THERE IS A FISHING REPORT AT THE END OF THIS ENTRY, FEEL FREE TO BYPASS INITIAL MUSINGS, AT YOUR PREFERENCE:
THE FIRST TIME THAT I EVER SAW WHAT WOULD BECOME THE GRATEFUL DEAD WAS AT PENINSULA SCHOOL, AN ALTERNATIVE EDUCATIONAL EFFORT, IN 1967. I WAS AWARE OF THESE GENTLEMEN ALREADY AS SEVERAL OF THEM EITHER HUNG OUT OR WORKED AS INSTRUCTORS AT DANA MORGAN MUSIC ON BRYANT STREET IN PALO ALTO WHERE I, AS AN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL INMATE, WENT TO TAKE TRUMPET LESSONS. I WOULD SEE THESE GUYS AROUND THE SHOP WHEN BETTY DROVE ME THERE AND PARKED IN THE ALLEY BEHIND THE STORE. SHE WOULD PATIENTLY READ A BOOK, WAITING FOR MY LIP TO IMPROVE. THESE 60'S COWBOYS LOOKED AND ACTED OUT TO THE LEFT END OF THE BELL CURVE, BUT WERE PLEASANT AND FRIENDLY FOLK, CLEARLY BOUND BY THEIR INTERESTS IN MUSIC. MY ELEMENTARY SCHOOL WAS BORDERED AT THE BACK BY SAM MATEO COUNTY PROPERTY, AND ONE OF THE STREETS THERE WAS PERRY LANE, HOME TO SOME OF KEN KESEYS' EARLIEST EFFORTS AT SELF EXPRESSION, AND SOURCE OF MANY WARNINGS FROM OUR FACULTY TO AVOID THOSE "WEIRD COLLEGE STUDENTS" AS THEIR CHOSEN AND UNIQUE COURSE WAS CLEARLY AND INTENTIONALLY TACKING ACROSS THAT WHICH HAD BEEN PLOTTED FOR US BY POST WORLD WAR II MIDDLE CLASS AMERICA. THE GROUP NOW OFFICIALLY TITLED THE GRATEFUL DEAD WERE INSTRUMENTAL IN PROVIDING THE RHYTHM TO KESEYS' CEREBRAL EXPLORATIONS. I ENCOUNTERED THESE MUSICAL DENIZENS NOW AND THEN AT THE ODD(!) PIZZA PARLOR, PROVIDING BACKGROUND NOISE WHILE MY DAD WAS WAITING FOR THEM TO BOX THE MELTED CHEESE, AND THEN AT FIFTEEN YEARS OLD SCUTTLE BUTT HAD IT THAT THERE WAS TO BE A FREE CONCERT ONLY BLOCKS AWAY FROM MY HIGH SCHOOL, AT PENINSULA SCHOOL, SO MYSELF AND OUR GAGGLE OF MINOR MISCREANTS WENT TO CHECK'ER OUT. "HEY, I KNOW THOSE GUYS". THEIR EARLY EFFORTS AT PLAYING JUG BAND, FOLK, BLUE GRASS ETC. ARE THOROUGHLY DOCUMENTED AND OVER SCRUTINIZED, SO FAR BE IT FROM ME TO CONTRIBUTE. HAVING ACHIEVED DRIVERS' LICENSES THE FILLMORE WEST WAS THE PLACE TO GO, AND OFTEN THESE FUN LOVING FOLK WOULD BE ON STAGE. THEY WERE ABLE TO PROJECT LOOSENESS AND OPEN MINDED BEHAVIOR, WHILE AT THE SAME TIME DISPLAYING OBVIOUS DEDICATION AND DISCIPLINE TO THEIR TASK, ALONG WITH A CONSIDERABLE LEVEL OF BUDDING TALENT. THE EFFORTS AND LATER CONTRIBUTIONS THAT THEY AND OTHERS, PARTICULARLY MR. GRAHAM, WOULD MAKE TO THE AUDIO PRESENTATION OF LIVE MUSIC, CROSS POLLINATING WITH THE BURGEONING AMERICAN HIFI/STEREO SCENE, IN AN EFFORT TO PROVIDE A QUALITY CONCERT EXPERIENCE, WERE AT THE CORE OF MY INTEREST. YOU NEED LOOK NO FURTHER THAN PICTURES OF THE FINAL BEATLES LIVE PERFORMANCE AT CANDLESTICK PARK, 1968, WITH THE TINY PA SPEAKERS, SOUNDING LIKE LARGE AUTOMOBILE AM RADIO SPEAKERS, FAILING TO SONICALLY CONQUER THE SCREAMING HOARDS OF UNRIPE FEMALES TO SEE WHAT IT USED TO BE. THE NEXT LEVEL BECAME LARGE AMALGAMATIONS OF HORNS AND WOOFERS, LOOKING LIKE THE COVER ART OF A DR. SEUSS BOOK. A VAST IMPROVEMENT IN BOTH FIDELITY AND VOLUME, BUT STILL PRIMEVAL AND CRUDE IN ITS' COMPLEXITY. THE DEAD SPENT FORTUNES ON ROLLING THIS PARTICULAR BALL OF DUNG FORWARD, ASSEMBLING SOME TRUE GENIUSES AND SETTING THEM LOOSE BUDGETARILY TO CREATE AND PERFECT. THESE PIONEERS, ALONG WITH OTHERS WORKING ON SIMILAR LINES, CREATED SYSTEMS LIGHT YEARS AHEAD OF THOSE ORIGINAL SUESSIAN CREATIONS. THE SOUND SYSTEMS OF TODAY PROVIDE A VIRTUALLY DISTORTION FREE LINK BETWEEN THE BANDS EFFORTS TO SHARE THEIR CRAFT WITH THE AUDIENCE. AND WHAT WAS THE AURAL OUTPUT OF THESE MOUNTAINS OF AUDIO LEGERDEMAIN? THE DEAD SOMETIMES PLAYED HORRIBLY, THEIR EARLY EFFORTS AT VERY AGGRESSIVE AND EXPLORATORY MUSICAL IMPROVISATION TIPTOED ALONG A CHASM OF SELF INDULGENT NOODLING, BUT WHEN IT WORKED, 1+1= 17. I REMEMBER SEEING THEM ON NIGHTS WHERE THEY WERE AWFUL, IN FACT ONE NIGHT WHEN THEY STOPPED AFTER 1/2 HOUR OR SO, APOLOGIZED FOR THEIR INABILITY TO CREATE ON COMMAND, AND RETURNED THE TICKET MONIES. ON OTHER NIGHTS WE STUMBLED OUT INTO THE RISING DAWN AWARE THAT SOMETHING OF SIGNIFICANCE HAD INCLUDED US. KINDA LIKE FISHING, IF YOU'RE FAR INTO IT, YOU WEATHER SOME HORRIBLE DAYS AND AN ABUNDANCE OF GOOD ENOUGH DAYS TO EXPERIENCE THOSE DAYS WHEN ALL CLICKS INTO THE BIG STREAM, WHEN THE FORMERLY PARALLEL LINES MEET, AND YOU ARE INVOLVED IN AN EXPERIENCE BEYOND YOUR PREVIOUS HORIZONX. I CAN REMEMBER SEVERAL OF THOSE NIGHTS. THEY WERE REVELATORY, AND FORMATIVE.
