Fishing Stories and Tall Tales

[Gavin H]

This is an extension of the current post in General Dsicussions called "a few bad apples" and relates to garbage. It is separated as it is a personal story not associated in any way with the Southern Ontario Fisheries Enhancement Initiative I am a part of.

When in my twenties, a few decades ago, I had finished my night shift and as the morning had broken clear, warm and still, I headed off to one of my favorite spots to do a little fly fishing for bluegill and bass. Best access to the river was achieved by parking on the shoulder of a country road and following a short trail on un-posted private property. I had a pleasant morning wading the cool waters, and the fish cooperated nicely. I had the place to myself.
Towards noon, as I worked my way back to where I started, I heard loud voices, large splashes, and foul language and soon saw the source.
Three males, in their late teens, had descended on the river. Their rods and tackle where unused sitting on the edge of the trail and they where entertaining themselves by hurling large rocks and boulders at the water in an effort to splash each other. It was obvious that they had also eaten lunch based on the trash that lay scattered about that had not been there when I arrived.
Upon seeing me wading towards them they stopped their antics and, laughing and joking, headed off to their car leaving a hell of a mess behind.
I hustled up the trail intent on saying something but didn't get the chance as they pulled around my truck and headed on their way in a blue Mustang. But it was at this point they added the straw that broke the camels back, as it were. The driver had rolled down his window and in plain view casually tossed one of those ridiculous Big Gulp containers onto the side of the road.
I went to my truck, quickly tossed my waders and gear in the back and then grabbed the big plastic cup. Then, without any clear plan in mind, I followed suit in my beefed up 69 Chevy. My mood hovered somewhere between fury and disgust and though I didn't know what I was going to do, I was going to do something. I followed behind them at a distance for quite a while when they suddenly pulled up in front of a takeout pizza joint at a little strip mall. I pulled up right beside and quickly hopped out with the cup they had tossed in my hand.
The three guys where still in the car and where listening to music, the windows down, and seemed oblivious to my presence.
Then they looked at me with puzzled expressions as I placed the cup on the hood of their car.
There was a few seconds pause while nobody moved, then, quick as a flash, I slammed my fist down on that cup with all I had, shattering the cup and seriously denting the hood.
They never said a word. Never moved. Just stared for a second or two with huge bulging eyes.
I flicked the remains of the cup towards the windshield, casually sauntered back to my truck and quietly drove away feeling both guilty and wired at the same time.

I do not condone my behaviour, but I hope they got the point.

I have rarely repeated this story. I am not proud. But I can tell you that the fishing spot I described has been posted for a very long time.

Gavin