The Morro Angler

Jay grew up in a foggy coastal town with a huge rock at the end of the harbor that he thought resembled an old flaky chocolate Hershey’s kiss. However, in elementary school, he learned that the great Spanish explorer, Juan Rodriquez Cabrillo named it Morro Rock which means crown shaped mountain in Spanish. Later while in high school he recalled a local native American student in his class correcting the teacher about who truly founded it. She emphatically exclaimed to the class,

"My people, the Chumash lived here long before anyone, even the adventurous Juan Cabrillo. We call the Rock, Lisamu, our sacred site.”

It was on this day that Jay, a descendant of European and Greek settlers discovered a new and refreshing appreciation for his hometown. He was inspired by the native American girl's origin story, and he truly believed it and wanted to learn more. He would drive southeast along the extinct volcanic nine sisters to the San Luis Obispo library and research old books and internet articles about the clash of cultures and colonization of the Spanish that happened in the 1500s and beyond.

Jay shuffles down to the docks and preps his 17-foot Skiff for a catch of a lifetime. He must show Haven that he can reel in the biggest fish Morro Bay has ever seen. Then, she would understand him and go on a date with him. He packs five frozen mackerels in a small foam cooler and sticks it under the bench. He unhooks the rope from the dock and motors out of the bay and past the jetty. He peers to the left of Morro Rock and sees whitewash exploding over the north jetty. There must be a west-northwest swell pumping in today. He doesn’t care about the elevated waves; he must close this deal down and capture Haven’s love before Lance gets back from Cabo.

During the fifteen-minute journey steering the boat out of the harbor, Jay floats back to the week before when he caught a ten-pound halibut inside the harbor near the south jetty. Proud of the fine snag, he motored it back to the Fog Bank where Haven works to see if he could sell it to her for some fine blue-plate specials of the night to be served in her restaurant.

"Hey Haven, check out this snag I got at South Jetty."

“Wow, she’s about a ten-pound sea pancake, I would guess…”

Jay leans in, “So, that’s about 20 blue plate specials for you, haw?”

Haven smiles, “Yeah, and at twenty dollars a plate, that’s $400 for the specials alone, not bad. We usually sell about 50 fish and chip plates per night at $12 per dish that’s about 600 hundi…”

Jay nods, “I’ll sell this to you for $150 and you guys would profit $250 on this flounder.”

Haven reaches out and shakes his hand, “Deal!” She reaches in her cash register and hands him the $150. “Nice catch. Have you caught any good waves lately?”

Jay slumps momentarily and replies, "No, I haven't had time but look at this beauty I found while beach combing yesterday.” Jay reaches into his pocket and reveals his score.

Haven responds with delight, “Oh my god, that’s one of the brightest sand-dollars I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe how purple and pink it is and it’s gotta be like 3-4 inches wide.”

Jay blushes a bit, “I’d like you to have it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take your score.”

“I’m sure” he reinforces confidently.

She hugs him affectionately. Her hazel eyes blaze through his sandy blond-stringy coconut head. She replies, “I’ll add it to my sand dollar collection. It looks like it might be the biggest one so far!”

He can hardly believe that this is the girl from his class who inspired him to write the poem he had been working on for the last two weeks. He gazes upon her long strands of glass-like obsidian hair flowing down to her knees. He thought, "She must be the most beautiful woman on the central coast."

Jay was getting ready to leave when Lance stormed through the door. His crusty black beard shook some dried salt off his face. He ducked as he walked under the small fish tavern doorway.

“Haven, wait till you see this beauty I pulled from the sea!” Lance throws a 60 lb. salmon on the counter and smirks. Jay winces as his shoulders drop a bit.

“That’s gotta be good for about 50 salmon dinners. Let’s see at $15 per dinner times 50 = $750. I’ll give you $4 hundi for that one.”

“Great, I’ll take it” Lance struts to the cash register and notices Jay’s 10 lb. halibut.

“Jay, when are you going to stop catching sea pancakes and capture some real fish?”

Haven jumps in, “I prefer halibut over salmon personally. I enjoy the sweeter and lighter texture than the more gamey salmon flavor.”

Jay's eyes slowly close and then perk up,

"It's not about the shape or size of the fish, it's about the experience and sustenance it gives us." Haven smiles but Jay doesn't notice. He is too caught up in trying to out-philosophize Lance.

Lance chuckles, “Try telling that to your landlord when you are running low on sand dollars, and you can’t pay the rent.”

