Note: This may be my shortest blog yet, partly because it’s almost three in the morning and very cold right now, partly because I don’t have the words to really describe most of the things I try to discuss here. With time, I’ll add more to this.
The other day, I finally got to get into the water. After months of craziness and waiting, my mom graciously gave me a few hundred dollars to spend on whatever the hell I wanted. So, I of course spent all of that on fishing gear from Amazon. Hooks, sinkers, lures, tackleboxes, waterproof stickers, and of course, a sweet pair of waders, all arrived on my doorstep at once, and I spent a couple days putting them all together.
I organized my tackleboxes and decorated them with some of the hundreds of stickers I’ve collected over the years (clearly, I hate stickers). Then, I tried on my waders and spent a half-hour or so just walking around the house in them to make sure they fit right and felt okay (not too tight, not too loose). I cleaned and sharpened my knives. Neatly folded my fishing license and stuffed it into my waders pocket. Put my phone into a 100% waterproof phone-case. Then, set off for the Tacoma Narrows Park by myself; a secluded yet popular-ish fishing spot.
To be honest, I was very nervous. I didn’t know why at first. I had done my research. I’d already visited the park so many times that I knew how to get there by heart. I had all of the gear I could possibly ask for and then some. I had several hours to fish and explore. I had cell service and there would be other people around me. What was there to be so nervous about?
When I arrived at the park, I took my time slipping my waders over my jeans and warm, fluffy socks, and putting all of my essentials (keys, cardholder, phone, etc) into my waders’ pockets, leaving only non-valuable things in my tacklebox so nobody could steal anything valuable while I was in the water with my back turned. Normally, I would’ve brought my wireless earbuds along. But, for some reason, it just didn’t feel right to listen to my horrible taste in music while I was fishing that day. I’d keep my eyes and ears open, and take in the sights and sounds of my surroundings, instead of listening to some good bluegrass shit and letting my mind go into a completely different place.
As I headed down to the beach in my waders carrying my fishing gear, my heart was pounding and I had butterflies. But, I felt good. I didn’t feel like I was anxious for a bad reason. I felt more like I’d been stricken with a case of buck fever (or, in this case, bass fever). But, that still doesn’t really describe what I was feeling as I was venturing down to the water.
When I stepped on to the rocky shores of the Puget sound, I immediately spun on my heels and headed straight for the Tacoma Narrows bridge, away from most of the people who were enjoying the calm, sunny weather. As I got closer and closer to the bridge, I felt my mouth dry out and my heart pound faster. But, again, I didn’t feel threatened or upset. I just felt, like, alive, for lack of a better term. For the first time in probably a year or two, I was feeling really, really excited, yet also nervous at the same time. That nervousness was what threw me off. I wasn’t exactly feeling negative, but there was a negative tinge to my ecstaticness.
After nearly a quarter mile of hauling ass (to the best of my ability), I stood almost directly under the bridge. The sound of the cars racing above me was deafening, yet in a strange way, grounding. I felt my heartbeat slow down as I stood and listened to the cars above me. There, I gently set my fishing gear down on the rocks and looked all around me. As far as I could tell, I was completely alone. I could see and hear people towards the west where I came from, but they were pretty damn far from me. The closest people were in the cars on the bridge a couple hundred feet above me.
Before I did any actual fishing, I figured it would be a good idea to test out my waders. Leaving my fishing pole balanced on top of my tacklebox, I made my way to the water, my heart suddenly skipping beats as I did so. Then, it hit me.
It had been years since I’ve gone more than ankle-deep into any body of water, including a bathtub since, ya know, I take showers instead of baths. In the past (and even somewhat in the present), being around water was almost always bad news for me. Water harbors all sorts of nasty bacteria. Even salt water has algae growing in it (salt water algae isn’t harmful to humans, but it still indicates bacterial life in the water, and according to my lizard-brain, any microscopic organism equals death). Up until literally just a year ago, I was actively dying from repeat Pseudomonas infections kept at bay only by a toxic mixture of nebulized antibiotics and Soviet phage viruses. Chances are, I’m still growing it alongside MRSA and various fungal infections. But, thanks to modern science, I’m too strong to be hurt by it anymore.
