Month: December 2022

It’s the end of 2022 and it’s been a weird year.

The price of everything has gone up, while the size of the package has diminished. It’s called “shrinkflation” and it sucks.

China, where the Covid-19 coronavirus originated, is now suffering big time from the plague, while other countries that were really hit hard by the bug in 2020 and 2021 are now moving on from the thing. It’s poetic justice, I guess.

The Ukraine War, which started in 2014 when Russia “annexed” Crimea, is still going strong. Amazingly, the Ukrainians are holding their own against their neighboring Russian bullies. It could be another Afghanistan debacle for the Russians, whose army resembles the Keystone Kops.

President Joe Biden was pilloried shamelessly when gas prices skyrocketed during the past year due to the Russia/Ukraine war and skullduggery by the international oil cartels. For a while, there were “Joe Biden did this” decals stuck on gas pumps near the price per gallon indicators. Weirdly, now that gas prices are receding, no one is giving President Biden any credit.

(Not that they should, as the Chief Executive does not control energy production or prices.)

Speaking of Presidents, ex-Prez Donald Trump has had a rough year, with a lot of legal problems, Congressional hearings on the Capitol Riot, and the poor electoral performance of high-profile candidates that he endorsed. The man is radioactive now, and even right-wing politicians and Fox News talking heads are distancing themselves from the M.A.G.A. cult/grift. Trump’s announcement that he is running for President again in 2024 was received by the public like a fart in church.

Speaking of cons, cryptocurrency exchanges took some beatings in 2022. I have read a lot about this newfangled digital currency and have never figured out what it is and why I should own some. It seems like every month we hear about some crypto exchange being looted or going bust, which is weird because one of the prime arguments for ditching banks and investing in crypto was supposed to be its superior security. I think I’ll continue to keep my nest egg in my mattress like my forefathers did.

The dimwits who made asses out of themselves in the service of election loser Donald Trump on January 6, 2020 are being shipped off to jails and prisons, as they should be. They are lucky, though: had they protested a Trump policy by attacking the White House, they would have been machine-gunned to death. What’s weird about the whole circus is that the instigator, the guy who incited the riot, unleashed the mob, and then retreated to the White House to watch the chaos while enjoying a cheeseburger, has not been charged with sedition.

Criminal behavior should not be condoned by anyone, of course. However, I saw something in Yuma, Arizona recently that makes me laugh. The local high school’s mascot is the “criminal”, as in the Yuma High “Criminals”. WTF! However, the mascot name makes sense when one understands that the original high school was destroyed by fire in 1910 and was relocated to the former Yuma Territorial Prison. Classes were held in the former cell blocks and assemblies were held in the infirmary for three years until the city reclaimed the property in 1912 for the city jail. The “Criminals” mascot was officially adopted by the school district in 1917 and it is the only high school mascot in the U.S. to be copyrighted.

The 2022 Oscars telecast featured some criminal activity of its own when actor Will Smith rushed on stage and slapped comedian/presenter Chris Rock for a bad joke about Smith’s wife. It was a weird incident, made even weirder when Will Smith was called to the stage later to accept a Best Actor Oscar for some movie that he had starred in. It’s hard to believe that the Oscar telecast now has less class than the Golden Globes. John Wayne would be appalled.

Back in 2021, home prices were sky high and new homes were selling like hot cakes, particularly in Mesquite, Nevada where we live. Pulte Development Company was building homes at a torrid pace (despite warnings about diminishing water supplies) for California ex-pats (mainly) and mortgage rates were down to 3 percent. Kaboom, along came the recession and new home sales have cratered, resales are few and far between, and interest rates are near 6 percent.

I think the economy will get worse before it gets better. Of course, no one knows what will happen for sure, even the “economists”, the stock market, the banks, the Federal Reserve, or our elected officials. They do their best, I’m sure, but it’s one big crapshoot with a zillion moving parts, some of which we don’t control (like the war in Ukraine, the oil cartels, Covid-19 epidemic in China, etc.). Even Elon Musk in selling Tesla stock, for God’s sake. The guy bought Twitter for many billions of dollars and seems Hell-bent on destroying that company. It’s weird, I tell ya’.

This week we spent a few nice days with our friends the Quinns in Yuma, Arizona.  And, then, for inexplicable reasons, we screwed the pooch and were asked to leave. It broke my wife’s heart, as Peggy Quinn is like a sister to her. Weird, it was. We had to retreat to Las Vegas to nurse our wounds.

While we are out of town, our son Jeff and wife Carol are “housewatching” in Mesquite along with their dog “Chongo”. He is a large pitbull who looks scary but is an 80-pound Teddy Bear.

Our dogs get along great with Chongo, who is pack leader when he visits. Only two problems with Chongo: (1) He occasionally “marks” stuff in our house; and, (2) he is a pit bull, and most RV parks don’t allow “aggressive breeds”. This will be a problem for Jeff and Carol, who have recently become full-time RVers. The shame of it is that Chongo is a very easy-going and loveable guy, while all RV parks allow Chihuahua dogs, which bark incessantly and often display aggressive behavior toward other dogs. I believe that all Chihuahuas should be euthanized but, hey, that’s just me.

I’m beginning to think that maybe I’m just weird and I’m the guy who needs to be put down.

Accordingly, tonight’s meal (on Christmas Day) will feature a Stauffer’s lasagna for Charlie and a Banquet penne pasta bowl for myself, warmed to a delicious temperature by our RV’s trust microwave oven. We will top off our feast with chips and onion dip and a few chocolate chip cookies, washed down with some adult beverages.

