santa catalina

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)