Last night I walked outside at about 7 p.m. Feeling the warmth and stillness of that late-April evening, I decided it would be my first surf trip of the season for striped bass. After such a cold winter and cooler-than-normal spring, I wasn’t expecting much, I just wanted to get the wheels turning again. I decided to focus on herring runs, the thought process being that the abundant bait might concentrate any early arrivals swimming into my local waters. In both spots I fished, the herring were present in great numbers, better than I’ve seen several years, but the bass were just not there, NOAA listed nearby water temps at 48 degrees, I figured I’d wait a few more days and try again.
After hoofing it back to my truck, I elected to drive to a more remote location to gear down. I try to reduce my impact on any area I fish, with houses all around me where I was parked, it just seemed better to move. Noisy fishermen have a way of cultivating No Parking signs, so I try to be as quiet and ghostlike as possible.
I drove to the fish ladder at the top of the estuary and pulled into the dirt parking spot, a place I have used regularly over the years for this purpose; it’s perfect, no houses nearby and it’s quick and easy. I hopped out of the truck and walked over to the basin below the dam. Listening, I could hear a few herring splashing into the narrow mouth of the ladder. I walked around to the top and heard a few more surging into the pond. My presence roused a green heron that had been statuesque in the brush, hoping to pick off a midnight snack. Then I flipped on my headlamp and saw nothing but the reflection of my light. So, I strode back to the truck and took off my boots and waders, stepped into my shoes, straightened out my plug bag and made sure I had everything I left with.
I sat down in the truck, turned the key and started scrolling for a song to listen to on the ride. Then headlights veered in behind me and two small blue LED pin lights confirmed my assumptions that it was probably the police. I rolled down my window to see a smiling woman who offered a friendly “Hello”. And asked if I had been fishing… I explained that I had been fishing at various spots away from the herring run. She then asked, pointing to the ladder, “What were you doing over there, though? I replied, smiling, “I was just looking at the herring.” She asked for my license, and went back to check me out.
In the intervening time, another officer crept up on the passenger side and motioned for me to roll down that window, which I did and she asked, “Were you striper fishing?” I replied in the affirmative. “And you didn’t catch anything?” she asked with in a way that I read as trying to activate my ego, but I hadn’t caught anything so there was no activation. Next she asked, in a very conversational (disarming) tone, “Have you ever used herring for bait? I hear they work really well.”
I wanted to say, “My career requires that I know every fishing law and a failure to follow fishing regulations could literally cost me my job.” But I played it cool instead, I said, “Yeah, back in 2003 when it was still legal, I used them, but I haven’t used one since.”
She smiled and said, “Good answer.” And the interrogation was over.
I have zero issue with the way this went down. I know some people who get put off by being accused of doing something they didn’t do by the police. But, I recognize that one of the main functions of the police department in any town is to observe potentially illegal activity and question the individual(s) involved. I didn’t feel wrongly accused, I was pleasantly surprised that the police in that town were monitoring the run for people who might be looking to poach a few herring. I think they went about it in a very smart and professional way. And treating them with respect, like I did, may serve me well in the future, because they might remember me or my truck and feel as though they know that I’m fishing and not causing trouble. But, all things equal, I think I’ll gear down somewhere else until the herring run is over!