An appropriate conclusion to a weird Christmas season.

As the saying goes, “Opinions are like assholes: everyone has them.”

This does not mean, of course, that all opinions are good ones. A carpenter’s opinion on a dado joint is probably better informed than mine. Cops know more about the criminal mindset than landscapers and con men know a “mark” when they see one. One would not hire a “shock jock” podcaster to perform open heart surgery, although the know-it-all might have read a few books on the subject.

I ran into someone recently who is all lathered up about the Britney Griner release by the Russians in exchange for a slime ball that we’ve had in jail for 14 years. Britney Griner is a WNBA star who allegedly entered Russia with an ounce of hash oil, which is a criminal offense in that country. She was subsequently tried, convicted, and sentenced to seven years in prison. The guy who Griner was exchanged for was an arms dealer known as the “Merchant of Death”, because his specialty was trafficking weapons to terrorist groups.

My acquaintance completely lost her cool when talking about this, blaming President Biden for the deal and complaining that another American in Russian captivity, ex-Marine Paul Whelan, should have been the exchangee if we were trading captives with the Russians.

As the tirade went on, it became obvious that the facts that Britney Griner is Black, a Lesbian, and a person who lent her support to the Black Lives Matter movement, had a lot to do with the vitriol. “She hates America!”, my friend said, although I am absolutely certain that the two have never met and discussed their political beliefs.

I pointed out to my friend that, personally, I would never have dealt with the Russians to free Britney Griner, as she committed a felony in another country and is subject to the laws over there. We have no right to judge another country’s laws, although prideful Americans often do.

The Russian criminal, Viktor Bout, has completed more than half of his U.S. prison sentence. He was an international weapons trafficker who never committed a crime in America, as far as I can determine. The so-called “Merchant of Death” has never personally killed anyone. Bout is a slimy and clever businessman who made a lot of money equipping tyrants and terrorists with instruments of death.

(Not to belabor a point, but doesn’t the “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people” argument cover Viktor Bout like it does the American arms industry, the largest weapons supplier in the world. Making military-grade equipment available to violent people is currently legal in the United States, so why was Mr. Bout imprisoned here?)

So, from a “deal” perspective, I think it was a lousy one which I would never have made. Of course, neither my friend nor I are the President of the United States, so we don’t have the slightest idea of what transpired, why, and what other considerations there might have been which have not been reported to the public. Those last details are often the juicy ones that only get revealed in history books decades later. It might later be revealed that part of the deal was sending life-saving Russian natural gas to Germany for the winter.

One thing that’s pretty obvious is that the United States has limited leverage with Russian President Vladimir Putin these days. He is prosecuting an invasion of Ukraine and our country is supplying arms to the Ukrainians, which has got to be annoying him something fierce. Putin is probably not in the mood to deal reasonably with Biden, so (in a negotiation) the U.S. has to give more than it would like to close the deal.

Why didn’t the U.S. trade Bout for the imprisoned ex-Marine Whelan? From what I’ ‘ve read, Biden wanted both Griner and Whelan for Bout, but Mr. Putin wouldn’t put Whelan into the deal. Why? Probably because Whelan was convicted of spying in Russia, and Putin hates foreign spies operating in the Motherland. And, also, if Whelan was released, Biden would score points with several domestic political constituencies. And, so, it probably felt good for Putin to poke his fingers in Biden’s eyes.

The big hoo-haw over releasing the “Merchant of Death” for Britney Griner is pure politics. Fox News is jumping all over the deal, accusing Biden of betraying Whelan and rewarding enemy nations who’ve done us wrong.

The fly in the Whelan ointment is the fact that he was imprisoned in 2018 while Donald Trump was in office. Trump, whose only loyalty is to himself (and, sadly, Vladimir Putin at the time), didn’t lift a finger in two years to bring patriot Whelan home from Russian prison. Now that there’s a Democrat in the White House, conservative politicians, broadcast talking head experts, and ex-President Trump himself are raining down on the prisoner swap, accusing Biden of disloyalty toward a former U.S. Marine.

Don’t make me laugh.

Politicians are always trying to reinforce their bonafides with their core supporters. Obviously, obtaining the release of Britney Griner, a famous Black athlete who also happens to be a lesbian, scores points with Biden’s urban supporters. So, it is a “win” for Biden, who gains nothing politically by leaving Bout in prison to serve out the final ten years of his sentence.

Each party always roasts the other when one of these prisoner exchanges occur, noting soberly that the “U.S. doesn’t negotiate with terrorists”, etc. However, all Presidents do these trades occasionally to score political points. Recently, Ronald Reagan, Trump, both Bushes, and Obama negotiated controversial, hard-to-justify prisoner exchange deals with enemy states and terrorist groups. President Reagan infamously green-lighted the “arms for captives” deal with the Sandanistas. President Trump once freed 5,000 Taliban fighters in exchange for the release of 1,000 Taliban captives. Biden will probably do other exchanges in the next two years and be criticized by his opponents each time.

No one who isn’t privy to the negotiations has any grounds for second-guessing the geopolitical decisions of our National elected leaders. Unless you are in the room, you have no idea what was offered, what was refused, and why the deal happened the way it did.

There is a reason that these folks get elected… and smart-alecks like me and my critical friend aren’t called to lead the country.

I think it’s best to leave the dirty work to our professional politicians and international relations experts so that we common folk can sit back in our easy chairs with a can of Budweiser and freely criticize them.

Apologies to the NFL, but taking potshots at our elected officials is truly “America’s Game”.

This country of ours has a lot of problems, but I can’t think of another place I’d rather live.

