Having long been afraid and disinterested in all things
pertaining to the outdoors, it should come as no surprise to anyone that prior
to last summer I could not recall the last time I participated in the "sport"
known as fishing (whether or not it is actually a sport is an entirely
different article all together). The
only recollections I have of fishing over the past ten years or so involve my
friends casting lines at their cottages in Northern Ontario while I stand by
idly and work on my bicep curls with a bottle of Old Milwaukee. Yes, it's safe to say that Bass Pro Shops
will not be hiring me to promote their swag anytime soon.
As previously mentioned in the first part of this blog entry
last week, I had been persuaded to give fishing a try here in the NWT, and
since I had no excuse not to, I made my way over to North Mart to purchase
myself an over-priced "Made In China" fishing rod. With my newly found weapon for slaying the
area's fish, myself along with three other chaps made our way outside of town
to fish under some highway overpass that would apparently yield us quite the
catch. On the drive out, I enquired with
Matt who has lived in Inuvik the longest out of the group about the necessity
of having a fishing license. He told me
not to worry, and that in all his years up here he had never been asked to
produce a license and that if we were caught we would probably be given a
warning.
So with my head cleared and not a care in the world, we
readied our rods (let's be real, I had to get someone to do it for me), grabbed
a few beers and cast our lines in the water.
Myself and Matt fished under one side of the overpass, while the other two
blokes with us were fishing on the opposite side of the river where some
gentlemen happened to be readying to launch their boat into the water. Almost immediately, we started reeling in
some pretty sizeable pike (or jackfish as they are called up here).
Seeing as how I am afraid of fish though, catching them
proved to be problematic. You see, it's
one thing to get the fish to bite your lure, it's an entirely different game
getting the fish off the hook and back into the water. For someone like me who is afraid to put his
hand in a goldfish jar, trying to remove a ten to twenty pound fish off your
line that has razor sharp teeth is bordering on my worst nightmare. Luckily, I had other people there to do the
dirty work for me, while I just gloated in my great success and dreamed of
challenging Bob Izumi on his show one day.
After an hour or so of fishing and the four of us hauling probably
in the neighbourhood of fifteen fish (I caught the biggest on the day, no big
deal), things took a decidedly interesting turn when an ENR (Environment and
Natural Resources) truck pulled into the boat launch off the highway. It turns out, they had pulled over to check
on the boat licensing, etc for the guys who were about to launch their boat,
but they also happened to catch Matt and I with our fishing rods in the
water. Luckily for our other two
comrades, the ENR officers did not see them right away and they were able to
hide their fishing roads and just stand there as if they were just randomly
drinking some brews under a highway overpass in the middle of nowhere. After they finished checking up on the
strangers who were about to launch their boat, the officers made their way over
to Matt and I to have a discussion. In
the few minutes leading up to this, Matt kept reassuring me that we would
probably not get in much trouble and they would probably let us go free and
easy. If only!
Upon greeting the officers up on the highway and presenting them with our ID and what not,
we were promptly interrogated as to why we did not have a fishing license. We politely informed the officer that we did
not know where to purchase one and we would be more than willing to do it as
soon as we got back in to town. Next,
the ENR officers started grilling us on the illegal fishing hooks (I have since
learned that barbed hooks are a big no-no) we were using and whether or not we
were releasing all of our catches. I
tried to make a joke with them about how I was pretty clueless/had not fished
since I was a child and barely knew what end of the rod to put in the water,
but they were clearly not amused. In the
end, the two of us were each given a ticket for "fishing without a
license" and told that we would be contacted at a later date by them to
arrange our court appearance. A court
date! Yes, apparently we were not allowed
to just pay a fine and walk away from the matter, as all fishing and wildlife
violations do not carry set fines.
Apparently, it would be up to the judge to decide how much to fine our
sorry asses. Oh, and did I mention that
they confiscated my one-hour old fishing rod?
The nerve of those bureaucratic bastards! With our fishing rods now confiscated, there
was only one thing left to do; get drunk and eat cheeseburgers. And that is exactly what we did...
After a couple of weeks passed and a few failed attempts by
ENR officers to get in touch with me, they finally caught up with me and
presented me with a summons to appear in court for my sinister crime. As the officer was prepping my paperwork, I
asked him what the fine would be and he informed me that it could be anywhere
from $100 all the way up to a few hundred thousand dollars (whatever the judge
felt was appropriate). When I told him
that it might take a few years to scrape together a couple hundred thousand
dollars if they decided to fine me that he just looked at me like I was
complete fuckin' tool. I felt like that awkward gay guy being singled out at an
Andrew Dice Clay performance. With my
court date set and my lack of ability to entertain ENR officers firmly in
place, all I had to do was wait for my sentencing (I'm being a little dramatic,
I know).
A couple months rolled by before my day of reckoning
arrived. Wearing my smartest Wal-Mart
dress clothes, I sauntered into the Inuvik Courthouse figuring Matt and I would
be in and out in short order and that we would be in there with a lineup of people
facing charges like traffic violations
and jaywalking tickets. Wrong!
Apparently, people caught without a $10 fishing license get to go to
real live criminal court! Amongst the
many people before the judge that day were a young offender who had been
charged on at least thirty different occasions, a man who tried to run someone
off the road with his truck and presumably cause him serious bodily harm before
fleeing the territory, and a male nurse (think an evil version on Ben Stiller's
Gaylord Focker) who had stolen drugs
from the hospital. Shit, on second
thought maybe they were already getting my prison jumpsuit ready for me.
Following a couple of very entertaining hours of watching
all these scallywags present themselves before the court, Matt and I were
finally called up to plead our case/receive or fine. Originally, the judge decided to hand us each
fines of $250 (she said that was the standard going rate these days) but I was
able to talk her down to $200 after making up some excuse about attempting to
purchase a license. Unfortunately, there
was also a 15% Victims' of Crime
Surcharge tacked on to the ticket, which brought the grand total up to $230
for each of us. No jail time, no having
to get my parents to remortgage their house for me. Minor win. And the way I see it, I just paid $230 for a
few hours of entertainment and got to experience my very own episode of Law and Order: Inuvik.
The moral of the story is simple kids: If you are going to
fish without a proper license, make sure you do it where there is no chance of
you being caught. Or, option number two
is to make sure you are a chick with a fantastic rack, some low morals, and are
willing to do some favours to get off on your charges. The second option always seems to work in
movies, I cannot vouch for it in real life scenarios, although I imagine it
would be effective.
Until next time, don't hold your rods too tight,
~Brent~
