Fishing Marlin in Our Minds

This piece, by the boy of course, now almost 5-years old, captured me with great immediacy and depth, my soul flew into the Marlin on the line, felt the hook in my cheek, bright contrast between air & seawater. Then, as my eyes traced to the boat I felt the ache in my arms from wrestling the formidable fish so many hours, bathed in fat warm Cuban breezes. Having had a recent read of Hemingway's "Selected Letters: 1917-61", the imaginings remained current in my mind, and played a major role in my appreciation of this priceless array of crayon & pastel markings on torn construction paper. The fact that my own son sees what I see, to some degree, and can draw it so expressively, washes me with good feelings & Carribean melodies. "It's A Reggae Christmas" is one of his favorite recordings.

Kayaking and Fishing on Tomales Bay

Live in that land of impossible bliss, intense like childhood,
storybook, enchanted. Everything works out pissing perfect, for now.

Tomales Bay took me in without batting an eye, soul cleanser. Left lines in the water
all night but no sharks, rays, or other yummy vertebrates managed to hook themselves, but I tried kayaking
for the first time and loved it. Paddled all around Marshall Marina, saw
a magnificent fire rainbow, an otter, several seals, schools of live jellyfish, hawks buzzing within a paddles distance, and a hundred other kinds of birds.

Moon set one of the best of all time, Li Po joined us in spirit, perfect crescent. Sky so clear the Milky
Way stood out. Could hear the waves crashing on the coast just over the hill,
across the bay.

I got to drive my AWD but not really meant to be taken off-road sedan down the beach without incident (hee-haw). Slept with no tent or tarp, on a very misty night, with my head a long arm's length from high tide. Even though I woke up a few times in the night cold, my good mood shone through so happy that I did not mind, even thought my shivery plight rang funny in the steady wind blowing jets of cold air on my feet. That laughter in the face of an uncomfortable sleeping arrangement indicates an exceptional good mood. Keep that ball bouncing.

So warm the next morning I did pilates in my t-shirt, and kayaked some more in fair rough windy
conditions, which tickled me dayglow with that intimation of mortality, especially once I found myself smack in the middle of the bay having a hard time turning around without capsizing. Kept me grinning ear
to ear, considering how the swim to shore would feel. Spent time paddling around a darling hippy dream ship named Just
Imagine, which I went ahead and did, delicious.

Drove home a way I'd never cruised before that blew my mind with it's scenic folds & rocks, grass & trees. Marshall-Petaluma Road to Lucas Valley Road to Novato. Must try them on bicycle. So pretty they could cause Chuck Norris to bust out with power tears.

Wonderful time with my kids all afternoon, filling their new sandbox together,
cooperating, playing, no shirt, no shoes, shorts, running, napping. Then I took
4-year old Gumbo to a BBQ at Maira's house in West Oakland, where some excellently insane
artists live. We checked the fire sculptures, electric motorcycle, robots, got
a personal blacksmithing lesson complete with souvenir, met some cool folks, and then raced home to rock us all
gently to sleep.

Fishing San Pablo Reservoir

Epic day fishing San Pablo Reservoir with Gumbo, Maria and Bill. All out of power boats so we rented a row boat. The oars were mismatched, so rowing was somewhat lopsided, but we managed to row far anyway. Temperature varied between t-shirt and sweatshirt, but the wind played mellow, so no complaints, although Rocket got plenty sweaty in his lifevest. I let Bill pick the first spot, but after no bites for a good while I let me fishing intuition take control and rowed us to near where I caught a fish last time I was there. Bill professed doubt due to the depth of the water (14'), but Maria brought in a nice big trout after ~20 minutes, so I savored full vindication of my anchor spot choice. Once again the fish swallowed the hook and we made a big bloody flopping stinky mess trying to get it out, with no success, perfect eating size anyway, stringered that bad boy up and hung him off of one of the oar locks. I got all elated, Maria seemed less so, Bill was pretty happy, Gumbo became very interested. Then Bill became hard to convince that it was time to go, not wanting to get left out of the caught-a-fish club. After a reasonable time, in the interest of mitigating tired toddler behavior, I asked Maria to please pull up the anchor. My elation continued, but no one else seemed near as excited, which was slightly off-putting, but not everyone can feel just like me all the time.

As I had been expecting, Bill & Maria changed their mind about cleaning and eating the lovely trout by the time we got to the cars, so I got to take it home, where Gumbo and Robin watched with fascination while I removed the innards & such. I cooked it right away and we all ate some, but Gumbo ate only one of the eyes, after which he decided that he doesn't like fish eyes anymore. The eye from the cod must have been tastier. I myself have never eaten a fish eye and don't know what put the idea into his head to start with. Next time maybe I'll rig for sturgeon, and whatever I fish for I'll use a bigger hook so they don't be swallowing the thing, too bloody.