The move to Westloch was an experience I did not want to repeat anytime soon. We had been living in a three-bedroom house. Though it was small, I had my own bedroom. We were now going to live in a two-bedroom house. I had to share my bedroom with my older brother. Older brothers can be a lot of fun because they can teach you all sorts of things. However, I didn't like the idea of giving up my own room. I would try to make the most of it for my parents' sake.
Though my brother was two and a half years older than I, we were very close. We had to be close. Since we moved so frequently, friendships were hard to develop and keep. We were close because we constantly did things together. We played games like home run derby by the hours. We swam; we fished. We were almost inseparable. Sharing my room with Karl was one of the best things that ever happened to me.
There were no banana trees in the yard, but there were three coconut palms in the backyard. There was also a mango tree, where I learned the painful lesson not to eat green mangoes. The yard was shaped like an "L" with the long part running along the road. The yard was big enough for my brother and me to play home run derby, if we used tennis ball instead of baseballs.
There was no front yard. The front door opened onto a porch and sidewalk running in front of it. Just beyond the sidewalk was a short embankment that was covered with foliage that was thick enough in which to play hide and seek.
At the bottom of the embankment was a dirt road that circled the bay. There were two pools separated from the bay by sea walls. A little further into the bay was a broken down jetty that I used to fish deeper water.
I also fished the smaller inner pools. In one of the pools lived a barracuda. He was about six feet long and probably weighed ten or fifteen pounds. Barracuda are very vicious and will attack almost anything especially if their territory is invaded. They have razor sharp teeth and have been known to attack men. I called him Old Jake.
He was a cagey old fish. Whatever I used to entice him to striking my hooks was ignored by him. That must be why he had lived to be so big. I could actually see him in the murky water, slowly fanning his fins and flicking his tail. It was as if he was defying me to catch him. Occasionally, he would slash out at a fish that ventured too close to him. Otherwise, he seemed not to be interested in moving. As hard as I tried, I never caught him.
Japanese fishermen came to the base to fish in the harbor. They had to be sponsored by one of the military people stationed there to come on the base to fish. This sponsorship had to be approved by my Dad.
Dad was the officer in charge of the Marine guard detachment at the base. He signed the permits for them to have access to certain areas of the base. They were only allowed to go to certain places because of ammunition stored there. My brother and I got to know most of them well.
One of them became my special friend. I called him Uncle Joe. I don't know if I ever knew his real name. Uncle Joe was an old hump-backed man with a crooked, infectious smile that revealed only a few teeth. When he smiled, his eyes lit up with a sparkle bright enough to blind a person. His hands were gnarled and calloused from years of hard labor in the sugar cane fields. He was a small man. He looked as though a good stiff breeze would blow him away.
Uncle Joe fished mostly for mullet, using wire traps and weighted throwing nets. The nets weighed more than twenty-five pounds. I couldn’t lift them very well. Uncle Joe taught me a lot about the art of fishing. He taught me what type of bait to use. He taught me how to bait a hook so the bait would stay on. He taught me where to fish. He taught me how to catch my own bait. One of the frequently used bait was soft-shelled crab. Uncle Joe not only taught me how to catch them, he also paid me for them. Soft-shelled crabs are crabs that have shed their shells to grow, much like snakes shed their skins. When they are soft, they are particularly vulnerable to predators. They are slow and defenseless. To catch them, I waded- into shallow pools of water, usually at low tide. I wore tennis shoes so I didn’t cut my feet on the rocks, coral and shell fragments. I had to watch out for rusty metal too.
The water is fairly clear at low tide. The crabs are easily spotted. I still had to be careful. Sometimes a hard-shelled crab looked like a soft-shelled one (soft-shells are usually darker in color). The hard-shelled crabs pinched careless fingers painfully.
During the week, I gathered as many crabs as I could. I froze them and waited for Uncle Joe to arrive on the weekend. I was always anxious to see what kinds of things he would bring me to pay for the bait. One time he brought me a pair of fishing tabbies, like he wore. They were rubber-soled slippers with cloth uppers that hooked at the ankle. They were specially made to walk on oyster beds and coral reefs. I really was proud of those fishing tabbies.
Fishing was an exciting activity that I enjoyed a lot. I came home from school, rushed through any homework I had and ran down to the bay with my fishing equipment. Sometimes I fished using a long bamboo pole, fishing line, hook, and a bobber. Other times I used a spinning rod and reel and lures. I cast my lure out, slowly reel it back in and cast it out again. Once in a while, I would see a fish following the lure; ready to strike. Sometimes the fish just turned away; sometimes struck the lure. That was when it was most exciting! It was frustrating when they didn’t bite the lure. It did add to the excitement, however.
Whenever a fish did take the hook, the fun began! A jerk of the line set the hook. I had to be careful to reel in the line at just the right speed. If it was too fast, the line could snap. If it was too slow, the fish could slip the hook from its mouth. It took a lot of skill to land a big fish.
I didn’t keep most of the fish I caught. I released them after removing the hook. If I kept them, I had to clean them. That was the one part of fishing I didn’t enjoy.
Fishing wasn’t the only thing I liked to do. I couldn’t swim in the bay because it was not allowed by the Navy. There was a swimming pool nearby. It was a favorite spot for the neighborhood kids to meet on a hot summer day. We went there almost every day. It was refreshing, except after it was cleaned. The pool had to be drained to be cleaned because there was no filtration system. We enjoyed playing in the pool while it was being filled with water. The water was cold as it filled the pool. The tropical sun soon warmed the water.
I didn't have as much freedom of movement as I did at the other base. It was harder to get off the .base. The guards weren't as friendly. They didn't care if I ever went exploring in the sugar cane fields. I still managed to roam around a little. I could wonder around the base almost much as I wanted.
While wondering around the base, I found a small hole in the fence. It was hidden from sight by trees and bushes. To see it, I had to be almost on top of it. It was just big enough for me to squeeze through. Every chance I had, I wiggled through the hole and explored the surrounding sugar cane fields. I didn't pay any attention to the warning Sam had given me earlier. I didn't care about the dangers, as long as I was having fun exploring. I was an independent person and did what I wanted to do. However, I did miss Sam and my other friends. I couldn't make new friends here very easily. I really didn't try that hard to make friends. I preferred being alone.
One day, I made my escape into the cane fields. It was a hot, dry summer day. The pool was closed for cleaning, so I couldn't find relief there. I chose the cane fields because the stalks stood above my head and gave me some shade and relief from the heat. As I wandered aimlessly around, I thought about Sam and all the neat stories he told. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Suddenly, I tripped over something!
"Ouch! Hey, watch where you are going!" the voice shouted.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"I come here a lot to get away from my brothers. Besides, it’s cool here."
"Hey, I know who you are! You’re the new kid, aren’t you?" I asked.
"Yea, what about it?"
"My name's Mike. What’s yours?"
"Brian."
"How old are you?" I asked.
"I’m almost ten. Why?"
"Maybe we can be friends. I’m almost ten too."
"That would be great!" Brian answered.
Brian and I became friend quickly, though his father was an enlisted man and my father was an officer. That was a breach of military protocol. Brian and I didn't care much for protocol. We cared for each other. We were both kind of outcasts. We developed a strong bond that lasted until I had to go back to the mainland with my family. We lost track of one another because his father retired and moved too.