It's a trite but true observation that watching the ocean can be a spiritual experience.
This past Wednesday The Woman and I took a trip down to Westport, which sits at the southern entrance to Gray's Harbor on the southwest coast of Washington, where the fishing boats still motor out every morning, returning an hour or so before sunset.
We decided to take up fishing, though I have done none of that since I was a kid. So we went to the Westport fishing pier, after checking to make sure we could legally take a salmon there (Washington fishing regulations are a complicated mosaic of rules. with separate fishing days and prohibited times for every location), and caught nada,
There were fish in the water, though. A sea lion a few yards in front of us devoured silver salmon as fast as she could catch them, i.e., very quickly, for she's an expert. We duffed about for a while, revisiting the art of casting, and after a few hours in the warm sun and fresh air were totally exhausted.
We later found out the good fishing right now is a few miles away, at the mouth of the Johns River. So before we return to the sunny southland, we'll go back to Gray's Harbor, determined this time to haul in our elusive silver prey.
We'll probably be doing it in foul weather. Last Thursday was likely the last brilliant weather of what's been a gorgeous season here. Next day the clouds rolled in, and today they opened up and dumped a few inches of water on the ground. Tomorrow will be even wetter.
That's all right. I've heard fish bite when it's raining.