For what is now nearly four decades, I have made fishing trips up and down the coast. For the past decade an additional east-west trip was required to reach the coastal routes, a trip from Fresno to (usually) Paso Robles. Over the years I’ve begun to divide what can be a long trip down into shorter trips. Thus I view the roughly two-hour trip along HY 41 to HY 101 as an hour’s trip to Kelleman City (55 miles) and a separate hour's trip to Paso Robles (53 more miles). It’s roughly another hour to Pismo Beach and so on. For me, it seems to make the trips seem shorter.
Saturday I once again headed over to the coast. I was on my way to attend another friend’s passing — Santa (Mike Spence). I planned to stay the night in San Luis Obispo and do some fishing Saturday night/Sunday morning. Like most trips, there’s a combination of sights (if you open your eyes) and thoughts along the way and this trip was no different. The first hour from Fresno to Kettleman City is, for the most part, pretty boring. There’s not much to see although the farmland, crops and signs can attract attention. So too the spot where you cross over the Kings River and almost always see a few anglers fishing the banks. But, for the most part, it is an unremarkable drive and it’s hard to imagine those long ago days when the HUGE Tulare Lake once existed and the road and farms would have been under water.
From Kettleman City you pass through the Kettleman Hills and the Kettleman Plains, an area that always reminds me of the old west (especially when tumbleweeds are plastered to the fences along the road). For much of the year it’s mile after mile of nothing except fairly flat, dry plains parched brown from lack of water and you wonder how the cattle and sheep survived living on those plains in the 1800s. This time, the land was as green as Ireland and just past Bitterwater Road, I noticed fields of purple lupine and an occasional California poppy. It’s amazing what a little rain will do.
As usual (and it shows my age) I was listening to some Dylan and his harmonica was wailing on the “Drifter’s Escape.” Just as the closing lyrics referenced a bolt of lightening striking the courthouse, and the drifter escaping, rain started to splatter my windshield and the rain would accompany me to the coast.
Soon I passed through the HY 41 and HY 46 intersection where the actor James Dean met his death (so of course today called the James Dean Memorial Junction). Within a couple of miles I zipped by Cholame (with its small monument to James Dean). Next stop would be Paso Robles and Highway 101. Ironically, Dylan was singing the story of “Blind Willie McTell,” seeing the ghosts of slavery ships and hearing the undertaker’s bell. It seemed appropriate.
Once you reach HY 101 you’re in CenCal territory, the so-called “Magic Kingdom” part of California's coast to some, and you have options to reach the coast. A few miles down the road from Paso Robles you can take HY 46 over to the coast, a route I take if I want to start my fishing trip at the San Simeon Pier. Another ten miles or so and you reach Atascadero and a turnoff to Morro Bay. It’s where I head if I want to start at the Cayucos Pier or the piers in Morro Bay. Continue down HY 101 and eventually you pass by the turnoff to Avila (and its piers) and soon you’re in Pismo Beach (42 miles from Paso Robles).
This card announced the get together and celebration for Mike Spence (Santa)
This day I was headed to the get together for Mike Spence at Lopez Lake and just before reaching HY 101 the rain stopped and the sun emerged — a good sign for the get together. Ten miles or so past Pismo Beach you’re at Arroyo Grande. A left turn, a short drive through downtown, and ten more miles on Lopez Drive and you’re at the attractive and popular lake.
There was a large gathering of people because Mike was a popular man with a large family and many, many friends from the area. I heard many reminisces from friends, enjoyed meeting his sons and brothers who all seemed to be outdoorsmen, and especially enjoyed hearing the stories from the park rangers. Over the years if something at the park needed fixing Mike was called and there are still signs throughout the park of his handiwork.
In addition, the rangers mentioned the fishing clinics Mike put on for the kids. He did this for years (at his own expense) and the rangers said the numbers were well over a thousand kids, probably close to two thousand. (Of course with UPSAC he had also been the main coordinator for the Avila Kids Derbies.)
Not surprisingly, his wife Cheryl and his sons had set out about 50 rods and reels along with tackle boxes and equipment. They asked everyone to take home a rod in Mike’s memory. It was very evident the importance that fishing was in Mike’s life.
