I pulled over onto a grid road alongside Highway 5 this morning to shout out to a solitary hale and hearty fisherman drifting in a boat in the slough south of the main drag. I asked him if anything was biting. 

Erect and stoic, he didn’t respond, singularly dedicated to his quest.

I overcame my fear that my yelling was scaring the fish away, and I asked him if the light drizzle was making his chances any better. Again, not a word. 

Of course, he was no doubt angling for whatever was attached to the giant whale tail, breaking the surface of the water at the slough's south end. Although he was drifting further away from his quarry, the taciturn Ahab sat there intently focussed and oblivious to my picture taking. 

I had visions of him finally hooking the thing, and like Spencer Tracey in the movie adaptation of Papa Hemingway’s novel, bracing his boots against the stern in ferocious battle.

But both of them just floated inert in the morning mist. All I can say for those heading out on the water for a little R and R with some fishing in the mix this long weekend, I wish you better luck than this character. And better communication skills.