Catching the fishing fever

Catching the Fishing Fever

The year was 1978. I had just learned that the allergy problems that had bothered me for almost ten years were being triggered by aromatic hydrocarbons. After a severe reaction the ER doctors suggested that I move out of the San Fernando Valley. The doctors told me that the allergic reaction was systemic and in my blood now. They said there was no cure. They said that systemic forms of allergy were dangerous and that I should take my condition seriously. They said my symptoms were text book. They said most doctors go their entire career and never see symptoms as severe as mine. It was time to move. The move was sudden and not well planned. I did not even know where I was moving too. It was just time to go.

I borrowed a small trailer from a friend. It was a tear drop trailer that only stood 5 feet tall. It was easy to tow and since I had a car with bucket seats it provided a place to sleep that was a bit more comfortable than the car. With the trailer in tow I headed north. The goal was to survey some areas and decide where I was going to move. I had friends and relatives in numerous parts of northern California and I figured I would look for clean air and a good job. I decided to go up to Lake Tahoe and visit some old friends from high school. They lived on the west shore of the lake in numerous towns. An old roommate of mine lived in Tahoma. Tahoma is located on the west shore and has several miles of shoreline homes. My friend lived about a quarter mile away from the lake. It was mid September and the weather was beautiful. Lots of clean air. My friend lived with a room mate and the house was full. However, they did not mind if I put the trailer in the yard and stayed in it during the time I spent in Tahoma.

The first night in Tahoma my friend and his roommate were talking about a pier called the Chamberland's pier. The Memorial day weekend had just ended and the bar at the end of the pier was closed for the winter. They thought it would be time to start fishing on the pier because some nice trout show up there this time of the year. They suggested that I go fish the on the pier the next day. I grew up in Southern California and spent entire summers going to the beach every day. Yet, I had not done much fishing in my life. I did not even have a pole or know how to tie a hook on the end of the line.

That night my friend gave me a crash course on how to fish. His roommate loaned me a stream pole that was about 4' long and had a small gold reel that was real expensive. It had a spool of 4 LB test with 2 lb. leader. My friend taught me the following; how to tie a hook, how to fill up a night crawler with air using a hypodermic needle, how to use sliding sinkers, how and where to cast from the end of the pier, how to reel the line in. He told me how to clean a fish. He explained the following; do not let the fish get close to the pier pilings, when the fish is ready to be landed I had to climb down a ladder with the net in one hand and the pole in the other. He told not to miss with the net. He told me to tie the fish to a stringer. However he told me to keep an eye open for large Brown Trout. He said they would take a rainbow off the stringer in a second. Last he told me that going down the ladder to net the fish was like the wide world of sports. He said it is not easy and it is very exciting.

The next morning I went to the pier. Nobody was fishing except me. I did everything my friend told me. On my first cast, I waited about ten minuets and noticed that the tip of pole had moved. I picked up the pole to see what was happening. It felt like the hook might be stuck in the rocks. However, I noticed that the line was moving in the water. Just about then a fish jumped out of the water and was spinning like crazy. This went on over a distance of about twenty yards and a time frame of fifteen seconds. Obviously, the fish was on my line. I put pressure on the fish and reeled him closer to the pier. As he got close to the end of the pier he turned a swam right at a piling. The line was wrapped half way around the piling. He turned a little in a direction that would unwind the line. Just then I gave a little tug. This turned his head toward the open water. He swam out of the pier and into open water. WHEW. After another five minutes I got the fish to the ladder. I climbed down the latter with the net and the pole. I took a swipe with the net hitting the fish in the head. I took another quick swipe and he was in the net.

The fish looked like a trout to me. However, I had not paid much attention to what fish looked like even in the sea food department of the store. It was big, at least two feet. I tied it to a stringer and tossed another line in the lake. This time about five minutes went by and I noticed the line went slack. Again I picked up the pole to see what was happening. I reeled in the slack and again I noticed the line moving in the water. Just like the first fish this one jumped and spun like crazy. This one got to the ladder with relative ease. I did the wide world of sports thing and netted this one. Now I had two fish on the stringer. The last one was a little shorter and thinner than the first. I threw in another line but decided to pull it up and go home with what I had. I did not want a big brown trout to show up and steal my catch. As I was leaving the pier carrying the fish, I noticed some guy about 300 yards away looking at me through a pair of binoculars.

