Way back in 1988, when I was a pup, I went on a sailing trip to Catalina Island with my boyfriend at the time and his uncle, on said uncle’s tiny sail boat. All I remember of the trip is the interior of the tiny cabin, where my innards did their best to evert themselves both on the trip there and the trip back. This was the occasion on which I learned that it’s really best not to try to be on the ocean with a head cold; the motion sickness will make you wish that you were dead.

I’ve been on the ocean a number of times since then, in rough weather and smooth. I’ve been on roller coasters. I’ve been in airplanes and helicopters. I’ve repelled off of freakin’ buildings. I’ve never had more than a twinge of motion sickness since. I thought that I was immune. I even lost sympathy for those poor souls afflicted by it, one of whom is my dear husband. I would never laugh, mind you, but I also didn’t quite get it any more.

Oh, have I been humbled.

One of my favorite bloggers and authors,  Hank Shaw, has put together a most interesting and unusual book tour. Instead of sitting in a chair behind a desk signing books in a store, he developed events that highlighted what the book is actually about. And since Hunt, Gather, Cook is about doing just what the title suggests, he has some really neat things going. This was not the only fishing trip that he has planned, and there are dinners featuring wild foods and I believe some foraging events too. I was really looking forward to it, and to meeting both him and his girlfriend, Holly Heyser, who I also find a very interesting read.

I even made this one of the first girls’ events that I’ve had anything to do with in a long time. My friend Shelley is interested in lots of the same things, and has been ocean fishing for many years. And since we rarely get away from our men, this looked like the perfect opportunity.

And we were all set up to have a ball. I swung through her town and picked her up on Friday night – a good idea since we live farther away from Half Moon Bay than just about anyone on the trip, possibly excluding Holly and Hank. We got to yammering so much on the road that I actually missed our turn, and we ended up almost at the Berkeley marina before we got turned around and headed in the right direction, which took us through massive traffic. I think it took us four hours to get there, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was enjoying the company.

We had a nice evening but kept it low-key due to the early morning planned. It would be an early alarm even for me, and I get to work at 6 AM. But we got to the dock on time the next morning and found our boat, the Huli-Cat. It was only two slips down from the last boat I took out of there, which isn’t all that small of a coincidence in a marina that small.

The trip started off nicely. The people seemed interesting. I’d expected that we’d be in the minority as country folk, and I was right, but for once there wasn’t the usual prejudice against hunters that one tends to find in a group of city people. On the contrary, some of these people seemed to be on the forefront of a new wave of young urban hunters, so we had more in common than I might have thought. As we motored out of the harbor, I was having an interesting conversation with one couple, a mushroom hunter and a large game hunter. But then I noticed that it was really best if I kept my eyes on the horizon. I told them that I was listening and just feeling a little odd, but it’s really challenging to have a conversation with someone who simply will not look at you, and is turning slightly green.

Getting to the fishing spot was a little rough, but I was hoping that once the boat slowed down, I would recover somewhat. And I did, a little. Enough to drop my line in the water after rockfish. The first time I hauled it back up, it had two fish on it, one on each hook! I was mighty pleased, but getting sicker by the minute. It was really hard to find any joy in catching the biggest fish of my life when I was a little more worried that I might not make it to the stern rail to chum. I’m really not even sure what color that fish was.

So for the next lifetime, or possibly eight hours or so, I alternated sitting in the back of the boat clenching my jaw, willing my stomach to stay where it belonged and staring at the horizon like it was my job with stumbling my way to my rod at the bow. I’d drop the line in, catch two more fish, and stumble my way back. I did this often enough to get five nice fish into the boat (a couple slipped off the hooks) before I had just had it. And yes, we’d each taken anti-nausea medicine the night before and again when it started to hit me. It wasn’t even rough weather, and my ears weren’t clogged up, but I sure had a hard time. I wasn’t the only one, either. Two other women were having at least as hard a time of it as I was. Shelley made the curious observation that we’d all seem to feel a little better in cycles, and then it would hit us all again at roughly the same time. Eventually, the medicine did kick in a little bit, and I no longer wanted to die. Things weren’t great and I still couldn’t look down or focus on small things (such as my camera) but hurling wasn’t such an immediate proposition.

Of course, twenty minutes before we got back to the dock, the medicine kicked in good and well, and I started to come alive again. By then it was too late. I never got to talk to some of these really interesting people like I wanted to do, and I didn’t even get to catch my limit. I did sit and watch a lot, and did a lot of listening, and got clued in a little bit to a whole different world than I’m used to, and that was interesting. The life of the urban forager is very different from mine. The lengths they have to go to to get freshly-grown produce is interesting to someone who really should walk out back and collect my own eggs and vegetables. They don’t have that luxury. I do, and I’m sure glad I do.

But even though I’m still a little urpy at home tonight, I’m glad I went. It was interesting. I had a great time with Shelley and we have plans to do some more things on our own. It’s good to have girlfriends who like to do non-traditional girlfriend stuff.I enjoyed meeting Hank and Holly, and the other people on the boat. And I may not entirely be put off of the ocean fishing thing, but you can bet that next time, I’m going to drug myself to the gills just in case.