My dad. What an extraordinary individual! A human being; a man of compassion; yet all the brawn a person could muster. He was born and raised in Santa Monica, California, 1920. That’s correct, N i n e t e e n T w e n t y. 87 years young – and still going strong . . .
Let’s take a trip back in time: Santa Monica, 1920. Not many people in Southern California. Model A’s or Model T’s? (I will have to ask). Route 66 finds it’s end here. Gas powered street lamps. Telegraphs still being used. No freeways, no smog. Look down to view miles of white sandy beaches. Look up and see the beautiful green Santa Monica mountains. And all along this pristine coastline, tremendous opportunities await.
Calico Bass, Grouper, Halibut, Barracuda, Yellow Tail & Albacore. The list goes on and on.
Dad grew up living only a block from the beach. One of five kids. Things back then weren’t as easy as they are today. My dad’s parents both worked multiple jobs to make ends meet. And their modest home . . . only two rooms. Your SUV is probably larger.
Living so close to the beach offered dad many fishin’ opportunities. Think about it for a moment . . . waking up to a fog-shrouded morning and walking down the street to the Santa Monica pier. The cool mist and the salty smell of the ocean vitalizing all your senses. No noise, except maybe a fog horn or the squawk of a few seagulls. No airplanes lifting off from LAX…because there is no LAX.
While kids today are distracted by drugs and the heavy negative influence of television, my dad’s only distraction was deciding whether to fish or surf in the beautiful blue Pacific, his big backyard. Did he skip school? Sure he did, but for fishing the pier to bang out a Halibut or two…or maybe even catchin’ a wave.
Yet, when fishin,’ dad had to use the tools that were available to him. He didn’t have a boat, so he improvised. He had a paddle board. No, not a surf board – a P A D D L E board. Much bigger than a surfboard, as it was generally used for relay races between the Santa Monica pier and Catalina Island. But my dad had other ideas.
His paddle board was for catching fish. He would take his tackle box and use a rope to tie it to the paddle board along with his fishin’ pole. Then off through the surf he would go. And just like the Tuna Hunters of today, my dad would be on the hunt for massive kelp beds. Yes, fish even back then related to structure. When my dad would find a kelp bed, he would have to get the paddle board to be still so he could fish the kelp, not an easy chore when you have a current and a tide that the mighty Pacific Ocean could throw at you. Yet, my dad improvised again. He would locate a long kelp strand and place it on his board. Then he would sit on it, yes, sit on it so the paddle board wouldn’t move. Talk about “Kelp Butt!”
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