Cruising San Francisco

Not much in the way of fishing here, but part of my job is to get out and meet other writers and the tourism representatives from various intriguing destinations and that’s what I’m doing right now in San Francisco, California.

Well, except for yesterday. That’s when I flew from Seattle to San Fran, took a shuttle to the Fairmont Hotel, and then dumped my bags in my room on the 17th floor. Sweet view of some of the city, plus a little window to the Bay. After checking out the view I clicked on Map My Hike and walked to a commercial zone with all the brand names and the shopping outlets. Not liking that much, I headed the other direction and walked to Chinatown, which is mostly authentic and the largest Chinatown outside of, you got it, China. Saw some pretty touristy places and then jumped onto some sidestreets and found real Chinatown with real markets full of some fish I know, such as largemouth bass, smelt and farmed Atlantic salmon, and some I didn’t know, such as a permit-lookalike and some mollusks.

What really struck me were the smells—herbs, mushrooms, fish, cigarette smoke. And sounds—Chinese rapid chatter, music, the flow of footsteps on concrete. I saw a tourist bus go by and thought, They’ll never know any of this. They’ll get a sterilized version of it all.

I was starving and looked at all the big Chinese restaurants and some smaller ones. And then I got a call from a writer friend of mine, Laura Munson who wrote, This Is Not the Story You Think It Is, and she said, “Oh my god you’re in Chinatown. You have to eat some dumplings for me.” My dumplings. I stepped into a little hole in the wall and ordered four dumplings from a very attractive Chinese woman. She placed a fifth on my plate and I accepted the upsale. Sucker, GT. But the food was awesome, some of the best Chinese, true Chinese, that I’d ever eaten. It cost me $3!

Walked from Chinatown to Fisherman’s Wharf, which was loud and super crowded with spring-breakers. Hot rods cruising around, tires squealing, mimes a’ miming, girls a drinking. I got caught up in it a little and ordered a shot of Cuervo and two pints of Anchor Steam. Feels so good, feeling good again. That’s Robert Earl Keen if you didn’t know. Spent some time talking to a Brazilian goddess named … well, hell, I forgot her name. Didn’t stand a chance anyway. She was probably 24.

Then I met a local angler, Paul Rogers, after I asked him, “How do you like that jacket?” It was dark blue and blazoned with SIMMS. Funny how easy it is to find brethren based on fly-fishing apparel. We all have fun stories to tell and Paul told me about the local striper fishery and suggested a guide. I told him to check out Tonic and had an e-mail from him this morning saying next time I’m in town we should fish. Fishing, guys and gals, and you probably already know this, breaks down barriers and brings people together as successfully as any other endeavor in this world. Pretty cool. I’m hoping I get a chance to fish those stripers with Paul in the future.

Hiked back to the hotel then down the hill again to a little liquor store where I met a guy named Kip, who waltzed me outside to shoot images of a gargoyle, a famous one, he said, in all the movies. We got to talking, all the while my sixer of Corona sitting next to the cash register, and learned that Kip used to manage the Depot Restaurant and Bar in Missoula and went to the University of Montana. Fellow Griz, right on.  I said, “Depot prime rib sandwich, best in Missoula” and he nodded knowingly. Went back into the mart and Kip said, “We should do a shot of Jagermeister.” Didn’t know I was buying but that’s what I did. Said, ” catch  you back here tomorrow, Kip,” and up the hill I went. With that six of Corona and a small bottle of Jameson. I get to the hotel and Map My Hike says I’ve walked 11 miles.

Why the Jameson? Because I figured on meeting up with my Canadian bud Geoff Moore, who works for The Caribou Chilcotin Coast Tourism Association and the Web site, landwithoutlimits. He’s my ticket to great fishing in Canada and I wanted to have a little libation for him when he got to the hotel.

A little while later, while I’m Googling nearby Irish Pubs from the hotel lobby, I hear, “Greg Thomas.” It’s Moore, fresh off an airport shuttle. I help him with his bags and say, “I’m on the 17th. See you when you get there.” And he says, “You have anything cold to drink?” and I answer, “Oh, yea. Got you taken care of.”

A while later, after admiring the view from my room, we’re off to the Tonga Room and Hurricane Bar, a lively restaurant within the Fairmont. More dumplings with Moore, plus the Mongolian beef (a solid, tasty meal), and the requisite mai thai, served in a coconut glass with the umbrellas, which Anthony Bordain called the best mai thai in San Francisco. Got to follow Anthony’s lead, right. One and done for Moore and I. Needed to get up early today feeling good.

So here I am, just after registration and smoothies at the penthouse suite, chillin’ in the cyber lounge, which is hosted by Ontario Tourism. I’m sucking down water flavored with berries and cucumber and munching on cookies that look like maple leafs.

Programs start in a couple hours, parties tonight, then a full day tomorrow finding out where I’m going to fish, in Canada, in 2012. I’ll keep you posted, should be fun for all of us, because no matter where I go, I’ll take you along, in spirit, with me. And I’ll share those stories with you on AT.

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