An Observing Adventure. Or, The Old Man and the Octopus

today i went down to Puerto Chico, a big long pier along the bay where people go to walk ("dar un paseo"), ride their bikes, sit and read, meet friends, fish, etc. The fishing part is what we're dealing with here.

i brought my journal, and was sitting having a lovely time writing, looking out over the water at the mountains on the other side, with the sun going down over to my right behind some spectacular gray-blue clouds. i saw lots of dogs and had serious pet envy. a fat woman dressed head-to-toe in purple came and sat on the bench behind me and filed her nails for a long time.

there were lots of men fishing -- every few yards was another guy with a long fishing rod, sitting on the big metal things they tie boats to. the one closest to me was a tall old man with a tweed golfer's hat -- the kind the farmer wore in "babe." he looked lonely, sitting there with his fishing rod, just quiet and patient. all of a sudden his rod bent down in a big curve -- such is the sudden excitement of his chosen sport! some kids on bikes wheeled over to see what was going on, and quickly a small crowd formed. i of course couldn't resist joining, so i hurried over to the line of people all leaning over at the same angle to look along the pier at the commotion. a neighboring fisherman ran over with a big round net at the end of a rope. a murmur came down the line of anxious obvservers -- "es un pulpo! ha enganchado un pulpo!" ("it's an octopus! he's caught an octopus!") the man next to me said surely the guardia civil (civil police officially, but much, much more to spaniards) were on their way to charge him up to 200 euro; although fishing octopus cannot be illegal here, i've seen enough droopy, gelatinous carcasses in fish markets to know that for sure. i later asked my roommate and she said it's illegal to catch them off the pier. but that octopus must have known, because he was holding on so hard under the water -- i didn't see it, i never saw it come above the surface. but that old man was pulling and pulling, and the octopus was not having any of it. secretly i was rooting for the slimy guy. i could just see him with every little suction cup hanging on to the pier for dear life...they're supposed to be very, very smart. poor little (big! he must have been big) guy. finally, at the height of the struggle, SNAP! the fishing line broke. the octopus was victorious. i cheered inside. the crowd dispersed quickly -- nothing more to see with a broken fishing line and an octopus that was surely hightailing (hightentacling?) his way out of there. the kids on the bikes were the last to leave, lingering to chat with the old man, i think hoping for a relapse of excitement. but soon they drifted away as well, leaving the little old man by himself again. he sat back down on the bollard (i looked it up -- the things you tie big boats to), with his rod re-baited and ready. although i think he sat a little straighter this time.