When the mantra rays migrate up the coast from the south they bring with them a sense of hysteria. Anglers spend days in their towers straining their eyes as they scan the horizon for these gentle giants that lurk just below the surface - not for necessarily for the rays themselves, but for the coveted cobia they bring alongside them. This type of sight fishing is completely compulsive and reactionary. You see, you cast. A bit of a panic ensues. Adrenaline pumps. If you’re lucky, you get tight and the fight is on. The migration doesn’t last long, so you take any chance you can to go. I’m fortunate enough to have some manic friends that are obsessed and bring me along for the ride.
Four lines in the water plus two teasers. We’re hummin along, trolling the edge of the shelf. Deep, deep blue water with the sun sitting a couple hours above the horizon. “José! Jose! Fish on!” The captain yells from the tower. “Line two!” Excitement breaks out. We throw my brother-in-law to the stern and he takes the rod from Jose. Mike has never caught a fish in his life and here he is with a 120lb sail fish dancing out of the water off in the distance. The Capt barks orders, “Reel! Reel! Reel! Do not fucking lose this fish!” Mike doesn’t know what to do. He hoists up the rod and immediately gets yelled at by Jose, “What did I teach you! Do you not listen?” The tension escalates,but the fish is still on peeling drag. The reel is screaming. Scott decides to intervene and take the rod from Mike. He locks eyes with me in a state of shellshock. I slap him on the back, tell him to watch Scott and fuck em up next time. We threw him to the wolves. Scott brings in the fish, bends over the gunnel and gets his money shot to brag home about. He gets up winded, depleted, exhausted. I grab his shoulders, scream with excitement and hand him a cold beer to celebrate.
Jaco, Costa Rica
It looked like a mirage shimmering off in the desert. You know, too good to be true. But it wasn’t. It was an oasis - if only for a few days. What trip to celebrate @rick_loves
Cherry tomato pasta is an ace up the sleeve. It’s simple, elegant and understated. A complete utilitarian dish good for any occasion.
Ingredients
- Olive Oil
- Garlic
- Cherry Tomato
- Pecorino Romano
- Pasta of choice
- Fresh Basil
In a large stock pot, bring water to a boil. While that’s going, split the cherry tomatoes in half and chop the garlic. Remember, this is all about flow, so there aren’t going to be any measurements. If it looks like it’s enough then it probably is. Once that’s done, shave the pecorino romano into a dust mound. The more the merrier here. Seriously.
Add enough oil to coat the bottom of a large sauce pan and then add a little more. The oil is part of the sauce, it’s the vessel, so it’s okay to be generous. Once hot enough, sauté the garlic followed by the cherry tomatoes. Once these flavors get to know each other and become one big happy, bring out a potato masher and smash the softened tomatoes into a pulpy sauce.
This is when you add the pasta to the water and cook until al dente. Meld the pasta with the sauce. Begin to TEAR your basil and add entirely too much - always.
Plate, dust with cheese and serve. Enjoy!
My grandfather, Janis, painted this portrait of tree losing its leaves in 1981 long before I was born. It was one of the last things I grabbed from the house I grew up in when I left for college. It’s been with me ever since. I don’t know if he was proud of the piece or if he gave it to my mother to get it out of his sight, but I doubt he’d of thought it be hanging on display in my home long after he passed. I keep it as a reminder that he existed and took the time, with a patient hand and calculated brushstroke to make something he eventually gave away. Most of the time it goes unnoticed, but on occasion it makes you stop and look - kind of like a tree beginning to change its leaves.
You prepare the night before, lose sleep to anxiety and wake at 3:30am ready to roll. You’re 30 miles into the Atlantic before the sunrises. The engine hums. Saltwater sprays off the hull. Dire Straits waken the gods and you’re greeted with sunshine upon your face. One by one the crew look at each other with a silent recognition and understanding that we’ve reached the promised land and nothing is guaranteed. So we push on.
Everything is attracted to light. Daffodils bend towards the sunrise, palms deepen their roots every sunset, and moths will dance around an open flame in the darkness of the night. A campfire sets the stage for some of the best songs you’ll ever hear. The delicacy of candlelight encourages flirtation and flattery. The hearth gathers people in the cold winter months. Proving even in the darkness, light always prevails.
Come summer we shed our layers, exposing ourselves to the light. We bathe in rays of sunshine because it feels good. We cool in the ocean and surf its waves for fun. It’s in the light that we explore and we grow.
And this is what you are Marilia, a bright and powerful light. You’re infectious and radiate to everyone around you. You warm our souls, deepen our roots and brighten our days.
You’re loved, not just by me, but by many. Keep burning.
I remember the sound of rain song through the palm leaves.
I remember the refreshing sweetness of coconut water in the blistering heat.
I remember gliding through the water on perfectly groomed waves.
I remember dancing under the moonlight and laughing as I fell out of rhythm.
I remember caipirinhas.
I remember the smell of meats searing over open flames and the taste of salt and fats.
I remember watching Marilia come back from the sea
I remember the ball volley from hands to hands.
I remember getting stoned and staring at the sea.
I remember a symphony of conversation.
I remember the parrots flying overhead with swiftness and grace.
I remember folding chairs and feet in the sand.
I remember the sound of waves crashing into the shore.
I remember family and friends, new relationships and love discovered beyond language barriers.
I remember Maresias with vivid life and color.
