What you plan to do, and don't.

When we retired we received a full array of gifts for fishing enthusiasts. People knew we were moving on a lake in Oregon, a short canoe ride to the dunes that separate our house from the great Pacific Ocean. So, fishing was on the horizon for us as an activity we could definitely get involved in. We had spoken of the possibilities for months.
Everyone was as excited as we were. Yes, catching our own fish, canoeing to the Ocean, walking the beaches, these were activities we looked forward doing in our retirement.

The trunk of the car carried our goodies that December 2002 toward our destination, poles and jackets, hats, and fishing boxes full of tackle gear. We stopped at a gear store in Gold Beach on our way to Port Orford and bought our first rain jackets and rain boots. People had warned us about the copious rains we would experience.

Our children tried our gear before we did. For days, that first wet Christmas when the whole family experienced their first Oregon winter of torrential rains and hurricane-force winds day after day, whenever the rain stopped and we could venture outdoors, my children and grandchild spent time trying to catch fish on the two docks on our property. Ten days of rain, with occasional sunbursts made us appreciate every second we could open our doors and walk outdoors.

When the weather got better, we took walking trips to the local commercial dock to see boats hoisted up and down for their daily catch of salmon, tuna, or crab, marveling at the hard work of these folks who risk their lives each time they go off fishing. We then brought home fresh-off-the-boat-catch and cooked it the way the fishermen suggested.

Never had better fish.

The next Christmas my daughter in law gifted me with an All-Clad Stock Pot, big enough to make cioppino for a crowd. Every time I look at it I'm tempted to go clamming and fishing and crabbing, and put it all together in that lovely pot. Instead, I purchase my seafood, appreciative of the work others have done to bring it all to my table.

Up the road, we were tempted to go crabbing on this dock many times. Crabbing looked interesting. With minimum effort you could catch your quota of crab in the amount of time that it might take you to open up a tuna can. Fresh crab never looked this good, and this easy, and this inexpensive.

We never did try to catch crab. We watched for a while, and decided we were way too hungry to wait around. So, we turned to Tony's Crab Shack, notable for fresh crab prepared any way you wanted. Thirteen years later, we still admire families spending time with their loved ones on a cool morning, typical of this area, with snacks and heavy coats, throwing the crab cage into the waters and waiting for crabs.

Our fishing gear and our canoes are still in and around the gazebo by the docks, waiting for visitors to get active and enjoy the thrill of fishing and canoeing. We, Hubby and I, just haven't got much taste for either.

Though, thinking back, it was a great start to our retirement adventures.

The fish you didn't catch.

I'm not a fisherperson, never was. I admire people who take themselves out on a river or a lake, rain or shine, cool or warm, and cast off into the unknown for an imprecise return on their investments.
That boat you see in the photo, will cost you as much as a motor home. How much is that, you ask? More than you want to know.
About more than all the fish you will catch, all the vacation outings you can accumulate.
Fishing, like golf and other outdoor activities we count as recreational are meant to distract us from what keeps us from being happy; are meant to take us away to unknown territories where other skills are required to pass the hours; where time has no meaning; where others like you will brag about their endeavors in the days and years before you met, in the times of their lives where luck kissed them on both cheeks.

Yet, our hope remains strong and forgiving.

Tomorrow, or next week, our luck will change, our weight will improve, our finances will resuscitate, and our college bound children will finally get accepted into the school of their choice.

Tomorrow, we will sign up for lessons, purchase better rods on sale, take out a loan for a more reliable motor, cut down our calories by making our own chips and salsa, and then, with genuine enthusiasm we will great the Chinese New Year with a bowl of take out noodles and fortune cookies that will list numbers for good luck which we will parlay into a lottery ticket for the next Power Ball of millions plus.

Thank heavens for our calendar year. Without it, we'd be lost in space, going deeper and deeper into dark holes, wishing the trip would end, somehow. With a calendar, we can start anew, twice. And if we are really curious, and pick up a few ancient manuscripts through our Facebook friends who profess literary literacy, we might learn a thing or two about catching fish in this new lunar year of the Monkey.

As for me, I would not fish even with new knowledge. You see, I know the dangers of shallow and deep waters. But I do wish happy fishing to all fisherpeople out there. May you catch your biggest yet.

A fishing adventure

Life, like fishing, has no immediate evaluation, no immediate currency. We can be aware of minutes only if those minutes contrast with other minutes, or are too cold, too hot, too uncomfortable, or immensely surprising by how much joy or pain they represent. We revel in contrasts, in disappointments, in unexpected events. We revel in moments that turn out to be "memorable".

At our house, we still talk about the day our youngest caught his first fish in this lake. He had spent days with a pole in hand, waiting, casting and waiting, unraveling the line and casting again, and waiting. Re-setting the bait, casting and recasting, and pulling in weeds and debris. Fishing is addictive if at certain intervals, by some kind of unknown pattern, the fish bites and you can pull it up, and show it off to the audience around. It happened for Brian when he had no audience. We heard his yell of victory from the house and our response to his victory was not what he had anticipated.

