Seeing Your First Abalone

A friend of mine* was sitting on his favorite beach, enjoying the sun and the waves.

He had noticed for years that people dived for abalone just a little ways offshore, and seemed to have good luck on most days. Today was one of those days. A diver came out of the water and walked right by him, proudly swinging his day’s catch.

“There’s nothing special about that guy,” my friend thought. “And it looks like fun.” He stood up right then and there, walked over to a dive shop, bought the necessary gear, and headed back over to the beach. Within a few minutes he was ready to go, and headed out into the water.

About an hour later, he came back onto the beach a wet and discouraged man. He was sure he had gone out to exactly where the most successful divers had always gone. There was plenty of other marine life around, and the water seemed ideal. Still, no abalone. Not a single one.

“Well,” he thought, “maybe the tide changed while I was buying my gear. Or maybe the sun has got too high in the sky. Or maybe that earlier diver had caught them all, the bastard!”

Just as he was convincing himself that it couldn't possibly be his own fault. Another diver walked right by him, out into the water, and dived precisely where he had been not ten minutes before. Soon, embarrassingly soon, the diver came back out of the water with a healthy catch of abalone. He gave my friend a pleased smile as he strolled past.

As soon as the diver was out of sight, my friend dashed back out into the water, dived at the special spot, and began his search. He searched… …and searched. There wasn't a single abalone to be seen.

When he got back to shore this time, he threw down his gear in disgust. What had gone wrong this time? Did he have to wait until the seagulls circled in a certain way? Did the waves have to be a certain height or the water a certain color?

While he stood there dissecting the possibilities, an old man — old, and impossibly wrinkled as only a sun-blessed Californian can be (he was probably 45) — hobbled by, entered the water, dived for no more than a couple of minutes, and returned to the beach with the largest catch of any previous diver.

As he past, my friend pleaded to the old man, “How the heck did you find those abalone? I was just out there, minutes ago, and there wasn't a single one to be seen. What am I doing wrong?”

The old man looked him carefully up and down. He absentmindedly chewed and then spit out a piece of kelp. He took a deep breath.

“Son,” the old man said slowly, “I doubt if you’re doing anything wrong. There’s just something you need to know about abalone.” He paused, nodding back toward the ocean. “Out there in the water, until you see your first abalone, you can’t see them at all. Once you see your first one, they’re everywhere.”

My friend watched the old man amble out of sight.

He looked down at his gear, grabbed his mask and fins, and headed back toward the water. About an hour later, he saw his first abalone. He’s been seeing them everywhere ever since…

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* I am indebted for this story to Skip Bowen, a wrinkleless Californian, who first related it to me. I have embellished it *so* much since then, that he bears no responsibility for any inaccuracies or silliness. And for the record, I have never seen a abalone.