The French Broad I am referring to is not that piece of strange you picked up on your vacation after graduating college (although judging from the laundry list of STD’s my buddies came back with, those girls aren’t exactly church going folk). The French Broad I refer to is our local urban smallmouth fishery, which has remained filthy in terms of garbage and water color for going on the whole season now. Guiding smallmouth on the French Broad this season was like taking repeated kicks to the groin from my one-year-old. Not something I enjoy, but inevitably it happens over and over again. In commemoration of our last trip of the year on the Broad, SCOF’s inappropriate T-shirt designer, Steve, came up with this gem of a tee to sum up most folks’ feelings on the Broad this year.
Unfortunately, this sentiment seems work all the way around for the French Broad, from the people who abuse it to the people who try to make a living on it. Now I know this bullshit is not limited to our urban fishery, as the words “urban fishery” have become synonymous with water that is just as likely to dole out a staff infection as it is an enjoyable day of fishing, but you gotta start somewhere. At this point, I am left with a decision to make: keep on pissing and moaning about how much the Broad sucks for another season, or to do my small part in trying to salvage what we can from the fishery. I usually go the pissing and moaning route as it involves less actual work on my part, but things have gone too far. I am now an official French Broad whistle-blower.
Beware developers who don’t implement proper erosion controls…your ass is, as they say, grass. Be warned hillbilly depositing your tires in the river to avoid the ten-dollar disposal fee…I see you. Armed with nothing more than my trusty camera phone and a list of environmental nazi contacts, I plan to fight crime from very far away and without actually confronting you. What I will do is get your license plate number, and like an old lady, phone it in to the authorities. My brand of justice may not be swift or painful, but what it lacks in these areas it more than makes up for in girlishness. Think the Monkey Wrench Gang meets Murder She Wrote…Wrongdoers, your day has come.