Surviving Amelia

I live in Fernandina Beach, which is now known as Amelia Island. The Island has had that name since 1562, however, Amelia became obsolete through the years. But sales and marketing is paramount these days, and well, it does sound pretty.

It use to be a small fishing village. Those were the days. And then came, “The Plantation.” Back in the mid 70’s, development dug it’s first foot hold, and has yet to cease. The once beautiful island is home. to concrete, electrical wires, golf course chemicals and a large population of high end vehicles, either sreaming from one red light to another, or creeping at a syrupy slow pace, driven by an ocatarian, hoping to arrive alive.

We all want to arrive alive. We all want to enjoy the island. For me, it becomes more and more of an endeavor, day by day. I am a minimalist. I like to surf fish. I use one rig. I hold it in my hand. I now share the beach with a slew of fisherman. Most will have four or five pole holders for each person in the car.

Yes, we drive our vehicles on the beach, in designated areas. At one time, we had access to the coastline. Now we are limited to one mile, of beach.

And it’s all because of the turtles. They are endangered. So, mile by mile we have been removed from the beach, to protect them. OK. I love nature. I love the turtles. I will hunker down, in between the other nature lovers, and catch my fish. I follow the rules. I have to. If I don’t there’s a man, in a truck who will promptly arrest me.

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