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near the isthmus the water was like they say -- glass.
great panes of blue, slipping past one another forming giant swathes of reflective space.
and it made for easy spotting up in the crows nest.
thirty-feet up.
two of us.
a Coors apiece in pre-drilled holes.
and a rifle, of course.
always a rifle.
ruger 10/22 loaded with hollow points.
and a shit-ton of ammo @ our feet.
half expended, buzzing under our boonie covers.
just kids. 19/20.
kids.
we talked swap-meet latina's/great white sharks.
i had seen one years back -- the fish, that is.
big 'ole female.
fat and eyes still, black, black,
the boys put her on display a few days later @ the Fisherman's Fiesta.
in a booth, filled with ice -- looking bloated and real dead.
eyes clouded and three to four teeth gouged free by some idiots.
names carved in her belly.
i came to see her quite a few times.
until she stunk.
nevertheless we scanned the big blue -- lots of seals, losts of seaguls.
even a couple sunfish.
with their giant unblinking eyes to the sky.
shot one once.
just one shot and she dove.
an elegant escape.
the skipper chastised me, then broke it down:
never shoot a sunfish; bad luck.
never shoot a dolphin: they save sailors lost @ sea.
never shoot a seal: within hearing range of others.
the afternoon got dark.
near a day had passed in and around the san pedro channel, and no luck.
no swordfish.
pebbly beach to anchor for the night.
then...it caught my eye.
a fin.
actually two fins; a dorsal and tail.
"that a shark?" i asked.
bino's up and focused.
a moment.
and the evinrude diesels kicked over.
"get yer asses down here!"
and yep, it was a swordfish.
xiphias gladius.
and she never saw us coming.
(not me, Zane Grey)
