Working is tough today.

My mind is elsewhere.

I'm feeling like a child on Christmas Eve. Yep, there will be no sleep tonight.

Call it, at 50, a midlife crisis. Call it a kid in a candy store. Call it what you will.

I call it a boat.

Yep, at 1 Thursday afternoon I am picking up my brand new boat. She's an extremely sweet ride, as you can tell by the picture (Courtesy of Tracker Boats). Nope, that's not me. I don't have a son. But that's the boat - a Tracker 175 Pro Team 175TXW. Fancy name for a basic bass boat, but it sure sounds good.

The folks at Bass Pro Shops Outdoor World in Hampton were magnificent during the purchasing process. Rick Lewis and Bob Wrenn of Tracker Boats were real pros. They made the process painless. It didn't hurt that they had two customers who were ready and set to buy.

Which gets us to just how Saturday morning resulted in the purchase of this boat. All that is a testiment to my beautiful and incredible wife, Ellen.

We had been watching a boat for a friend, but it just wasn't working out. So she decided that it was high time that the outdoor writer for the paper had his own fishing machine. After looking at several options, we had settled on the Tracker 170 - a smaller, but still perfect boat for the rivers of northeastern North Carolina where I fish.

But when we arrived at the show room, there was no 170 for us to look at. While we waited to speak to Rick, we were admiring the 175. Bob approached us to help out while we waited for Rick. Ellen told him that she had to see what we were going to buy - she's smart that way - and Bob said there was one in the shop being outfitted for a custumer who had just purchased it.

When Ellen saw the 170, she got this strange look on her face. "This is the boat you want?" she asked.

It is a beautiful craft, I told her, and said that it was fine for what I was going to be using it for. She asked what the price difference was and followed by figuring out what the payment difference would be.

"I want you to have that one out in the showroom," she said, stunning me as I drooled over the 170. "It's bigger and it looks a lot nicer. We're getting that one."

Dumbfounded, I stuttered my only possible reply: "Uh.......OK, if you say so, sweatheart."

Let's face it, I Am ONE LUCKY GUY. You know it. Most of my friends question whether or not I am worthy of such a magnificent woman. Sometimes I even wonder.

But with the initial shock gone, we started the paperwork with Rick and Bob and were outta there in about 30 minutes.

I pick her up at 1 Thursday.

Because Ellen and I are honorary Mexicans (we go to the Yucatan Peninsula at least twice a year) we have chosen a Spanish name for her.

Una Lanza Mas -- which loosely translates to One More Cast. You know, the thing all bass fishermen say right before they call it quits for the day. "One more cast and we're outta here."

And outta here I need to be. There's work to be done and I'm struggling with it because I know that in a little more than 24 hours, I will proudly be driving down the Interstate with my sleek new boat in tow.

News came yesterday of the weekend discovery of vandalism to bird closure signs at Cape Point.

The find was disturbing to many. It also caused an expansion of areas already closed to vehicles and pedestrians by 50 meters. Any further such discoveries will enlarge the closed areas by another 100 meters. If a third violation is found, the beaches will be closed down entirely.

The battle between proponents of using the beach and environmentalists who oppose it always has had the potential to get ugly. Environmentalists have a long history of using extreme measures to protect their beloved birds and turtles. And, let's face it, not everybody who wants to drive onto the beach is a saint.

But vandalism? Come on people. The current closures are bad enough. They are all but destroying the lives of the wonderful people of Hatteras Island.

Current rules of the judge-ordered Consent Decree call for almost instant and tough responses to any violations.

The destruction to 12 basically symbolic area closure signs over the weekend prompted the action by the National Park Service.

So . . . who would do such a stupid thing?

Angry fishermen? Youths who are mad that they can't drive their 4-wheel drive trucks onto the beach for nighttime parties? Maybe it's environmentalists who know that by breaking the decree rules they can get more of the beach closed.

Who knows.

"If it's somebody from our side, it's a sign of frustration," said Rob Alderman, a 33-year-old advocate of the right to drive onto and fish from the beach. Alderman runs the Hatteras Island Fishing Malitia Website. "And you're always going to have that conspiracy theory about the other side.

"The problem in that area is that there isn't much beach left for us to loose. But it's something that doesn't make anybody look good, no matter who did it."