Jay left the Fog Bank that day deflated but hopeful that he could redeem himself and catch the biggest fish Morro Bay had ever seen. He would prove to himself, Lance, and Haven that he was an awesome angler and deserved more respect in the fishing community. Besides, he couldn’t let little Lance-without-romance take the woman of his dreams away from him.

Just as Jay finishes the fifteen-minute motor out of the harbor, he snaps out of his memory from last week and joins the present moment, hearing the hum of the motor. He sees swells wrapping around the more northwestern side of the jetty, so he decides to troll over past the south jetty and toward the dunes and Sand Spits. He tells himself, "I will prove to them that I am a respected angler. I will catch the biggest fish to ever run this warm autumn current through the central coast and into the bay. God, please send me the biggest most beautiful beast on the planet.”

Jay reaches under the bench and grabs the biggest semi-frozen mackerel he can find. It slips out of his hand and onto the deck of the Skiffy. He reaches into his pocket searching for a sharper hook. While fumbling around, his poem falls out of his pocket and lands under the end of the bench seat. He locates the sharpest hook, cuts the old line, and ties a Palomar knot to ensure stability. He recovers the prized bait mackerel and hooks it in the mouth and does a test pull or two to make sure it will attract the most impressive fish in the sea.

Jay waits for the sets of waves to calm down so he can get a strong stance before casting off the line. After about five minutes or so he searches the horizon and sees a flatter sea-there is a lull. He swings the line with the bait back behind him and casts it about 80 feet away from the Skiffy. It sinks under the surface with the weight of the line and sinkers. He flips on the motor and slowly trolls south along the dunes. He imagines being back on the dock in the bay holding up a 100 lb. salmon with its silvery shimmer lighting up the eyes of Haven and to the dismay of Lance. He reels, then pulls back on the line, reels again, and pulls back on the line.

Suddenly, Jay is tugged out of the Skiffy and into the cold Pacific Ocean. He desperately holds onto the fishing pole and tries to maintain his catch. He is dragged down 15 more feet and realizes what has happened. A sea beast caught him, and he wasn't going to let go. He recalls getting pounded in huge waves nearby at the Sand Spits surf break and remembers how he had survived time and time again when being held under the waves for close to a minute at a time. Then the tension in the line eases up and a huge pink and purple beast the shape of a moon swims right by his face. He acknowledges to himself the similarities of this 200 lb. Opah (moonfish) to the sand dollar he gave Haven. If only she could see this beauty, she would love me forever.

The next day the California State Park Officials put out a bulletin broadcasting the news that they found a Skiffy washed up on the shore at Sand Spits. In it they found a poem under the bench and asked for a resident named “Haven” to come forward. She quickly heard of the news and came forward. She marveled at the mysterious poem. It read:

Ode to Haven

Mountains of gold slither down from the Sierras

Twisting and winding to the Pacific coast

In the Big South, where rivers flow right and left, digging

into the rich soil until gravity

dumps the melted waters in the turquoise ocean

Creaming the coast, a coffee swirl of blue

Inviting us to plant the seeds of opportunity

with a chance of paradise, escaping

the dust snakes and wind dragons

chasing us West

Settlers wagon-wheel through the sands from Indiana to Oklahoma

To find their Eden here where tales are told of mountains of gold,

Plump purple grapes, and coastal live oaks, with

acorns adorn for the sustenance of the Chumash

We drive through the Kings Valleys

where the Salinan slept

Seeking the nine sisters, but falling short to the north and stumbling upon the hearty vine; the kind that yields California wine at dinnertime

Here we stay at El Norte to cultivate future fine varietals

Stronger than those in Chile or Spain

Continuing south, we wind down through golden grasses

Transforming green where California tarantulas dig deep to avoid

wet rain on their gold glitter backs

Up here the ninth sister stands tall near Morro Rock

with a thick halo of fog wreathing her peaks.

The other eight dance south and east

toward the hot inland valleys, where

grassland fires swept the hills, and

cracked open acorns and sprouted new forests

over black tar scared grounds

The Chumash would climb the fourth and fifth sister

and chant for their lost native women.

Where is the fish woman I seek? I call her to my mountain!

It is time for the days of doves and water

Those fires burn embers in distant lands where the eagles fly high

Come to me in between fires and give me heat for the fog has cooled my feathers

I need my hot lady to warm my bones

If I don't see you on the fifth mountain after four days at sundown

Meet me where the Morro River meets mother ocean waters by the ninth sister, and we will prosper.