Cemetery Carp, Yosemite Trout ,Vietnam Whatever, Cabo Marlin Whatever!

Being blessed genetically with deeply ingrained hunter/gatherer instincts along with an eclectic menagerie of serious San Francisco characters who lived and breathed hunting, fishing, mushroom gathering, ocean abalone divers, world class rifle, pistol, shotgun experts, gunsmiths. Endless daily lessons in all aspects of the outdoor life made sure my future was a lock.... As an awfully dangerous seven year old with a willing group of equally worthless associates eager to do a bit of adventuring, life was sublime in the early 1950s. Before freeways, toooo many people, Too many rules and the end of free range kids in San Francisco. These days kids rarely leave their fortress homes, streets are deserted no kids playing, very sad demise to the once semi wild dangerous days of my youth.

My seven year old spirit was hooked on anything that swam or flew or crawled that my Mom could slice and dice and serve, anything, anything at all! Near where we lived many cemeteries existed and had shallow ponds full of fat Carp ( we never sliced, diced, barbecued Carp, a trash fish!). I and my team of lackeys would break off tree branches, use kite string and safety pins with bread balls as bait, we went after those big boys... All Hell broke loose because they would hit those bread balls fast and then drag our light little butts up and down the pond until they broke off or our hands were too bloody trying to reel them in. Gardeners always chased us home while we laughed and ran.

Early years until 17th year were spent honing skills surf casting, pier bobber work on the endless deserted piers that still fringe San Francisco Bay. Tiger sharks, big Rays, Skates, Striped Bass, Ling Cod, Capasoni all sort of beasts might take ones bait consisting of whole or sliced anchovy, shrimp or crab when we could get it. More a social activity then any thing else a few friends light weight trout rods, bobbers floating under piers produced many specie of Perch, silvers, rubber lip... Playing on the piers was fascinating and easy, cheap to do. Many girlfriends had to endure my late night pier exploits. These days San Francisco’s rapidly rotting piers stand idle, no 12 year old boys looking for trouble, empty deserted long wooden piers stand as reminders of my most excellent youth. My nine year soul was convinced if I hooked a big enough Tiger Shark he could drag me all the way to China!

Usual Routine

After cutting school ( standard practice ) it was off to the piers near famous Fishermens Wharf at the edge of the city. Bucket full of all sorts of stinky bait including fresh muscles just scrapped off pier pilings ready for war! Take the long walk carrying my stuff, Bucket to sit on, my school lunch, stolen cigars from my Uncle Botar, ahh the life of a dumb ass young Irishmen... One afternoon baiting up and throwing my baited hooks into the deep green Pacific Ocean. Within moments a serious Tiger Shark gave me more thrills then almost any other hook up before or since. That big bad boy dragged me up and down that pier for at least half an hour. Hands bloody, heart pumping, big ass smile while my school mates sorted out their noon milk and cookies...

From 17 forward I was raised in The Marine Corps primarily South East Asia, Vietnam, Laos, Singapore, China, and many other far east destinations always included sampling local river, stream, ocean, when possible. As a young Recon Marine( combat truck driver/sharpshooter) daily exposed to areas often off the map and isolated usually near water, opportunities always occurred, always.

Vietnam in the early days 1965 was plain crazy, some areas white hot where you knew a BUTT KICK was assured. ( Butt Kick, contact absolute, one way tickets to The Resurrection issued.)

After six months climbing a steep learning curve in regard to Vietnam’s rivers and jungles avoiding a cozy body bag ride home ( stationed Danang Air Base I Corps 1965/66 ). On many occasions, my associates and I would take my deuce and a half truck and head for the badlands where Charlie lived breathed and where Mekong Delta fast Navy Boats flew over dark waters 50 caliber machine guns waiting quietly! We would find an isolated spot to throw usually feathered concoctions I dreamed up. Set up perimeter guard look outs and begin playing with the exotic beasts that looked like giant carp or multi colored wonderful fish.This activity was not condoned by the Corp and we payed a price after getting caught on an expedition. On two adventure’s Charley could not resist joining us and we had no choice but to engage I and another young Marine needed medical attention we treated each other, morphine poppers, dug out shrapnel, sewed up and rolling! Where as our own Navy Corpsmen medics would have to turned us in and all Hell would have been turned loose! Those were insane heady days my friends. The official record of those whacked days does not thank the lord reflect my more creative Marine activities.. Hope the boys in the Middle East get their ya, ya’s out like we did! Semper Fi boys.. Worst and best memories I have of my Marine life was always stepping in something smelly and either going toe to toe with some senior Sargent to square things or worse going to see the Old Man( Commanding officer, which I did with frequency, Irish ass kicking regularity Baby....

After seven years wearing Marine green, I found a cabin outside Buffalo New York and spent six months watching Quail, deer, trout and anything that swam, crawled, flew helped shape a civilian peaceful life style to a degree. Of course Irish madmen are just a tad hard to handle when equipped with strong JYD ( Junk Yard Dog ) tendencies. I hunted until my early forties and woke up one morning and decided enough killing, harvesting, culling whatever you call life taking, had enough.Miss the sounds, smells, excitement of hunting, not the life taking.

On several trips way down South Sammy Haggar ( red rocker Cabo Wabo) Cabo San lucus Mexican beaches have provided me with wonderful memories of catching fish on every surf cast and then barbecuing them in my plush digs on the beach while insane Cabo Sunsets blew what was left of my sun burnt brain to sweet smithereens baby.... A few miles just off Cabo shores Marlin hook ups were so intense and frequent I needed medical attention from Doctor pal, hands torn up even with gloves! Yeah Cabo can get freaky fishy quick even today. Legends abound. One of my favorite Cabo Ocean going Marlin Cowboys is a retired American Dude with a small 15 foot row boat who regularly hooks up to bad ass giant Marlin and lets them drag his butt around like a little toy rubber boat in a childs tub. I saw this with my own eyes and will never forget! Cabo ocean waters internationally known as the always fertile fish nursery, abundance in all that allow game fish to flourish. Will this natural gamefish nursery survive global weather chaos?

Considering exotic rivers and streams in Asia or private creeks and streams on ranches in places like Texas, up State new York circa 1970s, Alaskan wilderness, Canada, Olympic Peninsula, Asia, Africa, my favorite fly fishing scenic dream venue is still Yosemite National Park, The Cathedral Of Light is mind altering in every angle. Light at dawn and dusk becomes scattered gold, green gems, while lakes and rivers become deep green nurseries for serious Rainbows, Brookies that glisten like jewelry, rare Golden Trout.... Few places on Earth come close to this natural beauty, very few. Those fly fishers who have worked the park know few of the millions of visitors are fly fishers. Waters are always uncrowded with large populations of wild trout as the Park is never stocked. (That was the policy for many years?) Memories of 6am encounter with a young Mountain Lion who perched on a ledge 100 feet above me while working the mighty Merced River that runs through and out of the Park. One afternoon on this sweet river an adult red shouldered hawk flew directly at me in the middle of the river and at the last second pulled up just over my head, a thrill indeed... While hunting the private lands just outside the Park many Bear incidents come to mind, most were uneventful unlike Alaskan Grizzlies who rule their habitat. Yosemite National Park a must for any seasoned fly fisher seeking sublime beauty, changing light, shadows dancing, a near perfect place...

White Lightening