| TRAVELS OF DURSMIRG VOLUME IV THE ROGUES OF ST. AUGUSTINE AND OTHER SOCIAL MISFITS Chapter 23 |
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Reggie Pamies, (The last of his breed)
Physically Reggie was stocky and square, raw boned and a rough river rat rounder rogue who could have stepped
off the pages of Marjorie Kinnan Rawling’s classic back country Florida books.
Rugged Reggie was naturally born to his home domain in the river rat world of salt marshes and tidal creeks. This
was his habitat within these salt marshes and tidal flats transversally bisected by meandering rivers of North Florida.
The abundant bountiful world of succulent aquatic treasures was harvested by Reggie who instinctively knew nature’
s mysterious secrets that few would ever comprehend.
Like the best of the rugged river rats free spirited Reggie held a special instinctive talent to harvest these bountiful
waters in every part and all seasons.
Reggie was a dinosaur from a different time and place whose days were numbered by the ever encroaching clout
and crush of the unrelenting civilization bomb dropped on Florida. His self assurance radiated an inner power of a
self reliance of a man who only needed answer to his own driving desires.
With a wink and his impish smile Reggie the rounder was within a southern gentleman at heart and addressed
everyone with a warm and sincere yes’ m’am or yes’ sir.
Being on the waterfront of St. John’s County back in those days with a cast net, flounder gig and crab traps it wouldn’
t be long before you crossed paths with Reggie who made this water world his own sanctuary.
Jane and I bought our little fiberglass fishing dinghy from Reggie for $35.00.
It was a beat-up torn-up run-down handyman special but we got many years of fishing pleasure out of it after I totally
rebuilt and reinforced it. I applied fiberglass patches and reinforced the gunwales, seats and transom adding oar
locks of which I literally wore out several times as Jane and I fished and trolled our most incredible front yard.
We got many a magnificent mile out of this beat-up little “bateau” as Reggie loved to call it. We rowed and fished,
went clam digging and cast netting in the tranquil days before there was a Florida fishing license or jet-skis.
When we weren’t fishing from the little bateau we used it for a pumping station and work platform to build our new
580 foot dock. Then again it would become a work platform when we were scraping, cleaning and painting boat
bottoms that we had careened a high tide across the creek from our dock.
Reggie was the boatyard electrician over at San Sebastian Marine when we first met. This is where Jane and I
docked our boat Dursmirg.
Jane and I were the night watchmen there for eighteen months in the late 1970s and spent our days working on our
Flamingo Apartments project. This is when we became well acquainted with this social misfit; Reggie was a
chronological misfit on this planet a century or two too late for the life style he loved the most.
Reggie was a river rat who loved to harvest the seafood. Flounder spear fishing at night was one of his favorite
pastimes. He silently drifted along with the tide in the creeks with large floodlights and used a spear to gig his
flounder some as big as a floor mat.
Many a silent early morning as Jane and I slept aboard our Dursmirg at the end of our dock in Hospital Creek I would
be awakened by the ever so light thud of a flounder being landed in Reggie’s fishing boat. I always sprang up to
investigate strange noises in the night by instinct.
I would see Reggie by himself standing, spear in hand in his flat bottomed boat they called a John boat rigged with
four bright seal beam auto headlights. The lights would be focused down into the water ahead of the boat and
powered by a giant 8-D battery, the type used on big trucks and shrimp boats. Those lights illuminated the creek
ahead of the boat like day light, yet Reggie stood in the dark only silhouetted.
I knew that all was well as long as Reggie was out there because he could be trusted whether anyone was watching
or not.
I would get a report of his successes in whispered words. The sacred silence of the night was something we both
respected and loved.
The oysters harvested for sale around St. Augustine weren’t all suitable for human consumption. Those that
prolifically reproduced in the vicinity of the Flagler Hospital where their sewer discharge pipe dumped directly into
the bay got harvested by someone that obviously didn’t seem to get the connection between sewage effluents and
big plump oysters. (The city eventually cleaned up that sewer system and Flagler Hospital even moved to a new
location.)
