Pier fishing


Nearly every weekend we went fishing. We'd drive down to Stearn's Wharf and dad would buy a bucket load of live bait-anchovies. We'd drive up to either Goleta Beach or to Gaviota and he'd fish all day. I loved going.

It meant I could walk the beaches and roam free. I found soda pop bottles along the beach and would turn them in at the little candy/food/bait shack and get a penny a bottle deposit that I could use to buy a nickel candy bar!

Goleta beach held the special memory of the day we took Sargeant (our German shepherd dog) with us. I was told I could take him for a walk along the beach. Hah! I tell you, HAH! He saw that wide open beach and he took me for a walk-for all of about fifty feet-then my pants were so full of sand that I let go of the leash. He eventually found me again. I was terrified of telling my dad what I had let happen.


Gaviota beach held a different-unique memory for me. It was my favorite beach to go to. It seemed smaller-not as easy to get lost. The pier was longer. And even though gas was only nineteen cents/gallon-dad didn't drive all that distance every weekend. Gas wasn't the only constraint. Another was about half the live anchovies usually died before we got there. Dad finally figured away around that problem. He'd climb down one of the pilings holding the pier up and have mom lower a bucket on a rope near him and he'd pry off the muscles that were growing on it.

The unique memory was that one day on my way walking to the pier-lagging behind dad-I heard a tiny squeak (maybe this is why I love Horton Hears a Who so much). I tracked down the sound and found a baby mouse. Being a kid and totally impractical I captured it to be my pet. My mom tried to get me to let it go (what good mother wouldn't? who wants a mouse running around their house?-Oh sorry-my last name is NOT Little!) but I didn't want to. When we got home dad MADE me put the mouse down on the floor and he let the neighbors cat in to play with it until it was killed.

The hardest memory to recall about going fishing wasn't so much my sun burnt nose (it'd blister nearly every weekend-I think that's why it's so red to this day) but rather that dad loved to do mean teasing. His dad did it a lot too so I guess he felt it was his turn to do it. He'd pick me up by my waist and hold me out over the railing. If I kicked and screamed in fear he'd laugh all the harder. If I didn't kick and scream he'd threaten to drop me the 20' or so to the water. Keep in mind, I did NOT know how to swim. Any wonder why I have issues with trusting people?

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