Into the fall, Tim has become busy, including weekends.
It's crab season, however, and we haven't forgotten. Sunday
morning, after reading at the coffee shop for two hours,
I bought the bait, a chicken quarter, at a nearby Philipino
market, filled the gas tank, picked up Tim (who's just off
math training) and gears, and headed to SF.
We entered via the Bay Bridge and skirted the edge of the
city toward our spot. The area has always been bustling and
crowded with people. This weekend was no exception, although
tourists seemed to be the majority.
Runners had to be local and many looked very fit, parading
their six-packs and, in compression wear, sexy legs up and
down the streets, oblivious. It often reminded me of GK
joking that, whereas Californians had to keep good looks in
case their marriages wouldn't work out, in the mid-west,
putting on body weight was a sign of commitment.
West to Fisherman's Wharf, the SF Municipal Pier is a
concrete curve stretching out from one end of the Aquatic
Park into the Bay. Between it and the straight Hyde Street
Pier at the other end, they form an enclosure with an
opening facing Alcatraz. Within the corral is swimmer
heaven, except near the edge, where we crab.
The aging pier is a popular tourist attraction and over the
years we have become part of it. People, especially those
with kids, often stop and watch when we hoist up the cage
to share the excitment. They ask questions and tell us where
they are from and we often have a nice chat. Tim plays the
crabbing authority, passing around his deep knowledge of the
art plus local rules while showing off the catch.
Most tourists we talked to were friendly. There were
exceptions, though. Once an elderly couple came to tell us
that we broke the law. And this round, a mid-aged lady
over-did it to two anglers some distance from us. I didn't
know the details, but the guy was furious: "I want an
apology! You are very rude!" as he was taking her to the
front gate to read the law. (People stand pat with their
opinions once expressed. I don't think he got her apology.)
Waiting for crabs can be boring. Ghirardelli Square, a mall
built around the famous chocolate factory (I don't like
their chocolates, BTW), sits across the street and we walk
there for the public restroom. We often visit the shop, too,
where they used to give out free samples. Their chocolate
chip cookie, however, costs almost five dollars a piece, a
clear rip-off as almost everything else in that mall. One
day, coming out of "The Cheese School," a big-ticket cafe,
without buying anything, I told Tim: "The world is full of
traps; just make sure you are not that crab."
Our catch that day was five good-sized red rock crabs,
enough for a meal, and we headed home.
