The Tell-Tale Drum
I don’t know what the entire scheme was, or why she did what she did, but I don’t guess it matters.
It happened 20-someodd years ago.
She was sitting on the seat in front of the center console of a 25-foot, deep-V boat that had fishing poles sticking out from all over everywhere.
She stood up as the man driving the boat tilted the motor and shut off the engine to beach the vessel near the access road alongside the causeway. I figured I’d say hello.
The first thing I noticed when I got out of my patrol truck was that the 60-ish year-old woman standing in the boat looked more like she had gotten gussied-up for a backyard barbeque than a day of fishing.
She sported a generous amount of make-up, and her puffy hairdo had been sprayed into submission enough to withstand a windy day on the bay surprisingly well.
“State Game Warden – did y’all have any luck?”
“None today,” the lady said, smiling. The man fidgeted behind the console and said nothing.
“That’s too bad. Well, I’ll just do a quick water safety check and let y’all get on your way.”
“OK young man – you come right on up. Are you thirsty? Would you like some water? It is SO hot today ...”
“No ma’am, I’m fine.”
Once aboard, I could see several hatches in the deck of the boat. The man smiled and waved from behind the console.
“We just stopped here to tidy things up before heading in. I brought a picnic lunch but never took the time to eat it. We’re just BEAT. I want to go HOME. Would you like a sandwich? I make the BEST tuna sandwich with pickles and ...” ba-bump.
Her eyes shot to the side nervously. Her head didn’t move.
“OK, ma’am – I won’t be long. I need to see two lifejackets and a fire extinguisher.” ba-bump...
My eyes shot to the hatch behind her. “Ma’am ...
are you SURE you don’t have any fish on this boat?” The man remained silent, but the hatch behind her did not. ba-bump, ba-bump.
She tossed her head back indignantly, but her hair stayed in place. The sweet, motherly lady that I had first encountered had turned into a harsher rendition of my mom wanting to know why I STILL hadn’t cleaned my room.
“Are you calling me a LIAR, young man?” Babump, ba-bump ...
“I’m just gonna have a look under this hatch, ma’am.”
I thought she was going to step in front of me, but she must’ve thought better of it.
I bent down and opened the hatch. There lay the telltale drum - as in black drum (Pogonias cromis). Black drum are appropriately named for the drumming sound they make with their sonic muscle-swim bladder. The drum she had in her hatch had drummed its way to freedom. It’s not legal to keep a black drum over 30 inches - this one was 36. I was able to revive the fish enough to release it.
Faced with the facts, the lady fessed up. Chivalry to the wind, the man behind the console, her husband, wanted no part of any of it. As I wrote her a ticket, I heard snippets of “but it’s the biggest fish I ever caught,” and “my cousin is married to your boss’s boss” and so on, and so on, but eventually she signed the ticket, and she and her husband went on their way. She never told me the real reason they were beaching the boat along the causeway, but I imagine they were going to meet someone there to discreetly hand the fish off before heading to the boat ramp. And if it wasn’t for the incessant beating of that tell-tale drum, she just might have gotten away with it.
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