You see, I don’t fish. Therefore, I don’t know all details involved in fishing that are OBVIOUS to die-hard anglers, and so I probably made a fool of myself this morning. However, that is okay, because I learned something, and I really do love to learn.
I was walking on the late shift today, and around 8:35 AM, I watched a full-sized pickup – towing a bass boat, of all things! – pull down into the tiny dirt parking area beside the bridge. It rained hard a few days ago, so the creek is up, but it’s still only a couple feet deep – not to mention rock-strewn – so I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what these guys were up to.
Earlier this week, when it was three-and-a-half feet deeper than it is now, you might have been able to float a bass boat in it, but there’s no way even in high water that you could launch at the bridge. Between the parking lot and the dirt area next to the creek are several carefully positioned boulders that totally prevent vehicles from driving to the water. What were they going to do? CARRY the bass boat to the creek? At least my walk would not be dull.
Over the next few minutes, there was much to-do in the area of the trailer hitch. Stuff, including a cooler and five-gallon bucket, was unloaded from the back of the truck. Then on my next pass, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but an ironing board by the trailer’s right wheel! WOW! These guys were obviously smart enough to realize they couldn’t launch their boat into the creek; so instead, they were going to knock out a little ironing. Their wives would be proud. Personally, I can respect that in a man.
Next, out came some kind of electric (gas-powered?) knife. It sounded like a distant lawn mower. Maybe it was a Saws-All. Heads down, the men began going after whatever was on the ironing board. They’d saw for a few seconds, pause, closely examine whatever it was, put some of it in a large Zip-Loc, and then – horror of horrors – fling the rest of it up into the grass beside the bridge abutment. Not only that, every now and then they’d fling what looked like long plastic bread bags up into the grass, too. I was stunned at their littering boldness, and I was beginning to get angry.
We happen to be sticklers about not littering, and the idea of these yahoos throwing their fish guts and plastic bags all about down near the creek really got my goat. I made a mental note of their truck’s license plate number. Then from the bridge overhead, I called down: “Yo!” They looked up. Pausing till there was no traffic passing, I hollered, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t throw your litter into the grass. Just haul the litter out with you.”
One of the guys motioned about with his Electro-Knife and hollered something back at me, but a vehicle passed just then, and I couldn’t hear what he said. They both kept staring at me and talking and waving and pointing with that knife. They really didn’t look all that thrilled to see me, and I confess that I felt a bit intimidated. And of course, with my less than perfect hearing (but surely it was really the traffic noise, right?) I was still unable to understand them. I decided that Lone Sweaty Woman probably shouldn’t walk down and go eyeball-to-eyeball with Men Wielding Knife, so I just turned and walked on home.
But, my goat having been got, I really wanted someone bigger and uglier than me to tell those guys to stop littering by the creek! So I called the Taney County Commissioner’s Office and asked who I should call to report someone littering on public property. That nice lady connected me to the sheriff’s office, and that gentleman listened to my story and said he’d send a deputy out to talk to me. I told him I didn’t want the guys arrested or anything; I just wanted them to stop littering by the creek.
Some few minutes later, the deputy phoned. I told him my story while he listened patiently. Then he responded, “If they’re cleanin’ fish and throwin’ the guts and carcass in the grass, well now, that’s not litterin’. That’s all biodegradable and the animals’ll eat that stuff.” I thought, but did not say, “Yes, but what about the stench until they do?”
He continued, “It’s sucker season, and them suckers go on up those creeks this time o’ year. And they’re big fish. They’re probably cleaning a load ‘a suckers. Now when ya’ fillet them suckers, ya’ pull out all the meat. That’s probably what they’re puttin’ in the plastic bag. Then, the skin, you peel that down, but it’s still attached to the carcass, and them’s big fish, them suckers, so when you toss out that skin, why, it stretched, and seriously, it’ll stretch to about twice as long as the fish. That’s what happens what you fillet ‘em. So what you seen that looks like a bread bag when they threw it is probably that skin still atached to the carcass. But that’s not litterin’, cleanin’ fish and tossin’ the guts in the woods or on the ground. There’s nothin’ illegal about that. Now, one thing is, you could call Conservation. Becuz if they’re catchin’ fish illegally, or if they don’t have a fishin’ license, now that would be a crime. But you’d need to call Conservation on that.”
He was really quite polite and very patient with this obviously totally ignorant city girl. I thanked him for calling me back and told him that my main concern was just keeping the land around the creek clean. He assured me that the foxes and coons an’ such would take care of that. He reiterated that no crime had been committed, but that I could call the Conservation department if I thought they were fishing illegally.
Now, how I, a confirmed non-fisherwoman who doesn’t even know how to GET a fishing license, much less whether suckers are in season this week, would know that is beyond me.
So, thus ends another interesting anecdote in Taney County living.
Ya’ll come back now, ya’ hear?




