The Yearbook Fiasco

When I was first struck with the ill-advised urge to document my fishing trips on the internet, I tried to keep my writings a secret from everyone I knew. The last thing that I wanted everyone to stumble upon was a veritable treasure trove (or garbage heap, depending on who you ask) of embarrassing stories and unflattering photos. Unfortunately, this didn't work out as planned. As I've mentioned several times before, one of my friends "accidentally" slipped up that I had an internet blog about fishing. Things sort of spiraled out of control from there, and soon it seemed like everyone knew about this disastrous attempt at internet fame. Around this time, a couple of my friends from the school yearbook started becoming unusually curious about my fishing exploits. I soon learned that they were interested in documenting one of my fishing trips for the yearbook. I was wary at first, as I've always been reproachful towards the mysterious and secretive cult that calls itself the yearbook committee. I also didn't want to embarrass myself in front of these people in the event of a skunking, as fishing is pretty much what I'm known for at this school (along with bass guitar playing and my short stint as a meter stick-wielding vigilante). However, they continued to bug me about it and I eventually gave in. I arranged to pick them up the morning after Christmas to take them down to the coast to do a little surfperch fishing. 

It was very early in the morning. 
At around six in the morning, I picked up the two yearbook friends that would be going with me. It was very dark and difficult to see, and in this process I accidentally mistook a random guy for one of them ("Get in the car!"). Once everyone was ready to go, we headed to the beach through that dark, snowy, and densely forested highway that weaves through the coastal mountain range. Topics of conversation included fishing in Hawaii, all of the intense drama circulating within the yearbook committee, and the likelihood of us getting involved in a fatal car crash on the way to the beach. By the time we arrived at Cannon Beach, the sun was just barely beginning to rise. 

All of the photos in this post are courtesy of Ethan, Kezia, and their $3000 camera that I wasn't allowed to touch. 
Once we arrived, I got to work setting up the fishing stuff. Ethan had brought his own rod and planned on fishing, so I rigged up his rod as well. I knew that with the freezing air temperature I only had about an hour before my hands became completely numb, so I made sure to make the most of my time. As usual, I used those stinking slimy artificial worms that come in those leaky Ziploc bags with the green vinegary fluid. I had asked for nothing else for Christmas, so I had a surplus of them. 

Kezia had taken a priceless photo of Ethan provocatively sniffing the bait, but it was unfortunately deleted. 
After baiting up, the three of us headed out on the desolate beach and headed for the crashing waves in the hopes of some surfperch. Of course, disaster struck as soon as I started casting. For some reason, my reel wasn't working properly. Whenever I tried to cast, it would abruptly stop letting out line and my sinker would jerk to a stop in midair. Every time this happened, the howling wind would wrap the line into horrendous gnarling knots that could only be remedied by cutting the line while swearing like a sailor. None of the unmentionables I shouted at the top of my lungs into the howling wind could ever be published by any yearbook. After about fifteen minutes of this, I sprinted back to the car to switch out rods so I could actually try to catch some fish.

Heading into the surf. 
Me about to sprint back to the car to switch rods. 
Once I sprinted back, I didn't waste any time catching my breath or thinking about whether or not I locked the car or not. I cast back out and almost immediately felt the distinctive frantic tugging of a surfperch. Taking care not to lose it, I slowly reeled it in until I was able to hoist the little sucker into the air and take it over to Kezia for photo documentation. 

Proof that I am not a phony. 
Once I released the fish, all the pressure had been lifted and I felt extremely relieved. I had caught my fish and proven to the staff of the yearbook committee that I wasn't a fake. With that out of the way, I could now fish in peace. I find that fish are always easier to catch when I'm relaxed and not my usual amped-up self, and once we found the school of fish Ethan and I began hooking surfperch on every third or fourth cast. With each fish my hands became more and more numb,

Rough surf conditions.
I turn my back on the ocean way too much. 
Here I am doing it again. 

Sneaker wave in 3...2...1...
The things that go through your head while fishing are always random and can sometimes even be ridiculous. Since you spend a lot of time robotically casting and retrieving you don't necessarily need to be thinking about the task at hand 100% of the time. Instead, you find that your mind wanders all over the place. Mostly I just go over embarrassing events in the past (most of them fishing related), but I often find myself thinking/worrying about anything and everything else. This trip, most of my worrying had to do with my fear that the yearbook committee would stick the word "stalwart" somewhere in their article on me (click here). 

Nothing more STALWART about two men in the surf. 
Me STALWART-ly turning my back on the ocean again. 
Unlike most fishing trips I go on, which are rife with disaster, physical pain, and swarms of angry locusts, this one went relatively smoothly. Ethan and I continued to work our way up and down the beach, catching surfperch along the way. Some were good-sized individuals that would go on our stringers. The whole time, Kezia bravely followed us in the freezing cold without any waders or additional protection from the elements. Of course, the whole time she was doing this Ethan kept admonishing her for letting sand get on his camera bag and I kept making obscene gestures at the camera. I'm surprised she put up with it. I certainly wouldn't have. 



Eventually, the cold got too extreme for any of us to bear. Kezia gave out first, as she had spent the better part of a morning up to her waist in freezing Oregon coast water without any waders. Ethan and I pressed on by ourselves, but the fishing slowed down and my hands soon became so numb I could barely hold my rod, let alone bait hooks and tie knots. We decided to call it a day. 

Our final haul of the six biggest fish. 
I haven't seen the yearbook story yet, and probably won't until the yearbooks themselves come out sometime in April (?) or whenever. At that point, I'll probably discover that my name was spelled wrong, or that the editors decided to go for a "smear piece" angle, or that my feature had been scrapped entirely and replaced by one on the school's knitting club. However, I have faith in the team of brave individuals that withstand abuse, bureaucracy, drama, and intense hatred from many members of the staff and student body on a daily basis. I salute you individuals, regardless of how the story ultimately ends up turning out.  Regardless, it was still a successful and fun trip to the Oregon coast. Plenty of fish were caught, the weather was sunny and clear, and the feeling has begun to return to my hands already. For me, at least. I know that Kezia ranked the trip as one of her "top four worst yearbook experiences of all time" right along with interviewing the school's young republicans club. Despite this, I still consider the trip a success, and I thank you two for putting up with me and my shenanigans. 



Until next time,

Kamran Walsh

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