Code Orange
Catch-and-release-"or else
July, 2003

The fish strained left, ran right, jumped, and tried to shake the hook, then darted under the canoe to sulk. It made a last furious run, trying to tunnel its way back to the bottom. Then it was over, and I was proudly hoisting my prize for a quick photograph. Greg, looking through the camera, shook his head and frowned.

"This isn't working for me,-¿ he said. "We've got you, a bass, and a couple of guards with M-16s in the background. It looks like you're fishing in a catch-and-release-or-we-shoot zone. Try turning the other way.-¿

I turned, held the bass up, and smiled at the camera again.

"Unh-unh. Those surveillance cameras look like they're growing out of your head. Hang on.-¿ He put down the camera, picked up his paddle, and quickly spun the canoe around 180 degrees. Clearly bored with this process, the bass in question-"a solid 41/2-pounder with a Rapala Jointed Shad Rap (fire crawdad pattern) hanging from its lip-"flapped its tail. It was one of those I-hate-to-intrude-but-I'm-getting-a-little-short-of-breath-here shakes. I unhooked the biggest bass of the summer so far, lowered it back into the water, and watched it dart, unrecorded, back into the depths.

Welcome to Code Orange fishing.

It's not that Greg and I are national security-"site junkies. It's just that the bassiest place we know of at the moment is a wall along the Potomac River that borders Fort Lesley McNair, a secure facility that is part of the Military District of Washington and the location of high-value targets like the National Defense University.

In order to access this honey hole by canoe, you launch from behind a green dumpster in back of the U.S. Coast Guard Headquarters, another secure site, which is ringed by concrete barriers. If you smile at the cops as if you do this all the time, they'll generally leave you alone. I don't think they have any specific guidelines for dealing with canoe traffic.

Paddling into position, we were nearly swamped by the wake of the 87-foot cutter, Ibis, which was in the process of anchoring in such a way that its gun covered anything moving in the channel. Two orange-vested cops in a 25-foot inflatable with twin 200-horsepower Yamahas grumbling on the stern idled by and gave us the once-over. As we approached the wall, the pair of guards with M-16s on their shoulders nodded, as if to say, don't plan on getting back any lures that land on government property.

The tide was coming in and pushed us steadily up the channel past poles holding hooded surveillance cameras. Pretty soon we were approaching a buoy marking an underground cable, a place that generally holds fish. Just then, one of the guards walked over and announced, "Gentlemen, I'm going to have to ask you to keep at least 30 meters away from that buoy.-¿ We said that wouldn't be a problem. He went back to his buddy, and we let the current push us away. Then the other one came over.

"That stuff that guy just told you? I'm going to have to ask you to comply to that right now.-¿ We pointed out that the current was accomplishing this fairly quickly. "Yeah, but you're not allowed on this side of the buoy at all. You have to stay at least 30 meters away on the downstream side.-¿

I looked at Greg, who has authority issues under the best of circumstances. "Don't say anything, dummy,-¿ I hissed. "I've got to pick up the baby at five, and I can't do it from some damn brig.-¿ He put his rod down to pick up a paddle, and we repositioned.

A few minutes later, I caught the big bass. In the next two hours, we boated three more smaller ones and two channel cats-"not a bad afternoon's fishing.

"So,-¿ Greg said, as we paddled back toward the dumpster-cum-takeout point, "you want to come back Tuesday?-¿

"Yeah,-¿ I said, smiling and waving to a coastguardsman wiping down the gun mount