I got home and removed the gills and guts just like my friend taught me. I wrapped the fish up in foil and put them on a big plate in the refrigerator. It was ten o'clock in the morning when everything was done. I spent the rest of the day walking around town to see what it was like. I figured I should get home around four thirty because that is when my friend and his roommate told me they got home from work.

Unknown to me the guy with the binoculars worked for the local utility company as a meter reader. He spent the rest of his day driving around town telling all his friends, and guys working on construction sites, that the fish were in at the pier. He told folks that he saw a guy carrying two large trout away from the pier. At an early stop he went to the site where my friends roommate was working. The roommate asked him if the guy with the fish was a big blonde guy with long hair and a beard. The meter reader said yes. The roommate explained that my name was Hoppy and he had loaned me his stream pole Furthermore, I was a tourist from L.A.. The meter reader told every body in town that a tourist from L.A. named Hoppy caught two big trout on the pier. Something I did not know about this town was that every day after work all these construction guys went to the only bar in town for a few beers, including my friend and his roommate. The meter reader was telling folks that I would be at the bar that night. Remember this was my first full day in this town. It was the first work day after the holiday. All this advertising made for quite a scene at the bar that night.

Before we get to the bar scene I have to finish with me and my friend when he gets home from work. I was waiting for folks to get home. Just on time my friend pulls up. He comes in the house and asks me how I did fishing. I was playing a little game with his head that probably got him a little more ticked later on. I was sitting on the couch and playing it real non shalant. I acted like there was something good on TV and said "oh yea" I caught a couple small ones. He says "catch any keepers"? I responded, "Oh yea there are some small ones on the plate in the refrigerator". The next thing I here from the kitchen is "you __ucking XXXXX XXXXX XXXXXX XXXX. Where did you catch these things"?. I told him I caught them on my first two casts from the pier and came home because I did not want the brown trout to steal them. He replies loudly "you _ucking XXX XXXX. I have been fishing on that pier for ten years and never caught anything bigger than 14 inches". Eventually he settles down and decides he wants to take the fish to the only store in town because they will weight them on the meat scale. So, we go into town and they weighed the fish. Estimating the gills and guts, they figured the big one was 5.5 LB. The little one was 4 LB. The big one was 25 inches long and the small one was 21 inches long. We took them home and put them back in the refrigerator. My friend suggested that we go to the bar for a couple of beers. I do not go to bars when I am in L.A., and I do not drink beer. I figured it would be a good gesture to go to the bar and force down a beer. After all, I had gotten him pissed over this fish catching thing.

When I get to the bar the place is packed. It does not take me long to figure out that every body in this bar knows that my name is Hoppy and that I am from L.A. Also, they all know I caught these fish on "THEIR" pier. I learned a new name. "TURKEY" is what the locals from Tahoma call tourist. I over hear some guy telling another bar patron that some "turkey" named Hoppy caught two huge trout on the Chamberland's pier. These guy's were pissed. Fortunately, the hostility did not get out of control and I had some interesting conversations with folks in the bar that evening. They did make it a point to tell me that they have a formula for fishing the pier. An inch per hour. For every hour you spend on the pier you can expect to catch an inch worth of fish. They did some calculations and informed me that I owed "their" pier 44 hours.

Shortly thereafter, I had to leave Tahoe. I could not find work and needed to make some money. I figured I could try to work and hang around in the far west end of the valley. The air was the cleanest there, and if it did get bad I could just drive over to the coast until it cleared up. On the drive home I started getting a weird feeling. A feeling like I really needed to find a pier and drop a line in the water. I remembered that there was pier in Malibu. I had passed the pier hundreds of times on my way to the beach. I spent my youth body surfing and playing beach volleyball. It never occurred to me then that I needed to go on the pier and drop a line. However, things were different now. This fishing fever had caught me.

Like the allergic condition, the fishing fever was in my blood. By the time I got back to the valley It was probably at the systemic stage and was something that I should take seriously. As you can tell by now I was infected and there is no cure. Additional experience with this fever produced a further resistance to treatment and cure. I spent the next ten years fishing from party boats in the Malibu area. I fished with millionaires and movie stars. I usually wound up taking a little of their money in Jack Pots. Jack pot fishing is where everybody on the boat puts a small amount of money into a pot. The guy with the biggest fish at the end of the day keeps all the money. I now own my own fishing boat. I have lived on my fishing boat for over ten years. I have been told that my case of fishing fever is text book. It is so severe that most people go their entire lives without seeing somebody with symptoms as severe as mine. By the way, to this day I still owe the Chamberland's pier forty four hours.