The One That Got Away

It’s always the big one. The monster. The one you’ve been searching for all weekend, the one that really fought and gave you the biggest thrill. That’s the fish that snaps your line. Why?

In this video, I know what it was for me. One word. . .  Panic.

I was out on Lake Mary, in Mammoth Lakes, CA. I had caught a trout about the size I expected. A youngster, about 11 inches, lucky if it was a pound.

When the fish in the video started to take me deeper underwater, I knew I had something special on the line. The video starts about a minute into the video. I actually had time to grab my phone, hand it to my girlfriend (your humble cameraperson) and put it into video mode.

The fish, the whole time, was headed up toward the boat, so I didn’t really know how hooked he was, or how big he was.

Once he put up resistance, the fight was great, my heart was pumping in the thin air.  Surprised by the weight on my line but still in fishing mode, I calmly played him and tried to keep him away from the boat. I put my beer in a safe place, and really started to fight him. Then the video starts.

You can see me play him decently, for a reel with too tight of a drag on. I let him take the rod, went with him, but kept the pressure on so he wouldn’t come loose. Then I saw him.

When I saw him, a huge shot of adrenaline hit me like a bomb. He was huge, especially for this lake.  Big green back, beautiful Rainbow trout colors gleaming. Something inside of me spazzed out in pure admiration of this fish, and the luck and awesomeness of me being able to hook him on my own. It was like years of fishing experience were all culminating right there, at that very moment.  All the times my uncles had yelled at me for making mistakes, until I no longer made them, had finally sunk in and I was now doing awesome stuff on my own.

That was when I realized I hadn’t brought a net. I pictured my beautiful big net sitting back at home in my studio. Damnit. I was using light line. I knew that. It was also old. Quadruple damnit!

So in my panic, I considered using a canvas bag I had on the boat as a net, but didn’t move on that thought fast enough. The fish came up, broke the surface with a big splash, and I panicked some more. I went to grab the line, sort of realized what I was doing, and just heard the line SNAP. I’m not sure if it was from when I touched it, or from the fish hitting the side of the boat, but it snapped.

I wasn’t disappointed. I had already had a blast fly fishing in Lake Crowley the day before, and watching my buddy Doug catch this beautiful brown trout. 

That was enough. I always look at any time on the water, as an increase in your odds of catching a dream fish. The couple of fish I hooked were right at the very last 15 minutes of my 4 day stay up around Mammoth. Hooking this monster at the end of my trip truly felt like a reward for my persistence, and patient application of all the things I’ve learned.

In the end, I learned a couple of things. Rather, I had some things instilled in me, that I was already aware of, but never lost a fish to.

1. Never touch the line on a fish like that. I’d heard it a zillion times. I’ll never forget it now though.

2.  Never be caught on any lake anywhere EVER, without a good sturdy net.

2. Don’t panic. A fish will only stay on your line so long. Panicking wastes the one resource you can;t get back. Time. It’s only a matter of time before the fish shakes loose or snaps your line against your boat. I should have grabbed my canvas bag and calmly guided the fish into it. Then I would have had him on a plate, rather than swimming around with a hook rusting in his mouth.

The fish learned a couple of things too, it’s likely. Maybe he’ll grow up to be that bi wiley bastard of Lake Mary that fishermen claim sightings of, but never catch. Maybe I’ll get that punk next year, net in hand. . . We shall see.

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RIP Article # 2 in a row. This time, it is the mighty “El Burrito”

My last post was a total bummer. It was about how my beloved Chihuahua had passed away. Nobody wants to write or read about that. Stiff upper lip, steady as she goes, onward, etc. . .

Then Tuesday on the way to work, I had to hit my brakes.  A big old Ford slammed into me. He rammed me into a full sized Chevy truck, a Cal Trans, tank behemoth of a truck. I hit him hard enough to slam him into a little Volvo.

The airbag popped in my face in that slow motion stereotypical shock and awareness of a big auto accident, and I knew I had been rear ended. Hard. 

I turned around, because I thought, in shock, “I’ve been rear ended, I wonder how bad my truck is?” I saw the Ford, grill split and radiator steaming on the freeway, smashed up behind me. It hadn’t occurred to look toward the front of my truck, but when I did, I saw the hood crumpled up way too close to the windshield, like a piece of painted foil all twisted and mangled like a crunchy dry leaf.

