Returning Home

by Marissa Williams
@marrissa_wil

Returning home always meant returning to the water. It’s a way of reseting from school, from work, and getting back to myself. How I’ve spent my time on the water has evolved throughout my life. From playing in the ocean spray to becoming PADI scuba certified to fly fishing. And as life continues it seems the possibilities and joy are endless. The one activity that stands out from the rest, however, is the mangrove clean up. Now the question is, how does one exactly decide gambling with tetanus is a suitable hobby?

I can remember the moment clearly. I had just taken off from my super secret launch spot on Sanibel and had a route picked out through Ding Darling Sanctuary. As I reached the first island something caught my eye. A piece of monofilament. I quickly grew annoyed that someone had the audacity to leave something in nature and destroy my perfect view. I paddled over and gave the line a tug and it fell from the branch. Then I looked around and quickly realized my paddle wasn’t going to happen. There were hooks and line everywhere. What would be the point of just taking one piece when I was floating right there? And this is where my addiction was born.

Suddenly, I felt like a kid in a candy store. The places I had been paddling were also incredibly popular fishing locations and people left all sorts of tackle and gear behind. I’d find hooks with bait still attached, yards of line, bobbers, weights and the best of all . . . lures. The lures were in good enough shape so I decided to keep them and out of curiosity I started keeping an excel spreadsheet to track the hooks and satisfy my inner nerd. There were obvious trends I noticed right away. Which locations were more popular than others, which bait was used at which locations, and more. Then I noticed something that turned my fun activity into heartbreak.

 As I was following a piece of monofilament into the mangroves I discovered what became trapped in it. An Ibis skeleton hung intact with line still keeping it attached to the mangrove branch. A beautiful creatures last moments frozen in time. The thought of the animal caught there with no way out brought a flurry of emotions. Anger, sadness and concern wondering why anyone wouldn’t go after their stray line. In my mind, my hobby was no longer a hobby, but shifting to a mission. I’d come to this spot every day until every piece of line, every hook, was removed from the shoreline.

Every morning I returned to the same spot, I paddled the same 100 yards of shoreline and at the end of the week I was still finding stuff. In the 5 day stretch of cleaning that one spot I had collected 173 lures and hooks. 173! My mind was literally blown. Going out and cleaning this location myself wasn’t the answer. I was barely making a dent in the damage and wasn’t heading it off. Plus, now I have a growing lure collection just taking up space in my garage. What do I do with all this trash and how do I spread the word?

I started taking pictures of the massive amounts of debris I’d pull out of the mangroves. I’d treat it as a game and ask people to guess how many hooks were in a photo and reveal the answer the following day. Then I started to have people reach out to me and ask if they could have the lures. At first I resisted the idea, I figured in a few weeks time I’d just end up pulling them back out of the same spots I had just found them. There had to be a better use, so I decided to repurpose them.

I dumped out my bucket of rusty hooks and lures and decided to sort through everything. I thought if I managed to avoid getting tetanus while tiptoeing on a paddle board reaching for old tackle, then surely I could take my chances with the rusty bucket of death. I am still surprised that I’ve managed to not hook myself all these years. Hard body lures were separated and cleaned up. I replaced the split rings and hooks and assembled them into four packs and put them up for sale. I knew alone I wouldn’t make much of an impact but I could give back to those organizations that do. Half the profits from the lure sales would be donated to local wildlife and conservation efforts. To the organizations that rescued distressed pelicans, that removed plastic from sea turtles bellies, that fought for clean water. This was it, this was the way I could do more and spread the message.

To my surprise I sold out almost immediately. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from people. The positive feedback was one thing but the personal stories were another. I had people telling me they bought some for the nephew while showing him what could happen if he didn’t retrieve his stray cast. Another saying they had no idea how much was left just laying out there but they wanted to help the birds. And throughout this I feel like the luckiest person. I get to spend every opportunity I can in my happy place, on the water.

Throughout the years I’ve found thousands of hooks, thousands of yards of fishing line, and I’ve seen all matters of wildlife caught in its snare. And it’s not just specific to Sanibel, I’ve been able to take my one man show on the road and explore waterways. While visiting parts of south Florida I’d always bring my board and look for the opportunity to visit new places and maybe pick up some trash along the way. There’s always more, but I tell myself that now there’s one less piece out there.

2020 threw a curveball at everyone. One perk to come out of that was a decrease in abandoned tackle. My hope is to continue to make a change. Not just above the surface, but also below it. There is a fine line to be maintained, a balance between enjoying nature and taking care of it. I hope to keep finding ways to do both and encourage others to do the same.