Mullet drop? Toss?
To the Editor:
I’ll bet a mullet flag would fly at the top of our poles if Pine Island were a sovereign nation. We’ve got mullet! We’ve still got so many that a few hardy commercial fishers manage to eke out a living catching mullet in spite of an oppressive net ban. Those fisher’s granddaddies recall mullet runs so thick with fish it was considered sport to cross the pass walking on their backs. Those days are gone but their memory lingers on. Local eateries love to serve up those tasty fried or smoked mullet breakfasts and dinners. Apparently there’s still enough mullet around here to throw them away, literally. Locals and visitors vie in a peculiar fund-raising contest each year. It’s called “The Mullet Toss” to see who can throw a slippery mullet fish the farthest. This is our island version of what is celebrated annually in Kansas and Oklahoma as a fund-raiser sport. Okies call it the “Cow Chip Toss.” Substitute cow chip dung flung like a Frisbee for mullet flung by the tail. It’s just as tacky-wacky without the slime of our sport. I’m not suggesting we substitute cow chips for mullet. Steer dung is in short supply on the island, notwithstanding the plethora of bull variety heaped around local watering holes. But why waste great tasting fish? But it’s a subject that needs “further study.”
Last week we convened an intimate little study group of visiting relatives. We hashed out global warming issues over icy margaritas on our pool patio. The mullet toss issue was on the agenda, but far down the list. Suddenly our attention flashed to an aerial battle that commenced 50 feet over our heads. Two ospreys were in a life and death dogfight battle with a screaming eagle. An instant later a loud bump filled the air, followed by a squishy thump next to our grapefruit tree. The tangling eagle and ospreys were out of sight by then. An eerie silence filled the air. Our little peacemaking group was stunned by what we interpreted as a display of nature’s violence in our back yard. Cautiously I left the group and ventured outside the pool cage to survey the damage from the bump-thump. To my surprise a 14-inch mullet lay somewhat squashed on the ground. Obviously the fish had been dropped by one of those fighting raptors, bouncing from our metal roof to the ground. As I looked up I was aware that the eagle had returned and was perched, wings comfortably folded, on a nearby pine tree branch. Its eyes were locked on me like a fighter pilot’s radar. I picked up the mangled mullet and stuck it on a bare grapefruit tree branch as a peace offering and cautiously backed into the pool cage. Our little group jumped down the agenda to “mullet toss” and a lively discussion ensued. After a couple more rounds of margaritas, a consensus was reached. What we had witnessed was a demonstration by the real island locals of their version of the mullet toss-drop sport.
I went to check on the skewered mullet status later that evening. The absence of both the mullet and the eagle left me with but one conclusion. Mother Nature, the ultimate environmentalist, has taken the game to a higher level. The tosser has to eat the mullet! We Islanders, in our little game, should do no less.
Richard M. Little
St. James City