"To be governed means that at every move, operation or transaction one is noted, registered, entered in a census, taxed, stamped, priced, assessed, patented, licensed, authorized, recommended, admonished, reformed ... exploited, monopolized, extorted, pressured, mystified, robbed; all in the name of public utility and the general good."
Pierre - Joseph Proudhon
The Hammer and I took advantage of the low water in the river to take a stroll amongst the recreational fishermen trying to lure pink salmon into their barbeques. The fishermen were the usual multi-cultural hodge podge Canada is rightly famous for. I tried to talk to a few of the guys near the river bank but no one could speak English for shit except for one guy. He asked me, "Does your dog catch fish?" with a heavy German accent. I told him, "I'm still training her how to cast." He chuckled and took a long hit on his Budweiser.
The bank was littered with beer cans. Many of the fishermen were knocking back good Canadian beer as they waited for a strike. It reminded me I should have a beer with my lunch when I returned home. As if I needed reminding.
A heron squawked in the air doubtlessly pissed off with having to share the river with so many humans. When the heron landed in a tree above the water leaves fell from the branches and shattered the still water below him like Baghdad.
The Hammer loves the water and had a good splash. I was relieved to find out she may have lost her puppy taste for dead salmon. She sniffed at a huge one already half eaten on the bank. Perhaps it was not yet stinky enough to tempt her.
The federal fisheries motherfuckers swooped overhead in their rusty helicopter counting how many rods were in the water. The Hammer stared up at them, barely an hundred feet above us, as I playfully gave them the finger. I hear thousands of fishermen are hard at it all along the river when the salmon head inland to begin a new generation and die.