When I was a kid growing up a block from Fort Lauderdale beach back in the ‘60s, roaming the shoreline, fishing for snook and checking out the wildlife was always a highpoint of my day. We would spot ghost crabs, sand fleas and the occasional sea turtle hunting for home to drop their eggs. Yet somehow this experience beach combing as a youth never prepared me for the wildlife I’ve been experiencing lately on balmy Fort Lauderdale beaches.

I first noticed this beach exotic while staggering home one night from one of my favorite beach spots. One little corner that’s almost stayed exactly the way it was when I was in my late teens. “The Parrot Bar,” still lives in what locals used to call “The Village.” Gone is the “Upper Level,” the laundry mat on the corner and “The Village Zoo.” But somehow “The Parrot” has survived almost unchanged all these year. Kevin is still behind the wood bar pulling beers after 25 years and “The Parrot” still has that funky beach bar feel that has all but disappeared from a trendy Fort Lauderdale Beach tearing itself down and reaching for the sky with blue neon and overpriced martini’s for 40-something’s pretending to be 30-somethings bloated with botox and Britney.

But back to my new beach friends. One early evening a few months ago, between the young lovers trying to beat the nine P.M. meter maid and the latest crop of homeless digging for priceless beer cans, I spotted something scurrying along the beach out of the corner of my eye. “Probably just a sand piper or maybe a ghost crab” I thought, but I haven’t seen one of them in years. Then another fluffy creature and another. Having spent enough of my life waiting for the “A” Train on 4th Street, in my heart of hearts, although I didn’t want to admit it, I knew what it was. So I stopped and watched the action. These little furry rat bastards are everywhere. And as much as I hate to say it, Fort Lauderdale Beach is teaming with rats. Not just the usual rats blasting their Harley’s or cruising the strip with their leased BMW’s, I’m talking real, honest to God, vermin.

I can still remember when I was a kid, back when you could pull your car up on the sand, the fine folks that ran the city decided they would tear out the last batches of sea grass along the beach. Back when a short trip up the coast to Jade Beach in Pompano meant climbing through some small dunes covered with sea grass to the best surfing spot in South Florida (or at least that’s what we would tell ourselves). I’m not sure why the city officials got rid of the sea grass along the coast. Probably something to do with that whole ‘60s thing of making everything over in man’s own image. Making the beach as sandy and flat as possible. But they did it, and it was done. And then some politician a few years later, in their infinite wisdom, decided it would be a good idea to give the sea grass another go. The environmentalists loved the idea, the beach preservationists loved the idea, and it was an idea that any mother could love. And the sea grass was planted again. Hell, they even irrigated it. Even I liked the idea. That is until I learned the true secret of the sea grass. It’s one giant rat nest.

I make the trip up the beach in the early hours of twilight quite often. And on any given night, without really trying, I can easily spot a couple of dozen rats as they scurry between the sea grass and the trash cans lining the walls of Fort Lauderdale Beach. I’ve often sat and watched their mating rituals and playful scurrying at one spot across the street from Birch State Park (where I’ve never, ever seen a rat), and witnessed a half dozen happy rats playing “raid the trash can.” But it’s not the trashcans that are at fault, because as a good estimate, from the garbage I see on the beach, only a small percentage of the beach goers are even aiming for the can. And as much as I love those sea oats and sea grass, I have to admit it; the wispy sea plants are the real problem. If it wasn’t for the inviting and fluffy home the sea grass provides, the rats wouldn’t have a place to live.

The truly amazing fact for me is that I’d bet next months pest control bill, that none of the recently planted beautiful people that have been taking up residence in all of these new giant condos and the past and future crop of tourists have any idea that they are enjoying the golden sands of Fort Lauderdale beach within inches of colonies of teaming rats. Maybe the Mayor of Fort Lauderdale could take out a few ads this tourist season to tell all the winter guests that the exotic sands of Fort Lauderdale Beach are intermingled with rat turds. Or that “The Rats are Running on Fort Lauderdale Beach.” Could you imagine the shock and horror when Millie and Ed from Massapequa find out that the beaches of Fort Lauderdale are crawling with rats? And even if someone decided to deal with our rat friends, can you imagine Fort Lauderdale Beach littered with signs warning of poison or traps set to catch vermin. And to think we could have all of this without having a subway.Such a deal!

But I think I’m going to take my discovery in stride. Hell, if you can’t beat em’ join em’. There’s nowhere to fish along the sea walls with all of the development so I’m going to try my hand at a little rat fishing. In fact I’m making a trip down to T&R tackle today to see if they have any of those new rat-rigs.