In America, I have the right to think my own thoughts, express myself without fear of retribution, live in any state, travel where I want, pursue an education as far as I wish to go, avail myself of an un-censored Internet, and marry or not marry anyone of my choosing.  I can own a gun, worship any God or none at all, and display a bumper sticker that says, “Fuck you, Mr. President”.

There are not many nations in the world where a citizen enjoys such rights.

Of course, with citizenship comes responsibilities, such as observing laws, paying taxes, and voting. Being a productive member of society is important, too. This would include contributing to the economy, innovating, and helping those less fortunate than oneself.

In a democracy, our community, State, and national leaders, are tasked with listening to their constituents about problems they’re facing, identifying possible solutions, and then working with fellow elected officials to devise the ways and means to improve the situation.

Too often, nowadays, our leaders focus on symptoms instead of problems, make excuses instead of embracing responsibility, and cast blame, as if that is problem-solving. “Kicking the can down the road” is often the preferred solution, as it puts the onus on future politicians to solve the problem and frees up the current officeholder to collect a paycheck, get his mug on TV, and fund raise for the next election cycle. Congress should be re-named “The Do Nothings”, because rhetoric has replaced honest work in Washington D.C.

One of the biggest problems that we face in American society is gun violence, and particularly mass shootings of innocents. The frequency of these massacres is a problem that is unique to the United States and the disease is growing more and more severe with each passing year. Nothing is done to address the problem except “thoughts and prayers” offered up by our elected leaders every time some assemblage of people get shot up for no reason.

It is as if our leaders believe that they are powerless to do anything. Or, worse, that they’re not responsible for this behavior.

Back in the 1950’s, as America became a nation of automobile drivers and many of those behind the wheel became reckless, our leaders didn’t use the cop out of “freedom” to avoid addressing the problem. They passed minimum age requirements to obtain a license, speed limits, and seat belt requirements. The road related carnage abated quite a bit, and the American public felt safer climbing into their car. Probably several million lives were saved by these measures.

Mass shooting incidents are a symptom of the problem facing us: mental health and proliferation of military-grade weapons in civilian hands.

Research shows that most of the heinous killing sprees are perpetrated by males in the 18- to 20-age range. These fellows typically have family issues, trouble hooking up with the opposite sex, dissatisfaction with their job, difficulty dealing with authority figures, and an overall feeling of hopelessness. They are walking time bombs and need mental health treatment. Sadly, they often receive none or refuse to cooperate with their doctors. After many of the murderous sprees, parents, siblings, teachers, and online friends say, “Oh, yeah, he talked about killing people. We though he was kidding.”

As the good citizenship saying goes, “If you see something, say something.” Many states have “red flag laws” which identify and track unstable people who are trending toward some sort of meltdown or act of rage. Someone who has been flagged should not be able to buy a firearm, just like society prohibits youngsters from driving cars and young adults from buying alcoholic beverages.

Government needs to increase funding for mental health treatment and work with communities and families to “red flag” these individuals so that they can get the treatment that they desperately need.

At the same time, one of these unhappy and unbalanced individuals should not be given the chance to hurt so many people so fast when they go off the rails.

The Founding Fathers who protected our right to “keep and bear arms” were fresh from a war with England, fought by American militia groups. We had no standing army, so it made sense for the people to remained armed in case another war broke out. That is not the case anymore, as our country’s military is the world’s strongest and our police forces are equipped to deal with local bad guys.

“Yeah, but I need my weapons to hunt!” No offense intended, but if a fellow needs an automatic weapon to hunt game, then he isn’t much of a hunter. “But I need to be armed in case our government gets out of hand!” Sure, civilians with AR-15’s are going to fight off military soldiers using sophisticated weapons, tanks, artillery, aircraft, submarines, nuclear weapons, and killer drones. Let’s face it, the last armed rebellion in this country ended with the rebels taking a fearsome beating. Civilians overthrowing strong nations by force of arms just doesn’t happen except in Hollywood.

We should be able to own a gun for self-protection, no doubt about that. It is our Second Amendment right, just like our freedom of speech. However, none of our rights are absolute. One cannot legally yell, “Fire!” in a crowded theater, just like one cannot legally carry a weapon into a Post Office, a jail, or the U.S. Capitol building. Our rights are, thus, subject to common sense.

We should do the same with military-grade weapons. These implements, designed to quickly kill a lot of people, should not able to be purchased by the average citizen, particularly since we have that cohort of bedeviled 18- to 20-year-old males, juiced with testosterone, in our midst itching to “get even”. There should be no way, legal or illegal, for these individuals to obtain assault weapons, “bump stocks”, ammo, flak jackets, and other SWAT-type gear.

Does our right to bear “arms” include hand grenades, RPG’s, Bouncing Betties, Street Sweepers, and drones equipped with bombs?  It does, according to the armament industry (N.R.A.), but it is unlikely that the Founding Fathers had that in mind.

“Guns don’t kill people; people kill people”, goes the excuse by the N.R.A.  This is absolutely true, but countries with the most guns available have the highest gun-related deaths. The United States has, by far, the highest gun ownership ratio (guns to population) in the world and, not by chance, the highest gun violence statistics.

One would think that our elected officials, entrusted with the job of protecting their constituents from harm, could find a way to reduce the slaughter that is occurring in our communities. It would be nice to see Republicans, Democrats, and Independents at least TRY to help our innocent kids, teachers, relatives, parents, and spouses.

If those “do-nothings” could actually find the courage to do something constructive on this subject, maybe they could move on to do the other things that they are being paid to do.

