Stripers for All?

First, let's deal with the word. A striper is a fish, not a woman that takes her clothes off in front of scummy men for money. And not some gooey solution you pour on old paint in order to remove it. It is a striped bass, and the bass are back after a winter somewhere else, headed north and east for summer. A striper is a desirable fish, both to catch and to eat.  Stripers may be caught off of the beach or the rocks, or from a boat, just like bluefish, a fish I like to eat but some avoid because it is too 'fishy' for them--it is more about how they are cooked than anything.  Visualize a sunset image of a surf caster, rod bent backwards, lure about to rocket some fifty yards or more to an imaginary spot where an unseen, lurking fish will strike from out of the inky darkness. Fish or no fish, complete or incomplete angler, the activity is an appealing one.  It consumes one's attention, man alone in nature by the sea.  And now, to the subject at hand. A truck parked on our private laneway. A fisherman comes after work. He has no permission to trespass, except he says he's fished here for sixteen years. He doesn't know whose land he fishes from, whose road he parks his truck upon. I have no stomach for telling him that no, he has no right to be there or to fish. Who am I to say this? What harm does he do, except perhaps to the fish? Is this land, this beach, this pool of water really mine to share or not to share?  Is ownership not transitory?  Are there enough fish in the estuary for him to take, and leave others some? Am I to tell him you may not stand here in the sunset in this extraordinary spot?  I am unresolved. I told him that I would look the other way, at least for now, and he thanked me. I want to share, not hoard. I do not operate from scarcity, but from wealth. There are enough stripers for all, for now.