Reader Writes
AHOLEHOLE
Dad talked excitedly to Uncle Kyo as I lazed on the living room
couch. This rare phone date to go fishing for the yellow-bellied
aholehole (Hawaiian Shiner Perch) on the rough Puna coast got my bother
Dennis and I pumped up for adventure and yet a little scared, because
this was the big time!
Mom had packed our musubi, okazu, and hot tea filled thermos. We
drove south in the mid-week winter afternoon to pick-up Kyo. The
backseat boredom between Hilo and the distant Kapoho coast was barely
tolerable. Kyo told Dad to park where the gusty wind rocked the car even
though the tangled air-plant shrubbery stood shoulder high against the
wide spot in the road. We trudged towards the cliffs wearing our canvas
jackets and black rubber tabis looking like big-game safari bearers.
Pounding waves pushed against the salty mist which glistened in the
setting rays.
A protected niche in the lava provided a sanctuary quiet when you
knelt huddled against the warm, jagged flows. Dennis and I surveyed the
mini bay bordered by jagged volcanic boulders framed by bending lauhala
and breadfruit trees. Kyo and Dad had their 30 foot poles in the water
even as Dennis and I prepared our puny 8 foot rod and reel, fully
capable in Hilo bay, but here as if one small notch up from a hand-line
when cast from these telephone pole high vantage points.
On my first cast intended for the blue water the mono line went
nearly straight down the side of the cliff. As I cranked in slightly a
furious pull on the line caused the reel to ring out. But as I braced
myself for this fight of fights, the line went slack. I reeled the line
in to find the hook and sinker gone. Still shaking, I quickly prepared
for another try and glanced at Kyo who smirked back. After three more
hooks and sinkers, but no fish, I had to take refuge from the relentless
easterlies. Dennis was already eating out of the shoe box cowering
against the lava. We lit the rusting kerosene lantern, and I turned on
my new battery powered, 9 transistor radio for my teenage dose of rock
and roll. At latest count we had hooked a total of one silvery
foot -long aholehole.
Kyo taught me to cast out a light lead and a huge chunk of California
shrimp in order to catch the surface swimming aholehole, evenly cranking
until I got the bait to just below the cliff where I stood. Dutifully
giving it a try, I felt a strong frantic pull which dead-weighted as the
swell bottomed. I stubbornly reeled until I could get the fish close
enough to heave it out of the water onto the rocks. It was a
yellow-bellied 20-inch long aholehole flapping inches from our shoe box.
This was fun! The fish were starting to bite, but the wind was blowing
harder. We threw our flapping catches into a water filled bucket next to
the bait. After a few more hard fighting monsters, I jumped over to the
shoe box for a mouthful and a pick-me up sip from the thermos.
CcrraasSh! Instinctively snapping towards the unusually threatening
sound, an immense white curtain dimly highlighted by the lantern loomed
skyward. The crushing sting of surf pushed up my sinuses sending me
momentarily reeling. In the pitch black Kyo and Dad yelled at the top of
their voice, which drowned in the seaside roar reaching my ears as
whispers. In seconds they crouched over us soaking wet, clutching their
awkwardly long poles. Dennis and I sat there dripping and shivering - no
sound from my transistor radio. Assured that we were okay, frantically,
we looked over the damage; everything was there, except for the bait and
the bucket.
White-washed, we felt our way back with the wind guffawing with each
step. I was relieved, anticipating the protected backseat, yet I grieved
over my soaked 9 transistor radio. I can still hear my Dad repeatedly
mumble namandab, namandab, namandab, grateful for a safe return, as if
relaying an echo from an infinite past....Hilo
Boy
