I finally understand the inner turmoil that the transsexual goes through. I am having my own inner conflict to deal with, and the battle rages on between both sides of my conscience. Every day I wake up and trudge through my life wondering who I really am, and desperately seeking a resolution.
You see, I'm a fisherman trapped in a landlubber's body.
I've tried to push it away; then one day I found myself at a yard sale forking over $35 for two 6' open reels. Thankfully, nobody I knew was there to see it. When I got home, my roommates were gone, so I snuck them into my room and spent the next 20 minutes fondling them...caressing them...I felt so ashamed; I can't name even one fish that swims the Ma'alaea Bay.
I pondered what I had done, and tried to summon repentance, but I was hooked. I had no defense against my inner desires, and was soon down at Long's Drugs, averting my eyes from strangers as I sought out tackle department. My eyes glazed over as I scanned the display board--hooks....sinkers....floats....scalers....leader lines...snap swivels....slide bait stoppers...grubs filled with reflective multi-colored foil confetti. Rivers of anticipation ran down my inseam as I selected my first tackle box.
Back at home I cast caution to the wind and indulged in an orgy of frantic package-ripping, line-knotting and bait-threading. I rushed down to the bay feeling alive and free! I felt a hole in my soul shrink five sizes smaller as I splashed my way into the surf, fighting the undertow, feeling glee as the waves crashed against my body! I unlocked the reel....I leaned back, my head just above the waterline...I tightened my grip around my rod, and I CAST! I cast with all the might I could muster! The hooked grub sailed out to sea, defying the mighty winds! It splashed....sank....I reeled with joy....
I hooked a rock. Repeatedly. Ashamed and dejected, I slouched back to my '91 Camry as the sea laughed sadistically at me behind my back.
Almost two weeks passed...two weeks of shame and humiliation. I felt so alone. Then, out of the blue, I recieved a call from Dr. Morifuji, and was stunned to hear him exclaim "I heard you bought a fishing pole!". I acknowledged that I had, and told him of my secret desire. He then invited me to join him and a friend on a fishing trip the next morning on the north side of Haleakala near the town of Haiku. He told me it was a secluded spot, and no-one would see us except others of our kind. My heart leapt into my throat as I choked out the words, "I'd love to!". Alas, I was not alone after all!
The next morning we all piled into a pickup truck and head down the road. Suddenly we turned onto a dirt path that winds around behind the pineapple fields, passing campsites of homeless Mauians with their trucks and guard dogs. Soon we stopped at a high cliff overlooking a secluded bay.
Well, it was staggering. A VERY narrow trail wound down the side of the cliff, with ropes staked into the ground at various intervals as makeshift handrails. At the bottom was a field of black lava rock, scattered with tide pools teeming with anemone, various minnows and mudskippers. The picture above cannot translate how immensely huge it all is! The tide was on it's way in, and the wind was blowing hard. Waves crashed violently against the rocky shoreline as we cast out our lines.
I was climbing over the rocks and casting like a madman. Gary anchored a 10' pole in the ground and fit it with slide bait. Marc and I stayed with the cast-and-retrieve method.
Slide-baiting was a new concept to me, and I found it to be interesting and clever. See, a large weight is tied on to the end of the line, with brass wires when anchor it to the ocean floor. About six feet up from there, a steel ring is attached to the line. Back on shore, a smaller steel ring (like a keychain) is attached, with a baited hook on about four feet of leader line. This assembly slides down the pole's line, is stopped by the larger ring, and the bait--a live mudskipper from the tide pools-- swims around in circles on it's tether under the water.
Marc had a big one get away. Gary caught a large eel. I caught a rock and Gary's ankle.
Yet I remain determined to find my inner fisherman, and yesterday found myself back at Long's Drugs buying a 10' pole, slider tackle and various other minutia. God saw my despair, and sent to me a stranger who saw me shopping and stopped to offer loads of unsolicited fishing advice. I bought a larger tackle box.
Again I went home and indulged in that orgy of package-ripping and knot-tying. I went to the bay and cast my new reel, again feeling the joy of freedom from the constricting bonds of my landlubber past.
I caught a rock.
Maybe next weekend.
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