This whole time I was in real shock. I was trying to figure out what the airbag was, as it had apparently appeared out of nowhere and did not make any sense to me. My phone had fallen down to the passenger foot area, and I picked it up. There were weird gasses in the cab because of the airbag, and possibly some steam from the radiator. Not sure. It was all so sudden and so instant. My  whole world just came crashing to a screeching halt for a second.

I was in shock. I tied to gather my thoughts, and so I looked at my phone and snapped a pic to record the time and GPS coordinates, a trick I learned in CERT training. All this was coming back to me. I dialed 9-1-1 carefully and pressed send, head in a fog, and spoke with a man on the other end. While I was talking, I wiggled my toes and fingers to make sure everything worked. I felt every big bone, and twisted my ankles around. Everything was working. The guy on the other end of the phone asked what happened.

“I was just in a big accident on the 134 westbound at Cahuenga, my name is Alfred Montez.”The guy at the other end said that help was on its way, and by that time, the Metro Patrol was behind me, lights blaring. I hung up the phone, as I figured this guy would get CHP There. All this was going through my mind, and so my mind went to some interesting places. One thought was “What if I’m really in shock, like I’ve heard about, and there’s a big piece of metal in my head?”

So I looked in the mirror, almost expecting a rod going through my eye, or some other gnarly gore. My whole body was still buzzing from the accident. . . . The lumbar area of my seat felt like a mule kicking me in the lower back, I felt like my back was vibrating, but not anything worse than taking a good tackle and falling wrong, or just taking a bad suplex. You know, guy shit. I kid. I started filming with my cell phone for documentation purposes, but here is some of it edited a bit, with some awesome sappy sad music because this was a HUGE bummer for me. You can also see the Ford that killed my Burrito in there. I will never, ever, in my whole life, own a Ford truck.

It was a nasty wreck worthy of a sigalert, a tow off the freeway, and a total loss of my beloved “Burrito”, my 2006 Tacoma, and the first vehicle I ever bought new.  My friend who lived nearby was listening to the morning traffic report and heard about a “4 car pile up”. That was me! So I was in the news, got that going for me.

My truck was mashed. I was hit by a big old truck, who for some reason was fine. A full sized Ford. Colorado plates nailed me going REALLY fast. I can’t tell you how fast, but the forces involved made a mess of my truck.

Enough. Enough madness and bad luck, I’ve had it. I’m fine, but I don’t have a daily driver for the first time in about 12 years. I work really far from home. I need a car. I’m also have a Vegas trip planned for the Kentucky Derby in four days. What the hell am I supposed to do?

A few weeks ago I uncharacteristically dropped and broke a growler of Ballast Point Habanero Sculpin IPA trying to pour myself a beer. A full gallon growler, bigger than usual. I didn’t even get a taste of it. Well, actually I did at the brewery, just enough to know what I was missing, and hate the situation even more.

All my life, I’ve thought the following about country music:

All you need to lose to write a great country song, is a truck, a dog and a six pack.

Well, I’ve got material. I’ve got so much material right now. I’ve got challenges, failures and successes that I can’t even write about, at least not here. Shit has been tough and good in other ways at the same time lately. I feel due for some good luck, people tell me the same. I try to be good. . . People tell me I am due for a good run, I should have some built up Karma. . . others tell me don’t push it, or take it easy. . . people who don’t know me that well.  My buddy Ian told me to let it blow over, take it easy in Vegas and get some R&R in.

“Fuck it all” I tell myself. Fuck all the bad shit. . . I should just go to Vegas as scheduled. I borrow my buddies car, use it to go to work and Ian rides home with me that Thursday night. Then straight off to Vegas a full night early.

The Vegas trip will get its own entry, it deserves it.

The silver lining in the car situation, I suppose is my new friend Peggy. So much to tell. In a nutshell, after a bureaucratic mess of running around printing this, scanning that, mailing this and paying for that, moving imaginary money that I worked for across electronic banks and smiling for the nice lady and signing on the dotted line. . . . after all that . . .and without further ado I give you my new ship;

Peggy Subaru.

 

Puerto Rico Day 3 – The Cathedrals and some more beverages.

Day 3

San Juan was cool, but after two days of 85 degrees and 85% humidity, and last night here in this tiny box of a room, I could use a change of pace. My drunken travelling partner was kicking on the bed, and a little headache building.

