When I was a kid, Pop would deliver eggs from our poultry farm to the Hilo Egg Producers Co-op, which was located between the Wailoa Pond and the Hilo Civic Auditorium.

A couple days after the 1960 tsunami, we were delivering eggs when we found weke swimming in ponds on the gravel road. The waves had swept through Wailoa Pond and stranded the fish on land. This was an unbelievable sight. I was in the 10th grade then, and my brother Robert in the 7th grade.

Pop spent a lot of time mullet fishing on Wailoa Pond—sometimes from the shore and sometimes from his rowboat. Sometimes, when the mullet came close to shore, the fishermen would stand shoulder to shoulder, casting out to the middle of the school.

Mullet fishing protocol states that one must not cross over another fisherman’s line. To be in the middle of the group, closest to the fish, you had to be accurate. The less accurate you were, the further to the edge you found yourself forced.

I was not a real mullet fisherman, and after a few casts I would find myself out on the edge by myself. Pop and Robert always fit comfortably in the center of the group.

On the day I returned from Vietnam, I got home and Mom told me they were at the pond. I drove down there and they were all happy to see me.

There was what I estimate to be a 50+-pound ulua swimming along the edge of the bank that fronts the Lagoon Center, heading toward the Café 100 direction. We knew he had to come back and my brother Kenneth ran to get his spear gun.

Since I was just back from Vietnam and they were so happy to see me, they gave me the honors. The ulua swam back and passed right in front of me, only about 5 feet away. I used all my combat skills and let it fly.

Missed! I couldn’t believe it, and neither could they. That was the end of the welcome back party.

But hey, I was an Army lieutenant, a Vietnam veteran!

Big deal—I missed the ulua.