Still, I haven’t had a chance to even think about processing the emotional side of that stuff. No wonder I was feeling my fight-or-flight mode kick into maximum overdrive as I took my first few steps into the Puget Sound in my waders. Logically, I knew I was safe. Emotionally, however, I felt like I was walking into a bear’s den wearing sausages around my neck. But, I pushed through it, taking slow, careful steps until I was waist-deep in the very cold water.
It’s hard to explain how that physically felt. I don’t know how to describe what my emotions were doing. My clothes were still dry, but I could feel the water wrapping around my body like a cold hug. But, since I’d dressed right under my waders, I stayed warm. As I stood in the water, I stared at the bottom of the ocean through the amazingly clear water. On top of the algae-covered rocks, I spotted several mottled starfish of many colors just sprawled out over the rocks. In fact, the more I gazed around my surroundings under the water, the more sealife I spotted.
There were schools of pacific herring (AKA sardines) swimming around in search of smaller organisms to feed on. Small Aggregating sea anemones hung out on the sea floor, hoping something would swim into them so they could latch onto it with their squishy tendrils and pull them into their mouths. And, of course, there were lots of seaweed, kelp, and other plant life latched onto the rocks and moving around with the current.
Before I even knew it, all of my fearful emotions about being in the water vanished. I even forgot all about fishing, and just enjoyed wading around the 40-degree waters looking at the sealife, careful not to even leave a footprint in the sand. I felt like I was hiking, but instead of on land, I was hiking in this tiny alien world under the water. Well, in the water I was roaming around in, everything was tiny. But, the sounds of splashing and barking caught my attention and spooked me out of this “tiny” world.
Not twenty yards from me in much deeper waters, were roughly four or five adult sea lions on the hunt. They dove in and out of the water like dolphins, occasionally swimming with their heads above the water to bark at one another. Suddenly, they spooked a school of much larger fish. There was a moment of chaos in the water about 50 yards from me as the fish scrambled to get away from their predators. Many fish managed to escape, but a few ended up being sea lion food. After that, the sea lions dove under the water, and I didn’t see them again. Oh, if only I’d thought to pull out my phone and record that!
After watching the fish leap out of the water, I figured I should get back to shore and retrieve my fishing pole. But, after thinking about it for a moment, I realized that A) it was the early afternoon so the fish weren’t hungry, and B) the sea lions probably scared all those fish away anyway. So, what was point? Why not just spend that day just getting used to being in the water after years of being out of it?
So, that’s exactly what I did. I don’t know how many hours I spent in the water, just roaming up and down the rocky beach and taking in the sights, smells, and sensations around me, and appreciating being out of my depression fog for awhile. But, by the time I’d had enough, the sun had sunk below the horizon. It wasn’t dark yet, but I knew I wanted to leave before it did. I didn’t (and still don’t) like driving in those pitch dark woods alone.
As I was leaving, I spotted a starfish close to the shore that I could pick up without getting my sleeves wet. I also remembered I had my phone on me, safely stored in a waterproof container. So, I gently scooped up the starfish. I didn’t take it out of the water, as that’s both not good for the starfish and against the law (although, you can gently touch and hold sea-life so long as it remains under the water). Instead, I held it in the water and cautiously dipped my phone into the water to take a close-up picture, half-expecting the waterproof case to fill up with water (it didn't).
The starfish was alive and well. I could feel its thousands of “feet” gently feeling around my hand, almost like a centipede but in slow motion, for lack of a better term. Starfish are basically the sloths of the fish world. They move around, but very slowly, and there's really nothing going on as far as consciousness goes, as starfish (like jellyfish) don't have a brain. Yet, unlike jellyfish, they can still feel pain and react to the world around them. In my opinion, starfish are the strangest animals in the world, besides whatever nightmarish creatures lurk in the very deep ocean. And, they are certainly a cool testament to God's creativity.
After I spent a few moments with the starfish, I gently set it back down on the rocks where I found it. I then plodded out of the water, watching my step so I didn't accidentally squish any innocent sea-life on my way out.
