Guest Column
VIEW FROM THE PIER
By Herman Sillas
I’ve been fishing for 18 years on the pier. Anglers have come and gone, but I’m still not alone. John Yamada has been fishing on Saturdays over the last 20 years. He comes with a granny cart loaded down with buckets, fishing tackle, poles, bait, newspaper, chair, net, and food. He uses a cane now to get around, but fish don’t know it. John still catches them.
He’s a quiet angler, who arrives at sunrise. John goes through the ritual of checking his gear, cutting up his bait, and getting comfortable for the day. He places a small bell on the tip of each pole. It’s his alarm system. We all know how John is doing from the sound of his bells. Yet, it’s not the fish that brings him out from La Puente. It’s something else.
I see Joe Awad, who comes from Ontario. He’s been fishing here for about 15 years. Originally from Lebanon, Joe and family came to the States in 1986. Lebanon was too dangerous. Joe sold everything including his fishing boat to get here. He never looked back. Joe loves this country. "It’s good," he says as he empties his granny cart filled with fishing gear.
I think of his fishing buddy, George Akawe. He’s also from Lebanon. George loves fishing more than anyone I know. Sometimes he comes during the week. Joe and George call each other regularly and share fish reports. The reports might be exaggerated, but that’s acceptable. Joe is often on the phone with George giving him an update on the fishing. Last week, George told Joe how many fish he caught. Joe couldn’t sleep all night thinking of fishing Saturday. It costs him now sixty bucks for gas to get here but never a question in his mind about taking the drive.
Most Saturdays, John brings Joe the bait he’s asked John to get for him at the Seal Beach bait shop. John doesn’t mind. They understand that they need to do what they do every Saturday. They each have tales of their biggest fish and the larger ones that got away.
But, it’s not the fish that brings us out. We’re here because we have to be. Something draws us to this place. Maybe it’s the sea air freshness, or the solitude, or the waves, or not having to report the time we spend to a clock or to anyone. We enjoy the pier pals who walk the pier and tourist who inquire about our catches. We talk to each other about sports, maybe fish, but most of the time, we’re quiet just listening to our thoughts. That’s what fishermen do. We can’t explain why.
As I left John and Joe on the pier and headed back home, I saw another familiar face, Pat Yoshida. He was unloading fishing gear from his truck. "Where’s your dad?" I asked.
"He passed away, March 11," he said with a sigh.
"Oh, no," I said feeling like I had lost a friend. Pat’s father, Jose, was 78 years old. He would stand next to his pole looking out at the sea with his son by his side. Jose and I bought each other coffee and praised the action or cursed the inaction. "Man, did he love to fish," I remembered.
"Yeah, he did. We buried him with his pole. I’m out here today in his honor keeping the tradition going, "Pat said, his voice fading.
I nodded and headed up the hill. Being buried with a pole is a nice touch, I thought. I’d want bait too, just in case. Then, the fisherman’s prayer came to mind, "When I cast my line for the last time into the deep, may the Lord think I’m good enough to keep." Jose was a keeper.
That’s the view from the pier.
(Herman Sillas, a San Clemente resident and L.A. attorney, can be found most weekend mornings fishing at the San Clemente pier.)
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