We kept our word and woke up early, made our way up to the big cathedral on top of the hill. A big old hill, with a pretty brutal hangover, and the weather is just getting hotter and more humid out here. We saw the Castillo de San Cristobal, and that was really cool. Walking around up top provided a nice view, but most of this particular fort was closed. It looked a lot like El Morro anyway, so we kept walking, heading for the big steeple that poked up over houses and buildings every now and then.

The cathedrals were REALLY nice. The first one we saw was the Cathedral of San Juan Bautista, aka John the Baptist. This place was really cool, especially because it had the tomb of one of my favorite historical characters, a conquistador by the name of Ponce De Leon. Anybody foolish enough to lead whole columns of troops to their death in pursuit of the fountain of the youth is okay in my book.  To me it was a great example of how prideful they must have been to actually go out in pursuit of a crazy legend like the fountain of youth. A big part of me wants to scream “what an idiot!”, but I mean, they didn’t know any better.

There was plenty to look at in the old cathedral, from the giant pipe organ, to the creepy Jesus in a box .  The whole place was beautiful, but I was sweating my ass off in there, and I just didn’t feel all that great. At one point, I was taking pictures inside, and as I backed up I bumped into a nun. The nuns down there don’t wear the penguin looking outfits we’re used to up here. they wear these dark green and navy blue frocks that look as comfortable as burlap sacks in the balmy heat. I bumped into her going slowly, but she was so small, I felt horribly. She appeared to be okay, but I was apologizing profusely and just wanted to get out of there. Was covered in sweat and even though the cathedral was huge, I felt stifled and needed air.

I kind of chalk that up to my super shitty breakfast. We made the mistake in the early morning of trying to get some kind of egg and bacon in the heart of touristy Old San Juan. It was a really terrible breakfast. The coffee was nasty, the orange juice was actually Tang, but still $3, and instead of hasbrowns, it came with french fries. French fries for breakfast.

We also walked up to the old cathedral, the San Jose Cathedral, which I found out was actually Ponce De Leon’s original resting place. He was moved in the 1800s to the newer cathedral above. This cathedral was closed, but it was also the oldest significant example of construction on the whole island according to everybody around it. Everybody out here seems to be a tour guide, and knows EVERYthing about their city and surroundings. Pretty awesome aspect of the people out here.

So anyway, the old cathedral was closed, but your trusty author managed to sneak a few pics through an open window, and Here’s one, I wonder how old these guys are.  Here’s another shot of the old brickwork, looking REALLY old.

I felt a little better after this, it was cooler on top of the hill with the old cathedral and it’s plaza. There was a little bar on the corner with two stools facing the outside, and we stopped in for a variety of different Pina Coladas. The bartender was really friendly, and snapped this pic of us drinking. We had a few rounds, and talked to a couple of interesting couples at this bar. One was from Ponce, a city on the south side of the island, and the other was british, I believe. The bar had a lot of east coast beers, which really made me happy, and once again, drunk.

In the afternoon , I managed to head back to our little dive bar and struck up that booze deal I was so looking forward to. Only been here about 72 hours, already hung over and carrying contraband around with me everywhere.

So the deal was to meet him at noon the next day to make the buy, inside the bar, which blew my mind. Usually, well, out in LA, even a bottle of water from the outside, will get tossed in the trash, or get you kicked out of the bar. Here, a bartender had actually made arrangements for me to buy moonshine off a guy, while I was drinking in his bar.

What hospitality! I felt like the ATF was gonna swoop down on us at any moment, but no, he just handed me a shopping bag, like a plastic grocery bag, with a bottle wrapped up inside. He put the thing on the freaking bar! It was super casual, the bartender was hip, and I put it in my backpack after quickly and quietly paying $20 USD. We had a couple more shots, and walked out.

We did see some cool buildings, and some interesting ruins. By ruins, I mean these buildings where the facade was standing, but you could see that the interior had collapsed. Some were reinforced with steel, some were obviously still crumbling. 

It looked like they were get eaten by plants, it was kind of creepy looking, and really cool. 

In the afternoon at Raices again, and while it was delicious, it kind of dawned on me how we had eaten pretty much ONLY fried foods since we had arrived. I also noted that we didn’t see any veggies anywhere, and you couldn’t get any kind of salad that is worth a damn on this island. I feel really California saying that,  but that’s ok. I’d kill for a fruit bag from one of those side of the road cart vendors at the moment.