Alderman has been on a crusade of sorts, trying to make sure as much information as possible is out there about the beach closures, which were the result of a law suit between two groups - Defenders of Wildlife and the National Audubon Society - and the parks service. The environmentalists had asked for a complete closure until an ORV plan could be put in place. The judge refused to order the beach closed while a plan was hammered out between the two sides.

That plan was put into place and almost instantly a couple of birds - terns and plovers - were spotted. The parks service had to close off ramps and some of the beach last week. The ramp closures effectively closed those beaches to vehicles. All the beaches on the island are closed from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m., arguably the best time to catch fish this time of year.

The closures and limitations have had a trickle-down effect. Not as many anglers are coming to the island. Hotels have cancellations. Restaurants aren't full. Bait shops aren't selling. The people who work and live on the island are hurting. Those who love to come to Hatteras to spend their money and get away from it all are hurting, too.

Additional closures, the result of a few ignorant individuals who want to tear down a few signs, will cause more hardships on more people.

So, to those individuals who tore down the 12 signs, let's just say that I wouldn't want to be you when somebody finds out that you are the culprit. Nope, I wouldn't want to be you.

Some guys just get it.

From the very beginning of a new endeavor, some anglers seem to understand the true joys of fishing.

Craig Wells had wetted a line before. The 10-year-old Camden County fourth-grader had fished a couple of times in Florida.

But he had never been freshwater fishing. So when he was invited to join myself and his dad on a quick Friday afternoon getaway, there was some uncertainty as to how he would do.

Craigy, who also goes by Little Craig, is a typical 10-year-old boy in every sense of the description. So you get the picture.

When dad and I pulled up to the mouth of a ditch that drained into Sawyer's Creek, we weren't sure how he would do.

To put it mildly, he did great. Many seasoned fishing veterans should be so lucky as to have his wonderful attitude.

Not only did he listen to instructions on how to wait for the bobber to go down, and wait for the line to come tight before slightly setting the hook, but he practiced what he was taught. Sure, quite a few bites got away. But that's fishing and Craigy seemed to understand. He didn't get upset at losing a fish or two.

And he quickly mastered the fine art of fish joking, rubbing it in hard on his dad when the elder Craig missed a fish. It helped that the youngster caught the first fish, the most fish, and a nice variety to boot. Craigy boated crappie, bluegill, white perch and pumpkinseed - finishing with a nice beginner's total of eight fish.

"Oh, let's see . . . 4 fish for the young boy and none for the old man," he quipped halfway through the trip, a wry smile firmly planted across his face.

But the most impressive thing about the short afternoon on the water was Craigy's apparent understanding of the relaxation aspects of fishing. That sunk in when, after making a cast and catching a fish of my own, I looked back and noticed that he had reeled in his cork and worm, and was watching me cast a small jig into shoreline cover.

I appologized for not paying closer attention. I should have, I explained, stopped what I was doing so that I could get his bait back into what was turning out to be a wonderfully little honey hole. This trip wasn't about me or dad catching fish. It was about him and making sure he had a memorable experience.

But it didn't seem to bother Craigy that I had taken a brief moment for my own enjoyment.

"That's OK, Mr. Lee," he said. "I'm just having fun watching you catch some."

Yep! Some guys just get it.

Chris Wilson called Thursday afternoon to let me know that the big red drum bite at Cape Point in Hatteras turned red hot Wednesday night.

When the bite turns on this time of year, fishing for big reds from the beach is one of the best experiences in the world.

But Wilson, who lives in Virginia Beach and is a surf fishing diehard if ever there was one, isn't going to the Point this weekend like he normally would after hearing such news.

You see, the big reds bite best at night. Wilson and a bunch of his friends usually would leave after work Friday and stay on the beach until late Sunday - sometimes even early Monday, before coming home to go to work. They would be joined by hundreds of anglers from up and down the east coast. Sometimes thousands.

But on Wednesday, U.S. District Judge Terrence Boyle signed a consent decree that ends a suit between two environmental groups and the National Parks Service. As part of the decree, no vehicles will be allowed on the beach from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. from today through Nov. 15. From Sept. 16 to Nov. 15, permits will be needed to drive on the beach during the day.

Wilson works for the landscape division of the Virginia Beach Department of Parks and Recreation. All his extra money goes into surf fishing. But now he'd have to pay for a hotel room for the nights he would spend at Hatteras. That would stretch his wallet too much. And, he'd miss what is typically the best fishing hours

"I'm not going to pay for a hotel," Wilson said.  "And I know a lot of other people that won't either. We used to stay on the beach the entire time except for going to buy bait, or ice, or maybe get something to eat. I can see right now that I won't be going down there as much as I used to."