THIS BAND, WHILE NOT AN OBSESSION WITH ME AS THEY ARE TO SOME OTHER RUDDERLESS FOLKS, WAS A THREAD THAT WOVE ITS' WAY THROUGH MY LIFE, SOMETIMES CENTRAL AND CRITICAL, OTHER TIMES DISTANT AND FAINT, BUT ALWAYS DISTINCTLY THERE. MUSIC WAS IMPORTANT TO MY PARENTS, AND THEY TAUGHT THAT TO ME. THANKS DOC, THANKS BETTY. WHILE OTHER BANDS AND PERFORMERS ARE AMONG THE INFLUENCES IN MY LIFE THE DEAD PERFORMED THE BASIC SOUNDTRACK. THEY PASSED THROUGH MANY ITERATIONS ALONG THE WAY, SOME NOT MY FAVORITE, OTHERS RIGHT UP MY MENTAL ALLEY. ALWAYS UNIQUE, ALWAYS ATTEMPTING TO SUM UP THE TRAILS THAT SO MANY HAD BROKEN BEFORE. LIKE GREAT CHEFS THEY WERE ABLE, AT THEIR BEST, TO TAKE THE SOMEWHAT NORMAL AND EVERY DAY INGREDIENTS THAT ALL HAD USED BEFORE AND COME UP WITH DELICIOUS, UNIQUE AND INSPIRING COMESTIBLES.
FROM THIS HISTORICAL VANTAGE I VIEWED THE EVENTUAL RETIREMENT OF THIS GROUP AS INEVITABLE WITHIN MY LIFETIME, AND CORRECT IN A SENSE. WITHOUT JERRY THESE MEN ARE EACH ACCOMPLISHED MUSICIANS, FULLY CAPABLE OF INCREDIBLY CREATIVE MUSIC, AND TOGETHER THEIR 50 YEARS OF PLAYING WITH EACH OTHER IS SOMETHING YOU JUST DON'T GET WITHOUT INVESTING 50 YEARS. BUT WITHOUT THE WIZARD MAGIC IS DIFFICULT. JERRY WORE THE POINTY HAT LIKE NO ONE ELSE BEFORE OR SINCE.
MY WIFE AND KIDS, ALWAYS THOUGHTFUL AND GENEROUS, ROSE TO NEW HEIGHTS OF BOTH IN BUYING AIRPLANE AND CONCERT TICKETS FOR ME AS A 63RD BIRTHDAY PRESENT. I HADN'T REALLY BEEN THINKING OF GOING...TOO FAR....BUSINESS TO DO, BUT THE IDEA WAS A GOOD ONE. ONE LAST TIME, FOR THE VIBES, FOR ME, TO THROW MY SUPPORT BEHIND THE COMMUNAL EFFORT TO SUMMON THE GENIE ONE MORE TIME. AND IF THEY WEREN'T GREAT, WELL, I WASN'T RUNNIN' UP THE STAIRS AT SOLDIER FIELD LIKE I MIGHT HAVE ONCE DONE EITHER. "SMART PHONE MAN", AN OLD FRIEND OF MINE FROM COLLEGE (HUSBAND OF "SHE WHO CLIMBS POLES") WAS RETIRING JUST DAYS BEFORE THE CONCERT, WAS MY TRAVELING COMPANION SO WE HAD MATTERS ON SEVERAL FRONTS TO CELEBRATE. I WON'T GO TO DEEPLY INTO THE TRAVELING EXPERIENCE AS I WANT THIS TOMB TO BE UPBEAT, BUT SUFFICE IT FOR NOW TO SAY THAT I LEFT LA PAZ AT 7AM AND ARRIVED IN THE WINDY CITY AT 9:30 PM. COMING HOME WAS ONLY 7-6:30. I MUST INCLUDE A BRIEF INTERLUDE IN HOUSTON, WHERE A MAN THAT I DON'T KNOW, WEARING GLOVES, MANIPULATED MY NETHER REGIONS, FOR WHAT I THOUGHT WAS A BIT TOO LONG, IN THE NAME OF NATIONAL SECURITY. STANDING THERE, A BIT EMBARRASSED, I GAZED UP AT A PICTURE OF GEORGE BUSH II, SMILING AT ME, LABELED "WELCOME TO GEORGE BUSH INTERCONTINENTAL AIRPORT". IT WAS STARTING TO MAKE HORRIBLE SENSE AT THAT POINT. ALL THE THAT FOR ONE LONG DAY IN CHICAGO? YOU BET! WENT TO LUNCH ON THE RIVER AT A RESTAURANT RECOMMENDED BY FRIEND NONCHEESY MAC, TAXIED TO THE CONCERT, SAT BACK AND SOAKED IT IN. THE RIVER, THE BOATS, THE SUNSHINE, TIE DYE SHIRTS VERY PRESENT IN THE DOWNTOWN AREA AND THEIR FREQUENCY RISING TO A SEA OF COLOR BY THE TIME THE STADIUM HOVE INTO VIEW. PEOPLE WERE HIGH, ON THE OPPORTUNITY, THE VIBES, AND MANY ORGANIC SUBSTANCES CONSUMED IN A VARIETY OF HIGH TECH METHODS WITH WHICH I WAS NOT, AM NOT, AND WILL NOT BECOME FAMILIAR. JOY AND OPTIMISM WERE THICK, LIKE THE SMOKE. WITH A BRIEF INTERLUDE IN THE 90'S, MIRRORING AMERICA THAT FAILED ON SO MANY FRONTS DURING THE SAME PERIOD, DEAD CONCERTS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A GATHERING OF THE TRIBE. PLAINS PEOPLE, MOUNTAIN FOLK, HILL BILLIES AND THE URBAN URBANE TREKKING TO OUR OWN STONEHENGE FOR SOLEMN AND JOYOUS PURPOSES. THESE OCCASIONS HAVE SOMETHING IN COMMON WITH FISHING. THERE IS A REASON THAT WE ARE ALL THERE, A REASON THAT SUPERCEDES SUPERFICIAL DIFFERENCES, SOMETHING FOR US TO SHARE AND ENJOY TOGETHER. THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF MOST CURRENT "ENTERTAINMENT", THE SOLO AND PRIVATE PUSHING OF BUTTONS AND STARING AT TINY SCREENS. SHARE AND ENJOY WE DID, ON A GRAND SCALE. 70,000 PLUS FOLKS, MASSIVE SOUND AND LIGHT SYSTEMS, MUSIC THAT EVERYONE COULD, AND DID, SING ALONG WITH. THERE WERE MOMENTS WHEN WE TOGETHER SURPASSED THE REALITY BASED SUM OF OUR PARTS, AT LEAST IT SEEMED THAT WAY TO THE COLLECTIVE US, BASKING AS A HUGE AND COLORFUL PLEASURE BORG.
THESE GUYS HAVE WRESTLED WITH AND CARRIED SOME HEAVY TORCHES OVER THE DECADES. STRIVING TO PROJECT A FEELING OF CULTURAL OPTIMISM BASED ON PAST SUCCESSES AND LESSONS LEARNED BY FAILURES, STRIVING TO INCREMENTALLY ROLL THAT BALL A LITTLE FURTHER FORWARD, TOGETHER AS A VOLUNTEER COMMUNITY. THAT'S THE FEELING, THAT'S THE MESSAGE. THANKS AND LOVE TO ALL WHO TOGETHER MADE IT POSSIBLE FOR ME TO ENJOY THE MOLTEN CENTER ONE LAST TIME.
THE FISHING REPORT
FISHING HAS NOT BEEN GREAT, SURE THERE HAVE BEEN SOME VERY NICE FISH, MARLIN AND WAHOO IN PARTICULAR, WITH A SMATTERING OF TUNA, BIG DOGS HAULIN' FOLKS INTO THE ROCKS, ETC. BUT THE EL NINO CONTINUES AND WITH IT THE BELOW AVERAGE FISHING. REMEMBER THAT BELOW AVERAGE HERE IS BETTER THAN MOST PLACES MOST DAYS, AND LIKE THE CONCERT, WHERE THE FISH ARE THE SONGS, THE MUSIC AND SHARING IT WITH THOSE WHO ARE DRAWN TO IT ARE FAR MORE IMPORTANT AND VALUABLE THAN THE WEIGHT OF DEAD THINGS.