Chances of this? Slim to none.

My buddy Mac and I celebrated my 75^th birthday by doing a hike at Hamblin Mountain near Lake Mead.

The area we hiked is just off of Hwy 169 (Northshore Road), about 50 miles south of Mesquite. It is a fairly desolate area with views of what is left of Echo Bay, a northerly finger of Lake Mead. The bay still has water in it, but the lake level is down 100’ or so from year’s past. It’s a sad and scary sight to see, given how thirsty the Southwest is getting.

Lots of rugged peaks out in this area.

We started our hike at Cottonwood Wash armed with a printed, crude map of the area, some hike instructions and GPS coordinates of Hamblin Mountain peak. There are no defined trails out in the wilderness, so we headed out the desert like the pioneers, feeling our way along. The info that we were using came from some guy on the Internet who did a 10-mile loop hike but, unfortunately, didn’t put any rock cairns in place to coach future hikers.

There was a lot of interesting landscape and geology going on as we wandered up a number of washes toward what we thought was Hamblin Mountain.

We thought we could figure out the guy’s loop route but kept running into dead ends or sheer escarpments that we were leery of tackling. We thought we had figured it out at one point, only to walk about a half-mile to a dead-end point.

We finally threw in the towel and walked the 3-1/2 miles back to the car, swearing all the way that we would be back after doing some research on All Trails, Google Earth, and other hiking route sources.

On the way back up Hwy 169, we stopped at a little roadside picnic area called Desert Springs. It is out in the middle of nowhere, up against a tall, rocky, and desolate mountain. At the bottom of the escarpment there is a spring and a little pond that is evidently the water source for native wildlife in the area, like wild burros, horses, coyotes, and the like.

The volume of water oozing out of the rock is amazing… 400 gallons per minute, according to a sign near the pond. A huge old Palm tree sits right adjacent to the pond, sopping up its share of the precious water.

This and other sights out in these remote areas remind us that there is a lot of beauty and interesting stuff out in the “boring” desert. Of course, we didn’t see any living things on our hike, although we did notice several wild turkeys near the springs.

Mac had brought along his portable grill, so we had a nice hot dog lunch at the mini oasis.

It was a beautiful day in the desert, but unsatisfying, as we fail to summit Hamblin Mountain.

Update: Mac, Lloyd, and I are going to re-try the hike in a week using better maps and instructions.

My brother Terry and I did a bit of fishing back in the day.

My earliest memory of fishing was at Marine Stadium, near Long Beach, California back in the mid-Fifties. Our family would go there to ski on our speedboat “Skeezix” at least once per month. Terry and I learned how to ski there when we were maybe 8 years old. Most of the time we weren’t skiing (as my parents and their friends hogged the action), so we’d wander down to a railroad trestle with a length of kite string and a safety pin, locate some small crabs for bait, and fish for Bullhead and Perch.

At around he same time, my Dad and a buddy developed a vacation house for us in San Miguel Bay just north of Ensenada, Mexico.

Every once in a while, my Dad would arrive home on a Friday afternoon after work, hitch up Skeezix to the little Ford station wagon, and we’d head to Ensenada, which was a couple hundred miles south of our home. My Dad and Mom were scuba divers and would score some huge lobsters from the local waters. My Dad’s uncle “Les” and his wife “Peggy” also had a home there and Les did a lot of fishing in his small, outboard-powered cabin cruiser. I fished with him, occasionally, and caught some nice Ling Cod up near Salsipuedes.

My Dad used to anchor our ski boat out in the bay near our house, and we’d have to take a skiff out there to board it. One day, I think my Dad dropped me off at the boat and I sat there all day long fishing by myself. I caught three large Halibut (probably ten to thirty pounds) that day and my uncle “Larry” swam out to the boat, and we swam back to shore with my big catch. There was some good eating that night, and I was forever known in the family as a “The Fisherman”.

At that time, my brother Terry was not interested in fishing. He spent a lot of his time in Mexico scrounging un-exploded firecrackers and blowing them up. I think he was a closet arsonist; in fact, he once set a hill on fire near our home by throwing a lit sparkler into some dry weeds.

I didn’t do any fishing as a teenager or young adult, as we didn’t live near the ocean and there were too many other things to occupy my time. As a matter of fact, I can’t recall doing any fishing of note until my brother bought a nice 24′ Bayliner Trophy boat when he was maybe 40 years old.

We did a lot of fishing in that boat over the years. He launched it out of Long Beach and we’d fish the breakwater, the Horseshoe Bank, Palos Verdes, the Huntington Flats, and Catalina Island. Initially, we had no trouble catching (and releasing, for the most part) a lot of Bonito, Mackerel, Barracuda, Sand Bass, Calico Bass, Sheepshead, and an occasional Albacore Tuna. As the years went by, and Southern California’s population soared, the fishing stocks became depleted. One of the reasons for this was all of the Vietnamese immigrants who loved fish, would put six guys in a skiff, head out to the Horseshoe Bank, and scour the area for any kind of edible sea creature, legal or not. There were also thousands of other fisherman out on the water on any given day, snagging anything they could, and the Southern California coast eventually became overfished and fairly devoid of good fish.

It got so bleak, and we were so desperate for action, that we once headed out 100 miles offshore to the Cortes Bank to find some reported Yellowfin Tuna. It took us four hours to get there but, luckily, the ocean was glass, which was highly unusual. There were, of course, no tuna out there on that day; I caught one Gray Shark by accident. Then, we had the four-hour return trip ahead of us, with the ocean chop increasing as we headed toward shore. We got to Catalina Island and we’re close to running out of gas. We pulled into the fueling dock just as the employee was locking up to go home. We begged him for some gas and he obliged. That was lucky for us, as the ocean got really rough on those last 26 miles. We never would have made it back without that extra gas.