Which sits at the root of the real issue on Hatteras Island.

The environmental groups want to protect endangered shore birds and turtles. There isn't a fisherman out there who has a problem with that. But with the protected areas getting bigger and bigger, and making the accessible portion of the beach smaller and smaller, there is less room for people. Now, with no night access, fewer people are going to make the trip to the island.

"It's going to hurt the economy very bad," Wilson said. "It hurts me to not be going down there. But, personally, I really feel sorry for the people that are down there. I know a lot of people who feel like I do and if people don't go there, the people who depend on that won't make any money.

"How are they supposed to support themselves."

There was a threat of totally closing the beaches. The environmental groups had asked Boyle to issue an injunction closing them until a deal could get pounded out. He let the beach's stay open while the process played out.

Yes, the beaches will remain open to off road vehicles. But with tighter and tighter restrictions, and closures during some of the best fishing hours.

Saving the birds and turtles is a noble and just cause. But at what cost? Is the demise of the wonderful people on Hatteras Island really worth it?

Chris Wilson doesn't think so. And he isn't alone.

A few thoughts passed through this old head on Earth Day.

Naturally, not all of them were good.

The worst had to do with a legacy the angling community is leaving behind.

OLD FISHING LINE!

Miles and miles of it are disgarded every year. And lots of it never makes it to a recycling bin or trash can. Instead, it's tossed overboard or allowed to blow into the water from the bottom of a boat.

There, it becomes a trap for wildlife.

Each year, wildlife biologists have to untangle a Lynnhaven River osprey that has gotten tangled in the plastic monofilament. Next time you are in the inlet, look at some of the osprey nests that sit atop of the channel markers. Many of them actually have fishing line woven into the nest. The birds find it on the shorelines. Some are lucky. Others aren't.

Line that makes it to the shore also can endanger waterfowl. How many times have you seen a duck or a goose with line wrapped around its feet, bill or wings?

And line that sinks in the water is a danger to fish, and mammals like dolphins and whales. Who hasn't seen pictures of turtles wrapped in the stuff.

Divers find miles of fishing line in local wrecks, and around the islands of the Chesapeake Bay, Hampton Roads and Monitor-Merrimac bridge-tunnels. Some of it is the result of break-offs. But some has drifted freely for long periods of time before becoming entwined in structure.

"We were about 70 miles offshore last week, bottom fishing," said Capt. Steve Wray of Virginia Beach. "We pulled up a huge knot of long line. That stuff is about 500-pound test line and there isn't any way an animal is gonna get outta that stuff."

Dr. Julie Ball, a Virginia representative to the International Game Fish Association, also was offshore recently. She posted the above picture of her crew's catch - a line ball featuring a spiny dogfish shark that couldn't escape - on a popular fishing chat site.

The point of all of this is that, as stewards of the environment, anglers need to do a better job of protecting the very resource that supports their hobby.

Recycle your fishing line the same way you would any other plastic items.

That way, the legacy fishermen and women leave behind won't have anything to do with fishing line.

One of the greatest joys in fishing comes from tossing small lead-head jigs partnered with 2-inch curly-tail plastics in hopes of catching crappie, perch and bluegill.

When fishing with micro-light or ultra-light tackle spooled with 2- or 4-pound test line, even 1-pound panfish can be challenging. Especially when most of these species like to make the underwater sticks and branches of fallen trees their home. It doesn't take much to break off even the smallest fish in such cover.

Most of my saltwater friends don't get it, often joking me about my love of freshwater fishing - especially when some of the fish barely weigh a pound.

But when fishing for panfish, there always is that thought in the back of your mind that something bigger might bite. Chain pickerel, bowfin and other fish also like to make tangled shoreline structure their home. Panfish topping a pound, even approaching a couple of pounds, also are a possibility.

So is a largemouth bass.

Last Friday, on a gloriously warm and sunny afternoon, the canals that spill into Tull's Creek in northeastern North Carolina were relinquishing a nice variety of species - crappie, white perch, shad and a few bluegills. The action was good, and fishing partner Craig Wells, a Navy Chief from Minnesota, was learning the ropes and catching quite a few fish.

