ROCK HALL - - Ice panes formed a mosaic on the glassy surface of the Chesapeake Bay as a patrol boat nosed out of the harbor and headed for open water.

Little disturbed the waterscape except for some gulls sitting on the ice, freighters pushing their way toward Baltimore harbor and commercial fishermen.

The Natural Resources Police officers aboard the 25-foot boat concentrated on the latter category Tuesday, the second day of striped bass season and the middle of oyster season.

Poaching - a long-overlooked criminal activity given a pass by the legislative, judicial and executive branches of government - is finally getting the attention it deserves.

Judges and prosecutors are taking cases seriously. The General Assembly is enacting tougher penalties so that bandits convicted of stealing fish, crabs and oysters cannot continue to consider fines simply a cost of doing business.

And after a disastrous misstep last year when it sold the Natural Resources Police helicopter, the O'Malley administration is finally showing it isn't all about news releases and photo opportunities.

Of course, it's an election year, when politicians scurry to prove their worth. But it's nice to see elected officials treating natural resources like resources - things of value - reason be damned.

The officers I'm riding with have a state-of-the-art patrol boat with a top speed of 45 knots and infrared cameras that enable them to "see" at night. They have laptops tied to a law enforcement Web site that allows them to share surveillance information and photos. And they have commanders who have given them the flexibility to set their own hours during the winter months to match the hours of criminal activity.

As a result, Sgt. Rob Kersey has earned the nickname "The Stalker" because of his recent busts during the holidays, when the public demand for oysters and fresh rockfish is sometimes met by men who use the cover of darkness to hide their illegal acts.

"It's the art of keeping them guessing," says Kersey, an 18-year veteran of the force. "If we become predictable, the poachers pick up on that, when we're working and when we're not."

His partner this day is Cpl. Roy Rafter, a 20-year waterman who became a deputy sheriff and then joined the Natural Resources Police eight years ago.

Despite icy conditions, the two officers cruised from Rock Hall to Eastern Bay, boarding boats to check for undersized oysters and watching sonar for illegal nets anchored below the surface to avoid detection. Last year, they hauled up 17 illegal nets and destroyed them.

Their experience gives them a window on illegal tricks that include casting nets configured to take only the largest fish and the practice of cutting down the tails of large rockfish to get below the 36-inch maximum size. The reward for gaming the system: $60 a fish at market.

But right now, there's a renewed effort to protect the bay's remaining oysters. After all, it doesn't make sense to spend millions of tax dollars in an effort to coax the oyster population back to life and establish an aquaculture industry if no one can guarantee the investment.

The task is difficult, Kersey and Rafter say.

Poachers have lookouts who tip them off when patrol boats leave their moorings. Once on the water, they let one another know by cell phone and marine radio when they see Natural Resources Police in the area.

"Once you hit one or two boats, for all intents and purposes, you're done. The others dump their undersized oysters," Rafter says. "So, you have to hope those first two are productive."

To cross up spies, Natural Resources Police use different boat ramps to launch surveillance operations.

The fleet moves to where it thinks the productive oyster bars are, making it difficult to keep tabs on the boats.

"Somebody catches them somewhere else and - whump - they all move," Rafter says. Having a fast boat to cover a lot of water helps. The new boat cuts the time from Rock Hall to the Bay Bridge from one hour to 20 minutes. But it's a big bay, with lots of coves and tributaries.

But technology can't hide one ugly truth: NRP manpower is at anemic levels. The academy class of 17 officers that graduated last year amid much hoopla and self-congratulations in the halls of Annapolis has been offset by an equal number of retirements from the force. And there's no indication another academy class is in the works. As a matter of fact, the recruitment officer has been reassigned to cover staffing losses.

Pitiful.

Col. George Johnson, the Natural Resources Police superintendent, says he is looking for other "force multipliers" to augment his troops.

For example, the Fisheries Service is forging a closer relationship with NRP, even helping pay for overtime. Officers take notes on what they find aboard each boat and compare it with catch reports filed with the agency. Biologists suggest patrol areas based on fishing seasons and patterns.

In the next two columns, we'll take a look at other innovations.