I'LL BE BACK SHORTLY,
DAVID
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Further on Down the Road
It is with a sense of sadness that I write to you again. Sadness mixed with a grateful sense of warmth. Richard of the City has become a brother over the years. Not so much by genetics, as we come from completely different spaces in the universe, but more in the way of folks who have traveled similar, and sometimes identical roads. I ran into Richard here at the end of the road, physically. He came down here fishing with some friends I guess, and stuck out like a walnut in the chocolates. A large man, with a face carved by time and some self inflicted ravages. Behind that craggy face, and leaking to the outside world through his windows was a lithe and lively intellect, honed by some hard stones, and sharp as a razor. I was going to say that his eyes "twinkle", but that sounds like Santa, and Rich is no Santa. His wryness and gentle life eroded sarcasm fit together with me as though we have been practicing for years, as we now can say we have. Many has been the afternoon that Richard and I would head off in a stereo stream of consciousness, verbally jammin' like Jerry and Bobby, filling in the holes, driving the other in directions that neither of us had been previously aware of. Others may not of seen it that way, El Rey Tut would walk away shaking his head, Bobo would grow impatient and head off with his smart phone, but Rich and I were jammin' and it was good, at least in our synced up minds. Rich is some older than I, not so much as measured by the calendar, but by the topography of his life. He had ventured into, and returned from, some places so dark that I'm not sure I would have had the fortitude to rebound from. It certainly has taken some starch out of him, but the extra wrinkles both on his face and on his cortex were pure character. Richard is in the final stages of this earthly sentence, entering hospice shortly, and then beyond. Once again, as so often happens as we all age, another "we will be lesser for his absence" kinda guys is about to prove that that is sometimes true. I don't like it, probably won't get used to it, but am not surprised by it. I feel as proud as a guy with a girl friend with small hands to have met him, spent time with him, and to have performed the theoretical "mind meld" with his considerable psyche. He is unable to talk to me on the phone, and I fear that I shall not see him again, much less interact, so this will have to do as a goodbye, my friend. It seems rather puny, but I'm sure that you will understand.
David
I promise to write on fishing in the next few days, this is just not the time.
David
I promise to write on fishing in the next few days, this is just not the time.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
BUILT FOR COMFORT, AND FOR SPEED
THE ABOVE PUNCH LINE, SHAMELESSLY MANGLED FROM B.B.KING, IS THE END OF THE STORY....
IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT......DIFFERENT STORY
YEARS BACK MY BROTHER DAN CAME DOWN FISHIN'. HELL OF A GUY, GREAT MUSICIAN, RELATIVELY NOVICE IN THE PISCATORIAL ARTS, PARTICULARLY IN THE AGUA DE SAL. WENT OUT TO THE BAJO, HOOKED HIM INTO A 65 POUND YELLOWFIN TUNA AND MY BRAIN CAMERA REMEMBERS HIM, WITH HIS FEET PROPPED AGAINST THE GUNNEL, ARMS EXTENDED, PULLING BACK ON A FISH THAT WAS FREIGHT TRAINING. HE LOOKED AT ME, WITH A LOOK OF HONEST SURPRISE AND REPEATED THE WORD, "FUCK" SEVERAL TIMES.
CRANK FORWARD TO YESTERDAY. OUR STALWARTS WERE UPON THE BRINEY. WE BEEN GETTING SOME WAHOO, FAIR AMOUNT OF CABRILLA AND PARGO, A FEW SMALL DORADO, AND YELLOWTAIL. THEY WERE ALL TROLLING 30 AND 40 POUND LINE WHEN UP FROM THE DEPTHS A SCHOOL OF 60-90 POUND YELLOWFIN TUNA ARRIVED, BENT ON WAKING UP THE DOZERS. WELL WHEN THE SMOKE CLEARED WENDY HAD A NICE WAHOO AND A 70 POUND TUNA, THERE WERE A COUPLE MORE WAHOO, ONE MIDDLE SIZED YELLOWTAIL, AND A BUNCH OF GUYS WHO WERE QUOTING MY BROTHER DAN. STORIES OF BROKEN LINE, SPOOLED REELS, BURNED THUMBS, AND OTHER TAILS OF WOE. TODAY, WITH THE BENEFIT OF YESTERDAYS EXPERIENCE EVERYONE HAD MARCHED UP THE LEARNING CURVE, GONE TO THE CENTER FIRE ARMAMENTS, AND DID MUCH BETTER. THERE WERE STILL A COUPLE OF GUYS THAT GOT SPOOLED, BUT WE AT LEAST FOUGHT THEM TO A DRAW TODAY. BB, A FF REGULAR, BROUGHT DOWN A BUNCH OF HIS WORKERS AND THEY WENT TO WORK TODAY. BB HAD AN 80 POUND TUNA TO TOP OFF THE PILE. HE HADN'T HAD THIS EXPERIENCE BEFORE, AND AS HE SAT IN MY OFFICE AFTERWARDS, I COULDN'T HELP BUT THINK OF DAN. BB IS AN ACCOMPLISHED FISHERMEN, MANLY MAN, AND NICE GUY. THE LOOK OF PLEASURED WONDER ON HIS FACE IS NOW IN THE BRAIN ALBUM. "I DIDN'T KNOW THAT THEY COULD BE THAT STRONG!", HE SAID, FACE LIT UP LIKE A KID AT XMAS.
WE DIDN'T GET THEM ALL, STILL HAD A FEW GET SPOOLED, BUT AS I SIT HERE IN THE LATE AFTERNOON, LISTENING TO THE REPEATED SHARPENING STROKES BEING TAKEN IN THE BACK AS OUR CRACK CREW DECONSTRUCTS TODAYS' CATCH I LIKE THIS JOB, AND LOOK FORWARD TO TOMORROW. AS OUR CAPTAINS START TO ZERO IN ON THESE NEW ARRIVALS I AM CONFIDENT THAT AS THIS GAME GOES ON WE WILL PULL AHEAD AND MERGE VICTORIOUS.
DAVID JONES
IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT......DIFFERENT STORY
YEARS BACK MY BROTHER DAN CAME DOWN FISHIN'. HELL OF A GUY, GREAT MUSICIAN, RELATIVELY NOVICE IN THE PISCATORIAL ARTS, PARTICULARLY IN THE AGUA DE SAL. WENT OUT TO THE BAJO, HOOKED HIM INTO A 65 POUND YELLOWFIN TUNA AND MY BRAIN CAMERA REMEMBERS HIM, WITH HIS FEET PROPPED AGAINST THE GUNNEL, ARMS EXTENDED, PULLING BACK ON A FISH THAT WAS FREIGHT TRAINING. HE LOOKED AT ME, WITH A LOOK OF HONEST SURPRISE AND REPEATED THE WORD, "FUCK" SEVERAL TIMES.
CRANK FORWARD TO YESTERDAY. OUR STALWARTS WERE UPON THE BRINEY. WE BEEN GETTING SOME WAHOO, FAIR AMOUNT OF CABRILLA AND PARGO, A FEW SMALL DORADO, AND YELLOWTAIL. THEY WERE ALL TROLLING 30 AND 40 POUND LINE WHEN UP FROM THE DEPTHS A SCHOOL OF 60-90 POUND YELLOWFIN TUNA ARRIVED, BENT ON WAKING UP THE DOZERS. WELL WHEN THE SMOKE CLEARED WENDY HAD A NICE WAHOO AND A 70 POUND TUNA, THERE WERE A COUPLE MORE WAHOO, ONE MIDDLE SIZED YELLOWTAIL, AND A BUNCH OF GUYS WHO WERE QUOTING MY BROTHER DAN. STORIES OF BROKEN LINE, SPOOLED REELS, BURNED THUMBS, AND OTHER TAILS OF WOE. TODAY, WITH THE BENEFIT OF YESTERDAYS EXPERIENCE EVERYONE HAD MARCHED UP THE LEARNING CURVE, GONE TO THE CENTER FIRE ARMAMENTS, AND DID MUCH BETTER. THERE WERE STILL A COUPLE OF GUYS THAT GOT SPOOLED, BUT WE AT LEAST FOUGHT THEM TO A DRAW TODAY. BB, A FF REGULAR, BROUGHT DOWN A BUNCH OF HIS WORKERS AND THEY WENT TO WORK TODAY. BB HAD AN 80 POUND TUNA TO TOP OFF THE PILE. HE HADN'T HAD THIS EXPERIENCE BEFORE, AND AS HE SAT IN MY OFFICE AFTERWARDS, I COULDN'T HELP BUT THINK OF DAN. BB IS AN ACCOMPLISHED FISHERMEN, MANLY MAN, AND NICE GUY. THE LOOK OF PLEASURED WONDER ON HIS FACE IS NOW IN THE BRAIN ALBUM. "I DIDN'T KNOW THAT THEY COULD BE THAT STRONG!", HE SAID, FACE LIT UP LIKE A KID AT XMAS.