But one toss in between two stick-ups on a deep shoreline produced one of those rare and wonderful thrills that goes with panfishing.

Something hit a small jig and took off towards deeper water. Thank God it didn't go the other way, back into the sticks, where the 4-pound test line most likely would have fallen prey to the underwater branches.

The first thought was that it was a bowfin, a prehistoric beast that resembles a snakefish. Bowfin hit like a ton of bricks and peel line as if you were hooked to a train. But a minute and several runs into the fight revealed that the fish was a largemouth, and a pretty nice one.

The fish made two more runs while Craig Wells watched on in amazement.

Craig provided considerable entertainment during the fight, as if battling a big bass on light line isn't entertaining enough.

"What should I do, what do you want me to do....oh man, that's a big fish," he shouted frantically.

When the fish at first was thought to be a bowfin, I didn't care if it got off or not and told Craig to relax and enjoy the show. But when I saw that it was a bass, I casually turned to him: "Uh. . .maybe you should get the net."

Craig expertly dipped the fish into the net after I got it to the surface and along side the boat, and we had our first good look at fishing's most sought-after species.

I'm pretty good with guessing fish weights and figured the bass to weigh between 4 and 5 pounds - likely pushing more towards 5. It had been attacked when it was younger and had scars on both its sides. One eye was milky white, meaning the bass was a one-eyed feeding machine. For it to have grown to such a size with its obvious handicaps said plenty about this fish's will to live, grow and reproduce. It was photographed, kissed, thanked and released.

For several hours, as we continued to catch panfish, Craig's words were few, but remained entertaining.

"Man, that was a big fish," was about all he would say the remainder of the outing.

He had just witnessed one of the greatest joys of light-tackle fishing.

The back yard killdeer are now the proud parents of four, fast-legged babies.

The eggs hatched sometime late Thursday or early Friday.

The newbies were discovered during a Saturday morning lawn-mowing session. Typically, when the tractor gets too close to the rock garden nest, the parents crazily go into their spastic injury act in an attempt to draw predators away from the nest.

But this time the two were especially noisy and frantic in their efforts. A quick inspection of the nest showed the babies hunkered down in the rocks, sitting perfectly still in an effort to hide. After the yard work was quickly dispatched, the babies were left alone for the morning so that they could enjoy their first days of life in peace and quiet.

An afternoon inspection found three of them already up and zipping around the yard looking for grubs and worms. Killdeer are remarkable in that the young don't sit in the nest for very long, instead taking little time in going on with life.

One newbie, however, still was hunkering down. That bird likely had broken out of its rock-colored shell a little after the other three and wasn't quite ready to be up and moving around.

That's when the big scare came.

A few of the neighbors asked to see the new family, so a quick venture into the back yard was allowed. Unfortunately, one neighbor brought their black lab with them. The dog is beautiful, smart, calm and very loving. But he is a lab, and it didn't take long for him to sniff out the nest. And before the humans realized what he was up to and attempted to stop him, he had picked up the fourth baby and was taking it away. Luckily, a few shouts got him to put the bird down.

Naturally, my wife was freaking out. The birds that make our back yard home are part of the family and she can't stand to see any animal harmed. There are 25 bird boxes and four feeders lining the perimeter fence line. The presence of all the species who come to the yard brings her great enjoyment.

The thought that one of the babies might have been killed was too much for her to take.

So the infant was quickly inspected and appeared to be OK. It was moving and breathing, and there were no signs of blood. In most instances, labs only mouth birds they are retrieving as to not damage them. Evidently that was the case.

So we all left the family alone for the rest of the afternoon so they could relax. Then, at first light Sunday, the area was again inspected. All four babies were running around with mom and dad, looking for food and enjoying a warm sunny morning in their new world.

The family is fine, the fourth bird appears to be unhurt, and all is well in killdeerville.

Now if we could just teach the noisy rascals to not make that loud, screeching cry that they are so famous for.

It was quite startling Thursday morning, as a thick fog started to lift and burn, when this huge, bright, orangish-yellow ball of light appeared in the eastern sky.

What in God's name was that?

It seemed like it had been an eternity since the sun rose.

Mother Nature has not been kind to area anglers. Either fierce winds or blows coupled with rains seem to be the norm this spring. Conditions have not made for the best of times.

So bad it has been that a Saturday morning trip to the river went on as scheduled despite a pouring sky. At least it wasn't freezing cold. It got that way the following day. And that was followed with a shroud of fog and mist that engulfed southeastern Virginia and northeastern North Carolina until Thursday morning's big awakening.

