The Secret to a Great Day of Fishing is...
11-12-98 8:07 AM Th
I didn't get a chance to write here yesterday because I went fishing at Lake Piru. That's how this journal got wet. I drove out with Rawler and his friend from the intern program, Costanza. We turned off I-5 at Highway 126, The Korean War Veterans Memorial Highway, quite appropriate for Veteran's Day. The little town of Piru is like going back in time about fifty years. Quiet fields of strawberries and radishes give way to the town post office, the market, the bar. We stopped at Sanchez Liquor. The proprietor seemed to have been old Sanchez himself. Two boys wanted to rent a movie. "How can I help you, Salvador?" Sanchez said warmly to one of the boys. "We want 'Simba's Pride.'" "Oh, the 'Lion King' movie?" "Part two," Salvador corrected. I spotted the refrigerated beer through glass doors at the back of the store and tipped my cap to Sanchez as I walked past. I got a twelve-pack of Miller Lite cans, and I noticed a few shelves of bait and lures and hooks and the like. I grabbed a jar of yellow garlic marshmallows and took it all up to the counter. "'ll that be all?" Sanchez seemed like the nicest guy in the world. "You guys sell fishin' licenses?" "'fraid not." "How 'bout up at the lake?" "Yes. You can get them there." "How's the fishin' been?" "Pretty good. They just stocked it a couple weeks ago." He gave me my change. "Thanks." We drove up the windy road to the lake. At first the lake was unimpressive; a puddle in the hills formed by dammed spring water under a dead sky. We rented a boat and got a tip from the old guy there to trawl with a Super Duper lure #502. After a half hour or so of the requisite tangles, we got to trawling in earnest, and Costanza, who said he hadn't been fishing in twenty years, hooked up with a good-sized rainbow. We trawled back into a canyon from there. I pissed beer off the port gunnel, and Rawler hooked up. I pissed off the starboard, and he hooked up again. Every time I pissed, someone caught a fish. I was getting pissed, though, because I wasn't catching any fish. I was going to have to piss and hold my rod at the same time. Then I caught the next four fish. It had started to rain, but that made it more of an adventure. We fished right through a two-hour shower and into what you could only call a glorious, multi-hued sunset in majestic clouds, a crown of rays shining up through it all. We went back to the dock and got another twelve-pack and kept fishing 'til sundown. It was pretty cold by the time we brought the boat in. I kept two of my trout and let the rest go. I cleaned them at home, and Shirelle fried them in corn meal. It was a great day.
I didn't get a chance to write here yesterday because I went fishing at Lake Piru. That's how this journal got wet. I drove out with Rawler and his friend from the intern program, Costanza. We turned off I-5 at Highway 126, The Korean War Veterans Memorial Highway, quite appropriate for Veteran's Day. The little town of Piru is like going back in time about fifty years. Quiet fields of strawberries and radishes give way to the town post office, the market, the bar. We stopped at Sanchez Liquor. The proprietor seemed to have been old Sanchez himself. Two boys wanted to rent a movie. "How can I help you, Salvador?" Sanchez said warmly to one of the boys. "We want 'Simba's Pride.'" "Oh, the 'Lion King' movie?" "Part two," Salvador corrected. I spotted the refrigerated beer through glass doors at the back of the store and tipped my cap to Sanchez as I walked past. I got a twelve-pack of Miller Lite cans, and I noticed a few shelves of bait and lures and hooks and the like. I grabbed a jar of yellow garlic marshmallows and took it all up to the counter. "'ll that be all?" Sanchez seemed like the nicest guy in the world. "You guys sell fishin' licenses?" "'fraid not." "How 'bout up at the lake?" "Yes. You can get them there." "How's the fishin' been?" "Pretty good. They just stocked it a couple weeks ago." He gave me my change. "Thanks." We drove up the windy road to the lake. At first the lake was unimpressive; a puddle in the hills formed by dammed spring water under a dead sky. We rented a boat and got a tip from the old guy there to trawl with a Super Duper lure #502. After a half hour or so of the requisite tangles, we got to trawling in earnest, and Costanza, who said he hadn't been fishing in twenty years, hooked up with a good-sized rainbow. We trawled back into a canyon from there. I pissed beer off the port gunnel, and Rawler hooked up. I pissed off the starboard, and he hooked up again. Every time I pissed, someone caught a fish. I was getting pissed, though, because I wasn't catching any fish. I was going to have to piss and hold my rod at the same time. Then I caught the next four fish. It had started to rain, but that made it more of an adventure. We fished right through a two-hour shower and into what you could only call a glorious, multi-hued sunset in majestic clouds, a crown of rays shining up through it all. We went back to the dock and got another twelve-pack and kept fishing 'til sundown. It was pretty cold by the time we brought the boat in. I kept two of my trout and let the rest go. I cleaned them at home, and Shirelle fried them in corn meal. It was a great day.
posted by johnz at 9:36 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home