bits of t tran, #1

when i was a child, my father took me fishing on his boat every sunday morning. we would rise before the sun, in the brisk cold of the dawn to prepare for our morning out at sea. i remember how he would awaken me, full of excitement - borderline annoying, urging me to put on some warm clothes and to brush my teeth. i would take my first step outside, hear the truck engine running and feel my body begin to surge with adrenaline. i would always climb up to the boat, eager to help get the fishing rods in their stand, while mentally calculating which snacks were absolutely crucial to purchase at the gas station. we always needed to fill gas, this was routine and not once have we refilled our boat's tank after returning to land. there is something nostalgic about the mix of the pungent smell of gasoline and the salty, fishy smell of the ocean. when my father first began taking me fishing i was five and a trip would not be complete without getting drastically seasick and vomiting all over the deck. after tens of trips and lots of dramamine, the seasickness subsided and the mop he had been forced to buy would only be used to mop up our shoe prints at the end of the day. while both the vehicle and boat were being fed gallons of fuel, i would run into the small store and pick out spicy chips, peach rings, and gatorade. my father always grabbed several bags of sunflower seeds and m&ms. later in the day, i would see the shells of these seeds being catapulted out of my fathers mouth onto the surface of the rolling waves created by our vessel as we scouted for the perfect locale to drop anchor.

an ever-changing mix of my uncles and cousins would join us. sometimes, we would be on their boat instead - it never mattered much to me, although there was always something dreamy about waking up to our boat being attached to our truck in the early dawn. it prepped our day of adventure. i was always on the boat as it was lowered into the ocean, once in, the truck would be detached and we would park the two vehicles: one alongside the dock and the other in the lot full of large vehicles and their empty trailers. i would look out onto the horizon of the pacific, the pinks emerging from the clouds urging us to hurry and get out to sea. everyone accounted for, we would have one last stop before plowing through the water, miles away from the coast: the floating bait shop.

this may have been my favorite part of the journey. rarely, we would have to wait in line to be served. as we approached the floating station, seagulls, pelicans, along with other birds and seals, would both scatter and surround us. it was a teaser into the marine life we would encounter through the day. it was expected. when our turn arrived, the men in their waders would take our order and begin lifting up the covers of the underwater tanks. suddenly, the activity around us would triple as the birds flock over to them trying to steal their breakfast. some would be successful, but not many. if they got lucky, the men would find some floaters and toss them out to the ravaged audience. they would scoop out the requested number of nets into our bait tank onboard, the nets always looked so small and i always doubted the quantity of creatures dumped into our boat. without fail, one look into the 3-ft tank and i would not be able to see the bottom. my father always yelled at me for playing with the fish, or bait, too much. he would say that i was killing them too quickly, they needed their energy while on the line. but i couldn't help myself from hovering over our tank, trying to spot how many odd fish out had unluckily ended up on our boat. if we asked for sardines and were given a few mackerels, i felt we got lucky. i would stick the small net into the tank, but more often my hands, and allow them to rub against it as they circled in their self-made current. i would speak to them in my head: "i'm sorry we have to use you like this. if you're lucky, you'll be tossed out for being too weak - but, you'll be very far from home and you'll likely already have been hooked through the eyeballs". i always figured fish were sentient creatures, just because they weren't blessed with vocal chords didn't mean they weren't conscious - i mean they function pretty well together in their little underwater societies, it's amazing. i feel bad, but, i love eating fish more. 

which direction we decided to go would depend on which type of fish we wanted to catch. if we wanted rock fish, you would find us in the kelp gardens off the coast of la jolla shores. it was beautiful fishing there - you could see the long stalks of kelp, and specks of orange swerving through the underwater forest. but, we would always get stuck with kelp in our motor. somehow we could not come here and remember to raise our motor, instead having to spend ten to fifteen minutes untangling ourselves. but, the rock fish tastes so beautiful when simply fried, served with nuoc mam and sauteed onions and tomatoes. it was also our favourite fish to add to canh chua. 

normal, average fishing trips consisted of plotting ourselves in a random spot a few miles from the coast, sometimes starting out still in the bay, before driving out until the coast melds with the horizon. these trips were lovely and full of surprises. i caught my first fish on this kind of trip - a school of barracuda emerged alongside us, and they're difficult to actually catch because their sharp teeth typically cut the line before you get them on board. but, i did it - okay, i was six - so my father helped me reel it in, but it hooked onto my line while i held it, so it counts. my second favourite part of the journey was rocketing through the water, it used to scare me - the sound of the smooth bottom of the boat colliding back onto the surface of the water. i felt so fragile atop the ocean, like we would crack upon contact with its dense pressure. the front of the boat would ride up and out of the water and come crashing down again, on both sides of the boat, two sets of waves flowed out from behind, leaving a temporary trail behind us. sometimes, on our way back to land, jet skiers would ride the waves we made - resulting in more air for tricks. occasionally, as we drove out to deeper depths, there would be dolphins riding on either side of our boat. carving with ease through alternating water and air. dolphins in the wild are extraordinary, they look and feel so free and youthful. when anchored, i liked to sit at the tip of the boat, dangling my legs over the water and staring into the abyss. if i got lucky, i would see jellyfish floating by just under the surface, sometimes a sun fish. flat, floating on the surface of the water, rolling with the ripples streaming off our wobbling boat.

if we were hunting for bluefin tuna or yellowtail, we would drive out far, towards mexico. this would usually take longer than an hour of driving, but would result in crystal clear waters. we would look below into the depths and see the shimmering yellow and blue scales up to 3-500 feet below. these were easy to catch, just drop your line and wait. reeling them in was always the battle, they can be quite heavy - i don't remember ever accomplishing this alone. but, these were the big winners - coming home with these would mean very enthused mums and aunties. they were always prepared for our returns, typically scaling, chopping, and preparing the fish before our showers ended. there was no such thing as a fishing trip without the perfect fish dinner as a reward.

every memory i have from these adventures out at sea: the snacking, the cutting up of the bait, allowing my live bait the freedom to swim as they please - before yanking it back in under my control, my father on the steering wheel with his eyes out into the empty distance, the spraying of water on our faces as the boat came crashing down on the water, when my uncle fell overboard, when a seal ate the rock fish on my uncle's line, leaving only the head, when i learnt how to tell when the sun would set from watching man v. wild and then testing it way too early in the day - i had to use two hands, but it was still quite accurate.. all of these memories categorized under #fishingwithfather, i don't want to forget. so this will be a new series on my blog, recording down all of my most impactful, special memories that led me here today. i think that it is always good to look back and remember the good times you've been through, especially from the younger and more carefree days - there's so much to learn from them! 

the last time i was on a boat with my father was almost three years ago, when he was into lobstering. this happened through the night, between 11pm until dawn. this time that i went, a seal had begun hovering around our boat from the moment it touched the water. it swam alongside us out into the bay. it waited around as we dropped our nets, it broke through our nets as we retrieved them, stealing some lobster and letting the rest go free. my dad was furious, we couldn't shake the seal. we tried driving further away. then we heard the barking - not much longer after, two more seals had appeared. my dad was stubborn, the seals were relentless, and we continued our cycle of dropping nets and getting robbed for three more hours before taking the loss. we were heated, but we also laughed just as much - these are the bonding times that i so often miss when i'm both away and with my family. i do what i can now to stack up more memories, but as we all get older and live our own lives it gets tougher. this is why it's become a personal mission of mines to take the time to reflect and document our lives - even if just for ourselves to revisit.