Now that I've decided to write down the stories that I've heard I suddenly can't remember any. Funny how that works. You've got a thousand things to say until your turn comes to speak. So, a few random things I remember...

      There was a guy with a trailer here on H-row named Frank Carli. He was a diver, and, from where I sat, a particularly good free diver (breath-hold). As a kid, I was in a boat as a passenger spotting him while he dove the bar for halibut and every time he dove I though he was dead. I didn't time him, but he was down for a long time. Minutes. Good thing that this was well before cell phones, as I would have been well into my call to 911 when he would pop up, take a few breaths, and resubmerge. In his 70's? 80's? I'm not convinced that I could stay down longer with a tank of air on scuba. And your breath scares the fish, so he held his breath. Frank killed a lot of halibut. He surrounded himself with other breath-hold killers. Steve Werlin, the Dark Lord (as he's been referred to in the Lawson's Landing Fishing Report) is one. I remember, vaguely, a story of one of Frank's friends I think named Frank Hallon. For sure the friend got the nickname Gaffhook. Yes, I'm jealous. But Mr. Hallon got his nickname because on a dive trip to the bar he forgot his speargun. That's a problem. But Frank grabbed a salmon pick (a gaff that must be swung like a bat  to connect with your fish) and jumped in. My vague recollection is that he free-gaffed two or three halibut, enough for the nickname for sure. One would do. Not sure of the legality of that, but it is hard to ticket the dead, and for that badassery no ticket should be issued. IMHO. Also, too much badassery for me to petition for his nickname. I like gaffing, but I can't beat the diving story, so can just call me Willy.

     A story that I heard that involves (I think) both Frank and Gaffhook also involves my uncle, Mike Lawson. They drove a boat over to the mouth of Stemple Creek (Estero de San Antonio) near the rocks and prepared to get in the water and get either abalone or spearfish some black rockcod. Before they could get in the water a great white shark showed up, circling the boat. I enjoy the fact that in the story I heard, they debated whether to go or not. These were MEN. Ultimately they decided that discretion id the better part of valor, and departed for Tomales Point, a mile or more away. A short run, and anchoring, and they were ready to jump in. But, the mighty whitey followed them, it seems. It may have been a different shark, but it doesn't matter. Nobody got wet except with nervous sweat. Two sharks? One hungry, determined shark? Let's go home and eat beans. This is the story that keeps me from being completely comfortable underwater.