“Perhaps I should not have been a fisherman, he thought. But that was the thing that I was born for.”The Old Man and the Sea”-Ernest Hemingway

I have been completely jazzed for days now. I have been fantasizing about taking up fishing. It popped up in my last story, more like a tease than anything else. Did you ever think you were really going to enjoy something, before you even tried it? Since then, I have constructed a life changing experience for myself, at least that’s the anticipation.

This is the part that may sound a little dumb. I know it will impact my writing tremendously and that’s way more important than catching a fish, which I can’t say I’m necessarily looking forward to, but more on that later. 

Most all of my stories are experiential based. Where I happen to be at that moment is what freezes on the page.What I’m doing. How I am feeling. What’s on my mind. I’ve had to rely on my imagination, because it’s just me, sitting at my desk, alternating between looking at the screen and then, out the window. I was thrilled when I took my bucket list, motorcycle ride to CA and OR. My trip to Tuscany was another word gift, amongst other things.

I decided a number of years ago, I wasn’t going to write about other people, because it felt like a privacy violation and it made me uncomfortable. So, I have been stuck having to write about myself and I’m really not all that interesting.

It would be great to do something that took me to the edge of the ocean, embraced by the sky, absorbed in my thoughts, suddenly tapped on the shoulder by a fish that wants to meet me for just a few seconds, before I send it back out to the infinite sea, with an apology and a blessing.

It is important to know that I know absolutely nothing about fishing. Now, I could have gone on line and learned about what I’d need. Then, I could walk into the fishing store and talk to people, who know far more than I do anyway, so why bother? I walked over to my friend, Michael, at the Lihue Fishing Store. I told him I wanted to fish and I knew where I wanted to do it. He called me the next day and had everything I needed. When I say everything, I mean it. 

Since my objective is not to work hard at catching fish, I can keep it pretty simple and get away with it. I was told that my style is referred to as dunking. It is just the way it sounds and I am fine with it. The less work, the better; that’s my motto.

Other than the rod and reel, you got a certain strength of line and you have two other lines, one for the weight and one for the hook. You have specific weights and a couple of hook sizes. These elements tie together based on the kind of fishing you’ll be doing. Of course, you can’t forget the bait, which I have not been introduced to yet. 

It is now the next day, right around the same time as the paragraph right before this one, because that’s just how it goes. I have been thinking about the adventure that awaits. On my way home,  just now, I took Flaming Lips on one of my favorite roads, the Kipu Bypass. It helped settle me down, owning what is about come. 

For the past couple of days, all the gear I had gotten has been sittng right where I had left it on the floor and in the way all the time, a constant reminder of what I had just committed myself to do. I had decided while on the bike that before I even considered continuing this story, I had to put the rod together and pick it up, holding it as if I was fishing. Needless to say, at some point pretty damn soon, we’re going to move from the safety of conjecture to “doing it.”

Well, I put it together and lined up those rings that the line passes through and I’m not going to bother looking up the term to appear like I know what the fuck I am talking about. After aligning those things, I picked it up for the very first time. I was surprised at how long it was and how substantial it felt for me to grip, and do it with a sense of control. I had this flash that fishing is some serious business. I put it aside, because I was beginning to feel the pressure that comes with embarking on this brand new path.

Listen, I’m not an idiot and I know it would be really good for me to get into something that draws me into the bosom of this place. I realize how trite and stupid that sounds, but it’s the goddamn truth. What an incredible meditation; going to a spot that kisses the ocean, facing west as the sun rolls over, resting until it’s time to glow in the sky the next morning. 

I get to stand in a place that sets my imagination on fire. I am reminded about my very first time here and the view from the plane. I was sitting on the left side in a window seat and when she came into view, I smiled. I knew I was coming home to a place I had never been before.

After around twenty years since that stunning and riveting sense of belonging, I now get to be a part of her, standing at the shore line, embracing her from below, greeting her water children every now and then, trying not fuck them over too much.

There is no point in speculating what it will be like when it’s me and Hemingway, standing together, in silent reverence to the sea. I will put my arm around his shoulder, giving him a knowing glance. Then, my gaze will return to the majesty of God’s work, thinking about my next story.