...Four Mexicans came scampering down the opposite bank, carrying a case of beer and what looked like fishing equipment, and shouted something in Spanish to me.
It startled me and I realized once again. like the previous year, how defenseless I was. Then I got aggravated when I thought about how I was working hard at 3:00 p.m. and had been wading around in these illegals' waste products, while these people without whom we supposedly cannot exist were drinking beer and fishing. If they are so poor they should be saving their money for their families back home. So I went up and looked at their vehicle.
The scene was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. They were driving a compact car with the words "Latino Pride" emblazoned across the top of the windshield. They had a N.C. tag which was a giveaway that they were illegal, because many illegals go there to get an easy driver's license. At that point I had had it. Grizz and I had been fruitlessly trying to tell people what was happening to S.C. and America, and I was determined to get a photo of them fishing and drinking beer to show the disbelieving public. I decided I was going to sneak up on them and take a picture with a disposable camera.
Before I started, I realized that I had better call Grizz and tell him of my plans in case something happened. I called him on the cell phone and told him I had seen some obviously illegal Mexicans trespassing, fishing and partying. I said, "We've got to make people understand what is going on and what we're seeing everywhere. I'm going to sneak in and take a picture of them. They may be armed but I don't care. I'm telling you this because if I don't come out alive, you'll know where to look for me. If they see me taking their picture they may try to kill me, but I am not going to stand by and let these illegals take over my country." I gave him some numbers to call to possibly get some law enforcement to check them out.
I crawled through a pasture dodging cowpies and made my way to the edge of the stream. I watched one sitting there as he threw out his handline with a hook and live bait. I had flashbacks of my experiences in Central and South America, and wondered, "Am I in Latin America watching some poor native fisherman, or am I actually in my home state of South Carolina?" I couldn't believe it as I returned to reality and thought, "These people are surrounded with naturally-growing cane poles but they aren't intelligent enough to cut one and tie on their line. They're throwing a fishing line out by hand just like back home." This gives some idea of the IQ and education of the illegals, and we are not getting the cream of the crop. Yet I could not help but feel some degree of compassion for them as I watched, knowing the horrible conditions from which they came. However, I knew that nonetheless we cannot allow them to come here and run roughshod over our laws and country, for in the process they will destroy us as well.
There were three more upstream and I reconnoitered the area to determine my approach. I would have to come in directly across the stream from them and risk three sets of eyes seeing me, and the wide angle lens and grainy film of the cheap camera necessitated a close stalk. As I executed my best sniper crawl through the painful stinging nettle in the lush forested S.C. floodplain, I was struck by the similarity between my situation and that of our brave soldiers in Vietnam. There was, however, one major difference. That conflict involved our invasion of a foreign country-now in contrast, America was being invaded by foreigners in a war being waged on our own soil. So many of our soldiers gave their lives as a sacrifice for our country, only to have it degenerate into this sad state of affairs.
I finally crept to the edge of the bank almost directly opposite the illegals, but could not take a decent picture for the grass, when suddenly I heard some shouting on the bridge. "Good gracious," I thought. "There's even more of them coming."...