WE DIDN'T GET THEM ALL, STILL HAD A FEW GET SPOOLED, BUT AS I SIT HERE IN THE LATE AFTERNOON, LISTENING TO THE REPEATED SHARPENING STROKES BEING TAKEN IN THE BACK AS OUR CRACK CREW DECONSTRUCTS TODAYS' CATCH I LIKE THIS JOB, AND LOOK FORWARD TO TOMORROW. AS OUR CAPTAINS START TO ZERO IN ON THESE NEW ARRIVALS I AM CONFIDENT THAT AS THIS GAME GOES ON WE WILL PULL AHEAD AND MERGE VICTORIOUS.
DAVID JONES
Friday, February 13, 2015
The Perfect Blossom
GETS TO BE THIS TIME OF YEAR, ALMOST EVERY YEAR, AND AN OLD MANS' MIND TURNS TO THOUGHTS OF FISHING. IT'S A LITTLE EARLY TO EXPERIENCE THE WIDE OPEN STUFF OF WHICH WE ALL HAVE MEMORIES, AND FANTASIES, BUT THERE ARE ENOUGH NICE FISH AROUND TO PUT THE SHIP OF STATE ON AUTO PILOT AND HEAD OFF IN PURSUIT OF ONE OF THOSE MOMENTS THAT TRULY SATISFY. WHILE PUTTING A BUNCH OF FISH IN THE BOX IS STILL A WORTHWHILE QUEST, WITH AGE I'VE COME TO SAVOR MORE THAT ONE FISH, THE PERFECT BLOSSOM (SEE "THE LAST SAMURAI"). TWO OR THREE OF THESE A YEAR FEEDS THE COALS WHICH STILL BURN HOT, EVEN THOUGH THE FLAMES NO LONGER LICK THE SKY.
HEADED OUT OF LA PAZ IN SEARCH OF THE SEVERAL SCHOOLS OF SMALLISH DORADO THAT HAVE BEEN IN THE AREA, THINKING TO PUT SOME MEAT IN THE BOX, GET BACK EARLY, GOTTA HAVE A PLAN.
SO MUCH FOR THAT PLAN. THE DORADO THAT BOBO AND BOTETTE HAD SAID HAD BEEN THERE WEREN'T, AND TIME FOR PLAN B. THAT DIDN'T WORK EITHER, AND ON TO PLAN C. ENDED UP AT PUNTA COYOTE, A ROCKY BLUFF ON THE EAST END OF THE ESPIRITU ISLAND CHANNEL. BOULDERS PILED UP LIKE A KIDS SET OF BLOCKS, SPILLING INTO THE SEA OF CORTEZ, PROMISING A PLETHORA OF NOOKS AND CRANNIES, HIDEY HOLES, AND CAVERNS BELOW. IT'S SORT OF THE LA PAZ EQUIVALENT OF PUNTA PERICO OVER AT MUERTOS, A FISHY PLACE, A GO TO PLACE, NOT GUARANTEED SUCCESSFUL, BUT OFTEN ENOUGH, AND A PLACE WHERE IF I WERE A FISH, I WOULD FREQUENT. OVER THE YEARS I'VE HOOKED DOG SNAPPER, CABRILLA, DORADO, SAILFISH, ROOSTER FISH, AND AMBER JACK THERE. THESE FISH HAVE ALWAYS DONE THEIR BEST, OFTEN SUCCESSFULLY, TO RETURN TO THE AFOREMENTIONED ROCKY SANCTUARIES WHICH ATTRACT THEM, AND ME, TO THIS PLACE. CRUISIN' BACK AND FORTH, LAUNCHING CHUM IN OUR WAKE, WE AWAITED THE ATTENTION THAT WE SOUGHT. THE BITE BEGAN SLOWLY, FIRST A PARGO MULATTO, THEN A CABRILLA, NOT GREAT BIG FISH, BUT WE HAD CAUGHT THEIR ATTENTION. AFTER A FEW MORE PASSES CAPTAIN JUAN RECOMMENDED THAT I EXCHANGE MY 40LB. RIG FOR A LIGHTER ONE THAT I HAD BROUGHT WITH THE THOUGHT THAT IT WAS PERFECT FOR OUR ORIGINAL PREY, THE SMALLISH DORADO RUMOURED BUT NOT PRESENT SOME TWENTY MILES AGO. THIS WAS ONE OF THOSE RIGS THAT I'VE ALWAYS LIKED, BUT NOT USED MUCH. A CAPE FEAR STICK, A CARBON GRAPHITE HEXAGONAL RIFF ON THE OLD TRULINE THEME, COUPLED TO AN AGED PENN POWER MAG 970. THIS IS A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE CONVENTIONAL REEL THAT PENN MADE FOR A FEW YEARS, MORE THAN A FEW YEARS AGO. A HANDSOME LITTLE PACKAGE, BARELY BIGGER THAN A BLACK BASS REEL, BUT BRED WITH A HEART D'ORO. THIS WAS LOADED WITH 20LB. MONO OVER 50LB. SPECTRA, AND IS A BLAST ON THE SURFACE FIGHTING AND ACROBATIC DORADO, BUT AGAINST THE TOOTHSOME ROCK DWELLERS OF PUNTA COYOTE, I HAD MY DOUBTS. WITH A #1 HOOK TIED ON THE END IT LOOKED PRETTY PUNY IN COMPARISON TO THE DENIZENS THAT I KNOW HANG HERE. A BIT LIKE BUFFALO HUNTING WITH A BB GUN, BUT AMID THE MILDLY LOCO THOUGHTS THAT POUR EVER FRESH FROM THE BOCA DE JUAN THERE ARE OFTEN GOOD IDEAS, FOUNDED IN HIS YEARS OF FISHING THESE WATERS. WHAT THE HELL.