***
Hook and line fishing we ate whatever came out of the sea and this grouper would never be iced. As soon as I had
the fish filleted Jane would have the frying pan hot and ready. There is no substitute for fresh fish, and we quickly
learned that seafood begins to deteriorate the minute you take it out of the water.
next chapter
Physically Reggie was stocky and square, raw boned and a rough river rat rounder rogue who could have stepped
off the pages of Marjorie Kinnan Rawling’s classic back country Florida books.
Rugged Reggie was naturally born to his home domain in the river rat world of salt marshes and tidal creeks. This
was his habitat within these salt marshes and tidal flats transversally bisected by meandering rivers of North Florida.
The abundant bountiful world of succulent aquatic treasures was harvested by Reggie who instinctively knew nature’
s mysterious secrets that few would ever comprehend.
Like the best of the rugged river rats free spirited Reggie held a special instinctive talent to harvest these bountiful
waters in every part and all seasons.
Reggie was a dinosaur from a different time and place whose days were numbered by the ever encroaching clout
and crush of the unrelenting civilization bomb dropped on Florida. His self assurance radiated an inner power of a
self reliance of a man who only needed answer to his own driving desires.
With a wink and his impish smile Reggie the rounder was within a southern gentleman at heart and addressed
everyone with a warm and sincere yes’ m’am or yes’ sir.
Being on the waterfront of St. John’s County back in those days with a cast net, flounder gig and crab traps it wouldn’
t be long before you crossed paths with Reggie who made this water world his own sanctuary.
Jane and I bought our little fiberglass fishing dinghy from Reggie for $35.00.
It was a beat-up torn-up run-down handyman special but we got many years of fishing pleasure out of it after I totally
rebuilt and reinforced it. I applied fiberglass patches and reinforced the gunwales, seats and transom adding oar
locks of which I literally wore out several times as Jane and I fished and trolled our most incredible front yard.
We got many a magnificent mile out of this beat-up little “bateau” as Reggie loved to call it. We rowed and fished,
went clam digging and cast netting in the tranquil days before there was a Florida fishing license or jet-skis.
When we weren’t fishing from the little bateau we used it for a pumping station and work platform to build our new
580 foot dock. Then again it would become a work platform when we were scraping, cleaning and painting boat
bottoms that we had careened a high tide across the creek from our dock.
Reggie was the boatyard electrician over at San Sebastian Marine when we first met. This is where Jane and I
docked our boat Dursmirg.
Jane and I were the night watchmen there for eighteen months in the late 1970s and spent our days working on our
Flamingo Apartments project. This is when we became well acquainted with this social misfit; Reggie was a
chronological misfit on this planet a century or two too late for the life style he loved the most.
Reggie was a river rat who loved to harvest the seafood. Flounder spear fishing at night was one of his favorite
pastimes. He silently drifted along with the tide in the creeks with large floodlights and used a spear to gig his
flounder some as big as a floor mat.
Many a silent early morning as Jane and I slept aboard our Dursmirg at the end of our dock in Hospital Creek I would
be awakened by the ever so light thud of a flounder being landed in Reggie’s fishing boat. I always sprang up to
investigate strange noises in the night by instinct.
I would see Reggie by himself standing, spear in hand in his flat bottomed boat they called a John boat rigged with
four bright seal beam auto headlights. The lights would be focused down into the water ahead of the boat and
powered by a giant 8-D battery, the type used on big trucks and shrimp boats. Those lights illuminated the creek
ahead of the boat like day light, yet Reggie stood in the dark only silhouetted.
I knew that all was well as long as Reggie was out there because he could be trusted whether anyone was watching
or not.
I would get a report of his successes in whispered words. The sacred silence of the night was something we both
respected and loved.
The oysters harvested for sale around St. Augustine weren’t all suitable for human consumption. Those that
prolifically reproduced in the vicinity of the Flagler Hospital where their sewer discharge pipe dumped directly into
the bay got harvested by someone that obviously didn’t seem to get the connection between sewage effluents and
big plump oysters. (The city eventually cleaned up that sewer system and Flagler Hospital even moved to a new
location.)
***
Hook and line fishing we ate whatever came out of the sea and this grouper would never be iced. As soon as I had
the fish filleted Jane would have the frying pan hot and ready. There is no substitute for fresh fish, and we quickly
learned that seafood begins to deteriorate the minute you take it out of the water.
next chapter
