We all have moments in our journey where life ‘starts over’ – new jobs, new places. When I left home, it was going to be just me and my girlfriend against the world. You don’t realize how isolating that can be when you leave your driveway for the last time. We had moved to the coast, so there were endless possibilities, but I was still alone in my quest to figure it all out.
It was September, 2002 and every day off I would drive down to the ocean for first light. After plugging past dawn, I would walk back to my car and I’d see this guy in a maroon Saturn, sliding his rod in from the trunk. He’d look over and wave. Within weeks, he and I had become friends, and making that first friend away from home sort of let me know that my new beginning was going to work out.
Don was 58 and I was 22. And even with 36 years between us, we chased fish as hard as anyone could and he played a huge part in mentoring me as a budding surfcaster. He turned me on to braided line and Super Strike Lures. He taught me about breaking tides in the Canal and helped streamline my casting. He has also stood as a benchmark of sorts, as he aged into his late-70’s, he continued to fish every single day; down at the Canal, or down at the river, or casting from the beach, I always felt like the fact that he was still fishing hard, meant that I had 36 years to go.
Our friendship was the type that didn’t include phone calls, we just knew we’d see each other in the spring. But this year, I didn’t see him and the worries began to creep in. I found out today that he passed away.
I have hundreds of stories about Don, he was a kind, fun-loving person who LIVED to fish and loved to laugh. He was also a relentless practical joker and he never broke character.
We were near the Fish Pier at the Canal one day and this was long enough ago that many fishermen has never seen a Van Staal reel. Don was walking down the road and a passing fishermen stopped him to ask about his reel. “Holy, crap! Is that a Van Staal?” he asked.
Don, stone-faced, said, “What?” Pointing to his reel the guy said, “That’s a Van Staal, it’s a $700 reel!” Don, looking confused, said, “This? I got this at yard sale with the rod for $45!” The guy just about fell over.
Don continued, “I’ve never fished before, can you help me learn?” So the guy says, “You basically go down there and throw your plug out and reel it in.” Don replied, “What’s a plug?” Pointing to the Super Strike Popper on Don’s rod, the guy, very sincerely, said, “That’s your plug,” and went into great detail about how to fish it. Don asked innocently, “So I just throw it out there and do what you said?” “Yes, that’s the basics,” the man replied.
So Don hobbled down the rocks, making a big show of it, slipping on purpose, even falling down. Once he was settled, he looked back at the guy as if to say ‘What now?’
“Just throw it out there!” the guy called down the bank. So Don took the plug in his hand and wound up to throw it like he was throwing a baseball! The guy, with the utmost sincerity said, “No, no, you have to cast it with the rod!” and went on to explain that process. Now we had two-dozen people watching and I was doing everything in my power to keep from busting out laughing.
Don swung the plug back and leaned into a beautiful cast, and the guy was proud of him for about 0.7 seconds and then realized that he’d been had. Shaking his head he said flatly, “Looks like you’ve got the hang of it!” and walked away.
I’ll miss the jokes and the breakfasts after plugging, I’ll miss the easygoing comfort of our friendship. But if I’m going to be completely honest, I’ll miss the anticipation of seeing him each spring and resuming the continuity of my 23 year friendship with the first friend I made after leaving home at age 22.
Rest easy Don.
