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Preamble: As many of you know, I always begin my stories on Friday afternoon and usually carry over til the next day. Well, shit, it’s Thursday and I have some “splaining to do”. I was completely focused on making this afternoon the day I lost my fishing virginity, so I could reflect on it and start writing tomorrow, right on schedule.

It fucken rained this afternoon. I had all my gear together, ready to go, but it was not to happen. I guess if there is a single lesson from this avocation I am about to embark upon, it is patience, not to mention complete subservience to the whims of nature.

Until tomorrow

Well, get ready, cause this is not the story I had in mind, not even close. Now, on the other hand, I want to do the fishing thing, because it will always portend the unexpected. I am now a full on participant in the improbable. While fishing can be the vehicle, I’m the one who swallowed the hook.

Let’s go backwards in time to just before this moment, sitting down at my very own, technological dialysis station, where I manage to live an extraordinary percentage of my life. OK, I’m sitting at the desk and trying to give it some flair. 

I had just finished applying an assortment of sterilizing remedies to my left wrist and my lower left leg. The moment I walked in the door, I cranked up a hot shower and got in, screeching as the water hit the abrasion on my left wrist. It’s the feeling that made you scream as a kid, dealing with the cuts and bruises that are part of doing battle with things like the sidewalk or the unexpected obstacle.

I had come from the brewery, where I wanted to leave my fishing gear, at least for now. I hosed down the rod and reel and tucked everything away. I was totally bummed that in the chaos of getting my gear together for the first expedition, I had left my Louis Vuitton, knock-off backpack behind. Foster offered me a choice of backpacks and I couldn’t possibly pass this one up. I guess in a way it personified a certain incongruity in someone like me wanting to take up fishing at this time in his life.

When anyone asked where i was going to go for this maiden fishing expedition, I’d say the lighthouse. What I discovered is there are two of them, relatively close together and I had the other one in mind. This one leads to a plateau of fist-sized, volcanic rock, glued into the land in every conceivable shape and angle imaginable, breathlessly waiting for any misstep.

The view from up there is spectacular, but the footing sucks. You know, when the ocean is out there, slipping and sliding, it can confuse your feet. My gear had been set up by Alika and I was standing there, kind of like in the photograph, except I was holding on to the rod to avoid a face plant. I think it actually even looks that way.

This may come as a surprise, but I lost my balance and fell backward, just like a sack of potatoes. The first thing you need to know is I never let go of the rod, because I knew I was born for this. My first instinct was to start laughing, because I am my favorite clown and this was a keeper.

You know, when shit like that happens, you are never dealing with anything remotely practical. My whole fishing saga struck me as funny. I was thrilled I decided to put myself out there this way. I was not at all surprised this happened, because the physical realm and myself sometimes feel like strangers, completely out of step with each other.

I really should have known better. I remember being shocked a number of years ago, when I found myself walking one of the trails here. One of my favorite things about my time around Santa Fe  was hopping in my bright red, Toyota truck, with my three dogs and heading off into southern CO. I was out there, as far away from people as you could imagine. I don’t recall any feelings of uncertainty, whether about my isolation or my navigating in that world, nature’s home.

On my first hike here, years later, It was shocking to realize my brain was telling my body to be careful and it felt terribly unfamiliar. Honestly, I don’t know what comes first, whether it’s the body telling the mind to put on the brakes or the mind telling the body what to do for its own good. No matter how it happens, you can bet your ass it does and time is the culprit.

No matter how age comes at you, it can be disappointing on one extreme or pretty goddamn funny on the other, depending upon which side of the clock you get up on. 

Going forward, my fishing stories better be entertaining. For example, I am sitting here with a swollen left hand, the hand I need for Flaming Lips’ gear shift. It was the first thing I thought about, when I noticed a pudgy appendage, the morning after my Moby Dick Moment. The weather is great and how could I not ride Flaming Lips on New Years Day. Not only that, I get to do it here on Kauai, the home I love.

I am certain of one thing, if you do nothing, nothing happens. My first fishing adventure wrote this story and all I did was share it with you. It also reminded me how easy and convenient it is to forget age. Sometimes, I feel like sayin’ “Shut the fuck up, I’ll get to you in a minute. I am busy living.”

I am into the poetry of things like birthdays and all sorts of anniversaries, because they are the rings etched on our tree of life. Equally as important are the things we choose to do in our lives. They make us who we are, who we were meant to be.

What a great way for me to end the year. Now, it is time for tomorrow, as I sit between the two for these few moments.

I hear the fishing is supposed to be great in 2023.