Just beyond our cabin’s door the sun is strong-arming its way through a feathery overcast while the bay below does its quintessential best to masquerade as a mirror.
The reflection of a deep blue rain-washed glacier floats serenely on the waters southwest of our deck while nary a breeze disturbs the dandelions that are eagerly awaiting maturity so they can perform their Puff the Magic Dragon routine by snorting puffs of e-vile parachute seeds in an attempt to obliterate what’s left of our lawn.
It’s a much better state of affairs than last weekend’s inauspicious debut.
“Wet and windy” were the worthiest terminologies to depict the concoctions of circumstances that blended together to sum up the meteorological conditions Friday through Sunday.
Yes, there were breaks that teased us with glimpses of blue accompanied by various winds attempting to dry things out a bit but, for the most part, you could do your laundry standing out on the lawn.
A couple of squalls came through that packed so much rain that the clams couldn’t tell if the tide was out and fishermen were literally blown out of the Homer Fishing Hole early Friday afternoon.
Not that it made any difference in their success. More seals showed up than fish and it was so slow that empty hooks would have done as well as bait and multicolored spinners.
It was tough out there.
The kings are either running late or we are facing a flashback season that even cerebral hairballs who can’t tell the difference between a steelhead and Dolly Varden may have to concede that we might have bust on our hands.
A couple of years ago fin hunters would have had better luck spin casting into a kiddy pool than The Fishing Lagoon but in 2016 things took a 180 and the pond was transformed into a Valhalla for smacking blackmouths.
The only way a lure-flinger came away without at least a strike was if they used bait that would make a seagull hurl or were throwing bass plugs reminiscent of Kermit the Frog.
The bobber purists, who abhor making any physical movements such as repeatedly casting and retrieving enticements that ripple the serenity of a lagoon and hint of unfeigned work, hammered the return.
Things couldn’t have been any better for them unless they had been able to procure inflatable La-Z-Boys for full back and reinforced butt support.
This season our gnarly gang of piscatorians are hoping this spring’s local run will be as prolific as their winter king cousins that smacked the rods off the end of the spit during the darker days of snow and ice. But, as for now, the situation is as exciting as a garden slug steeplechase.
One of my vet buds is out there during every shift of the tides chasing the limited chinooks trickling into the lagoon. He figures that if he hurls enough lures at the critters he is bound to at least knock one of them senseless.
Yes, he is fully cognizant of the warning signs stating that snagging isn’t open but he claims he hasn’t spotted any notices prohibiting mugging them. We have him under protective surveillance for the mildly disturbed.
Although most of the weekend gave the impression of a super soaker war between the forces of nature, Monday was a different scenario and perfect for commemorative tributes.
The mountains across the bay sported matchless formal attire featuring icy gleaming crags draped in snowy eiderdowns that appeared to flow toward the sea.
The waters of the bay shimmered as mellow puffs of wind gave birth to ripples resembling diminutive tumbling sparklers as they caught the rays of sun gliding through the escalating breaks in the light-overcast.
It was a quintessential day for a walk along a beach to set afloat flowers, tred softly through a cemetery laying wreathes and flags or to just quietly take a few moments for memories honoring those who have died while in the service of their country while displaying reverence for passed family members, loves, and friends.
It was truly a day of peace in our wondrous hamlet by the sea.
Nick can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.