Pressley: Dockside at the lake

An entertaining thing to do is just sit by the dock on a Friday afternoon.

Last Friday, I was out at the Boat House on Lake Oconee. You know the place. In the old days, it was a catfish joint and now it’s got storage and gas, right off the backside of Harbor Club.

It was a beautiful afternoon, and I was out peddling boats. Which for me means I talk a lot. Not a stretch to those who know me … First, a good friend of mine from Henry County was camping nearby with his wife and they stopped by to say hello. Another good friend, whom I met by buying his old Pathfinder Bay boat last year, came over to work on his pontoon, which meant I chatted and helped him a little. Well, maybe we just stopped working altogether and talked would be a more accurate description.

And then I met a guy who had been a vice cop in Miami from the ‘70s up until just a few years ago. What an interesting life he’s led!

Imagine seeing the Cocaine Cowboy days up close and personal, the boat chases, car chases, and shootings of the 1970s and ‘80s in Miami. Imagine being the commander on the scene of the Versace murder and the suicide of the murderer. Imagine seeing Cuban immigrants flooding in, then Haitians, then Dominicans.

Some people say Miami is the last of the wild pirate towns, and to be honest, for a long time that wasn’t too far from the truth. And we really aren’t talking that long ago, either. These days, while it’s lost a lot of the wildness, Miami is still one of my favorite cities. The food, the music, the coffee, the cigars, oh man! And it’s got great fishing, too!

But back on track. I have always had a fascination with the rise of the drug trade of the late ‘60s through the 1990s. Probably because I grew up watching Miami Vice, Magnum PI, The Rockford Files, and the like. I remember going to Florida in the early ‘80s and seeing mullet and crab fishermen with huge gold and diamond bracelets, brand-new Caddys, and big houses. For a short time, I honestly thought the fishing business was a sure ticket to wealth untold!

However, I quickly learned they were running in loads for the Columbians, Mexicans, Cubans, etc. I have friends who did time for running for Pablo, whose fathers died in Columbia on bad airstrips or got their start in life by running in enough dope to pay for their skiffs or offshore boats before they went legit. The smuggler’s life still has an appeal it seems. In fact, I can see it. The Florida fishing guide life is intertwined with the smuggling life.

Once, while in Florida on a dolphin trip, we found a “square grouper.” And after catching our limit of Mahi, of course, we turned it in to the Coast Guard. But we got our limit first!

And if you don’t know what a square grouper is, I’m sorry, I guess you’ve just led a sheltered or landlocked life, or both! I can honestly say, though, that the fish didn’t taste like oregano.

I’m personally glad we still have a few renegades, smugglers, pirates, rum runners, old-school lawmen, and beat cops around. They are always a lot of fun to talk to, no matter which side of the law they worked for.

Tight lines and following seas to all of you!