RE-purposing

“Repurpose” different than recycle. This term has been stuck in my head for a few months now.  I’m in the middle of a few repurposes myself right now actually. In fact repurposing happens all the time around us but we just have become oblivious (or desensitized) to it; repurposing grocery bags, cuss words [i.e verbs(F&^%), proper names(A-Hole), nouns…you get the idea], coffee mugs for pen holders and old barn lumber for architectural designs are some different ways people repurpose on a daily basis.  Some tangible some not. Also, there’s a type of theoretical repurposing in my opinion, in that, things you do could be tagged as repurposing; baptism/getting saved, changing jobs, having kids, getting married... things that one would have to change their purpose to continue. Lately with all of the heavy handed fish species and seasonal closures it feels like, in a way "The Man" is trying to repurpose us weekend warriors into land loving, dirt licking, concrete zombies. Restrictions on possession limits and stringent size limits coupled with all-out bans have been trickling there way slowly into state and federal water regulation over the last three or four years. As these laws are choking the fun out of what has been an enjoyably pastime for centuries, a new scene of anxiety has thickened the air around ports and ramps. It sucks. Any given day an average weekend angler takes the risk of losing their boat over a misguided harvest of a 12 inch trigger fish because of a closure that happened the night before due to commercial harvest quota limits/shares being met. “Bullshit!!!!” I say!  Being “strongly” encouraged to download and continuously check updates on the federal regulation app because the rules are so liquid just seems a bit excessive to say the least. Pictures of father and son fresh off the head boat with stringers of fish in hand are becoming a thing of the past.  Now days, dropping a weighted rig down to the bottom or slowly trolling over rolling seas is accompanied by crossed fingers and prayers that what eats the bait will be legal…today.  I digress.  We will, as we always have adapt and evolve to carry on repurposing ourselves; becoming regulation reading lawyers on the sea, captains of the recreational encyclopedias of rules, boat driving legal dictionaries buoyantly fishing buoy line....

So with that said, raise your glass to the future of the habitat!  May it bring joy and happiness to everyone on the boat...everyone but the lonely, hungry, useless fish cooler...

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Mullet Lake Skunk.

As the north trade winds howl throughout the early spring, many natives are licking their wounds inflicted from last minute late season pushes deep into the marsh after soggy,  wore out game, on land that’s been trampled all winter through and through.  Packing up their gear, emptying hunting camps, perusing fuel bills and telling stories of the one that got away.  Ahhh, spring time is here and it’s time to clean the rifles, fix the broken, and hide from the weekend festivities we got out of all hunting season.  It’s like March Madness native style: finding the wet musty sweatshirt in the bed of the truck can’t keep you from remembering rainy early winter mornings, the smell of mud embedded in the passenger side carpet or how sore we were after the miles of walking after the fast flying, migratory mind- blowing, “How did I MISS that F%#ker??” mighty snipe.   Reading this may bring a relative or a relative of a loved one to mind: you know the one who, last time you saw the likes of, was slinking in late to… fill in the holiday family function here… wearing snake boots and most likely poorly groomed.

However, a select few dump the hunting gear wherever they can and climb out of their cocoon of camouflage and get right back on the mighty St. Johns, looking for what she’s going to allow us to harvest from her sweet, sweet waters.  From Mexico bound migratory birds to the southern migration of American shad, the spring is one of her most magical times of the year! If mother nature allows, we baptize ourselves in salt baths and if the conditions forbid, we sneak into sweet water and lightly finesse lines into the tannic-tainted north flowing H2O.  Shad, Spec, Catfish and Bass use this time of water recession to fatten up on the newly hatched spring time goodies and prepare for the long hot summer.  Minnows are a staple for the harvest during the feeding frenzy.  All of the aforementioned species regularly delight in all day feedings of these light tackle wonders of the livewell.  Worms, freshly peeled shrimp, cuts of shad or pretty much any other smelly leftovers from the winter's "funtivities" will work nicely for the feverishly feeding catfish.  Floated to the bottom, hooked with strong hooks, tied with fresh leaders and delicately weighted.  These black mambas of the bottom dwellers will find the springtime sacrificial offerings of stinky treats in no time. As for, shad and spec… not so easy, muchachos…. I’ve taken the high road over the last few springs and tortured myself by targeting them with chicken feathers and closures.  Yes, that means I’ve been fly fishing for these picky little bastards. Not having the patience to tie my own flies, I spent countless nights scrolling through pages of internet catalogs in an aimless attempt to pick the color, size and type of minnow pattern they’ll eat this year.  After package filled parcels parade their way to the mailbox, a few of these and a couple of those are what end up in the man purse as the water clapping inshore skiffs embark on the late Sunday morning sun-filled adventures. 

This last Sunday the Great White Hunter, that is, John D and I headed north to the Mullet Lake area of the St. Johns, up between Lake Harney and Lake Jessup in Geneva, FL.   Although we got pretty much skunked, we had a great time on unfamiliar waters exploring here and there to see what the yonder North had to offer a few lost salt crackers.  The day ultimately did not live up to our expectations of the tales of 20 pound catfish pushing their way out of cooler lids, limits of spec or tight lines pulled by furiously flying shad.  We had fun nonetheless.  A few cold beers, calling out bird names and time to talk about what the upcoming daylight savings had in store for each of us is how we passed the time while we basked in the shadows of ancient cypress trees, surrounded by bottom- busting cypress knees, curious critters and cool spring air; there are few better ways to throw away an afternoon.