Friday also was quite fantastic, with warm southern winds pumping temperatures around 80 into the area.

Ahhhhhhh! Spring finally has sprung.

NOT!

After a decent Saturday morning the skies once again are predicted to open up with rains that will be forced into the area by an approaching cold front.

That will mean colder temperatures, muddied waters and unfavorable winds.

Oh well. The wife has some plants for me to stick in the ground and the swimming pool needs another cleaning. So at least the wait for good fishing won't be too boring.

The Virginian-Pilot’s Fishing Forecast page cranks back up Thursday.

After several years of change in how the Forecast looked, this year’s product will stick with the version that ran last year.

There will continue to be a lead-in on a specific fish that’s hot that particular week, followed by information on potential action that can be had in area-specific sections for Hampton Roads, the Eastern Shore, Outer Banks, beaches and piers, and freshwater. Information comes from a group of reliable and talented anglers, as well as marina and tackle shop owners. It’s sprinkled with seasonal patterns in an attempt to provide the best possible forecast on what anglers might catch for the coming week.

We will continue to run the small catch report underneath the Forecast. Most of that information comes from area marinas and tackle shops. But, please don’t hesitate to give us a call and tell us about your catches.

The Forecast also will continue to tease the second year of a Sunday feature that seemed to be pretty popular last year – Off the Hook.

Off the Hook gives the paper the opportunity to share fishing stories from a wide array of angling fronts. Stories last year ranged from the angler who fell off the boat returning from an offshore tuna trip, to the lady who shattered the state king mackerel record, to the young angler who caught her very first fish.

Off the Hook tries to shed light on aspects of angling that many of us can relate to. It also affords the opportunity to share the bizarre, strange and sometimes comical sides of angling that take place almost every day.

Like the Forecast, the Off the Hook feature is extremely dependent on the folks in the outdoors community - the fishermen and women who live the tales. The Pilot really needs these people to tell us about the stories they have experienced or have heard about.

And, as usual, the Forecast, Off the Hook and all other outdoors stories also appear every week in The Pilot’s online edition.

A true angler, like a participant in any other sport, always should be learning.

Be it a new way to bottom bounce or a different way to rig a plastic bait, there always are new bits of information available to the angler who wants to improve.

Toss in trying to learn a new body of water and the educational thing takes on a whole new meaning.

Rivers and creeks with moving water are uncharted territory for this angler. But with northeastern North Carolina's Pasquatank River just a few miles away from the homestead, I've made a point to stay away from other waters until more about this deep, structure-filled, coffee-colored place is learned. The Pasquatank is tidal water. Wind tide, mostly, but moving water just the same.

It is surrounded by marsh and swamp, and filled with wildlife. All types of herrons and egrets, eagles, hawks, geese snakes, otters, beavers, muskrats and oodles of turtles - it's all there for the taking.

The entire stretch is quite beautiful. And catching fish from it is all foreign.

I've read, researched and asked questions. And members of the Fishers of Men Christian bass fishing club in the area have been extremely generous with information. But nothing compares to experience. So. . .slowly but surely, I'm gaining some of that.

Adding to the enjoyment of the learning process as that there have been some relatively quick successes.

Crappie are my first love and I was bound and determined to find them in the Pasquatank. I've developed a good pattern and can now find speckled perch of mostly the small variety with relative ease. But it wasn't easy. Minnows under corks can be a pain on movin water, when even the slightest current runs the bait into fish-holding structure. Hang-ups were many. Casting small plastics on lead-heads has proven more effective and less stressful.

So that's been a lesson learned.

White and yellow perch have been relatively easy to pattern. They school around creek mouths, and a variety of small spinners and jigs will take them.

Another lesson learned.

From there it was on to the king of the freshwater species, the largemouth bass.

Information from a few locals and tournament guys has been extremely helpful. But I've found my best success with a confidence lure - you know, that one you love to throw that you just seem to do better with?

For me, that's a small- to medium-sized spinnerbait. It's easy to work and runs through structure very well. It's versatile in that it can be fished fast, slow and in between. And it catches fish.

But more importantly, I have confidence in it.

And because of that and a few quick lessons learned, I'm gaining confidence in the Pasquatank and my ability to bass fish in tidal waters.

Because I learn something new every time I go.