At about this time, Terry and I got interested in charter fishing trips. I think one of the first times was a trip to Mazatlan, Mexico with some friends where we hunted down a number of Sailfish. We later did some sportfishing out of Cabo San Lucas, trying for Marlin and Yellowfin Tuna but not catching many.

Later, we made some trips down to La Paz and Punta Colorada (Gulf of California/Sea of Cortez), and had a good time fishing on panga boats and small cruisers for Dorado and Roosterfish. My brother Terry caught a 125-pound Marlin one day while we were trolling for Roosterfish. We had great times there but, unfortunately, the “bite” was lame… too much overfishing, a lot of it illegal, by Japanese trawlers in the Sea of Cortez, once the richest fishing grounds in the world.

Terry, our friend “Rudy” and I flew up to Sitka Island (Alaska) one Fourth of July for several days of fishing for Halibut, Salmon, and Ling Cod. It was a great trip: nice crew, beautiful setting, and lots of fish. On the last day, we found a “honey hole” about a half mile offshore, with Killer Whales meandering about, big Bald Eagles on every coastal pine tree, and plenty of “barn door” Halibut action. The limit was two Halibut per angler, and it was apparent that there were big ones at this location, so we ended throwing back anything we caught under 100 pounds. I had the biggest catch of the day: a 7-1/2 foot, 200-pound beauty. I felt like a big shot until we got to the dock and I saw a puny Japanese guy with his 300-pounder.

Over the years, Terry, a buddy from work named “Ken”, and I had done a number of overnight charter trips to Catalina and the San Diego area to catch whatever was running at the time, typically Sea Bass, Barracuda, Bonito, Calico Bass, and Albacore Tuna. The conditions on those small charter boats were crowded, stinky, and unruly. Guys would get sick belowdecks in their bed and puke, causing everyone else down in that confined hell hole to get sick as well, and everyone would scramble up and out of the dungeon to vomit over the side. One time Terry started to get nauseous, so he went to the head and took a great gulp of water. It was salt water, of course, and he had to run to the rail before projectile-vomiting.

The three of us (Terry, Ken and I) eventually graduated into the long-range charter fishing genre. We all bought a bunch of equipment and jumped into the sport. Initially, we did 3- and 5-night trips out to Guadalupe Island (about 400 km southwest of Ensenada, Baja California) to fish for Albacore Tuna, Yellowfin Tuna, Yellowtail, and an occasional Bluefin Tuna.

Guadalupe Island is most famous for being surrounded by shark-filled waters. Lots of diving tours go there, featuring underwater cages to safely get up-close-and-personal with Great White Sharks.

We had a great time fishing, but that place is heavily-populated with California Seals and, therefore, Great White Sharks, so it was common to lose your prized catch right at gaff when a seal or shark would simply cruise by and bite a huge chunk out of it. We hated those seals, who were just playing around in our workspace, and everyone would cheer when a Great White would grab a seal and devastate it.

Eventually, we moved up to the 8- to 10-day charters out of Fisherman’s Landing at Point Loma (San Diego). The “Excel” was our favorite boat: 124’ long, with a 32’ beam, plush cabins, a totally professional crew, and a limit of 24 fishermen. These guys knew where the fish were and how to catch them. Our fishing buddies on board were seasoned pros, for the most part.

We did a bunch of trips on the Excel out to Alijos Rocks. It consists of three remnant rock stacks from a former underwater volcano, I believe, about 542 miles south of San Diego and 150 miles offshore (west of Magdalena Bay, Baja California Sur).

The three rocks are the surface manifestations of a seamount which collects and funnels nutrients to the surface. It is a world-famous spot for catching large Wahoo, Yellowfin Tuna, Yellowtail, and occasional Bluefin Tuna.

The Excel loads up with thousands of Sardines for bait at Point Loma before leaving on the trip. However, the bait of choice for big sport fish is Squid, and those are caught by the fishermen and crew at night on location at Alijos Rocks. They are easy and fun to catch using jigs and spotlights to bring them to the surface. The big ones are saved for kite fishing. Night time is also the right time to catch large Yellowtail, which live near the rocky bottom. Stout poles, heavy line, and two-speed reels are required to catch these super-strong brutes who can weigh 30 to 100 pounds. They are great eating, too.

Yellowfin tuna are caught in the daytime using fly-lined Sardines. However, most of them are in the 20- to 40-pound range; they are the juveniles who gobble up the bait right near the boat. The big tuna got big by not getting caught, and these wise guys seem to stay fifty to one hundred yards away from the boat. The big boys absolutely crave squid, and a kite on a heavy-duty winch is used to dangle the squid at the ocean surface way back behind the boat, with the delicacy just slapping the surface of the sea. Anglers take turns using the kite, and hooking up with a large Yellowfin or Bluefin is almost guaranteed when its your turn “on the kite”.

All of the fishing on the Excel is “stand up” style: none of the sissy fighting chairs that pedestrians use to catch marlin in Florida.  A battle with a large tuna can take an hour, using just about all the strength one has to tire out the creature. I recall one guy who hooked up with a 100-pound bluefin tuna on a Loomis fly rod (he was goofing off) and it took him several hours of patience and backbreaking work to bring the fish to the boat.

