I move, the more oxygen I burn anyway.
That is not exactly helping the situation.
Spearfishing has taught me that sometimes doing less puts me in a better position to do more.
Fish Behavior Starts Meaning Something
The longer I watch fish, the more I realize they are constantly telling me something too.
Some are curious.
Some disappear immediately.
Some circle.
Some hold near structure.
Some keep exactly one speargun length farther away than I would prefer.
Convenient.
Instead of only asking:
Can I shoot that fish?
I am also trying to read:
Where is it going?
Is it nervous?
Is it feeding?
Is it staying near structure?
Is there another fish behind it?
Will it turn?
Can I get a clean angle without forcing the shot?
That changes spearfishing from simply spotting something and pulling the trigger.
There is a lot of waiting involved.
And quite a bit of being ignored by fish.
Knowing What I Am Looking At Matters
Before I ever think about taking a shot, I need to know what I am looking at.
Species.
Size.
Season.
Local regulations.
Bag limits.
Protected fish.
Those rules can change depending on where I am diving, and “I thought that was legal” is not much of an excuse after the fish is already on the shaft.
That means identification matters before the shot.
Not afterward.
If I cannot confidently identify the fish or I am unsure whether it is legal to take, I leave it alone.
There will be another fish.
And if there is not?
Then I still had a dive.
A Clean Shot Matters More Than Getting a Shot
Seeing a legal fish does not automatically mean I need to shoot it.
Angle matters.
Distance matters.
What is behind the fish matters.
How the fish is moving matters.
And where I place the shot matters.
A poor shot can turn a simple dive into a much bigger problem.
Now I may have a wounded fish.
A fish tearing line through structure.
A shaft wedged somewhere inconvenient.
More time underwater.
More effort.
More temptation to stay down longer than I should while trying to fix the situation.
None of that improves the dive.
I would rather let a fish swim away than force a shot I do not feel good about.
That can be difficult in the moment.
Especially if it is a fish I really wanted.
But spearfishing should not become:
I finally saw one, so something has to happen.
Sometimes the right thing to happen is nothing.
The Shot Is Not the End of the Dive
Pulling the trigger can feel like the finish line.
It really is not.
Now I may have a fish on the shaft.
A shooting line moving around me.
A speargun in one hand.
Structure nearby.
And however much oxygen I had before the shot, I have less now.
If the fish runs, I have another decision to make.
If the shaft catches, another decision.
If the fish holes up, another decision.
This is exactly why I do not want to take a shot at the very end of my comfortable bottom time.
The moment after the shot can require more effort than the entire dive leading up to it.
I want enough margin left to deal with whatever happens next.
Line Management Suddenly Becomes Very Important
A shooting line is useful.
It can also become something I very much do not want wrapped around me.
Reef.
Fins.
Legs.
Gear.
The fish.
Everything underwater seems willing to participate.
So part of spearfishing is knowing where my line is and avoiding unnecessary tangles.
That becomes even more important around structure or current.
A fish running into a hole can pull line somewhere I do not want it.
A loose shooting line can catch coral or rock.
And if something is stuck badly enough, I am not turning a routine breath-hold into an emergency just because I want my shaft back.
Gear can be replaced.
Sometimes the correct technical solution is:
Go up.
Breathe.
Come back down with a plan.
The Fish Can Make Me Forget the Ascent
This is probably the biggest mental change for me once spearfishing enters the dive.
In normal freediving, depth and time are the focus.
In spearfishing, my attention can be somewhere else completely.
I am watching the fish.
Following it.
Waiting for the angle.
Thinking about the shot.
And meanwhile, the dive is still happening.
That distraction is one reason you have to stay disciplined.
The surface can look very far away after a fish convinces me to swim a little farther across the bottom.
And the ascent does not become shorter because I was busy.
I still want to turn with enough margin to come up controlled.
No fish is worth finding out exactly how little margin I had left.
My Buddy Matters Even More After the Shot
I already do not treat freediving as a solo activity.
Spearfishing gives me even more reasons not to.
A buddy can watch the ascent.
Help manage a fish.
Assist with tangled gear.
Put in a backup shot if needed.
Watch for problems I may not see.
And respond if something goes wrong.
But the same rule I believe in for freediving still applies here:
I want a buddy who can actually cover the diving I am doing.
If I am diving to depths my partner cannot safely reach, then I do not consider that a good safety match.
Spearfishing adds enough variables on its own.
I do not want an avoidable weakness built into the buddy system before we ever get in the water.
A Shot Can Change What Is Around Me
The ocean can become noticeably more interested once a fish is injured.
Depending on where I am diving, sharks, barracuda and other predators may show up quickly.
Sometimes they were already there.
I just had not seen them yet.
That is why shooting a fish is not the moment I stop paying attention to my surroundings.
It is usually the moment I start paying even more attention.
Where is the fish?
Where is the line?
Where is my buddy?
What else just showed up?
If at all possible, I want to secure the fish quickly, brain it, keep it close and have the shaft available as a deterrent if a predator moves in.
The right decision depends on the situation, but I do not want pride making that decision for me.
I like fish.
I also like my fingers.
Selective Harvest Is Part of Why I Like It
One thing I respect about spearfishing is how selective it can be.
I can see the fish before I take it.
I can identify the species.
Judge the size.
Decide whether I actually want it.
And if everything does not line up, I can let it swim.
Or, if I get super lucky and two legal fish line up cleanly in a school, maybe I even double up on one shot.
That level of selection matters to me.
I am not trying to shoot everything that moves.
I would rather come home with a few fish I actually wanted than treat the reef like a scoreboard.
The hunt is part of the experience.
So is restraint.
Maybe especially restraint.
Sometimes Not Pulling the Trigger Is the Best Part
There are dives when I see exactly the fish I was hoping to find.
And I still do not shoot.
Wrong angle.
Too far away.
Not completely sure about the size.
Too deep into the dive.
Too much structure behind it.
Something simply does not feel right.
Years ago, that probably would have felt like a missed opportunity.
Now I think differently—not only about my safety, but about the fish. The last thing I want to do is make a poor shot, have the fish tear out and then disappear into a hole to die. I am hunting for food, not just to kill stuff.
A fish swimming away does not necessarily mean I failed.
Sometimes it means I made the right decision.
That fish will still be there doing fish things.
Hopefully becoming larger and even more difficult to shoot the next time I see it.
Spearfishing Changes the Dive Because It Changes My Attention
That may be the biggest difference of all.
Freediving asks me to pay attention to myself.
My breath.
My equalization.
My depth.
My movement.
My ascent.
Spearfishing asks me to do all of that while paying attention to everything else.
The reef.
The fish.
The current.
The speargun.
The line.
My buddy.
Other predators.
The regulations.
The shot.
That is a lot to manage on one breath.
And maybe that is why I enjoy it so much.
There is no room for autopilot.
Every dive is a series of small decisions.
Some result in a fish.
Most do not.
But the goal for me is the same either way.
Make a good dive.
Make good decisions.
Take the shot when everything lines up.
Leave it alone when it does not.
And go home safely so I can come back tomorrow.
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