A fish is a fish...

[THE DARKHORSE]

Here's hoping you made it out this weekend. Conditions were about as good as it gets. Well, if ample sunshine and light wind is what you're after, anyway. There was plenty of that to go around. Sheet glass conditions, clear/cold water and bait a' plenty. Did I mention that it was flat as a lake, too? I suppose you could have safely launched from just about anywhere on the West Coast, but The Pond was in fine form. Looking like something out of a postcard; but, I have no doubts you could have made it dangerous out there if you really tried. Like fishing alone in the dark without lights or something crazy---that's just nuts. If you're a rebel, though, go on with your bad self! I suppose you could of stood up in your Pro Angler while hovering in two feet of water and performed a Swan dive into the sand, too. Maybe chummed for Mako's with baby Sea Lions, dangling your feet in the water the whole time. Perhaps, get some aggression out while in the midst of some mescaline induced giggling rage---while swinging wildly with your jig-stick at the Sea Gulls as they passed. Anything's possible, I guess.

Nothing of the sort was going in my neck of the woods this weekend, though. The word mellow comes to mind. I made the pilgrimage all the way out of the reserve on Sunday, made bait, then had a long look around with the Lowrance HDS. Either my sonar is a bald faced liar, was intent on hiding the truth or what I was looking for just never swam beneath the boat. All of which is entirely possible. I couldn't find my original target; or at least one willing to play. One little lady made a suspicious innuendo, but that was as close as I got to getting lucky. Which is understandable considering someone probably would have gotten hurt. And I don't mean me! They certainly weren't jumping in the boat; that's for sure. I gave the White Sea Bass a good looking over, but never really found the right conditions. Good for them. I suppose if they ate the paint off the Revo every day there wouldn't be any around. And there's always next time, right?

In the afternoon, I changed to the back-up plan. A distant back-up plan at that. Not being one to fight the Ocean, all the signs seemed to point in the same direction. The White Sea Bass were apparently hunkered down tight, the Yellowtail never made a noticeable presence and man, I was starting to get hungry. I was intently focused on my dual beam sonar, but my chart-plotter was sending me subliminal messages. Something along the lines of: go to #215, hit up #172, check out good 'ol #21, remember that one place where we...? I couldn't really get a clear message from her. It was muddled at best; but, she was clearly trying to tell me something. Eventually she wore me down and while I'm embarrassed to admit it---I gave in.
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Even more embarrassed to admit she was right the whole time. My first drop produced a beautiful specimen. That solid thump had me giggling like a school-girl!


Apparently she had a twin sister, too. Which is always a bonus.


I'll tell you what, there was giggling a plenty going on. I kept throwing darts at targets. Some hit the bullseye; and some clearly missed by a mile without so much as a nibble. Surprisingly enough numbers 215 and 187 were entirely void of life; and before I knew it darkness had made a triumphant return.


Which was a Godsend in and of itself; I forgot one of the biggest weaknesses associated with the streamlined Hobie pedal crafts: where in the hell do you put the fish?