Mike Humfreville - 10-14-2004 at 12:02 PM
Rooster Fish!
There was a father and three young sons camped next to us at Gecko in Bahia de Los Angeles. It was early in the trip and we talked periodically,
shared information. They were not experienced with the area and those of us camped around them were as anxious to be helpful with their absorption of
the local habits and history as possible.
The young boys were casting lines from shore, bringing in tiny cabrilla, turning them loose and casting again. Nothing lost on the surface, nothing
gained. Malcolm, camped next door, helped the boys with their understanding, lending them a lure and sensitivities until they grasped the basics and
found life on their own and?caught a few fish we didn?t pay attention to. It was, after all, their affair, and not ours.
Somehow, and with no disrespect to the young fishermen, a young roosterfish got caught up in their pouch. It was a beautiful 8-inch catch. Malcolm
found it a few minutes after they landed it. There was still enough life left for the fins and spikes to remain vibrant, for the vivid colors to
enchant us. We could see, in our futures, what the fish could have become if it weren?t hooked on a tiny beach this far north. What was it doing
here anyway? Way out of its normal range. But it was then dead.
Then I?m back in a cage that was built for me, only me and with design and I?m pounding dramatically on protective iron walls while wondering about
the beauty of life. Only a few species I?ve encountered are built for beauty but I seem to find them and this baby roosterfish was one and he was
dead and had so much potential.
My pal tosses the tiny rooster back into the sea. Without discussion we know that all flesh afloat serves the masses beneath. It?s a truth, we know.
I reflect on the several fish in the boy?s box. Several small cabrilla, a tiny trigger and the rooster. Does appearance matter in our world, my
world? I think the answer is that it does. I don?t want it to but there it is in front of me.
In the box are three small cabrilla, a baby trigger and the tiny roosterfish. Only one stands out amongst others. The rooster.
Even at a tiny eight inches, when he would have grown so much larger if he had lived, his dorsal spines stood proudly above him, his colors announced
him amongst his peers and he would have done them proud if he?d lived.
We all live and die in ambience. Whether we like it or not, our appearance and acceptance within our diverse communities matters.
Those of us found beautiful to our community will find it easier to survive on appearance.
A few of us will need to think for a living.
Else, how will we matter?
burritomama - 10-15-2004 at 12:23 AM
Thanks for the tale, Mike!
I'm just beginning to imagine BOLA now - we'll be there over the holidays as before. We wanted ot visit sooner but have had a helluva year. Hope
all's well with you and yours.