Our little patch of paradise has been humming along with daily increases of tourist traffic and bunker escapees from Dodge City, a.k.a. Anchorage, where Uber armored personnel carriers and Humvees come at a premium just to make a COSTCO run.
Ducking miscast fishing lures is much less disquieting than attempting to avoid the wild lead spread by miscreants who think their dealer shorted them two seeds in a lid of ganja. Timeout seekers would rather roll south where they can mellow and not worry about eluding ricochets.
Although, Homer can become rather rowdy at times.
Example: On Friday, the 25th, things were upscale breezy and very nippy at the spit’s fishing hole, until a noon signal proclaimed that snagging for kings was legal until 23:59 Sunday.
Action skyrocketed as the air filled with weighted treble hooks reminiscent of a major mosquito bloom in the high Arctic tundra.
The tide was out so the fish were concentrated lowering the playing field enough that shore casters who had pounded the pond for days with only a cerebrally challenged smolt to show for it, filled their daily limit within 45 minutes.
Chinook were hitting the banks sideways, tail first, and midair. Coolers overflowed and some of the lunatic floggers even came back for seconds and thirds just to make sure they had their yearly quota instead of the two actually allowed for the day.
The lagoon’s self-proclaimed mayor and raconteur, Tom, reported that a protection officer was present Friday through Sunday and undoubtedly developed writer’s cramp from all of the tickets/warnings he issued. Thank you, officer.
Generally, everyone had one hell of a good time, although there were a few disgruntled wannabee piscatorians who just couldn’t the master the highly technical, “cast and jerk” techniques, much less land a hooked fish that they nearly beat to death with their nets.
It was a great show. Some amazing tackles were made, while others were spectacularly botched after fish snapped loose on shore generating chaos reminiscent of country fair competitors stumbling in hot pursuit of highly annoyed greased pigs that deemed the whole debacle beneath their dignity.
Some of the bodacious expletives fired off during those attempted takedowns probably would have resulted in public floggings in earlier times but are now common Twitter chirps-by-jerks who share the same intellectual comprehension skills of a geoduck clam.
It didn’t take long until combat cleaning commenced at the processing tables after they became as congested as the lagoon’s parking lot. Vehicle slots were jammed up tighter than a peregrine falcon’s butt in a power dive and harder to negotiate than the crossover lanes in a figure 8 demolition derby.
The tables were a story unto themselves hosting an amazing display of harvesting skills producing filets of pure perfection and artistry to piles of meat that looked as though they were scraped off with a garden trowel and tenderized with the business end of a war club.
It was an opening of wild swinging rods, Three Stooges netting acts, and fish dispatches featuring every technique from boot stomps to rock whacks and body slams that turned chinooks into mush before they met the business side of a filet knife.
What a day. It was quite a party and the only lead in the air that the visitors had to dodge was attached to treble hooks.
Enjoy your Fourth of July weekend and don’t forget to raise a toast to those guardians who have served, are serving, and will serve in the future to keep us safe and our nation strong.
My solemn and respectful salute to all of them, military and law enforcement alike.
Nick can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org if he has the common sense to stay off the spit this weekend.