For OldmanJoe , Happy Thanksgiving

[Joel.B]

Out of my pup tent and blinking into the mornings first light the coarse white sand crunched with a nice satisfaction as I gripped at it with my little toes.  The sand was just small bits of white shells really, no rock or dirt in it, just the various sized grindings of millions of years of bivalves doing there thing in one big volcanic bowl.  Like every day I meandered my way  down the playa to the black rocky edges for my usual morning of fishing and adventure. At the end of the  playa just where the rocks begin, partially obscured by sand and mangrove leaves,  I found a serious piece of loot- an old dive mask, no strap, the seal was pretty wonky. I held it up to my face and instantly put my face into the water- Couldn't see $@#%, too blurry, the glass had stuff growing on it. I try to clean glass on my little cut-off jean shorts but no good. I run to first camp at edge of playa where two older Canadian folks (Jack and Alice, grew beets in Saskatchewan)  I had yet to meet are just having 1st coffee starting their day "HI GUYS IM JOEL DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING I CAN CLEAN MY MASK WITH I CANT SEE ANYTHNG WITH IT YET AND I NEED IT!" and so of course I was fed  Pan Dulce and drank Mango juice while the nicest two people on the planet rummaged around in their camper while they had the funniest and most polite discussion amongst themselves as to best things they had to clean my new mask while I ate very much entertained yet also impatient. Once the glass was spotless and I was fed, into the bay real quick for a test- C'est magnifique! I was now Jacque Cousteau and the undersea world now belonged to me. All I had to do was hold it tight to my face while holding my breath and I could see everything. "THANKS GUYS I HAVE TO GO NOW DO YOU NEED ANY FISH?"  and they decided that "Oh, well you know, one keeper for dinner might be nice". Off to the rocks I raced. (Jack and Alice were then pestered by me every morning for the rest of their time at that camp. They fed me breakfasts (and sometimes other meals) and they never wanted for fish or scallops or clams or crabs or conch in all of their time there because I kept them well stocked)

Floating face down deadman style over the rocky reefs, holding my new mask as tight as I could as it would not seal, I saw it all. Porgie, Pargo, Sargo, Sargeant Majors, Snappers Triggers, Mojjarras, Jacks, Wrasse,  Grunts..  It was my mission in life to know the names of all the fish and by about 7 years old or so I probably came close.  Lord help you if I ever cornered you on the subject, to this day even . That mask became my most prized possession as it opened up the Undersea World to me but also gave me the chance to recover some of my gear when it became stuck on the reefs and such.

Aboot Canadians, sorry-

One of my favorite rocky points that jut out into the Concepcion, deeply drops off the  north side but south side had shallow flats, a variety of terrain and species to go after and things to do so it was an ideal spot for me but was a few miles hike over some serious rocky terrain for me to get there. Carrying fish and loot back was hard. Going back I often just hiked up to Mex 1 and walked along it until somebody would give me ride to camp, never once did any Mexican person drive past me without stopping though vacationers from North of the border would often drive on by, unless Canadian for some reason. I don't know about the Canadians in Canada but the Canadians that travel down to Baja were about the nicest people I have ever met. Canadians had just about that same warm spirit and soul as the peoples of Baja and I am so very thankful. Canadian folks would pick me up and the lady would be concerned about my well-being while the man would always ask about fishing and such. I think it happened about three or so instances  with just Canadians. Once there was a conversation between the people who gave me a ride and the people at the camp next to mine, about whether I was OK and I remember an adult saying "I think so, people feed him and he's a real happy kid" and I really don't remember how often my mother was around camp at all back then I dont have much memory of her being there at any camps in Baja, ever. Maybe I removed her from my memories? She mostly would remove the things I needed from the wagon and then be gone with somebody else. All I knew back then is that it was ideal for me.

It was on one glorious Baja morning that I had finally made my way all the way out to Punta Caca (somebody might have pooped in same spot a few times out there. When he took a new friend from Ensenada out there to fish the friend gave it a name. )  when a wee little Zodiac inflatable came sputtering around the point, an old man wearing  a crusty black? beanie hunched over at the Johnson tiller, wide back, broad shoulders, massive arms for man of any age but so very impressive for somebody who must have been 70-something? Come to find out he built ships after fighting for the Navy or something. His single Fenwick loaded up  with a trolling wobble. The mans back was to the shore and he could not see me. I watched with excited giddy anticipation as I just knew he'd hook something as soon as his lure went over to rocks. As the little inflatable coughed and smoked its way by  I watched the rod, the line, followed it back and then I could even see the lure wobbling down in the clear waters just over the sand- I watched as the lure ran right into the first rock and snagged. The rod loaded up, the motor went quiet "DAMMIT" echoed out into the canyon behind me and then came back for a second slightly quieter "dammit" and this made me laugh. The man tugged a bit and then circled the boat back around to his snag and worked at it with careful experience. He circled the boat around a few times, reeled down under the water- tried all sorts of things and after a bit I could see he was about to cut his line. "I can get it!" I yelled out to him and this startled him as he never noticed me before and so he spun around and just looked but no reply, so I repeated louder and held up my mask  "I CAN GET IT". I shook the mask for emphasis. "wuH?" Was my go-signal and before the man could say anything else I had already dove into the bay, mask stuffed into jorts,  and was doing my best strokes out to his boat. I pushed mask against my face, took in my biggest breath and and tried with all my might to swim down to the lure but alas I was too light and had no fins. SPALOOSH, The man had thrown in his anchor and it settled  to the bottom not far from where his lure was "pull yourself down the  rope" and so I did and within seconds I was down the rope and a shiny broken-back blue/silver Rebel lure was in my hand being held triumphantly above the surface of the water.  "Just let it go" but he didnt understand how bad I really needed to hand it to him. "No, uh, nope, nuh uh, just let it go kid,  it will float and be fine-" but I just kept jabbing the lure towards his deflatable vessel  as I so excitedly tread the water with one hand while kicking so violently with my feet.  In an instant a massive paw gripped my tiny wrist that held the lure and another I think gripped me by the back of my cutoffs and suddenly I was in the boat and the lure was back in the water floating harmlessly. "For F@#$sake dont touch anything". I wasnt sure I had heard the eff word and sake squished together yet and I loved it.

