Even though fishing Opaleye Point during incoming tide last month was a bit rough for old Breakwall Don, he was still willing to give'er another try. This time, we planned for the afternoon high tide of Saturday, September 12.

He procured a jar of shelled mussel by prying the mollusks from a jetty near The Marina. In keeping with tradition, I raked up a bucket of enteromorpha from my favorite slime pit, Colorado Lagoon in Long Beach. The algae was scarce that day as I was able to find only one blanket of the mess in the pond nearest the corner of Park Ave. and E. Colorado. There wasn't much available, but it was of the highest rope-like quality.

As I made my way down the trail to the point, I saw that there were a lot of folks enjoying my spot. I'm not used to seeing another soul down there, let alone so many people fishing, diving, walking dogs, and in general, having a good ol' time.

I chummed a wad of bait into the high tide hotspot to the right of the point and started fishing with my ten-pound spinning outfit. I rarely catch any opaleye in the afternoon, and with all these snorkelers in the water right in front of me, I stood nary a chance for angling success.

Breakwall Don did the pebble Dance through the cove, over to where I was fishing, after an unsuccessful attempt while using mussel over at the M. Ledge. As he took a break to watch me watch my bobber not bob, a foxy babe with hiker legs struck up a conversation with him. She informed him of other trails leading down to the water, which this opaleye season he and I will definitely investigate.

Meanwhile, after an hour I had no bites. As a pair of divers emerged from the shallows with a stringer of assorted perch, I inquired with them if and where they saw any opaleye. "They're all right there. Big ones," they said, pointing over to where my floater was a floatin'.

I knew it. The opaleye always hang out in this one spot at high tide. Usually there is no reason to try anywhere else. But, what I have noticed in my years of diving and such is that they are very skittish, becoming very nervous and wary any time their watery space has become invaded by terrestrial aliens…with spears.

And speaking of, another diver with a spear hiked down the cliff and jumped into the water, aiming his kicking body towards the hotspot. I figured I'm not going to catch anything anyway, why not kick back, have a brew and enjoy the show. I'll be darned, two minutes into it, the sucker took one dive only to surface with a four-taco opaleye skewered to his spear's shaft. He somehow fastened the fish to his belt, and with it flopping against his back, he scooted over about five feet and dove once again. Up he came with another opaleye of equal size.

Those results were good enough for him. He came out of the water with the two fish flailing furiously, right where Don and I were sitting. "Nice catch you have there. They're not biting bait today. You gonna make tacos out of'em?" I asked.

Not speaking ingles very well, he just sort of flashed a fish-eatin' grin.

Wait a minute, there was third fish near his belt. "So, what kind of fish do you call that? Is that a trouser trout?" I queried, as I spied his weenie protruding from the peephole of the boxer shorts he was wearing as swim trunks. He looked down and in a moment of embarrassment turned a deeper shade of brown and walked away. We two breakwall anglers got a giggle out of that.

Well, my day was done. As suspected and confirmed by the divers, the fish were hanging out right where I figured they'd be, only we didn't catch any, nor did either of us notice even one nibble.

Things will get better though. After I disappear for two weeks to fish a secret high-mountain lake in Oregon, the high tides will return to the morning as the Earth's northern hemisphere starts to point away from the sun. This is after the Autumnal Equinox. Happens every year. The favorable tides begin in October. Be there.

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