The fisherman was trying to look unobtrusive, slipping away quietly into the shadows on Durban's Golden Mile.
"What have you got there?" inquired the patrol officer, pointing to the small cooler-box the fisherman was swinging nonchalantly in one hand.
"Nothing," he said, and continued walking. However, when he was instructed to return and open the container, it was found to contain four or five fish, one of which proved to be under-sized.
"These are not my fish," the man explained hastily. "I found them lying next to a rubbish bin, so I picked them up."
Patiently the officers pointed out that he was carrying rods, was in possession of a fishing permit, hooks and sinkers, and so was assumed to have caught the fish. He could choose to sign an admission of guilt and pay a fine, or go to court to put his case.
"It's not fair," he bleated. "These are not my fish, now I am being punished."
But he agreed the best course was to pay a fine.
The Sunday Tribune joined district conservation officers for Ezemvelo KZN Wildlife, James Wood and Nana Sangweni, and five field rangers on a Friday night patrol, to see if there was anything "fishy" happening on Durban's beachfront.
As we walked, the team told of some of the innovative excuses the fishermen fished out when caught with undersized fish or for exceeding bag limits.
Some fishermen suggested that they had come across the stash hidden by other culprits who planned to return later to pick it up.
"It's the pier fishermen. They left it on the beach and it was going to waste, so I took it."
"I bought it from someone else. I didn't know the rules."
Then there was the urban legend of the man found with shad in his pockets. When challenged he had looked down at his pockets in amazement. "Naughty fish, naughty fish," he exclaimed, smacking the fish. "How did you get in there?"
What about hiding places, we asked?
"Some have bulky jackets," said Wood. "They slit the lining and put the fish inside this.
"Another favourite is to hang a large plastic bag down their back, under their clothes. As they catch the fish they reach over their shoulder and pop them into the bag," said Wood.
Some fishermen, he said, hid fish in their car's engine bay, or packed the air filter with fish. Others had secret compartments in their car or boot.
Michael Mnikathi showed the torch he used to examine the size of the fish, but sometimes also to dazzle the fishermen's eyes if he thought they could be getting aggressive.
"Often they argue with us about the size of the fish, and say they didn't know (the restriction on size)," said Thokozani Mabundla. Sangweni said many fishermen tried to persuade them to turn a blind eye in exchange for a small bribe.
Sipho Mkhize said they were offered "juice" (booze) or money. "I tell them I am doing my job and don't want any bribe," said Mkhize.
While most of the fishermen meekly agreed to pay a fine, the team said some spat at them and grew abusive, but seldom threatening. When fights did break out, it was invariably between rival fishermen.
"Some people squat permanently on the piers, fishing all the time," explained Woods.
The most frustrating part for the team was the hours they could spend processing a case at the police station.
During our visit, one of the culprits offered to pay a fine. He and his friend were taken to C R Swart. There the wait began.
The culprit normally signs an admission of guilt form, which entitles him to 14 or 21 days in which to pay the fine. During that time Ezemvelo seizes his rod/s, while the fish which do not conform to size are bagged and frozen as evidence. The fisherman is then released.
While most of the fishermen paid their fines, some reneged and Wood said Ezemvelo currently had about 300 rods, which would be sold off. "They use tackle that costs less than the fine," he explained.
On the night the Tribune was present the police insisted that those who had been brought in pay a fine, otherwise they would be thrown into the holding cells overnight. This meant phone calls to ask someone to bring the money.
Processing the paper work, getting a case number, and waiting for the fine to be paid took a total of two hours for just one case, while vanloads of people who had been arrested streamed in.
This, we were told, was a relatively short wait. "It can take up to five hours," said Sangweni, while processing the paperwork for two men found in possession of 11 shad.
"We are not criminals," the two said angrily. "Eleven of us were holding a braai, so two of us went to buy shad from the fishermen. We didn't know there was a limit. We thought you could have a fish for each person."
Wood then took us to an area near the harbour entrance. One of the team's tasks, he explained, was to check on the boats of recreational fishermen.
There was no activity that night, but Wood said often these fishermen send ahead those boats that have caught nothing, or are within their limit, knowing Ezemvelo or the water wing of the SAPS could be waiting.
As they land, and the officers pounce, cellphone calls instantly alert those fishermen still out at sea - who promptly ditch their catch, said Wood.
The officers often parked their vehicles away from the front, and then walked but, even when undercover, the grapevine functioned to their disadvantage. At times they returned to find their car windows smashed. "The guys patrolling Umhlanga have even had their tyres slashed," said Wood.
Durban's patrol area stretches from the south bank of the Umgeni River at Blue Lagoon, to the mouth of the Isipingo River.
The prime hot spots, said Wood, were Blue Lagoon, the beachfront piers and Isipingo/Umlaas Canal.