Capt. Tim Ramsey
I didn’t think they would find me here! 
Am I talking cops? No. IRS? Not even. Jet ski tours, Jehovah’s witnesses, Scientologists, politicians, hipsters, or the Condo Commandos? Nope. It’s something much, much worse. I usually go exploring the mangrove backcountry to get away from the madness of the world. I didn’t think it could find me there. I was wrong.
So, there I was, just inside “Nottellingyou Pass,” a spot in the Ten Thousand Islands so pristine I’m keeping it a secret. Hey, you want to know where it is, then explore. Get out on the boat. Rub that hull on some sand. Throw a little mud. Get on the trolling motor. Wear shoes to protect yourself from the oyster bar. Like I said before, I’m not the guy that gives up the spots the locals go to. How about blame the guy in the following bit for ruining it for you.
Like I said, there I was. Trolling motor on, engine tilted out, no stereo, bow pushing slowly into the lazy outgoing tide. Boat moving parallel to the mangroves roughly thirty feet away. Casting my trusty red and silver bucktail. A dolphin blows out a mist of saltwater as it swims lazily nearby. Everything is green and lush and tall like it was twenty years ago. Heaven.
Well, almost heaven. Or else heaven to one person is different to another? Or you only get small doses of it before things turn sour? Or maybe it’s me? Maybe I only get short reprieves before things go back to their normal grind, I don’t know, or I’m digressing, but it happened like this; It started as the sound of the first outboard motor I heard in about forty minutes. At first, I couldn’t tell if it was coming my way or crossing the bay at the south end of the pass. Soon it grew louder, then louder still. Then the volume went steady. I waited. I waited some more. I wondered what the heck was keeping whatever this was? It was taking too long. Way too long. I wondered if I should shave. I contemplated the differential gravity of celestial bodies in an asteroid field.
I unconsciously reeled in, then set my rod in the holder next to the console. Suddenly a sound hit my ears. The sound of a boat hull splitting the water and the blaring of an outboard motor not baffled by mangrove trees. Several thoughts raced through my mind at once:
-Who is this nitwit and why is he so close to this side of the pass?
-Why is he going so fast in the backcountry?
-He’s going to hit me!
-Is this guy’s name Murphy because this is my day going wrong and you know what Murphy’s law says.
-Holy (four letters, begins with S) this guy’s going to run into me!
-Do I yell? No. No good
-Do I fire a warning shot with my trusty Glock? No. No good. Too far away and in a holster (yes, I have a CCL).
-Is everybody that runs a (insert boat brand here) an a-hole?
-Rabbits.
Yes, at this point I had the mental flash of a rabbit. No, not the cute little furry critters running around the yard or the ones created by Hefner. This rabbit resides on the remote to my trolling motor, the thing hanging conveniently around my neck.
Without looking, I mashed the prop button followed by the rabbit and left arrow. The motor kicked into high gear. The boat swung closer to the mangrove trees. Good thing; the margin of error when this goofball passed me was about twenty feet.
As I got ready to be rocked by his wake and his engine noise reached its peak, I noticed something that shook me to the core. Why was he so close? Why was he going so fast? Why was he going to intentionally “wake” me when the unwritten rule is if you’re passing someone on the trolling motor fishing you come off a plane, idle past, then get going again? Why was this inconsiderate jackass ready to run me down? Why won’t he stand and fight? My soul flooded with rage. Contempt for all humanity poured from my heart. I thrust my arms in the air and hurled insults he would never hear. The downfall of humanity had come. Why was this happening?
…he was staring at his phone.