I CRADLED MY TREMBLING WEBLEY, LETTING THE SARDINE DART INTO THE DEPTHS, MY SPIDERWEB LIKE LINE UNCOILING IN THE WAKE. JUST A FEW MINUTES OF TROLLING LATER A VOID OPENED UP UNDER MY BAIT, AND WE WERE IN GEAR. I SET THE HOOK AS HARD AS I DARED, AND JUAN SAID, "BIG BOIL!" "I KNOW", SAYS I, AND IT BEGAN. HE FOUGHT UP HIGH, MOVING AWAY FROM THE BOAT, BUT NOT DOWN. "WHATTAYA THINK?" I ASKED THE SKY, AND RECOVERED SOME LINE. THAT'S WHEN WE CAUGHT ANOTHER GEAR AND WERE OFF TO THE RACES. LONG HARD DIVES DOWN, FOLLOWED BY THE SULLEN SHAKING OF MY UNWILLING PARTNERS' HEAD ANNOUNCED THAT THIS WAS A YELLOW TAIL. EVERY TIME HE TRIED TO CATCH HIS BREATH I WAS ON HIM LIKE A BOY SCOUT ON A BROWNIE, CRANKING THAT TINY HANDLE FOR ALL IT, AND I, WAS WORTH. WE SETTLED INTO A RHYTHM OF COLLECTING TWENTY FEET, AND GIVING UP THIRTY. TIME AFTER TIME THIS FISH FOR WHOM I WAS DEVELOPING A HEALTHY RESPECT, WOULD GIVE UP LINE AND THEN RECLAIM IT, A SEESAW BATTLE THAT WAS AT BEST A DRAW. THE BOAT WAS DRIFTING OFFSHORE WITH THE CURRENT, AND SOON WE WERE PROBABLY A HALF MILE OFF OF PUNTA COYOTE. "HOW DEEP DO YOU THINK IT IS HERE?" I ASKED JUAN. MY HOPE WAS THAT WE WERE GETTING DEEP ENOUGH THAT BEING ROCKED WAS A FADING CONCERN. THAT LITTLE BITTY LINE WASN'T GOING TO TAKE ANY TERRESTRIAL CONTACT AT ALL BEFORE GIVING UP WITH THAT DISGUSTING "BOINK" THAT SIGNALS THE END OF THE GAME. "MAYBE 70 FEET", SAYS JUAN, "FUCK", SAYS I, HAVING HOPED THAT THE ANSWER WOULD HAVE BEEN "VERY". WHILE ALL THIS CRANKING AND SURRENDERING OF LINE WAS GOING ON JUAN WAS QUIETLY (JUAN, QUIETLY?) DOING HIS JOB, JOCKEYING THE BOAT IN FORWARD AND REVERSE, KEEPING US DIRECTLY ABOVE THE FISH, TRYING TO KEEP THE LINE STRETCHED VERTICALLY IN ORDER AVOID ANY ROCK WRAPPING INTENTIONS THAT MY HERETOFORE UNSEEN OPPONENT MIGHT HARBOR. UP AND DOWN WE WENT, 8 OR 10 STRONG DIVES BACK INTO THE DEPTHS. THERE SEEMED TO BE AN INVISIBLE CEILING ABOVE WHICH THIS FISH WAS NOT WILLING TO GO, NO MATTER THE EFFORT AT COERCION ON MY PART.
FINALLY A GLIMPSE OF COLOR, THE PALE WASHED OUT YELLOWISH GLOW THAT CONFIRMED OUR SUSPICIONS THAT THIS WAS A YELLOW TAIL. HAVING GROWN UP IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA I HAD NOT CAUGHT MANY OF THESE UNTIL I MOVED TO THE BAJA. EVEN THOUGHT THE SOCALERS SPOKE OF THEM WITH GREAT REVERENCE IT WAS NOT UNTIL MY FIRST COUPLE OF SPRING SEASONS HERE THAT I DEVELOPED THE RESPECT FOR THESE TOUGH BASTARDS THAT THEY SO RICHLY DESERVE. ONE OF THE JACK FAMILY, AND HENCE HAVING NO TEETH, IT SEEMS TO ME THAT THIS ABSENCE OF DENTAL WEAPONS MUST HAVE GENETICALLY PISSED THEM OFF, AND THIS GUM TO GUM ANGER IS SOMEHOW CONVERTED INTO THE TENACITY AND STAMINA THAT MAKES THEM SO SOUGHT AFTER. SO NOW, WITH THE FISH WITHIN SIGHT, IT SEEMED AS THOUGH THE STAKES HAD BEEN RAISED, FOR BOTH OF US. FOR ME, I WOULD RATHER HAVE NEVER HOOKED THE FISH AT ALL THAN TO LOSE HIM THIS LATE IN THE GAME, THE PINGING 20LB. WORKING AS HARD AS I WAS, AND FOR HIM THE APPROACHING DESTINY OF SEA LEVEL SPURRED HIS EFFORTS EVEN FURTHER. THREE MORE LONG RUNS TOWARDS LIBERATION, BUT EACH ONE WAS SHORTER THAN THE LAST, AND THE CRUX WAS UPON US. A BIT OF SHORT STROKING AND HE WAS WITHIN A COUPLE OF GAFF LENGTHS OF THE BOAT. A FEW MORE TURNS ON THE REEL AND JUAN WAS ON HIM LIKE A HOVERING FRIGATE BIRD, PLUCKING HIM NEATLY FROM THE WATER. THIS WAS A NICE FISH, NOT THE BIGGEST YELLOW TAIL I'VE SEEN, OR CAUGHT, BUT THE STRUGGLE, WHAT WITH THE TOOLS BEING USED, WAS MEMORABLE, AND VERY SATISFYING. HOURS LATER HE WEIGHED OUT AT 41LBS., MEANING AT FIGHTING WEIGHT HE PROBABLY APPROACHED 45 POUNDS.
THOSE FEW MINUTES, MAS OF MENOS HALF AN HOUR I WOULD GUESS, WERE ANOTHER WONDERFUL FISHING EXPERIENCE, ABSOLUTE FOCUS ON THE STRUGGLE ONGOING, ME AND THE FISH. JUAN PLAYED HIS INTEGRAL PART PERFECTLY, AND FOR THAT BRIEF INTERLUDE WE WERE A SYSTEM, A MECHANISM FUNCTIONING AS MORE THAN THE SUM OF OUR PARTS. "OK, OK", YOU SAY, IT WAS JUST A FISH. PERHAPS, BUT FOR ME ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE RARE, PRICELESS, "PERFECT BLOSSOMS" AS WELL.
THANKS FOR LISTENING,
DAVID
HEADED OUT OF LA PAZ IN SEARCH OF THE SEVERAL SCHOOLS OF SMALLISH DORADO THAT HAVE BEEN IN THE AREA, THINKING TO PUT SOME MEAT IN THE BOX, GET BACK EARLY, GOTTA HAVE A PLAN.
SO MUCH FOR THAT PLAN. THE DORADO THAT BOBO AND BOTETTE HAD SAID HAD BEEN THERE WEREN'T, AND TIME FOR PLAN B. THAT DIDN'T WORK EITHER, AND ON TO PLAN C. ENDED UP AT PUNTA COYOTE, A ROCKY BLUFF ON THE EAST END OF THE ESPIRITU ISLAND CHANNEL. BOULDERS PILED UP LIKE A KIDS SET OF BLOCKS, SPILLING INTO THE SEA OF CORTEZ, PROMISING A PLETHORA OF NOOKS AND CRANNIES, HIDEY HOLES, AND CAVERNS BELOW. IT'S SORT OF THE LA PAZ EQUIVALENT OF PUNTA PERICO OVER AT MUERTOS, A FISHY PLACE, A GO TO PLACE, NOT GUARANTEED SUCCESSFUL, BUT OFTEN ENOUGH, AND A PLACE WHERE IF I WERE A FISH, I WOULD FREQUENT. OVER THE YEARS I'VE HOOKED DOG SNAPPER, CABRILLA, DORADO, SAILFISH, ROOSTER FISH, AND AMBER JACK THERE. THESE FISH HAVE ALWAYS DONE THEIR BEST, OFTEN SUCCESSFULLY, TO RETURN TO THE AFOREMENTIONED ROCKY SANCTUARIES WHICH ATTRACT THEM, AND ME, TO THIS PLACE. CRUISIN' BACK AND FORTH, LAUNCHING CHUM IN OUR WAKE, WE AWAITED THE ATTENTION THAT WE SOUGHT. THE BITE BEGAN SLOWLY, FIRST A PARGO MULATTO, THEN A CABRILLA, NOT GREAT BIG FISH, BUT WE HAD CAUGHT THEIR ATTENTION. AFTER A FEW MORE PASSES CAPTAIN JUAN RECOMMENDED THAT I EXCHANGE MY 40LB. RIG FOR A LIGHTER ONE THAT I HAD BROUGHT WITH THE THOUGHT THAT IT WAS PERFECT FOR OUR ORIGINAL PREY, THE SMALLISH DORADO RUMOURED BUT NOT PRESENT SOME TWENTY MILES AGO. THIS WAS ONE OF THOSE RIGS THAT I'VE ALWAYS LIKED, BUT NOT USED MUCH. A CAPE FEAR STICK, A CARBON GRAPHITE HEXAGONAL RIFF ON THE OLD TRULINE THEME, COUPLED TO AN AGED PENN POWER MAG 970. THIS IS A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE CONVENTIONAL REEL THAT PENN MADE FOR A FEW YEARS, MORE THAN A FEW YEARS AGO. A HANDSOME LITTLE PACKAGE, BARELY BIGGER THAN A BLACK BASS REEL, BUT BRED WITH A HEART D'ORO. THIS WAS LOADED WITH 20LB. MONO OVER 50LB. SPECTRA, AND IS A BLAST ON THE SURFACE FIGHTING AND ACROBATIC DORADO, BUT AGAINST THE TOOTHSOME ROCK DWELLERS OF PUNTA COYOTE, I HAD MY DOUBTS. WITH A #1 HOOK TIED ON THE END IT LOOKED PRETTY PUNY IN COMPARISON TO THE DENIZENS THAT I KNOW HANG HERE. A BIT LIKE BUFFALO HUNTING WITH A BB GUN, BUT AMID THE MILDLY LOCO THOUGHTS THAT POUR EVER FRESH FROM THE BOCA DE JUAN THERE ARE OFTEN GOOD IDEAS, FOUNDED IN HIS YEARS OF FISHING THESE WATERS. WHAT THE HELL.