We told him the fish was too small to keep.

He unhooked the fish, and dropped it back in the water. Later, when he returned home, he showed us the fish's real size. We had mis-interpreted. That was the last time Brian fished in this lake.

I have seen people attempt to fish all day long catching nothing. I have seen people spend two minutes and catch all the fish that they are allowed to catch.  "Fish" stories about the big one that got away abound all over, at every waterhole. We tell the story of the fish that everyone thought was too little to become lunch.

Fishing Season on The Rogue

Here we are in Gold Beach, 23 miles south of us, at the mouth of the Rogue River.  This river is still wild, meaning that it doesn't have damns and distractions.  The adult chinook salmon that enter the river to go spawn in their ancestral habitats are fat and happy at this time of the year.  The first rains have blasted the opening of the river, and here you can see the small boats all trying to catch the big one.

Fishermen are allowed two catches per day.  They hope to get a big one, this time of the year, as the salmon has spent years at sea before returning to spawn.

The female will die after spawning, exhausted by the activity, and at that point she will be a delightful meal for a hungry bear.  Bears have been known to scaveng in town, close to camping grounds before the salmon's return to spawn.

This cycle of life and death takes place every fall.

There is a ceremonial run, called The Run to the Rogue, performed by the native population, the Siletz and other tribes, from their reservation in the north part of the state, down the coast to the Rogue, where their hunting and fishing places used to be before the white men displaced them forcefully.  They gather at Agness, a small town up the Rogue River, barely accessible by mountain roads, where they have a pow-wow, a gathering, called The Gathering of The People.  On their run down the state, they stop at each community, and are welcomed and fed by townspeople, until they reach their final destination.

Should you want to read about The Run to the Rogue, visit our paper or look up "Run to the Rogue" on your google bar to learn about this event and other Native American events and cultural facts.

Rethinking Ocean Management: POORT

You visited the Port of Port Orford. NOw, I'd like you to meet the real folks who work and manage the operations and are years ahead of many other places.  Tiny towns can teach big lessons.

 www.oceanresourceteam.org

The link above will put you in touch with the Port Orford Ocean Resource Team, their website, and their video explaining how the fishing industry in this tiny town is step-ahead in understanding and managing resources.

Enjoy. Let me know what you think.  Better yet, let the POORT know you appreciate their efforts.  These folks have been pro-active in preservation and in management of natural resources.

Fishing for Spring.

The tourists are in town. The few restaurants still open had a tough time on Monday trying to feed the locals and the visitors. Joyce, Ginney and I went to the Wheelhouse after our writers' meeting and expected to sit in our usual corner. We were fortunate; just ten minutes later, the place was jam packed. We are our usual, so not to confuse the waiting staff. I always get "The Platter" a fried seafood combination of cod, halibut, shrimp, scallops and oyster. Five, six pieces of superbly fried fish accompanied by french fries and slaw.

I do not cook fish. I let others do that; in our neck of the woods, they know how to obtain and prepare great seafood. I tried to duplicate the process at home. Now, I stick to my specialties, pastas and grilled everything else.

Tourists will attempt fishing, as the family is doing up on that dock, and they will visit Blanco Lighthouse, Bandon Lighthouse, the Coast Guard quarters, the various antique shops and arts galleries. Some will pay a good sum to golf at Bandon Dunes. If you google Bandon Dunes you too will understand why they charge so much.

Hubby and I will take it easy this week. We'll go to my physical therapy sessions, which are beginning to do me good. We'll let the tourists enjoy the peace and calm of this place. The hatchery( yes, there are hatcheries for different kinds of fish) dropped thousands of trout and other fish in our lakes for the benefit of recreational fishermen. It has been cloudy and chilly, temperatures dipping into the freeze zone at night. My garden has to wait for me to recoup the use of both arms, and for the ground to warm up a bit.

Meantime, we can cast into the lake and hope to have a few trout for dinner.

Weather Watching

Cape Blanco, the westernmost point in the contiguous United States, is a few miles away from my house on the Oregon coast. Storms will hit Cape Blanco at hurricane speed. Wind and rain will imprison us for weeks at a time. But we are hardy folks here; we stock up for such events, with plenty of supplies for heating and eating; we hold storm parties, and dress for all eventualities.

Fishing boats go out through the night-dozens of lights bobbing on the waves-to place and collect crab traps. This year's catch is healthy, but not spectacular. The price of fresh crab in the markets is $4.50 a pound this week. With hot butter on the side, a beer, a crusty loaf of bread, dinner is as fresh as one can get. And one fat crab will feed the two of us nicely.

We can catch our own, with a $6 license,and an hour or two on the dock.

Weather watching and crab catching are top activities during this season.