The highlight of Excel fishing is when we would troll for, and hook up with, Wahoo (known as Ono in Hawaii and in fish markets). This fish is a Barracuda on steroids, the fastest fish in the ocean. Wahoo out at Alijos Rocks are typically 40- to 100-pounds in weight. They have a lot of extremely sharp teeth which often shear off the wire leader that is used in conjunction a large, expensive (back in those days, maybe $25) lure. I would guess that only a fraction of the Wahoo hooked eventually land in the boat. When one comes on board, everyone gives it wide berth, as these pissed off dudes can easily cut up and maim anyone they can get to. All of the excitement, effort and expense to catch Wahoo is worth it, as they are delicious fish to eat.

I recall an evening one on of those trips that was a doozy. I was suffering from some kind of virus when I boarded and was taking antibiotics. One is supposed to avoid significant sun exposure when on antibiotics, but I didn’t give that warning much heed. After a day of fishing in the bright sunlight, I was roasted. That night, my skin began to crawl, itching all over the sunburned areas: I was suffering from sun poisoning.

It was maybe 2 a.m. in the morning, everyone was asleep. I wandered up to the bridge to cool off my rash and there were several crew members there. It turned out that the crewman doing the night watch on the bridge dozed off, fell out of the captain’s chair, and gashed himself something fierce. He required an emergency room visit, but we were several hours from any port in Baja. It turned out that there was a doctor/fisherman on board, a makeshift operating table was devised, and the guy was getting stitched up with hooks and fishing line, I think. When the doc finished up his suture job, he provided me with a heavy dose of Benadryl to ease the miserable itching and I had to keep out of the sun for a few days.

We were on a ten-day fishing Excel trip at Alijos Rocks back in September, 2001. There is no cell phone service out in the middle of the ocean, but the captain can communicate with headquarters (500 miles north at Point Loma) via a satellite phone or short wave. Just before we quit fishing and saddled up for the two-day return to San Diego, the captain learned about the 9-11 attacks on the Twin Towers and the Pentagon.

Our captain decided not to tell us until we got near San Diego harbor, where the Pacific Fleet is based and where extreme security had been established. I believe the ship was boarded and searched before we cruised past the submarine pens near the harbor entrance. It was a very somber return to America, for sure.

Eventually, we got a bit old to be fighting those brutes and my brother’s back issues began to really bother him. We both gave up the sport and sold off/gave away all of our expensive fishing equipment.

All we kept were some great memories.

With my 75^th birthday arriving tomorrow, my attention turns to yesteryear, back when I could physically do a lot of things that are beyond me at this point.

My memory was jogged by a screensaver that recently popped up on my computer. The photo is of the sea level arch at the tip of Baja California.

Many years ago, Charlie and I were staying at Cabo San Lucas and decided to rent kayaks to paddle out to the arch. Easier said than done. It’s got to be a half-mile from the beach against the incoming waves. It was strenuous, to be sure, probably something that I could not do anymore, particularly with my torn rotator cuff condition.

Some old neighbors from California called me yesterday to see how I was doing. Phil and Jo Berg are old golfing and bowling friends from Bear Creek; they’re both in their 80’s now. They asked how my arthritic hands were doing, recalling that I quit bowling due to the excruciating pain in the same year that I rolled my last 300 game. I told them that bowling is but a fond memory… except for those last games where I could barely hold the ball. Phil and Jo still bowl in that league; kudos to them at their age.

I don’t know what physical activity I will be able to do in my 80’s, but I am inspired by an old friend of mine from the bowling league who participated into his 90’s! Bob’s ball was super-slow rolling down the lane and barely knocked over the pins, but he had fun bowling and everyone in the league cheered him on. I didn’t know much about Bob at the time, except that he had been a Marine pilot who provided close air support for his buddies at Iwo Jima. At his celebration of life at our country club, a color guard provided by the White House lent a lot of class to the festivities.

I golfed for many years, back in Riverside and later at Bear Creek Country Club, where we lived for thirty years. Just after I retired (in 2003), I was appointed to the Board of Directors of BCCC. It was not a pleasant stint. I got pissed at some close-minded Board members and quit the Board and the Club. I was through with golf, I thought, and gave my clubs to one of my sons. To fill the void, I took up “cowboying”  with some buddies and my horse “Louie”. For about five years we did trail rides, competed in arena events, sorted and cut cattle, and otherwise had a great time. My biggest accomplishment was winning five of seven events at a minor rodeo. However, it was during one of those cattle cutting arena events that I hurt my right shoulder and eventually had to give up the equestrian life.

I hardly golf anymore, but I remember how to do it and can stilI hit a few shots. I quit the game and gave away my clubs at the same time that I quit bowling… too much arthritic pain in my thumb joints to hold the club properly. When I moved here to Mesquite, where there is a lot of golfing opportunities, I resumed playing with a modified grip which took the pressure off those aching joints. I also only play a few times a year and don’t practice much, giving my thumb joints a chance to relax. Back in the day, at Bear Creek, I played maybe three or four rounds per week and practiced on the other days, enabling me to have a single-digit handicap. Now, I am lucky to shoot in the high 80’s from the “old man’s” tees.

Back in my mid-50’s it was important to be able to compete in team golf and with my country club buddies. We had a money game on Saturday that was the highlight of my week. When I occasionally play a round with my son Jonathan, he kicks my ass quite easily. I don’t give a crap anymore. I’m just happy to be able to swing a club and enjoy a nice day with friends.

