I feel like I’m constantly writing about myself stretching the sinew of the law; I guess it’s just the way I conduct my life. I work from home, but my job takes a lot of time; I own a house, I’m married and I have a daughter… my days are pretty-well filled up! So a large percentage of my fishing is done at night. New England is a congested place and it’s hard to find parking and egress that’s totally legal and free of the possibility of disturbing someone. If I do say so myself, I have become very good at sneaking around undetected. But I think, that’s due in large part, to the fact that I am very aware of what the consequences might be. I think I try harder than anyone to be invisible.
Last night I was out enjoying one of my favorite early-spring activities; throwing big baits for (hopefully) giant largemouths. In this location I have permission to park, but I have to cross the street to access the lake. There are two tracts of uninhabited land, owned by the town, which I use to access the water, but I still have to pass by several homes and the trail through one of these patches of woods comes to within about 50 feet of a home, which feels too close at quiet midnight in 2022 suburbia.
The fishing started off slow, but picked up considerably whenever I was able to target known structure or shallow flats. There was some extra satisfaction in last night’s excursion because I caught several fish on the wooden rat I designed and profiled in the February edition of this magazine. They say ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ and after landing my 7th fish I looked at the time and saw it was past midnight. I was also nearing the last stretch of shoreline I would dare wade in complete darkness.
When I was about halfway back, I reached that narrow corridor of uninhabited trees and weighed the consequences of crunching by the house. Looking up through the yard, the house was dark, like Sleepy Hollow dark, no one was home. For a moment I considered taking the easy route through the yard but WiFi cameras are a thing and I never liked that show Candid Camera, so I took the woods. Before I turned into the reeds I took one more cast with a Bull Shad Wake, and got the best hit of the night, the fish crushed it, it sounded like a 20-pound striper smashing a Danny! It would prove to be my biggest fish of the night at 5 pounds, 3 ounces on the digital scale. That was supposed to be my last cast, but I made five more… of course. Around the time cast #3 was landing, I heard a lot of commotion on the road, a speeding car and then another with a bright spotlight shining around, then flashing lights. “You gotta be kidding me!” I muttered. I quickly pieced together a likely scenario, someone either saw me or saw my camera flash and got nervous. I figured the police would never come searching through the water and woods so I trudged into the woods and sat still.
Straining my eyes I tried to make out what was going on, the vehicles had stopped and the lights were overwhelmingly red in color. I could see a definite car pulled over to the side and I could hear voices. I carefully made my way closer to the scene, trying to piece together the truth. From what I could tell, someone was being taken away in an ambulance, the car was probably a cruiser supporting the EMTs. I couldn’t think through a scenario where I would be allowed to leisurely stroll through the scene at 12:40 a.m. with my fishing rod without having to answer some questions, so I just waited.
Finally, the emergency vehicles dispersed and the chatter subsided. I continued through the brush and proceeded to punch several holes in my SIMMS G3 waders thanks to an unseen and defiant briar patch.
Back on the road, the night was again silent. It’s strange when you get to observe two sides of a situation like that. While I was hunkered down trying to be invisible, someone else watched helplessly as a loved one was loaded into an ambulance. It felt wrong to be glad that the lights weren’t for me. And all I can think about this morning is that I hope the person is feeling better today.
