Dive-Knife

When I was exiting the water after kayaking there at the Park Service launch in Jenner, CA, a boy (with his brother and a dog in a kayak on the launch) waiting for dad immediately spotted the dive knife on my leg and asked, What's the knife for?

His dad immediately answered, For whatever is necessary.

I was also answering with Just in case of fishing line in the water, you know, and whatever's necessary (which is the truth: mostly the fishing line phobia).

Still, I was struck by how the boy had noticed the knife so quickly.
Cutting to the chase, as it were.

And, years from now, will that boy be thinking it will be cool to be a diver guy with a knife on his leg?


P.S.  I think of this scene and I think of my Uncle Bob in Guam in the 1970s sending my family Cousteau books about diving and sharks (books I still have) and I think of the speargun Dad had on the wall of the garage, and I certainly relate to that boy on Saturday in Jenner waiting in a kayak with his brother and his dog . . . .


P.P,S.  My kayak-pal JP writes: "For context, if I remember right, the lad asked first if we'd been fishing.  You said no.   Then, after a beat, he asked what's the knife for."

To which I say, Good catch, JP.

After The Paddling And Diving . . . .

Flor de Cana is a memorable rum.

(And, that clipboard. Middle school, high school, college, the warehouse job, the swim instruction job, grad school, community college -- a friend for life, you know?)

Yearning (Oh, I Miss The Salt and Kelp)

I need to go diving.

(And, to be realistic, this diver would have a camera in his hands, not the speargun, and he'd ditch the tank for free diving.  Well, a tank dive would be fun too.  Oh, and the knife would be strapped to a leg.)

Maybe next weekend--or the one after that.

Salt For The Wound

Such salt solaces -- even as it burns.

(Photos from a happier day: PG / January 20, 2013.)

The Diver vs. The Demon

The other night I dreamed that I was attacked by an invisible demon.

In some dark cellar, attempting to defend myself and protect an injured friend, I was flailing about with the only tools at hand: my abalone iron and dive knife. Each time metal met demon-flesh, the creature became visible, fleetingly, and I'd attempt to strike it again. I couldn't always see it, but I could feel it. The thing had fangs, claws, short wings, and a nasty disposition.

Scary, scary dream, but satisfying; my dive tools and I came through.