On the way back to the room, we made a long detour to our new favorite local bars (as opposed to the extreme divey liquor dealing one) La Bahia Tropical. There we re-met up with David, and he was excited to see us. He kept buying us drinks and got us extremely wasted. While we were drinking, there was a protest going on at the capitol building, which happened to be right behind us.

There we were, drinking Medalla beers in the sun, when a group of Labor Union guys came up and put down their picket signs, and picked up beers. It was really weird how casually it went from a big demonstration to what I actually thought was a union organized party. It was just a bunch of them buying each other beers! Weird. We drank with them until we couldn’t see straight, and David was rambling about some party he insisted we come to. He said his DJ buddy, DJ BARRON was gonna be spinning, there would be lots of NENAS which is the female version of a a Coño. We would be treated to an excellent time, but It would mean another day in San Juan, but he had gotten us really drunk, and he was super nice and accommodating  so we said what the hell, lets stay another day. So he helped us find a room right there on the spot, and sent us on our way.

What we ended up scoring were two separate rooms in a really nice looking place called “Plaza De Armas” hotel.  This place is really nice. The rooms were nice and clean, and completely separate. I have a big bed, and set up all my electronics and stuff to charge up and get ready for the tomorrow, which at this point is still completely unplanned. I want to go to Vieques Island, but it sounds like another tourist trap, I really don’t want to get stuck in that type of town.

Time for bed for tonight, and we shall see how it all goes down tomorrow. Feeling a bit drunk and this room is freezing with the AC. This town has two temperature settings. Tropical heat, and arctic blast.

Puerto Rico Day 2 – The Day Of The Rum and Pork Chops

I don’t ever need to go back to Condado beach. After seeing a little more of San Juan, specifically Old San Juan, there’s no justification for going to Condado, and now I also know why the room in the big hotel chain was so cheap. Don’t let them fool you with the whole “There’s a casino in the hotel” advertising. The casino is a sweaty little room full of slot machines, closed in by brass cage like bars and full of people who don’t like the sun. Definitely not what I came to Puerto Rico for.

This morning after a shower and a shave, we took a cab up to Old San Juan. It was funny how close we actually walked to the old city the day before. We had quit and turned around maybe two blocks away, and ended up inside a little rum bar called “La Bahia Tropical“. Inside we met a bartender named David, who introduced us to a local drink called Chichaito. Basically it tasted like Sambucca, a licorice or anise flavored liquor that really packs a flavor punch. A lot of people are turned off by licorice, but I like it, and had a few, along with a handful of the local light lager, Medalla light. Here’s a shot of the moment, in the sun and humidity, where I finally felt relaxed and had a nice beer in front of me. David is in the background with some customers, and this is in the plaza directly behind the Capitol building. It was extra nice being able to drink outside, listening to the bar’s music blaring with a cold beer in hand. This was our first real bar time, and it was really nice. Don Q rum in everything. Limes.

Earlier in the day, somebody recommended a place called Raices for lunch, and we made our way there for today.  Raices was awesome. I felt bad at having judged mofongos by the ones we had in Condado. These were magic, way better made, and a lot more flavorful. Also much bigger. I had one wrapped in skirt steak, and stuffed with shrimp, and it was amazing. We also had a giant pitcher of awesome Sangria, and it was extra cold in the aluminum cups and pitcher. Very sweet, very refreshing, and great little restaurant. Jonesy fell in love with the local traditional garb, and the waitresses in the white hair wraps laughed when he tried his Spanish on them. They were all sweet, the food was awesome, and it was good to be in the old city. Jonesy had a mountain of something or other, no doubt some fried plantain starch served fried with a sauce. (Upon editing and further inspection, this is where Jones battled the giant pork chop known as a can-can) A metric fuck-ton of food, and while the place was a bit commercial, there were also plenty of locals having their dinner there, and that was very encouraging.

After our enormous lunch we were full and wanted to walk it off, so we took off and just went wherever looked nice. We saw the Governor’s Mansion, which had a street that led out from it, that used to be used as the main Horse Racing track. I couldn’t imagine hauling ass on a big ole horse, down these narrow cobblestone streets, with people screaming and betting on either side. . .

