I read in the November, 19 edition of the Western Outdoor News that Paul’s bait shop in San Pedro ((310) 833-3279) for the fist time in a long while had live red shrimp for sale the weekend before. I promptly phoned the keeper of the shop, who said the shrimp trapper has been very reliable the past two weeks in delivering to all the antsy fisherman, who line up outside his door at five, scads of the breakwall candy bait. I reserved ten ounces at $3 per for my breakwall rat pals and myself to last both Sunday and Monday.

Saturday afternoon, after cleaning the house for four hours, I did a little shopping on the way in to work for pet supplies to keep the shrimp alive for a while. I already had a cheapie aquarium filter and some hose. All I needed was charcoal, floss and some shrimp food. They didn’t have shrimp food per se, but on the shelf of the PetsMart was a small bottle of Terrafauna hermit crab food. Clue: they’re crustaceans too.

Next stop before my daily eight-hour commitment was Colorado Lagoon for a bucket of enteromorpha algae. The green bait is starting to grow back now, after a few months this past summer of non-existence.

At midnight, after work, I drove to King Harbor in Redondo Beach to fill a six-gallon jug of seawater from the marina’s hand launch dock. The water was to be used in conjunction with the aquarium filter set-up to keep the shrimp kicking for possibly two weeks, depending on how many fish the breakwall troops and I were to catch by Monday. I have in years past kept them alive for three weeks in a pale with beach water. They seem to last longer and stay redder when the bucket used is black.

By now it was getting to be one in the morning. I picked a nice dark parking lot off P.C.H in Torrance to nap before the bait shop opened at five. At about two-thirty, a 1915 hot rod Model T pulled up five spaces away and the couple therein started making a bunch of noise for a half-hour.

After they left, I went back to sleep for maybe thirty minutes, and was awaken by the sound of one of those little pesky parking lot sweeper trucks roaring by.

Obiously my plan for the weekend wasn't working so well. I ended up parking on a residential street for forty-five more minutes of rest before heading over to Lina’s Donuts for a roll and coffee.

I showed up in front of Paul’s at four-thirty, which gave me a half-hour to dress into my breakwall clothes and boots and ready my gear before they opened. I started to get the feeling we were going to be stood up because at a quarter 'till there was no line forming and no shrimp man to be seen. At five, proprietor Gene showed up to open the doors and windows. I went in to inquire upon the prognostication of live red shrimp for today and he replied the shrimp man probably wouldn’t be there because he was a no-show Saturday. That’s why there weren’t any pre-dawn patrons awaiting. If he’s not there Saturday, ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time he won’t be there Sunday either.

It was a good thing to have the standard bait back-up of algae, and the rat I was going to meet at Point Vicente this morning said he was going have fresh mussel he harvested the day before. With that I figured we would catch something or other.

In the lot by five-twenty, I scrambled down to the bottom of the Cardiac Hill trail and tried to hoist myself up onto the big pillow lava boulder I affectionately call the Opaleye Postpile. With the morning’s high tide at 6.4 and the swell up a bit, It was tough trying to climb up without getting soaked or falling off, so I resigned myself to cast the five-inch blacksmith perch Fish Trap atop another large rock right beside the postpile. From the end of the postpile you can fan-cast the lure about a hundred fifty degrees into fairly deep water where you would have a greater chance at one of the local calicos or white seabass. I already knew what was going to happen from the rock I was on before I even made my first toss. I would cast ten times before the jig snagged and broke off.

As I was readying my opaleye enteromorpha bobber rig, Breakwall Don arrived with not only fresh mussel, but also some grocery shrimp. He set up on the next rock over and started casting. I hopped onto the same rock I used earlier and did the same. Soon, Don was hooked up and cranking one in that ate a shrimp. Dang, it came off.

My rock was a little slow, with only one bite noticed. I moseyed on over to another rock about forty yards away and cast from there. Shortly thereafter, Don screamed hook-up again. Dang, it came off.

It wasn't too long after that when his rod went bendo for the third time. Dang, it came off.

He was doing better than I was. I noticed maybe another small hit within the next hour, so I borrowed a shrimp from him and cast out. Nothing.

At eight we decided fishing wasn't worth it down here anymore so he went home and I tried the area near Long Point. At the point, the waves were too ferocious but a mere fifty yards to the south-east, conditions were pleasant. I tried for an hour-and-a-half casting from various rocks but noticed no hits.

After fishing I went over to Mabe's house and hung out for a while. Later we went over to his in-law's place and ate a week-early Thanksgiving dinner.

With a full belly I departed for home at seven. I made it as far as Yorba Linda before I had to find yet another parking lot to nap. I tried the old slap-yourself-in-the-face trick to stay awake, but I figured if the cops saw that, they would know I was F. U.

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