Well, no, of course not, we didn't think we were being stupid, careless or thoughtless those many years ago when my partner and I, on our 36' 1968 cabin cruiser, crossed the Columbia River Bar (the most dangerous bar crossing in the world, aka "The Graveyard of the Pacific) and motored five miles or more out into the ocean, fishing for salmon.
We were aware and competent--secure in the ability of the purring, twin Chevy 350 engines to deliver us to the perfect fishing spots and, about four or five hours later, to motor us safely back across the bar, to our Ilwaco, Washington port.
Eight years in a row, six weeks every season, five to six days a week, out we went, back we came, our limit of fish on ice in the cooler, the remembered taste of fresh, BBQd salmon piquing our urge to hurry back to our moorage.
Secure in the mariner knowledge of my partner, I often went to the stern to take movies of the roiling, standing waves as the boat, engines straining, climbed up, rode the crest and then dipped into the troughs as it slid over the swells, one after another and another and another, until we arrived at just the right fishin' hole.
For most of this filming, I held the rail with one hand, the camera with the other (this was the mid-1980s when video cameras were so large and heavy they had to be held on the shoulder!). When the boat yawed, pitched and rolled so that I could no longer hold on to the camera and the railing, I stepped up to where the "captain" was keeping his eye on the binnacle and the ocean's antics.
We never, ever wore life jackets!!!
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