It was a typical summer day in a small town called Black Point, Novato. The sun was hot and the sky was clear. The town was located just North-East of San Francisco. My father lived there with his wife Kate, and her son Colety. I lived with my mother in San Anselmo, about twenty miles south of there. I frequently stayed at my father's house in the summer time, because it was located on the Petaluma River.
             The house sat on a hill covered in old oak trees with the smell of age seeping through their bark. From the second floor balcony you could see the Petaluma River, cut through the scenery like a snake winding its way down to the watering hole. It eventually reached the open mouth of the San Pablo Bay. Many Californians call this area the, "Tip of the whale's tail."
             On this particular day, I had a fishing trip in mind. Not for the sport of fishing, rather to enjoy the sweet sound of silence and wait with anticipation for a small nibble to come my way. The only thing better than fishing, is fishing with friends. To come along on this adventure with me, were my three best friends; Ben Childs, Alex Craig, and Alex Shepard. Ben and Alex Craig were friends that I had met in my freshman year at High School. They took pride in being the jokers of the school. I liked them both, since I was a joker too. Alex Shepard, I knew since I was two. His mother and mine were friends when we were young. We have been on many adventures together, but this would be one to remember.
             After we packed our lunches, we started down the long stairway, from the house to the river. Upon completing the five hundred step stairway, there sat my 1943 mahogany Wolverine boat, my friends and I had restored the previous summer.
             It was sixteen feet long and could hold up to six passengers at a time. We prepared the boat for departure, and loaded the fishing equipment. After putting a pair of oars and four life jackets in the boat we were re...