The rain started anew, I didn’t know many people, and since I am not really much of a chit chat person I left after a couple of hours. But the memories of Mike and the love shown toward him by the gathering will remain.
Saturday I once again headed over to the coast. I was on my way to attend another friend’s passing — Santa (Mike Spence). I planned to stay the night in San Luis Obispo and do some fishing Saturday night/Sunday morning. Like most trips, there’s a combination of sights (if you open your eyes) and thoughts along the way and this trip was no different. The first hour from Fresno to Kettleman City is, for the most part, pretty boring. There’s not much to see although the farmland, crops and signs can attract attention. So too the spot where you cross over the Kings River and almost always see a few anglers fishing the banks. But, for the most part, it is an unremarkable drive and it’s hard to imagine those long ago days when the HUGE Tulare Lake once existed and the road and farms would have been under water.
From Kettleman City you pass through the Kettleman Hills and the Kettleman Plains, an area that always reminds me of the old west (especially when tumbleweeds are plastered to the fences along the road). For much of the year it’s mile after mile of nothing except fairly flat, dry plains parched brown from lack of water and you wonder how the cattle and sheep survived living on those plains in the 1800s. This time, the land was as green as Ireland and just past Bitterwater Road, I noticed fields of purple lupine and an occasional California poppy. It’s amazing what a little rain will do.
As usual (and it shows my age) I was listening to some Dylan and his harmonica was wailing on the “Drifter’s Escape.” Just as the closing lyrics referenced a bolt of lightening striking the courthouse, and the drifter escaping, rain started to splatter my windshield and the rain would accompany me to the coast.
Soon I passed through the HY 41 and HY 46 intersection where the actor James Dean met his death (so of course today called the James Dean Memorial Junction). Within a couple of miles I zipped by Cholame (with its small monument to James Dean). Next stop would be Paso Robles and Highway 101. Ironically, Dylan was singing the story of “Blind Willie McTell,” seeing the ghosts of slavery ships and hearing the undertaker’s bell. It seemed appropriate.
Once you reach HY 101 you’re in CenCal territory, the so-called “Magic Kingdom” part of California's coast to some, and you have options to reach the coast. A few miles down the road from Paso Robles you can take HY 46 over to the coast, a route I take if I want to start my fishing trip at the San Simeon Pier. Another ten miles or so and you reach Atascadero and a turnoff to Morro Bay. It’s where I head if I want to start at the Cayucos Pier or the piers in Morro Bay. Continue down HY 101 and eventually you pass by the turnoff to Avila (and its piers) and soon you’re in Pismo Beach (42 miles from Paso Robles).
This card announced the get together and celebration for Mike Spence (Santa)
This day I was headed to the get together for Mike Spence at Lopez Lake and just before reaching HY 101 the rain stopped and the sun emerged — a good sign for the get together. Ten miles or so past Pismo Beach you’re at Arroyo Grande. A left turn, a short drive through downtown, and ten more miles on Lopez Drive and you’re at the attractive and popular lake.
There was a large gathering of people because Mike was a popular man with a large family and many, many friends from the area. I heard many reminisces from friends, enjoyed meeting his sons and brothers who all seemed to be outdoorsmen, and especially enjoyed hearing the stories from the park rangers. Over the years if something at the park needed fixing Mike was called and there are still signs throughout the park of his handiwork.
In addition, the rangers mentioned the fishing clinics Mike put on for the kids. He did this for years (at his own expense) and the rangers said the numbers were well over a thousand kids, probably close to two thousand. (Of course with UPSAC he had also been the main coordinator for the Avila Kids Derbies.)
Not surprisingly, his wife Cheryl and his sons had set out about 50 rods and reels along with tackle boxes and equipment. They asked everyone to take home a rod in Mike’s memory. It was very evident the importance that fishing was in Mike’s life.
The rain started anew, I didn’t know many people, and since I am not really much of a chit chat person I left after a couple of hours. But the memories of Mike and the love shown toward him by the gathering will remain.
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