Jill Robinson

Writer, Photographer, Adventurer

half moon bay

Half Moon Bay’s Best Pumpkin Event

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After living in Half Moon Bay for 11 years, I’ve become accustomed to the pumpkin season. Here in the “World Pumpkin Capital,” farmers’ fields have gradually turned more orange over the past couple of months, and there are pumpkins everywhere. Thousands are stacked by color and type in patches throughout the Coastside, and cars full of pumpkin-pickers stream over the hill daily, causing traffic snarls to rival the worst commute nightmares.

Many who attend the Half Moon Bay Art & Pumpkin Festival claim it to be the best pumpkin season event in the area, but even though I don’t attend the festival every year, I know enough to disagree. For me, the best event this time of year is the Safeway World Championship Pumpkin Weigh-Off.

The weigh-off is held the Monday before festival weekend, so while I was working in corporate-world, I couldn’t attend. But once I started freelancing, it was one of the first assignments I gave myself. I had no idea the funky morning competition would immediately become my favorite.

Smaller pumpkins begin the weigh-off at 7 a.m., while it’s still dark outside. Pick-up trucks weighed down with giant gourds line Johnston Street behind the I.D.E.S. Hall, waiting their turn. It’s not long before a parade of forklifts, each with a huge pumpkin, line up to drive to the stage and place each pumpkin on the scale.

It takes a lot of effort to “place” those gigantic pumpkins. Teams of men are required to get the pumpkins off the forklifts to the scale and back to the forklifts again. It’s always the same guys every year. One day in June, I’ll be walking down Main Street and see someone I think I know, but can’t place how I know him. Later, I’ll realize he’s a “forklift guy” at the weigh-off. I know he does more with his life, but that’s how I identify him.

In between all the moving of gourds, there’s a guitar player on stage, singing songs about Half Moon Bay. A master of ceremonies is always telling jokes he hears from the kids in the audience. The high school band plays tunes from Friday night football games. And neighbors mill around, drinking coffee and catching up—stopping only for the next announcement of how much a pumpkin weighs.

This year, the great pumpkin weighed 1,704 pounds, beating both Half Moon Bay and California records. Grown in Napa, at least it was a California pumpkin, as well.

Whether the grand champion each year bests a local, state, or world record doesn’t matter as much. Sure, for a moment, the crowd may cheer more loudly. But hanging out on a Monday morning in a surfing farm town to watch a sweet farming ritual where the stars are monstrous orange pumpkins is worth marking on my calendar every year.

Charlie the Tuna

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Yes, I’m still here. With trips to New Orleans and Belize, a handful of deadlines and the regular winter holiday crazy, I had to fall off the blogging map for a little while. Now that things have calmed down and I’m not going anywhere for a few weeks, I’m back on the horse.

Although I love living in my little coastal town, I often let myself get wrapped up in work and forget to really enjoy it. The other day, while researching some information for a project, I learned something new after living here for more than 10 years.

There’s an abandoned pier in Pillar Point Harbor, known as Romeo Pier, that’s quite beautiful in its decay. I can’t count the times I’ve walked past or kayaked under it, looked up to the sea-green building and its sign, “Sea Fish”—and wondered about its history. Last week, I sat down with Charlie Romeo, the son of the man who built the pier. No reservation was required: I went over to the Romeo Packing Company, wandered around a little until I found the office, and asked if someone could tell me about the pier.

“That’s Charlie,” someone said, and pointed to a man in the other room.

Charlie cleared off a chair for me, and patiently answered my questions about Romeo Pier. It was built in 1940 by his father, Joe Romeo, for the A. Romeo Fish Company—in order to buy directly from fishermen for his fish market, which supplied hotels and restaurants. In 1946, he opened a cannery as well, which eventually morphed into the existing fertilizer company in the 1950s.

The best detail? Charlie showed me a label back from the canning days. The company’s logo was a fish with glasses named Charlie, which his father named after him. Years later, the logo was sold to StarKist, was redesigned, and became known as Charlie the Tuna.

The "Charlie" fish is the small one on top, not the sardine

It turns out that I could have learned that detail from a local book, however sitting down with someone so closely connected to the history of the pier was far better than just reading about it. And even though it happened at home, it illustrates one of the things I love so much when I travel—talking with people to learn their history and how it ties in with a place. After having those personal experiences, guide books just can’t compare.

Turning the Corner

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For the past month, I’ve been learning to surf on a stand-up paddleboard (SUP). No, I’m not on vacation at a surf camp. I’m just going out to a local break about three times a week and getting out there. Today, I finally turned the corner.

It’s been somewhat of a frustrating experience. At first, when I was just paddling the SUP on relatively calm water (both in Half Moon Bay and in Puerto Rico), I was an instant success. In fact, I didn’t fall off the board during any of those sessions. Sure, surfing is a completely different experience, but for a short while, I believed the learning curve would be pretty easy.

And then I went out in the surf. I fell a million times. I got saltwater up my nose. I smacked my face and got a black eye. I smacked my face again and got a split lip. But I caught a few waves, too, and those moments are golden.

Doug’s been a rather patient coach. There are times when he tells me that I’m too far away from the peak, or letting the fog spook me. Sometimes I get tired of hearing it. But after I answer, “yeah, yeah” and dismiss him—I understand why he’s saying it. Then I move a little closer to the peak, or try to find my place among the waves and rocks that I can barely see in the fog. And each time I learn something new and get a little better.

So today, on one of those beautifully clear and sunny coastal days when the water is glass and the waves aren’t too huge—I finally got it. I found my place in the lineup and I charged the waves. I put my foot farther back; I crouched down more. I got the best ride of my life, and a lot of shorter rides as well. My board also bonked me on the head once, but there was no blood, so I went back out.

I’m not as good as many of the people who surf SUPs at the same spot, but it’s not a competition. I watch them, they watch me, and sometimes they give me tips or an “atta girl.” It’s enough to make me want to keep going out and getting better in my own time.

The learning curve may have been longer than I expected, but I’m having an awesome time.