On our walk, we came across a cool old church, with a nice little plaza in front. There was a garden with benches, and on those benches was this fellow, who we listened to for a while.

We talked to him and figured out that what he was playing was, to him, a more carribean type of merengue music, mixed in with some folky salsa type of “musica tradicional”. He said they called him El Moreno, and we hung out with him for a while, he willing to teach, and us standing around loving it. Some of his tunes even had that weird Paul Simon type groove to them, like a weird seldom explored type of ska, or Caribe, called Mereng, as opposed to the more familiar Merengue. It was all in there, all whipped together with different feels and rhythms that I loved. The beats were simple and tight, upbeat, without being bright, still dark and Creole from El Caribe . Criollo.

After our music lesson we walked up to el Castillo San Felipe del Morro and explored the site. The entry fee was around six dollars, and was definitely worth it.

Here’ an album of pics from the fort. Toward the end of this album, the pics with the old graveyard next door are among my favorites. Especially the ones with the neighborhood “La Perla” showing in the back. We were warned away from this area, and I hope to steer clear at all times. No need to be unnecessarily bold out here.

We really got to walk all around the fort, and the site was awesome. There were slots for so many cannons, it must have been brutal trying to cruise up to this island under an enemy flag.

We also walked around the outside, and got to see some gigantic iguanas hanging out in the nooks and crannies. We ended up walking again for most of the morning, and we were pretty thirsty. I had read about a little brewery in old San Juan called Harbor.  It was pretty decent, they made a pale ale that was really light. Too light. When I made the lightest beer I’ve ever brewed, it was similar to their regular ale. A little too pale for an everyday beer.

I didn’t try anything else, and we walked back up the street to find a real bar. We walked past several little obvious tourist traps, full of people fresh off a cruise ship that had pulled into harbor. I couldn’t help but think that I looked the same as them to the real locals, but still tried to somehow separate myself from them.

This was accomplished by drinking in the the types of bars where the average tourist wouldn’t dare. The kind of bar where you keep small bills in your shirt pocket to pay quickly and in cash. Not a lot of eye contact, but lots of music and strong drink. Most everything on the island seemed to cost one US dollar if you knew where to look for it, and most every place we went to had a mom and pop feel to it, which I enjoyed thoroughly. 

This one little place in particular seemed way out of place so close to the hardcore tourists. I don’t even recall a bar sign, or a name of the business posted outside, we just walked by and knew it was a bar. People staggering out, music blasting, and no apparent food service, but a big crowd. Once inside, the simple wooden bar greeted you, with the chips and peanut bag stands behind it, and a couple of locals tending the bar.

All the shots come in little plastic cups, like what we use for salsa up here in CA. We kept coming back to this drink called Chichaito, this particular one was flavored and made with coconut. It was called Coquito.  I like coconut anyway, but this stuff was amazing.

Funny thing was, I asked where I could buy a bottle of it, and the bartender told me it was a type of moonshine. He said it was “hecho en casa”, or home made. Then he said (in Spanish) “There he goes now” and pointed me to a fellow in a coat, which was weird for the weather, but I wasn’t asking questions.

Before I knew it, I had struck a deal with this guy Jorge, the Coquito maker, to buy a bottle off him tomorrow, and that it would be $20. I got his phone number, and he asked me to call him to make sure I was going to need the bottle. I assured him I’d buy it, but I would call anyway. We had already checked into our room earlier in the day and we needed to head out though, good day sir.

We got a room in the Hotel “Casablanca”.This place sounded Spectacular, and the lobby was fairly decked out. I couldn’t wait to see what type of luxurious room we had for the day. When we got to the room, there was only one bed. There wasn’t another bed available, not even a cot or anything, so I will sleep on top of the blankets, and Jonesy underneath them. The cieling is really high, almost vaulted, but the room is stupid narrow, and there’s no room around the bed for anything. This is the room the hotel sacrificed to young couples or something. It was really, really small is my main point here. We curled up on the too small bed and kept our distance. Our manhood intact, we went to bed early, and made plans to hit the cathedrals the tomorrow. We are running out of things to do here in town and need to figure something out. This place looked spectacular, but the AC isn’t working right,and it’s hot and humid, and this tiny bed, etc. . . .Also, Jonesy has been drinking non stop since we got here, and if I know him, he’s just building up steam. I’m fairly buzzed from the divey bar, bought some tylenol after the bar.

