But I love Jamie O'Brien's dad Mick O!
I was going to write about the day’s wonderful professional surfing action. Did you watch? Did you see John John take his rightful place as the King of Caledonia and vanquish the dreaded comboland/Frenchman?
Well. I decided not to write about it because I like reading Rory’s recaps better. The man is really at the top of his game and no one is doing better wrap-ups than he. I’m so biased! But I also speak so truth!
In any case, I shall tell you a tale about fishing and why I hate it.
It all began eight or such years ago and I was on Oahu’s famous North Shore living in Jamie O’Brien’s house, for some reason, though Jamie wasn’t there.
Mick O’Brien was though. Mick O. And we would drink lots of vodka together under the pale moonlight.
Mick is quite the character. He is an Australian but came to Hawaii on family vacation at some point and swore he’d never leave. He hasn’t and worked as a lifeguard around the island, I think, before retiring?
He fishes now and loves it. After drinking lots of vodka under the pale moonlight he would wake me very very very early in the morning, before the sun came up, and we would drive to his boat in the Haleiwa harbor. Do pre-fishing activity stuff then head out to sea.
He would drive and look at his underwater fish finding sonar whatnot. I would sit in the back and hate vodka. The sun would come us and bake the boat like it baked Lawrence of Arabia on its anvil.
My eyes would burn.
Mick would toss me a warm Coors Light.
He would drive and look.
I would sit in the back and hate Coors Light.
Then a fish would get snagged. It would all be sort of exciting-ish for a moment until the wobbly carcass got gaffed and pulled aboard and thrown into the ice thing underneath.
Hours later another fish would get snagged and the process repeated.
Lots of Coors Light.
The sun would go down finally and my eyes would curse me and threaten to jump out of my skull.
Mick would toss me one of the last warm Coors Lights.
We would clean the boat, the blood, the gaff hook, the whatnots but the day was not done because then we would throw the two or three fish into his truck and drive from Haleiwa to Honolulu and the giant stinky warehouse managed by a Chinaman.
Mick would sell his fish.
On the way home he would stop at a gas station and I would buy some vodka.
It was the best of times and by best of time I mean worst of times.
I love Mick O but I hate fishing.