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Monday, July 20, 2009

Centavo’s Two Cents - FISH FLY

Centavo’s Two Cents - FISH FLY

by Penny Nask


Okay. I have been living in San Felipe for two years. I have learned many features about Baja . . . some by accident . . . and no, the title above should NOT read "Fish Fry."

Early one recent evening I was dining with relatives at a local eatery. The tables faced the magnificent ocean. It was high tide; the sky was incredible with clouds. Rainbows and heat lightning shot through them with an amazing display before the sun finally gave up. It was impressive! We could hardly look at our menus.

When our drinks came, I was pleased that the waiter recognized that when I said I wanted lots of salt with my margarita, I meant it. While I was staring lovingly at my beverage, my partner squealed, "Do you see that?"

“Yes!” I replied, “Finally enough salt.”

“No . . . not the drink. Did you see the fish jump out of the water? Look there’s another one.”

I smiled, my tongue loaded with salt and tequila. “Where?”

“Over there.”

In a fleeting look, over there became . . . everywhere. Every few seconds a good-sized fish flew out of the water from a different location. They were quick, evidently anxious to catapult above the water because of some altered state, or scientific compulsion that could possibly mean . . . the end of the world . . . if someone panicked . . . not me.

I found myself nervously laughing at dinner. Fish are flying out of the water. So what? Just eat your tacos, Penny. “Anyone want another drink?”

A comment was made that I should have brought my fishing pole. Right. And I was thinking . . . my life jacket . . . food rations . . . matches . . . drinking water . . . call people I love . . .

Fish jump. Of course, I know that. But this . . . this was different. The fish were not together, so nothing could be chasing them. It was so random, mysterious and unbelievable to me. I was too uncomfortable about it to be nonchalant with words like "Oh yes, I’ve seen this many, many times . . . the fish, yes . . . could you pass the guacamole?"

The fish were still at it by dessert. While decisions were made for cheesecake and flan, I was reviewing survival techniques from my Girl Scout badge days. Something was not right and the ocean fish were the first to know it.

“Check please, and make it fast.”

It is imbedded in my DNA, I guess, to go to some tragic element when viewing a natural wonder. No . . . I’m told I do this all the time. It doesn’t matter what I’m visualizing, thinking or hearing. There is always something to be afraid of . . . and I’m going to have to mention it. Fear becomes curiosity for me and so I intended to find out why fish jump and endanger their breathing pattern. What living thing would do this? (Oh yeah . . . remember when we held our nose and mouth on a dare to see how long it would take till we needed air . . . or turned blue?) But never mind about that.

It turns out that fish fly out of the water, simply because they can. No scientist or angler has a true answer. Fine. I’m comfortable with that . . . maybe.


Okay. I have been living in San Felipe for two years. I have learned many features about Baja . . . some by accident . . . and no, the title above should NOT read "Fish Fry."

Early one recent evening I was dining with relatives at a local eatery. The tables faced the magnificent ocean. It was high tide; the sky was incredible with clouds. Rainbows and heat lightning shot through them with an amazing display before the sun finally gave up. It was impressive! We could hardly look at our menus.


When our drinks came, I was pleased that the waiter recognized that when I said I wanted lots of salt with my margarita, I meant it. While I was staring lovingly at my beverage, my partner squealed, "Do you see that?"


“Yes!” I replied, “Finally enough salt.”


“No . . . not the drink. Did you see the fish jump out of the water? Look there’s another one.”

I smiled, my tongue loaded with salt and tequila. “Where?”


“Over there.”


In a fleeting look, over there became . . . everywhere. Every few seconds a good-sized fish flew out of the water from a different location. They were quick, evidently anxious to catapult above the water because of some altered state, or scientific compulsion that could possibly mean . . . the end of the world . . . if someone panicked . . . not me.


I found myself nervously laughing at dinner. Fish are flying out of the water. So what? Just eat your tacos, Penny. “Anyone want another drink?”


A comment was made that I should have brought my fishing pole. Right. And I was thinking . . . my life jacket . . . food rations . . . matches . . . drinking water . . . call people I love . . .


Fish jump. Of course, I know that. But this . . . this was different. The fish were not together, so nothing could be chasing them. It was so random, mysterious and unbelievable to me. I was too uncomfortable about it to be nonchalant with words like "Oh yes, I’ve seen this many, many times . . . the fish, yes . . . could you pass the guacamole?"


The fish were still at it by dessert. While decisions were made for cheesecake and flan, I was reviewing survival techniques from my Girl Scout badge days. Something was not right and the ocean fish were the first to know it.


“Check please, and make it fast.”


It is imbedded in my DNA, I guess, to go to some tragic element when viewing a natural wonder. No . . . I’m told I do this all the time. It doesn’t matter what I’m visualizing, thinking or hearing. There is always something to be afraid of . . . and I’m going to have to mention it. Fear becomes curiosity for me and so I intended to find out why fish jump and endanger their breathing pattern. What living thing would do this? (Oh yeah . . . remember when we held our nose and mouth on a dare to see how long it would take till we needed air . . . or turned blue?) But never mind about that.


It turns out that fish fly out of the water, simply because they can. No scientist or angler has a true answer. Fine. I’m comfortable with that . . . maybe.