30 minutes, on the minute

So I am sitting next to this guy in a hog-line the other day. Both of us hoping for the great pounddown from a spring King. Our friendly neighborhood sea-lion comes strolling by and starts working the hog-line pretty hard. We get to talking about how to run these things off, seal bombs come to mind, slingshots and marbles, 22 pistols. We get a good laugh at the whole thing. Than he tells me a tale of old, one laid down by his father in the early days of hog-line fishing in the Columbia.

Now who knows if this is true, but sometimes and most times fiction is more for entertainment than fact finding.

His father used to sit in a hog-line, fishing his little black heart out. Just like we do, but when ole Herschel the sea-lion would come aswimming by he would load a sardine up with Drano. He toss that over to the sea lion and swimming ball of blubber would swallow er whole. He said 30 minutes to the minute, that sea lion would come to the surface moaning and groaning in agony. It would immediately swim over to the bank and lie there in the wet sand until it was moving no more. Heck, some days he get 5 or 6 of them. No joke, 30 minutes to the minute, argggghhhhhhh!

Believe it or not, I kinda do, that is some funny stuff when you think about it, I dunno.