The secret is out

Due to catching lights and other excellent timing, I ended up about ten minutes ahead of time on the way to pick up Reilly this afternoon, so I decided to roll by the secret spot to toss a few casts.

I rounded the corner to the secret spot, but as I slowed to my usual parking spot, I saw an old pickup truck parked there. As I got closer I saw two cast netters sitting on buckets and mending their nets.

My first reaction was disdain. I swung around and parked behind them, and they looked at me with equal suspicion. I hopped out, grabbed my pole out of the trunk, and walked up to them.

"You fish here often?" I asked.
"Yeah, been fishing here for four years, back when the bait shop was here."
"I've been fishing here a lot lately, couple times a week."
(We were staking out our territory.)
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Lots of mullet here. I see them running along the seawall all the time," I continued.
"I know it, this is a great spot. You should know, though, the cops are coming. The guy across the street said we couldn't fish here, that it was private property."
"That's bullshit."
"I know, I could be out breaking into houses or selling drugs and all I want to do is catch some mullet and make a little money."
"Well, I'm gonna head out if the cops are coming. Good luck."
"Alright."

I got in my car and drove off. They stayed right where they were, and I admired their stubbornness and their ability to believe in their right to fish where the fish were.

I'm a rule follower; breaking laws is not in my fiber, but I do sometimes feel as if the development around me and the "No Fishing" signs that come with it are oppressive.

I might have to go commando. It's in my blood.

I remember when I was a boy, my dad and I would pick up our gear as the sun started to go down and cross the street to the golf course that lined Indian Rocks Road. There was a natural pond on the golf course that was full of fish.

We were on a quest for a giant bass but mostly caught catfish. It didn't matter to us. We were fishing where the fish were.

I've got a history with doing the same. My buddy Phil Brane and I used to fly fish a pond in Belleair over by a retirement home. We got chased away by octogenarians on golf carts.

Most recently, I was told not to return to the docks over by the secret spot, so I started fishing the other side on what I thought was an easement. It appears now that it is private property.

To be fair, I can see where the property owner is coming from. He probably paid $1 million plus for his home and isn't interested in coming home after a long day of work and seeing someone parked on the other side of the street outside of his house. He probably never fished a day of his life.

It would have been great if instead of calling the cops, he instead walked across the street and said hello, or what are you fishing for. Or perhaps picked up a pole and took a few casts with me.

There is nothing quite like catching your first fish.