The Yellow

[Whizz Bang]

Following the advice of my village Shaman, who is a Bokor of renowned strong magic, my preparations for Friday morning fishing at La jolla started out as usual. At 3am I crawled out of bed up and shuffled out to my car where I proceeded to circle my kayak counter clockwise 5 times while chanting the chorus to Paul Simon’s “Diamonds on the soles of her shoes”. I then checked to make sure that the garland I had fashioned out of garlic and the small pot of honey I would be bringing along were packed securely. Everything was set. This time would be different. This time I would be bringing home a yellowtail.
During the drive to the Shores I meditated. Actually, I used the “Secret”, a visualization technique that is supposed to trick the universe into giving you what you want. For those of you staring at the computer confused, it works something like this, you picture yourself with the yellowtail in a variety of different settings. You catching the yellowtail. You and the yellowtail, chasing squealing tourists up and down the beach, its lifeless body flopping to and fro. Perhaps the victorious drive home with the yellowtail safely buckled up in the passenger seat. All of this imagining is supposed to confuse the universe. The vibes you put out while you day dream are creating disharmony, so in the interest of going along to get along, the universe gives you your yellowtail just to shut you up. How much better would my life be with a yellowtail in it? Much better. This majestic fish was surely what had been missing in my otherwise happy life.
At the launch, I began to have my first real misgivings. The surf was a little nasty and I briefly wondered if I had forgotten some key aspect of the ritual, was this really my day to catch? I quelled the doubts and rigged the yak. Words of wisdom passed down from my ancestors echoed in my mind “Sometimes you just have to say F&%k It!”. Wise words indeed. I parked the car, left an offering in the second stall on the northern side, and launched with impeccably poor timing. Wave after wave battered my small vessel as I paddled like hell, cursing Neptune with every sopping stroke.
Clear of the launch, I launched again, this time into the all too familiar internal argument. Do I head out toward the horizon chasing the dream of big fish? Do I aim for the kelp and justify the frozen squid I brought because I also imagined myself with a massive white sea bass? The kayak bobbed dead in the water. Just what the F’ am I supposed to do now? What is the one right choice? Where in all this water is my fish? You know the one, that singular behemoth, a true titan of its kind. The one with an insatiable hunger and incredibly poor eyesight and perhaps, just perhaps, slightly retarded. Yeah, that one.
I head for kelp. The squid is like 5 bucks a pack and Im ashamed to admit, that played a role. On the way out I meet Mark and his beautiful woody sit inside. He is releasing his 5^th bonito when we first exchange pleasantries. He offered me a lure to enjoy the fun with him, and we had never even met before. This is what Im talking about when I say that it is something special that we share. The lure is like $16 bucks and I would probably just lose it to the Kraken. I politely decline and continue on my way. I make a little bait and this actually confuses me. I have the squid, and now I also have a few Spanish….shit….decisions on the water are never easy, they always carry the weight of the day with them. The kelp (and squid) again wins. I slog my way into the forest, watched curiously by a few seals. They have me for a mark, and they are right.
In the kelp I am lost. The wind, the swell, and my general luck all conspire against me. The drag on my reel is quiet, and I lose patience after an hour. I decide that maybe I should pull chalks so I unclip and head back out to the power boat highway. Slipping amongst the large, noisy, and unpredictable beasts I have an epiphany. Silver lure. I have a silver lure in my box. I can put that thingy on my swimbait rig and maybe catch a barracuda. The bokor never mentioned anything about barracuda but what the hell. Im bored.
On my third cast, I hook up. Feisty bonito from the feel of it. It is a powerhouse. Line strips off my reel at an alarming rate, and I watch as the 12lb mono disappears. As the fight continues I am beginning to be seriously concerned about getting spooled. Stupid bonito. I tighten the drag and begin to gain ground. It’s funny how easy it is to risk breaking off when you don’t care if you boat the fish or not. A few minutes pass by and I get color. It is a big one. The bonito has got to run 12-15 lbs and it has a yellow tail! Mo%^er F*%^ker my F@c&in yellowtail!!! I clear my deck, fumble the gaff out and prepare for glory. My thoughts flash to the garlic and honey but there is no time. Not now. I bring the yellow around and swing the gaff, strike one. I reevaluate and decide to point the sharp end towards the fishy. As he comes around I swing and hit him a little behind the head. Bulls-eye. I drag him into my lap as he looks at me sadly. I, on the other hand, am ecstatic. I rip out his gills and look on with glee as he bleeds out staring at me. He is a little feller, but he is mine, all mine. As his eyes grow sightless, my thoughts turn to nigiri and fresh wasabi. 80 feet of water, silver kroc, 12lb test, and perhaps more than a little luck. I think Ill take lucky over good any day.
I could post a pic, but again the size was pathetic. Not really the point as Im sure you’ve all seen one of these little guys. Im headed out tomorrow and hope to see you out there. Say Hello, Im the guy in the sand colored WS ride. Tight lines….