Symbiotic Relationship-

A symbiotic relationship is one in which organisms, people, or things exist together in a way that benefits them all.

Types of symbiotic relationships-

Mutualism: Both species benefit from the interaction.

Example: The relationship between bees and flowers. Bees get food (nectar), and flowers are pollinated, which is necessary for their reproduction.

Example: A goby fish and a shrimp live together. The goby warns the blind shrimp of predators, and the shrimp provides a burrow for both to live in.

Example: An extremely grumpy and frugal old man with bad leg has a boat and proper fishing gear. A super annoying  wharf-rat kid has dive mask and ambition to dive for expensive loot frequently stuck on rocks. The Old Man provides a boat, gear, wisdom, 3 good knots, snacks, half a beer, extensive vocabulary, some nice loot and a lifetime of memories.

I only got to spend about a week with John but it was greatest week of my young life. 1st thing I always did when I would get to a new camp was run the playa to look for his Van or ask around just in case he had a new rig or was just in town or something... I knew he was a Baja nomad and made the rounds every year. I never saw him again. I treasured a setup he gave me- until I left it overnight baited in a rodholder John also gave me- Next morning holder was bent over and rod gone. Cried for months, 1st big learning experience. There also was this krocodile spoon...

I think about John most every day.  To all of the Johns and Jacks and Alices and Joes out there thank you all so very much. I am thankful and I am sure there are a bunch of other kids out there, current and former, that are thankful for what you do too. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you.

[oldmanjoe]

   Thank You .

[oldmanjoe]

 Here is my story

I am the third  generation of fisherman in my family tree .     My moms parents bought a Water front house in Howard Beach when they married .  Shell bank creek , mid way of the canal.    My fathers parents lived across the sand lots , witch is now 2 blocks away.   Back then there were only 3 dozen homes.   My grandfather Garcia  was a shipwright in the  Brooklyn Navy  Yard . So there was no shortage of boats in his yard .   He had a cabin cruiser with a gray marine engine .     Mom had a lapstrake skiff with a Elgin Outboard and Aunt Dee had a row boat .   Mom spent most of her time fishing Jamaica bay .

My grandfather Karow  ,Henry and his 2 brothers Frank and Arthur were Machinist and mechanics and were inseparable brothers  .  Uncle Frank had a 42 foot skipjack with 671 for power .   He kept his boat at my Grandfathers dock .   He was the first Charter boat in the canal       So that helped made my parents childhood sweethearts .

I was doomed ,I was forever on the water fishing .  It was a way of life for 17 years of wet feet .
  By the time I was 7 years old  All of the bay was my play ground .     My Grandfather Garcia was a Mitchel reel with a few Penn Type of guy , were as my Grand father and his 2 brothers were Ocean city and a few Penn's       Being the oldest grandchild I was showered in rods and reels .                 
     All I had to do was show up with a new rig and one had to outdo the other , especial with my uncle `s ,that started the Dam Quicks .    Even though ,they did not like egg beaters ,I did .

40 weekend a year Fishing was normal , The other weekend were spent doing overhauls and painting hulls  .   Life was good ,always learning new thing being around older people and trying out their gear .
As a kid my father and I built several Garvey `s and Surf dories .      After the passing of my Grand fathers and Uncles  , I left the water `for Upstate New York and did a little Dairy farming and started my own Excavation business for" The new fad of module homes  building "  But the rescission hit and back to the city I went for a real job

[Gfish]

Good stories guys. Thanks.
I guess this is "commensalism" for me; I benefit from your(hard for me to do, what about you?)work of story telling-writing, and you are neither harmed or helped.

[oldmanjoe]

Writing is difficult for me ,I am still a two finger key pecker ,and spell checker is alway confused with me !!

[Gfish]

Yup, word meanings, spelling, sentence structure, punctuation... I guess it's all important, then again, maybe I've experienced too many nit-picky teachers as a student.

[oldmanjoe]

Funny you say that , in order for me to get a high school diploma , my shop teachers would go up stairs and convince the other teachers to give a passing grade of 65 .  The english teachers were not on board with this .   So I did 6 months of 4 back to back English classes , a   agricultural class and gym class to get my diploma .