Fishing for barracuda is a good warm-up for a big nap

We’re remembering Clay Thompson this week with some of our favorite columns. This one, written from San Diego, ran July 21, 2000:

I know it’s unseasonably hot there. Maybe I should come home early to show my solidarity with you in the desert.

Naah.

Wednesday I went fishing on the ocean, which is exceedingly deep and full of odd life forms. The bait was bigger than most trout I’ve caught.

There are several sportfishing charter companies around here. A half-day trip, including tackle and a one-day license, costs about $40.

I was on a boat called “The Dolphin.” There were 39 of us, about half first-timers and about half old guys who knew what they were doing. At one point, the captain asked for a “courtesy shift” in which the people in the back of the boat would trade places with the people in the less-desirable front of the boat.

All of us in the front of the boat reeled in our bait and waited for the old guys to trade places. None of them moved.

The crew was very nice and very helpful and did not laugh out loud, at least not in front of us, at any of the comical first-timer goings-on, which fortunately did not include any impaling.

I caught a barracuda and was rather pleased with myself until I figured out that catching a barracuda is the sportfishing equivalent of being able to print your name in large block letters. Nonetheless, it was semi-cool. The barracuda seemed less pleased, but was back in the water very shortly with only its dignity wounded, assuming barracudas have dignity.

What to do today? I could go up to Mount Palomar and see the big telescope. I could go out to Imperial Beach and watch the lifeguard competitions. I could find some way to make myself a better person, The Republic a better newspaper and the world a better place. Or I could sit on the beach, take a nap and then have a big expense-account dinner. Ooo, this is hard.