I CRADLED MY TREMBLING WEBLEY, LETTING THE SARDINE DART INTO THE DEPTHS, MY SPIDERWEB LIKE LINE UNCOILING IN THE WAKE. JUST A FEW MINUTES OF TROLLING LATER A VOID OPENED UP UNDER MY BAIT, AND WE WERE IN GEAR. I SET THE HOOK AS HARD AS I DARED, AND JUAN SAID, "BIG BOIL!" "I KNOW", SAYS I, AND IT BEGAN. HE FOUGHT UP HIGH, MOVING AWAY FROM THE BOAT, BUT NOT DOWN. "WHATTAYA THINK?" I ASKED THE SKY, AND RECOVERED SOME LINE. THAT'S WHEN WE CAUGHT ANOTHER GEAR AND WERE OFF TO THE RACES. LONG HARD DIVES DOWN, FOLLOWED BY THE SULLEN SHAKING OF MY UNWILLING PARTNERS' HEAD ANNOUNCED THAT THIS WAS A YELLOW TAIL. EVERY TIME HE TRIED TO CATCH HIS BREATH I WAS ON HIM LIKE A BOY SCOUT ON A BROWNIE, CRANKING THAT TINY HANDLE FOR ALL IT, AND I, WAS WORTH. WE SETTLED INTO A RHYTHM OF COLLECTING TWENTY FEET, AND GIVING UP THIRTY. TIME AFTER TIME THIS FISH FOR WHOM I WAS DEVELOPING A HEALTHY RESPECT, WOULD GIVE UP LINE AND THEN RECLAIM IT, A SEESAW BATTLE THAT WAS AT BEST A DRAW. THE BOAT WAS DRIFTING OFFSHORE WITH THE CURRENT, AND SOON WE WERE PROBABLY A HALF MILE OFF OF PUNTA COYOTE. "HOW DEEP DO YOU THINK IT IS HERE?" I ASKED JUAN. MY HOPE WAS THAT WE WERE GETTING DEEP ENOUGH THAT BEING ROCKED WAS A FADING CONCERN. THAT LITTLE BITTY LINE WASN'T GOING TO TAKE ANY TERRESTRIAL CONTACT AT ALL BEFORE GIVING UP WITH THAT DISGUSTING "BOINK" THAT SIGNALS THE END OF THE GAME. "MAYBE 70 FEET", SAYS JUAN, "FUCK", SAYS I, HAVING HOPED THAT THE ANSWER WOULD HAVE BEEN "VERY". WHILE ALL THIS CRANKING AND SURRENDERING OF LINE WAS GOING ON JUAN WAS QUIETLY (JUAN, QUIETLY?) DOING HIS JOB, JOCKEYING THE BOAT IN FORWARD AND REVERSE, KEEPING US DIRECTLY ABOVE THE FISH, TRYING TO KEEP THE LINE STRETCHED VERTICALLY IN ORDER AVOID ANY ROCK WRAPPING INTENTIONS THAT MY HERETOFORE UNSEEN OPPONENT MIGHT HARBOR. UP AND DOWN WE WENT, 8 OR 10 STRONG DIVES BACK INTO THE DEPTHS. THERE SEEMED TO BE AN INVISIBLE CEILING ABOVE WHICH THIS FISH WAS NOT WILLING TO GO, NO MATTER THE EFFORT AT COERCION ON MY PART.
FINALLY A GLIMPSE OF COLOR, THE PALE WASHED OUT YELLOWISH GLOW THAT CONFIRMED OUR SUSPICIONS THAT THIS WAS A YELLOW TAIL. HAVING GROWN UP IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA I HAD NOT CAUGHT MANY OF THESE UNTIL I MOVED TO THE BAJA. EVEN THOUGHT THE SOCALERS SPOKE OF THEM WITH GREAT REVERENCE IT WAS NOT UNTIL MY FIRST COUPLE OF SPRING SEASONS HERE THAT I DEVELOPED THE RESPECT FOR THESE TOUGH BASTARDS THAT THEY SO RICHLY DESERVE. ONE OF THE JACK FAMILY, AND HENCE HAVING NO TEETH, IT SEEMS TO ME THAT THIS ABSENCE OF DENTAL WEAPONS MUST HAVE GENETICALLY PISSED THEM OFF, AND THIS GUM TO GUM ANGER IS SOMEHOW CONVERTED INTO THE TENACITY AND STAMINA THAT MAKES THEM SO SOUGHT AFTER. SO NOW, WITH THE FISH WITHIN SIGHT, IT SEEMED AS THOUGH THE STAKES HAD BEEN RAISED, FOR BOTH OF US. FOR ME, I WOULD RATHER HAVE NEVER HOOKED THE FISH AT ALL THAN TO LOSE HIM THIS LATE IN THE GAME, THE PINGING 20LB. WORKING AS HARD AS I WAS, AND FOR HIM THE APPROACHING DESTINY OF SEA LEVEL SPURRED HIS EFFORTS EVEN FURTHER. THREE MORE LONG RUNS TOWARDS LIBERATION, BUT EACH ONE WAS SHORTER THAN THE LAST, AND THE CRUX WAS UPON US. A BIT OF SHORT STROKING AND HE WAS WITHIN A COUPLE OF GAFF LENGTHS OF THE BOAT. A FEW MORE TURNS ON THE REEL AND JUAN WAS ON HIM LIKE A HOVERING FRIGATE BIRD, PLUCKING HIM NEATLY FROM THE WATER. THIS WAS A NICE FISH, NOT THE BIGGEST YELLOW TAIL I'VE SEEN, OR CAUGHT, BUT THE STRUGGLE, WHAT WITH THE TOOLS BEING USED, WAS MEMORABLE, AND VERY SATISFYING. HOURS LATER HE WEIGHED OUT AT 41LBS., MEANING AT FIGHTING WEIGHT HE PROBABLY APPROACHED 45 POUNDS.
THOSE FEW MINUTES, MAS OF MENOS HALF AN HOUR I WOULD GUESS, WERE ANOTHER WONDERFUL FISHING EXPERIENCE, ABSOLUTE FOCUS ON THE STRUGGLE ONGOING, ME AND THE FISH. JUAN PLAYED HIS INTEGRAL PART PERFECTLY, AND FOR THAT BRIEF INTERLUDE WE WERE A SYSTEM, A MECHANISM FUNCTIONING AS MORE THAN THE SUM OF OUR PARTS. "OK, OK", YOU SAY, IT WAS JUST A FISH. PERHAPS, BUT FOR ME ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE RARE, PRICELESS, "PERFECT BLOSSOMS" AS WELL.