I still hike with some close friends and, occasionally, with the local hiking club. Thanks to my new artificial hips, I can easily do 5 to 10 miles off-trail in the local deserts and mountains. The only problem that I have is adhesions in my thigh muscles from the two surgeries. Every once in a while, I will put weight on a leg (usually my right one) and I will get a sharp pain that almost collapses my leg. That sucks, particularly if I’m scrambling through some boulders or hopping down into a wash on one of my hikes. I’ve tried to give the muscle additional exercise by walking the three dogs three miles per day (weather permitting). They live for those walks.

I suppose I should be happy being able to do the things I do at my age. I’ve already outlived my Dad, who died at 73. He was a pretty robust guy who did a lot of manual labor (auto mechanic), was a skilled D.I.Y. craftsman, and was a very fine water skier in the Fifties and Sixties. Unfortunately for him, he lived in a time when most food was fried, and he smoked, too. So, he had some heart issues and died almost exactly fifteen years after his triple-bypass surgery. My Mom lived to be 88 years old and would probably still be kicking if she hadn’t broken both hips toward the end.

I think I’m good on my hips, as they are made of titanium, I think.

Who knows how long this show will go? I have gradually scaled back my physical activity to the point that the dog walks, an occasional hike in the desert with friends, and doing landscaping improvements around the property are the extent of my normal exercise.

Oh, I almost forgot blogging, which is great exercise for my fingers and what’s left of my brain cells. I hope to be able to do this for the foreseeable future.

When I was young, I thought that anyone who was older than 40 was ancient. Now, pretty much everyone who I know is over 50, my sister Claudia is in her late 60’s, my sister Kellie is around 70, and my brother is going on 77. I’ve got grandkids who are in their late 20’s, for God’s sake.

I enjoy living here in Sun City-Mesquite, where most residents are my age. There are very few young people around here, which means fewer speeding and noisy cars and practically zero crime. The pace of life is geared down and casual. Our three Boston Terriers provide all the energy our home needs.

About the only goal I have left is to see Charlie’s and my Golden Anniversary, which will happen in 2024 if the fates allow.

It’s been a good life… thus far.

There is no factual basis to believe that damp feet cause colds, Santa and the Easter Bunny are real, “You have been chosen to inherit the millions of dollars of gold left in an airport locker in Lagos, Nigeria”, good people go to Heaven, or that the 2020 election was “stolen”.

No facts, no truth.

Of course, as human beings, we are entitled to believe whatever we want, even if we know our beliefs don’t hold water. Someone sage once said, “In the province of the mind, what one believes to be true is either true or becomes true.” Basically, if we want to believe in something, then we can.

Prayer is a good example. Religious people pray all the time for good luck, the curing of cancer, that a hurricane will divert from its path, that their son in the military will be spared from injury or death, and such. The idea of prayer is that God is “listening” and can dole out His Grace if he is so inclined. Typically, He is not, but on occasion something good happens, all credit goes to God, and belief in the Almighty is bolstered.

True believers in God have been taught that “God has a plan”, so that accounts for the genuine, desperate prayers that aren’t answered. An example might be the six million Jews who were killed in the Nazi Holocaust. One can only imagine all the prayers being uttered in those ovens at Auschwitz, just before the Zyklon B cannister was dropped. Those were God’s “chosen people” and He ignored those prayers. They must have done something wrong, collectively, to be punished that way… goes the belief. “We promise to be better next time”, say the surviving observant Jews.

That is the beauty of religion: if some good happens, God made it happen; if something bad happens, the Devil did it, the suffering party earned it (by angering God?), or the outcome is not yours to question (ask your priest for a rationalization). A tornado strikes a home killing two adults and two children, but the third child survives. “Thank God!” is the typical response. Question: if God could save the one occupant of the home, why not the others?

Charlie and I watch a lot of “reality” medical shows where patients arrive at the doctor’s office with a long-ignored, obvious problem that should have been treated years ago. The patient says that the reason that he has ignored the tumor is because he “doesn’t believe in doctors”. Whether that is because the guy can’t afford to believe is unknown, but non-belief in the medical profession is most common in poor people.

Medicine is factually-based science. While a doctor is said to be “practicing medicine”, it is not as if he is simply experimenting with his patients; rather, he is utilizing methods, procedures, protocols, and products that have been vetted to make sure that they help the particular malady. In other words, hundreds of years of research by others have contributed to his skill. It is not necessary to “believe” that a cast can help set a broken bone because that technique has been proven millions of times over.

Some people “don’t believe in vaccines”. These people fear that inoculations introduce foreign material into the recipients’ bodies that may cause diseases or medical conditions that are worse than the threat being countered by the vaccine. Some conspiracy theorists believe that vaccines are a way for Big Brother to implant spyware within the body.

Sure, anything is possible, but the promise of vaccines, which have eradicated horrible diseases over the past century, surely outweighs the risk of bodily contamination. Not opting for vaccination, on the basis of spurious claims and fears, would be like refusing to wear an automobile seat belt because it might trap the motorist when he has survived a nasty accident and can’t get out of his burning car. That is a possibility, but it is much more likely that in such an incident, the seat belt would have enabled the driver to survive the impact, rollover, etc. The historical record proves that seatbelts save lives, just like horrible diseases that have been miraculously banished once the population has been appropriately vaccinated.

Recall the recent Covid-19 pandemic and the refusal by many boneheads to wear a mask in public to help limit the spread of the virus. Publicly-available masks were certainly not game-changers in their own right (hence the “I don’t believe in masks”), but they were a component of disease prevention including social distancing, washing of hands, minimizing indoor exposure, and receiving vaccinations as soon as they were available. In my city, which has a high percentage of elderly, compliance with recommended anti-virus protocols was nearly 100 percent and the disease did not get a foothold.

