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"And better watch out for the props and rudders, this is no time to start bleeding," I say to myself.

Holding my breath I dive under the hull, gripping the propshaft to maintain my position beneath the bucking boat. Unable to see clearly I feel the shaft and try to follow the circuit of heavy steel wire bound around the shaft, the prop and even over the rudder. This is a mess and the only way to clear it out is by being able to see. I need a mask.

Resurfacing, timing my self I grasp the swim platform to stay with the boat and to avoid having my brains smashed in. I tell the expectant faces the bad news. It's totally tangled, and I need a mask. I climb back on board.

The call goes out over the radio and the ESPN chase boat responds, they'll get a mask and bring it to us, it will take at least a half-hour for them to get to us.

The chase boat, with its camera crew arrives. The seas are so rough that they can't come near us, so they slide down sea of us and throw us the mask. If it goes in the drink I need to dive after it, fast!

We catch the mask safely and now the chase boat positions itself behind us so they can get good footage of this lunatic swimming 40 miles offshore in a tropical storm, while chumming for sharks. This could be good TV.

I look beneath the boat gain. No shadows. Here goes. Diving under the hull I see what I could only feel before. It is a mess! The wire is bound tightly between the strut and the prop, a few turns above the strut, a few loops around the prop and a turn or two around the rudder. Several feet of mono stream from this mess.

First things first, air. Swimming hard I swim out from the downsea side of the boat, catching the swim platform and giving my report. The dykes won't do it, I need wire-cutters and it's gonna take a little while. Diving back under the boat I hold the starboard propshaft, my body streamed out beneath the boat and begin nipping at strands of stainless cable. I cut off the hook that is embedded in one of the propeller blades and try to unwrap the single stand wire.

Starved for air I again swim as hard as I can to out-race the boat downsea and get into position to avoid having the 12-ton boat smash down on my head. Expectant faces and a 40-caliber pistol great me back at the surface. Billy, or Dr. Chum as he's known in the crew, is a member of a large metropolitan police department's SWAT team. It's nice to have back-up (no shark is getting near me without taking a few rounds) but I'm more worried about an accidental

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