THANKS FOR LISTENING,
DAVID
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Ensalada de Muertos
TODAY, IN THE INTEREST OF CROSS CULTURAL POLLINATION WE BRING YOU A RECIPE FOR A GREAT DAY ON THE WATER, LA PAZ STYLE. WE TESTED THIS RECIPE JUST YESTERDAY, AND IT WAS SCRUMPTIOUS:
INGREDIENTS
- 1 EA. FINE DAY OF WEATHER, WITH TEMPS IN THE LOW 70'S, LIGHT WINDS, AND JUST A SOUSSAINTE OF SMALL WAVE ACTION.
- 1 EA. EXPERIENCED LOCAL CAPTAIN, IN THIS CASE AN AGED BUT NOT AGED FRIEND NAMED KALIN
- 1 EA. FISHING PARTNER, IN THIS CASE WE CHOSE A SON, NAMED CHRISTOPHER
AS WITH MOST SUCCESSFUL RECIPES THE INGREDIENTS SHOULD BE SIMPLE, BUT MUST BE THE FRESHEST AND MOST FLAVORFUL. IN THIS CASE ALL OF THE PIECES WERE BURSTING WITH THE OPTIMISM OF A NEW YEAR AND A DAY SPENT WITH FRIENDS IN MOST COMELY OF ALL PLACES.
PREPARATION
- HEAD FOR THE SERIES OF ROCKS THAT PEPPER THE BOTTOM SSE OF CERRALVO ISLAND. THESE INCLUDE THE LEGENDARY ROCA MONTANA AND THE LESS KNOWN BUT EQUALLY PRODUCTIVE ROCA HENNESSEE AND ROCA RAMBO. THESE LAST TWO ARE "SECRET" SPOTS NAMED AFTER FAMED FISHERPERSONS WHO HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO FREQUENT THESE LOCATIONS, OFTEN CATCHING FISH AND OCCASIONALLY LOSING ITEMS OF CLOTHING SUCH AS HATS.
- USING EITHER BAIT OR KNIFE JIGS, A SUBSPECIES OF THE VENERABLE YO-YO JIG, PLY THE BOTTOM. CAUTION: WHEN USING THE KNIFE JIGS IT IS BEST TO USE THE ULTRA STRONG HOOK RIGS MANUFACTURED IN A SMALL FACILITY IN LODI, CALIFORNIA, BY CRAFTSMEN RESEMBLING THE ORCS OF THE RING TRILOGY. THESE JIGS WORK BEST IF RETRIEVED AT A VERY HIGH RATE OF SPEED, WITH A SPASTIC UPWARDS JERKING MOTION ON THE ROD, RESULTING IN AN ALMOST EPILEPTIC MOTION BY THE FISHERMAN.
THE PROOF IS IN THE PUDDING
-ON THIS DAY, THIS RECIPE RESULTED IN US HEADING HOME WITH
1 EA. 38LB. YELLOW FIN TUNA
1 EA. 28LB. YELLOW TAIL
2 EA. 12LB. PARGO MULLATO, A FINELY MATCHED BRACE OF THESE TASTY DENIZENS
1 EA. 24LB. WAHOO A SURPRISE VISITOR THAT SMACKED THE AFOREMENTIONED JIG WITHIN 6 FEET OF THE BOAT AND
SINCE THERE WAS NO WIRE LEADER RESULTED IN AN 8 MINUTE DISPLAY OF TERPSICHORE THAT RIVALED THE
LEGENDARY EFFORTS OF THE OFT TALKED ABOUT BILL "BOJANGLES" ROBINSON, BUT WAS ACCOMPANIED BY
AS ELOQUENT A COMBINATION OF EPITHETS AS I HAVE HAD THE PLEASURE OF HEARING IN MANY A MOON.
1 EA. 7LB. SIERRA MACKEREL THIS FELLOW TOPPED THE SUNDAE AT PUNTA PERICO.
THIS RECIPE, FINELY CRAFTED AND CAREFULLY EXECUTED RESULTED IN A VERY FINE VERSION OF THE MEAL THAT WE KNOW AS "ENSALADA DE MUERTOS".
INGREDIENTS
- 1 EA. FINE DAY OF WEATHER, WITH TEMPS IN THE LOW 70'S, LIGHT WINDS, AND JUST A SOUSSAINTE OF SMALL WAVE ACTION.
- 1 EA. EXPERIENCED LOCAL CAPTAIN, IN THIS CASE AN AGED BUT NOT AGED FRIEND NAMED KALIN
- 1 EA. FISHING PARTNER, IN THIS CASE WE CHOSE A SON, NAMED CHRISTOPHER
AS WITH MOST SUCCESSFUL RECIPES THE INGREDIENTS SHOULD BE SIMPLE, BUT MUST BE THE FRESHEST AND MOST FLAVORFUL. IN THIS CASE ALL OF THE PIECES WERE BURSTING WITH THE OPTIMISM OF A NEW YEAR AND A DAY SPENT WITH FRIENDS IN MOST COMELY OF ALL PLACES.
PREPARATION
- HEAD FOR THE SERIES OF ROCKS THAT PEPPER THE BOTTOM SSE OF CERRALVO ISLAND. THESE INCLUDE THE LEGENDARY ROCA MONTANA AND THE LESS KNOWN BUT EQUALLY PRODUCTIVE ROCA HENNESSEE AND ROCA RAMBO. THESE LAST TWO ARE "SECRET" SPOTS NAMED AFTER FAMED FISHERPERSONS WHO HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO FREQUENT THESE LOCATIONS, OFTEN CATCHING FISH AND OCCASIONALLY LOSING ITEMS OF CLOTHING SUCH AS HATS.
- USING EITHER BAIT OR KNIFE JIGS, A SUBSPECIES OF THE VENERABLE YO-YO JIG, PLY THE BOTTOM. CAUTION: WHEN USING THE KNIFE JIGS IT IS BEST TO USE THE ULTRA STRONG HOOK RIGS MANUFACTURED IN A SMALL FACILITY IN LODI, CALIFORNIA, BY CRAFTSMEN RESEMBLING THE ORCS OF THE RING TRILOGY. THESE JIGS WORK BEST IF RETRIEVED AT A VERY HIGH RATE OF SPEED, WITH A SPASTIC UPWARDS JERKING MOTION ON THE ROD, RESULTING IN AN ALMOST EPILEPTIC MOTION BY THE FISHERMAN.
THE PROOF IS IN THE PUDDING
-ON THIS DAY, THIS RECIPE RESULTED IN US HEADING HOME WITH
1 EA. 38LB. YELLOW FIN TUNA
1 EA. 28LB. YELLOW TAIL
2 EA. 12LB. PARGO MULLATO, A FINELY MATCHED BRACE OF THESE TASTY DENIZENS
1 EA. 24LB. WAHOO A SURPRISE VISITOR THAT SMACKED THE AFOREMENTIONED JIG WITHIN 6 FEET OF THE BOAT AND
SINCE THERE WAS NO WIRE LEADER RESULTED IN AN 8 MINUTE DISPLAY OF TERPSICHORE THAT RIVALED THE
LEGENDARY EFFORTS OF THE OFT TALKED ABOUT BILL "BOJANGLES" ROBINSON, BUT WAS ACCOMPANIED BY
AS ELOQUENT A COMBINATION OF EPITHETS AS I HAVE HAD THE PLEASURE OF HEARING IN MANY A MOON.
