Pop always told me to “never turn your back on the Ocean.” It’s that mantra that all outdoor’s types learn over time, keep attuned to your surroundings as you never know what lies on the trail ahead.

I was reminded of that yesterday, I’m coasting into the parking area and greeted by the remnants of some audiophile’s  window – some fellow with a taste for fish and music, who met up with other fellows with a taste for his CD player.

Not much he can do but swear.

The urban interface requires a “fishmobile”; a battered rig with everything visible, no rod tubes in the back seat, a factory sound system lacking embellishment, and nothing but old cigar wrappers and empty soda cans for the crowbar crowd.

They’ll give it the once over and head for your car instead.

While the shady spot looked inviting, parking out in the sun meant all them dog walkers, strollers, and joggers would be able to keep an eye on my rig.

There’s not a soul on the river despite my late start – likely because most were smarter and saw the sudden increase in flow Saturday. I worked my way through the upper area without a grab, and was joined by a fellow using a switch rod.

The fish were there – but it was comeuppance time. They’re swimming between my legs without giving my flies a second glance, and I was thinking of the fellow with the smashed window, and hoping he’d received better …

It was a rare chance to study Shad behavior; big water rarely offers the opportunity to see much detail on depth and movement. The above fish were part of a large school that swam by me repeatedly. The three fish shown are just off the bottom – and it appeared as if the entire school moved around in circles shifting en mass either farther out or closer to my vantage point.

They were close enough to “highstick” – and I tried that with two or three different flies with no luck. I could easily see the gaudy beast swing through them, but nothing gave chase.

I dropped lower to watch the Spey caster, first asking whether he minded me doing so, it might have been the Windowless Angler and there’d be no telling his mood if I tromped up close and squatted on his turf. Sitting on the bank behind him allowed me to see what he did that I wasn’t doing, and I’ve got a better understanding of how to manhandle the Double Spey and Snap T casts.

Resigned to another fishless fishing trip, I headed back to my rig.

“Never turn your back on the Ocean” – and I spot a glimmer of movement in the grass ahead of me on the trail …

I wave off the approaching dog walker and stopped to snap a picture – of the biggest, best-fed rattlesnake I’ve encountered in the brush, about four feet long and armed with six or seven rattles. With the parking lot as close as it was my guess is the trash cans were prime “riffles” for local rodents, and “Meathead” sure looked like he’d eaten large last night.

It boiled down to mutual respect, I moved him along with the rod tip off the trail and out of harm’s way, all the while thanking my stars for being attuned to my surroundings.

I caught up with the two elderly ladies and their dogs and mentioned my find, to their combined gasp, “Oh my lord, rattlesnakes? Here?” – the poodles shot me an ugly glance as they didn’t care for being carried home …