Poacher Paul
Apparently the rumors reached Rome — folks down here on the South End are crabbing without licenses, without proper or legal equipment, without regard for managing the crustacean resource — so they’ve sent the centurions down to enforce the Law. It came as quite a shock to Poacher Paul on his first trip crabbing this season, not only to his poaching pride but to his wallet.
Martha on the bluff with her binoculars, sick of Paul’s seasonal greed, called the Authorities. In short order the Game Warden pulled up alongside Paul’s Boston Whaler and demanded to see his license. Paul, never at a loss for words, informed the gendarme he didn’t have one, had never had one and by Neptune he didn’t need one now. He’s a South End Old Timer, Paul is, and an honorary member of the Take-All-You-Want Club. There’s a lot of members of that society and most of them aren’t old timers, they’re just folks who have theirs and to hell with those who don’t.
They think government is just a bunch of imbeciles bent on keeping them from what is their God given right to take. More for me, less for you. Actually, less for all of us, but when the crabs are gone, they’ll blame the Department of Natural Resources for mismanagement, proof once again of government incompetence.
Down at the Marina a day later, Paul was still livid at this intrusion on his personal freedom. The warden, what Paul calls the Fish Police, fined him for crabbing without a license, fined him for an unlicensed boat, fined him for a trap without an escape hatch and fined him for 15 crabs either the wrong sex or undersized or both. He confiscated the traps and threw back all of Paul’s catch. It was an expensive day of crabbing, for sure.
Paul, of course, vowed to show that Fish Cop who was boss. No way was he buying a license, no way was he paying those fines, no way was he backing down to the &#@!!* government and its &%#@ stooges.
As the old saying down my way goes, you can lead a horse’s ass to water, but you can’t make him think.
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