All right... the weather is ominous, my cough is still deep in my chest, and I haven't found enough motivation to load my gear and head out into the Victory-At-Sea conditions. So instead, I submit the following question and missive to the general readership:
What did calico bass ever do for you?
Let me quickly state that I consider myself an omnivorous conservationist, which is to say that I am a strong supporter of releasing fish, but I am not averse to keeping and eating anything if the mood catches me right and the law of the land provides for it. I have read topics such as selective catch and release and self-imposed sturgeon limits with much interest lately, and it seems to me that at its core, the notion of releasing fish is rife with caveats such as survival rate, the type and location of the hook, the size of the tackle utilized, and the ever-present ethical dilemma of let 'em breed, let 'em bleed, or let me feed.
But it seems to me that calico bass enjoy a higher release rate than just about any other fish in our local waters.
Why? Has the "Slow to grow, so let 'em go" campaign become a part of our collective subconscious decision-making process? Have years of watching freshwater bassers releasing pot-bellied green beasts made us apply the same process to their salt-water brethren? Or is there something more, something almost magical, that makes us see those scrappy checkerboards as more worthy of another swim amongst the kelp strands from whence they came?
Yeah, I "suffer" from it, too. I look deeply into those flashing yellow eyes, rolled-down in an angry glare as if to say, "How dare you hide a hook in my lunch!" and my heartstrings are tugged like so much spider wire pulling against a buttoned-down drag. A solemn, almost apologetic aura encompasses me, and I slide the creature back into the water, hoping simultaneously that I hook--and don't hook--another.
Oh sure, I've kept calicos...I'll bag more as the years go by, inviting them to dinner with great zeal. But unlike even larger white sea bass or yellowtail, I feel some kind of brotherhood with the calico. Eating a calico fish taco is a religious experience, each bite filled with flavor, and a not-quite guilt, not-quite-accomplishment, not-quite unhappiness sense about it.
So what have calicos done for me? They have provided great sport, they have fostered excellent memories fishing with family and friends, they have been the guests of honor at delectable meals. They have pulled drag, pulled kayaks, pulled rods clear of the Palos Verdes rocks and down to a watery grave. My most memorable time with those dear calicos was fishing with my brothers and dad in PV on July 4th, casting swimbaits from the rocks in the dark. If your lure sank through the huge school of barracuda that had pushed up on the beach, an 8 to 10 lb. calico would be happy to take your offering. And all the while, we watched fireworks in Long Beach, and a simultaneous show in Avalon! We released each and every one of those fish, not out of any implied ethics, not from any conservationist standpoint, and not because we couldn't have used the food for our large family.
It was out of RESPECT. And besides, I just didn't like the way they were looking at me.
No comments:
Post a Comment