So the news this week has been all about Lana Turner showing up in the bay--a sort of underage, not fully developed Lana Turner but a Lana Turner nonetheless. I would feel odd about sharing this if it wasn't already mentioned in the fishing report--and on every bay area fishing site out there. Still, not much happening on the beaches. I went down to Baker Beach last night on my way home after work. Baker Beach was the site of two of last year's three Lanas. But it's Lana #4... I can't quite shake.
#4 was a hawg. In fact, she was so big I probably would have thrown her back. You know, abide by the health dept., warnings, keep the big hens alive, avoid the possibility of larval nematodes? (bigger fish tend to have them).
However, in order to release a fish, you've got to catch it first, right? And, sadly, it didn't quite come to that. Despite fighting her for what had to be 20 minutes. Despite the crowd of onlookers, despite the fact that I played her masterfully. She beat me. At the very last moment. In the swash. My hand 2.5 inches from grasping her jaw, I made one fatal mistake. I underestimated how powerful Lana Turner can be. Frankly, I didn't think she had another surge left in her.
And so... I'll go ahead and admit it... I tightened down my drag. Yes I did. I am a fool. (There! I beat you to it). And so, rather than describing in great detail how I landed the fish of my life, I can summarize the rest of the story with one word: boing!
And so, I returned yesterday hoping to find her again. Walking the frothing shores searching and searching. (Or I should say: casting and casting). And yet, the sad truth is, I will never get another chance at that fish. Other fish yes. Bigger fish maybe. But not that fish. I'm getting depressed. Why did I do that? Why did I adjust my drag? It's so obvious now. She needed to run and I tried to tie her down. I should have given her a little line. Wah!
Oh man, look at the clock. Gotta run.