Editor’s Letter

I’m one of the slackers. I admit it.

This year, for the first time in five or six years, my shrimp-baiting poles remain willfully ignored, unused, neglected. They’re back there, somewhere behind the garage, cocooned in so much ivy that I can hardly even spot them any more.

But I know they’re there.

Neither I nor my brother or any of my other fishing buddies have made the trip down to Fort Johnson and dropped the measly 25 bucks for an updated shrimp-baiting license.

Apparently, we’re not alone.

In the ’90s, recreational shrimp-baiting was all the rage. At one point, as many as 20,000 people purchased licenses each year. Spirited debates over the practice raged between the recreational and commercial shrimping sectors. Boat ramps were overrun at night with hordes of cast-netters. Noxious fumes from ground-up fish meal mixed with pluff mud wafted over the harbor.

But enthusiasm seems to be waning.

Last year, about 8,300 anglers bought shrimp-baiting licenses, the lowest number since 1989. Before the 2009 season began, even fewer baiting licenses had been sold.

I am one of the guilty ones.

I suspect my reasons for skipping this shrimp-baiting season mirror those of thousands of other fair-weather fans. Too much time at work. Too many other hobbies. Maybe a little too much time in the deer stand or in front of the TV.

Why not just take 50 bucks and buy a mess of shrimp right off the docks?

Perhaps here I must make a shameful admission: I’ve never really mastered this whole shrimp-baiting thing. I have “coolered out” on rare occasions, but for the most part, I’ve been lucky to wind up with a few quarts.

I’ve talked to plenty of guys and gals who regale me with stories of coolering out in under an hour. I’ve heard fantastic tales of daytime expeditions to Bull’s Bay, when nearly every cast yielded a basketball-size clump of jumbo shrimp.

But those aren’t my stories.

My story goes like this: Fumbling around in Charleston Harbor at night, struggling against the wind and tide to steer the boat along my line of poles. Getting covered in saltwater, pluff mud and fish meal after hours of casting a heavy net. Watching like an idiot as the tide rises to the top of my ill-positioned poles. At the end, if I was lucky, sitting by the cooler snapping the heads off hundreds of popcorn shrimp.

Clearly, I am an amateur.

Do I have fun shrimp-baiting? Well, yeah. Being on the water at night is always magical. And shrimp-baiting is the perfect chance to catch up with old friends, to trade stories and laughs while sipping a cold beer on a cool night. A few of us have shared some side-splitting misadventures out there, knocking around on a cool autumn night.

… You know, there’s still plenty of time left in the season. Maybe I should dig out those poles and give it another shot.