An old geezer in a small town on the lake always went fishing, every Sunday. Even in "dry" months when nobody else is catching a thing, he always came back with a limit in his rickety old rowboat.
Naturally, this was cause for some curiosity and speculation in a small town. One Sunday, the local game warden arrived on the dock, and very flatteringly asked the old-timer if he'd honor the warden by taking him fishing. "I've always thought of myself as a skilled fisherman", he told the gaffer, "but in all my years on the lake, I've never seen anyone with your luck. Any chance I could come along and see how a real pro does it?"
The old man just nodded, and indicated with a gesture where the warden was to sit in the rowboat. Slowly, but with little effort, the old man navigated the boat around an arm on the lake to his "secret spot", and dropped anchor.
While the warden was putting his fishing gear together, the old-timer reached under his seat, lugged out a heavy old tackle box, and pulled out a stick of dynamite. He lit the fuse, tossed it well away from the boat, and ... KA-WHOOM! Hundreds of stunned and dead fish, of all sizes, floated to the surface, belly-up.
The warden was in a state of shock and nearly speechless at such a brazen act. "But ... But .. how AWFUL! You - you just can't do that! I'm afraid I, I'm going to have to arrest you!"
The old-timer reached under his seat, pulled out another stick of dynamite, and lit the fuse. He tossed it at the terrified warden, who caught it.
"There, boy ... now, are you gonna fish ... or complain about the tackle?"