a picket fence

     that's what the picture in the news journal looked like.  it was taken south of indian river inlet, looking north from 3rs road - the beach access dune break.  the "fence" was, of course, made up of surf rods stuck in the sand in front of myriad, ugly suv snouts.

back in the 50s, 60s, and 70s we used to trek to the beach each fall to surf fish for a couple of weeks.  at first we fished from a little subaru station wagon, then from an old land rover, and finally from a chevy suburban.  in every case we were the only ones on the beach during the week - and one of two or three others on weekends.

the fishing was sometimes great, usually good, but never bad.  we'd catch mostly blues - sometimes 75 or more in a day - kingfish, sand perch, sharks, skates, and now and then a small puppy drum or rockfish.  when the north easters piled the surf up on the rocks at indian river inlet we'd cackle with glee as the blues gathered in the south side lee and butchered our freshly caught mullet.  i can still hear the waves slithering across the rocks, hissing like a snake, as the tide rose higher and higher, finally forcing us off the beach.  once i was ordered - in the middle of a blue fish blitz - to leave by a harried game warden, he and i the only two souls on the ghostly wind driven shore.  "hurricane coming.  governor's orders," he said.  "fuck him.  he's not a fisherman," i said in reply, reeling in another victim. he fingered his handcuffs ominously and i relented.  "...and i won't vote for him next time."

god knows what it's like down there these days, what with mothers sunning, urchins screeching, and papa tangled with his next door neighbor.  i'll bet  the blues - at least the self respecting ones - steer way clear of what used to be a fine fishing spot.

things ain't what they used to be.