1 EA. 7LB. SIERRA MACKEREL THIS FELLOW TOPPED THE SUNDAE AT PUNTA PERICO.
THIS RECIPE, FINELY CRAFTED AND CAREFULLY EXECUTED RESULTED IN A VERY FINE VERSION OF THE MEAL THAT WE KNOW AS "ENSALADA DE MUERTOS".
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
That's More Like It
Time for a fishing report, more of a prognostication really, but it's got my hopes up. As you will recall, last years' El Nino seems, in retrospect, to have effected our fishing to a great extent. We had some dorado and striped marlin through the winter, and into the spring. Yellow tail, pargo, and cabrilla fishing were somewhat anemic, and even though we had a good number of fair sized dorado during the summer, it was nothing in comparison to 2013, when a bumper crop of very large dorado provided our best dorado year in 20.
Well, we had some guys out this week, and they did OK on dorado for January, but it wasn't much to write home about, even though I am. The captain that they fished with, Captain Efrain, just left the office after collecting his well earned recompense, and when I talked to him I started to get a little jazzed. He reported to me that even though the sardines at the island are small,they are there. There is a school of mullet snapper (pargo liso) at Punta Perico. While this has been the norm historically, it didn't happen last year. He also has some friends fishing commercially that have started to take a few yellow tail at the spots that the earliest every year show up. By me, this is great news. The north winds have cooled the water down sufficiently that we seem to be on track for a much more normal year and as you know, normal years down here are pretty damn good.
We've been keeping an eye on this stuff for a couple of decades now and have a pretty good eye for what means what in terms of weather, water temps, tides and such. No Terry, I can't tell you what you will catch on May 14th, between 10:30 AM and 10:47 AM. Even if I could, I wouldn't take the mystery and thrill that fishing here can provide away from you.
AMUSE THE IMAGINATION,
David Jones
Well, we had some guys out this week, and they did OK on dorado for January, but it wasn't much to write home about, even though I am. The captain that they fished with, Captain Efrain, just left the office after collecting his well earned recompense, and when I talked to him I started to get a little jazzed. He reported to me that even though the sardines at the island are small,they are there. There is a school of mullet snapper (pargo liso) at Punta Perico. While this has been the norm historically, it didn't happen last year. He also has some friends fishing commercially that have started to take a few yellow tail at the spots that the earliest every year show up. By me, this is great news. The north winds have cooled the water down sufficiently that we seem to be on track for a much more normal year and as you know, normal years down here are pretty damn good.
We've been keeping an eye on this stuff for a couple of decades now and have a pretty good eye for what means what in terms of weather, water temps, tides and such. No Terry, I can't tell you what you will catch on May 14th, between 10:30 AM and 10:47 AM. Even if I could, I wouldn't take the mystery and thrill that fishing here can provide away from you.
AMUSE THE IMAGINATION,
David Jones
Monday, January 12, 2015
Mr. Cannfield
Innocently to amuse the imagination in this dream of life, is wisdom
-Oliver Goldsmith
Got a phone call the other day from Good Ol' Mr. Wilson. Our mutual friend, Jon Cannfield, had died last Thursday. I'm not all that death obsessed, but this news hit me hard, on two fronts.
The first is that Jon was just down here last week. He had been in Cabo to orchestrate the marriage of his daughter. All had gone well, and Jon was driving back to his home in SoCal. He stopped here in La Paz, spent a couple of nights with us, and left Wednesday morning, heading home to arrive, as he put it, "weekendish". He died in a head on accident on the road north of here, about 3/4 of the way home. The fact that we had just spoken brought home to me the suddenness with which this sort of thing can happen. I was going to send an email on Sunday to confirm that he had gotten home safely, and now I can't.
Secondly, Jon and I got along really well. We had a relationship and understanding of each other that went beyond fisherman and fishing service provider. Although we came from different spaces, and traveled different paths, we ended up in places not very far from each other. Our taste in and dependence on music for entertainment and foundation were in parallel. Our "nose to the grindstone, but try to have fun" philosophies were in sync. Whenever Jon came through the front door, whether it was a scheduled trip or one of his spur of the moment visits, we always picked up the conversation where we had left it on his last visit, discussing the news, food, music, families, business conditions, and a rapidly shifting range of topics that often left spectators bemused.
Referencing the Goldsmith quote above, Jons' attitude about and approach to life emphasized the amusement of the imagination. He used the phrase "It's all good" quite often, and meant it. For someone like myself, for whom the darker sides of life are often whispering in the background, his good humor, optimism, and desire to seek out that which would amuse his imagination were examples of a different way to look at things. It wasn't just a phrase thrown out to deflect adversity. Jon saw it all as good, and fun, and was a proactive participant in making it more so. From my perspective, according to Goldsmith, Jon was a very wise man. That is consistent with my understanding of Jon and his approach to life.
He leaves behind a wife and children, for whom I can offer only my deepest condolences and respect for their loss. He also leaves behind a large number of people upon whom he had a positive effect over the years. An inveterate Baja wanderer, he had been to many of the nooks and crannies that are scattered up and down this peninsula that we call home. Many that I have not visited, some of which I had never even heard of. In each of these places that were special to Jon there are undoubtedly people who will miss his visits, his humor, and all the things that made him him. I know for a fact that those people here in La Paz that were lucky enough to experience Jon will miss him terribly, and we can only try to remember and incorporate into our own lives the example of "innocently amusing the imagination" that he set.
Buena Suerte Amigo,
David Jones and the Fishermens Fleet Family
-Oliver Goldsmith
Got a phone call the other day from Good Ol' Mr. Wilson. Our mutual friend, Jon Cannfield, had died last Thursday. I'm not all that death obsessed, but this news hit me hard, on two fronts.
The first is that Jon was just down here last week. He had been in Cabo to orchestrate the marriage of his daughter. All had gone well, and Jon was driving back to his home in SoCal. He stopped here in La Paz, spent a couple of nights with us, and left Wednesday morning, heading home to arrive, as he put it, "weekendish". He died in a head on accident on the road north of here, about 3/4 of the way home. The fact that we had just spoken brought home to me the suddenness with which this sort of thing can happen. I was going to send an email on Sunday to confirm that he had gotten home safely, and now I can't.
Secondly, Jon and I got along really well. We had a relationship and understanding of each other that went beyond fisherman and fishing service provider. Although we came from different spaces, and traveled different paths, we ended up in places not very far from each other. Our taste in and dependence on music for entertainment and foundation were in parallel. Our "nose to the grindstone, but try to have fun" philosophies were in sync. Whenever Jon came through the front door, whether it was a scheduled trip or one of his spur of the moment visits, we always picked up the conversation where we had left it on his last visit, discussing the news, food, music, families, business conditions, and a rapidly shifting range of topics that often left spectators bemused.
Referencing the Goldsmith quote above, Jons' attitude about and approach to life emphasized the amusement of the imagination. He used the phrase "It's all good" quite often, and meant it. For someone like myself, for whom the darker sides of life are often whispering in the background, his good humor, optimism, and desire to seek out that which would amuse his imagination were examples of a different way to look at things. It wasn't just a phrase thrown out to deflect adversity. Jon saw it all as good, and fun, and was a proactive participant in making it more so. From my perspective, according to Goldsmith, Jon was a very wise man. That is consistent with my understanding of Jon and his approach to life.
He leaves behind a wife and children, for whom I can offer only my deepest condolences and respect for their loss. He also leaves behind a large number of people upon whom he had a positive effect over the years. An inveterate Baja wanderer, he had been to many of the nooks and crannies that are scattered up and down this peninsula that we call home. Many that I have not visited, some of which I had never even heard of. In each of these places that were special to Jon there are undoubtedly people who will miss his visits, his humor, and all the things that made him him. I know for a fact that those people here in La Paz that were lucky enough to experience Jon will miss him terribly, and we can only try to remember and incorporate into our own lives the example of "innocently amusing the imagination" that he set.
Buena Suerte Amigo,
David Jones and the Fishermens Fleet Family
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