You’ve heard about the three B's of California saltwater fishing: bass, barracuda and bonito. I was planning on trying for at least one of them Thursday night at the breakwall, until my pal Mabe called that afternoon and invited me to join him and his buddies for his bachelor party over at the Wild Goose strip joint for three B's of a different sort: burgers, beer and best of all, breasts. A television in the corner had the fourth B going: baseball. This was enough to fuel fantasies for at least a month.

So, my trip was postponed for a day and a half. This morning I was half-way out on the breakwall before light making blind casts into the void. I was fishing in the usual fashion. Walk out to a certain point way out there, then cast from every other rock as the parking lot nears. Today, I was through by nine, with no keepers. I was not even afforded the opportunity to throw back one little guy.

"You should have been here two years ago," as the saying goes. This year's El Nino was supposed to have the waters warmer than usual just like the calicos like it. Instead, it chased all the baitfish away, so the sea lions have nowhere in particular to go. They don't have the energy to swim to Seattle to feed themselves. Instead they cruise up and down the breakwall all day with their faces in the water, searching for any finned morsel they can find. This in turn is causing the gamefish to be truant, and I, at the top of the food chain, have to eat chicken. It's a vicious cycle.

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