My neighbor Marcus is the only person I know who died from Covid. He and his wife, who were early pandemic-deniers, went to a superspreader event in Arkansas in 2020 in which most of the crowd wasn’t being safe, ninety percent of them got Covid, and several died.

The Covid-19 experience revealed that many people have a proclivity for “believing” wacky conspiracy theories and, therefore, justifying non-cooperation with disease prevention measures. Many people wanted to believe that there was a magic pill, already available, that could cure the coronavirus and return society to normalcy without further ado. Hence, the Hydroxychloroquine and Ivermectin “miracle cures” that were pushed by impatient folks, President Trump included. That these drugs weren’t effective for Covid-19, according to scientific study, didn’t matter to the proponents, because it gave the people who wanted to believe in magic one more excuse to adhere to their conspiracy theories about the pandemic simply being an elaborate hoax. “The medicine’s out there and Dr. Fauci won’t let us use it! We could reopen the economy today, dammit!”

One million Americans died from the Covid-19 me the “hoax”, according to death records. Then, of course, comes the “belief” by the conspiracy folks that the toll was much less because, theoretically, every person dying in hospitals were claimed to be victims of the coronavirus. Historical records on mortality in the U.S., going back a century, prove this to be false. However, contrarians can believe whatever they want, particularly when politics is involved.

Belief can be gamed by charlatans and grifters. Non-skeptical folks, who really want to believe, are often manipulated by clever salesmen, con men, politicians and spiritual leaders. P.T. Barnum, a very successful huckster and circus promoter, said, “There’s a sucker born every minute!” They are suckers because they are willing to suspend disbelief to get the supposed deal of a lifetime or such. I think P.T. also admitted that “there’s no such thing as a free lunch”.

When a politician is campaigning, for example, he may claim that his election will result in lower taxes (for whom?), increased law and order (at who’s expense?), and draining the swamp in Washington D.C. (exchanging the current lobbyists with his favorites?). White lies, all of them, but hey… these are politicians, and the only thing that a Doubting Thomas needs to see is the guy’s lips moving to know he is being lied to.

Serial believers (diehard Party loyalists) only need to see what party the guy represents to convince them of “the truth”. I am an Independent voter, so I take with a grain of salt any promise made by any politician of any party.

As the old saying goes, “If something seems to good to be true, it is”. I recall a televangelist who did big events with thousands of followers (believers) in attendance. He claimed, among other things, that he could cure medical problems like blindness, cancer, lameness, and so forth by calling forth God’s assistance. Of course, he was a salesman intent on getting lots of donations to his ministry (supposedly God told him that he needed a new Gulfstream). One of the Reverend’s tricks, which was revealed in a CBS documentary, was to seat some of the overflow crowd (healthy folks) in wheelchairs up on the stage. At some point in the sermonizing, the televangelist commanded that one or more of the wheelchair-bound individuals (presumably healthy) “get up and walk “… which they miraculously did. Donations poured into the ministry thanks to the phony miracle and the gullible believers watching on TV.

Gullibility seems to be inversely proportional to education. Religion, in particular, seems to be strongest in areas of poverty and minimal education. For the unwashed masses, with lack of funds or crappy schools limiting them, the future is daunting, with the economic success deck stacked against them. Moving up in society and enjoying the fruits thereof is a pipe dream for these people. Religion tells these folks, “No problem. When you die, you will go to Heaven and everything up there will be wonderful.” Some believers, particularly cult members, have actually committed suicide to hasten the process.

It’s no wonder that the Deep South, the so-called Bible Belt, is also the least-educated region in the United States. Unfortunately for America, our politics is driven by issues near and dear to the hearts of Southern believers, like the perceived threats to religion (“they’re trying to outlaw Christianity”), White supremacy (“wokeness”), the Second Amendment (“they’re trying to take away my guns!”), and border security (“Mexicans illegals are rapists and murderers”).

In politics, these supposed threats don’t have to be real; they only need to incite the rage of the audience (the true believers) to get people to the polls and vote out the incompetents, the Communists, and the satanists who are out to ruin God’s country.

My own beliefs are based on research, experience, and common sense. And, they’re changeable when some new information surfaces to prove me wrong. “Beware the man of one book” is an old proverb that warns against beliefs based upon scanty, and possible tainted, information. The latter is a big problem nowadays, as some media outlets (Fox News, for example) have purposely exchanged shock-value entertainment for actual news. Viewers are fed propaganda which, in turn, affects their political beliefs. The more they follow this version of “news”, the more indoctrinated they become, questioning why anyone would have a different opinion.

This is how the “stolen” election got traction. True M.A.G.A. believers, watching Fox News and chatting up the conspiracy theories with their peers, weren’t aware of anyone they knew who voted for the other guy. Therefore, when Biden won the election, there had to have been a flawed electoral process and/or cheating by the other political party.

I have overdosed on “news” for a long time, partly because my career involved information analysis which I used to help elected officials make good policy decisions. I used to read five newspapers per day, but in retirement, with the help of the Web, I now peruse articles from scores of news sources every day. Personally, it is not hard to detect bullshit trying to pass as real news. I particularly don’t follow know-it-alls who bring so-called experts on the broadcast to pound home a point of view. That’s not news, it’s opinion, it’s belief, it’s second-guessing, and it may be pure speculation backed up by zero facts or experience.

If belief is based on hard facts (like sugar is sweet, it is green up in Oregon, and dogs like treats), then I tend to be a true believer. For example, my wife Charlie has been living with me for the past forty-nine years. Does she love me?

I believe she does.