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.