Puerto Rico trip Part 4 – Morning in vieques.

This morning I’m in Vieques, a tiny island off the eastern coast of Puerto Rico. I can’t believe my luck at having found this place. After 3 days of walking, hustling, busses, and the grimy streets of Puerto Rico, this little island is the tropical paradise that I thought didn’t exist anymore. Yet here it is, full of vibrant colors, sounds, plants, people and animals.

This morning for example, when the sun woke me up, I opened the window to let the sea breeze in and found a little lizard staring back at me. In L.A. when the sun wakes me up, it’s a terrible nuisance, but out here, it was like some awesome force telling me to get out of bed and enjoy the time I have in the island.

I went down to the office for coffee and had a slice of papaya with some yogurt, and a boiled egg for breakfast. I’m staying at the Seagate, which is a working horse and chicken farm. Right now I’m sitting on the balcony outside my room, enjoying the breeze and thinking that this is probably the best setting I’ve ever had to sit down and write.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with this fine day, but it won’t be wasted. Right now the idea is to go fishing, but depending on the cost, I may just go wandering around the island.

I met a fellow yesterday on the ferry over to the island. At first I was a little put off by how he just came and sat at my table, but after talking for a while, I found out his brother is a very very famous baseball player….somebody I’ve arched round the bases many times. He also treated me to some drinks and even got me a ride up to my hotel after arriving on dry land. Then after I checked in, got my bags stowed and was ready to go out for the night, he came and picked us up.

Driving entirely too fast on dark, winding jungle roads, blasting salsa music and talking about fishing, drinking, girls, wives and all the troubles that come with them, we finally arrived at our destination. It was another side of this tiny island, really quiet compared to the ferry landing and completely charming. A small dusty road, lined. I either side with the types of little beach bars and shacks I dreamed of. Music blasting on every corner, and people dancing heartily, natives mixing with tourists and rum mixing with lime and ice for refreshment.

I even had a fat Puerto Rican cigar, dark brown and thick as two of my fingers. Took about 45 minutes to get through it, but it was wonderful. I had it while sitting sipping drinks on a wooden bench,(Thats Jonesy over there too)  to my left was the sea, and to my right was a group of beautiful Puerto Rican women who would pay a tourist no mind. They were there to dance, and while my pocho salsa dance moves would suffice for a family wedding, or dancing with friends, here I was out of my league. My new friend however, had all the moves. It was awesome to see him dancing the night away with just about every girl in the place, while I had Medalla beers and more rum mixed with whatever. At one point, I turned to my left and glanced at the water, to see three devil fish (manta ray) cruising slowly along in the shallow surf.

The bar had an interesting nationalist feel to it. This island has suffered much at the hands of the US Navy, setting up shop in her natural bays and the locals carry that history around with them. Behind the bar you saw drawings made with slogans or messages about kicking the US out of their waters. There has been a lot of testing on the island, and a bomb was even dropped on a local once, sparking the ire of the whole community, and making fishermen charge destroyers in tiny little fishing boats. Incredible story that deserves a lot more than a blog post, really incredible art and rebellious nature to this whole affair.

I’ve made up my mind about one thing though, next time I come down here, and I will, I will come straight to Vieques. Puerto Rico is not without its charm, but this island really did deliver something I thought was out of reach for me. I thought I’d have to be surrounded by tourists to see beaches this beautiful. I thought I would have to pay too much, and feel bad for having spent all the money, but this place is completely affordable and in some cases mind blowingly inexpensive.

To top it all off, on the ferry over, we noticed a whole bunch of people carrying instruments of all shapes and sizes. Big cases for horns, keyboards, drums, almost anything you could think of. In line for the ferry I asked a lady what it was they were all going to, and she let me know about the Vieques cultural festival.   By some stroke of beautiful luck, it happens to be going down this weekend, not even 200 yards from the farm where we’re staying.

Tonight, I just had to sit down and write here, because I don’t know when I’ll ever feel is inspired by my surroundings alone, again. Looking out at the bay, sailboats cruising along, sun glistening off the bright azure waters, and now that I’ve got a little writing out of the way I can hear some music firing up at the fort down the road. I think I’ll wander down there and have a chichaito from my bottle to get started.