Took the son to the landfill to say goodbye to some assorted waste on Saturday. Took him to San Pablo reservoir to break in his new fishing pole on Monday. Looking at it through his eyes, both events were solid fun, neither better than the other, and I feel it that way too, in retrospect.
The thrill of riding in the front seat together, which we only get to do in the ancient pick-up, would make any fool smile. For $22/cubic yard the West Contra Costa County Landfill sports stunning bay views, seagull watching (he kept calling them eagles, easy mistake to make), mild offroading fun, and people/vehicle watching as good as any in San Francisco. Unlike my childhood dump, where I recall my first prize scored for braving the jolly roger bulldozer was a globe with only a minor amount of animal feces on it, children are remanded to the vehicle. I cleaned that globe up and had it for years.
The reservoir might have stood out more if we'd caught any fish, besides, three may be a bit young for true fishing, a sport of patience, sharp barbed hooks, live worm impalation, mud, and lead weights. All the same, we did it, and it brings a tear to my eye to picture us out there on the edge of the water, eyes on bobbers, eating the picnic lunch packed by Mama Bear. As I write of it now I realize that it was the first time since I was a kid that I went fishing with someone less experienced than myself. While the experience did not leave me aching for more, I have not stopped scheming about how I could catch fish since then. Different baits, hooks, times of day, fishing spots, use of chum, yes I'm glad we went.