Lack of human ethics / Filament

Drunk and high, four men sit around a campfire in the deep woods of the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota. Miles away from civilization, they had forged their own shelter, food, and fire. While their driver's licenses may have said otherwise, they truly were men who belonged amidst God's land.
After feeding the last of the wood to the hungry flames Rich sees a canoe pass in the corner of his eye.

"Did you guys see that?"
"See what?"
"Two or three dudes in a canoe. They just floated right by."
"Where?"
"Just off the shore. Just a second ago."
"Bullshit. We've got the only campsite for miles."
"I swear to God."
"Did they have fishing poles?"
"I couldn't tell."

After a brief discussion they nominate Bill to walk to the shoreline and check out the situation. Bill reluctantly rises to his feet, takes a pull off of the bottle of Hot 100, gets his bearings, and makes his way toward the alleged siting.
The three remaining campers stay by the fire and listen for Bill's inquiry.

"Hello there."

Nothing.

"You guys fishing?"

Again, nothing.

A minute later Bill returns to the campfire.

"Did you see them?"
"Yeah."
"What did they say?"
"Nothing."
"What do you mean, nothing?"
"Did they have fishing poles?"
"Did they even acknowledge you?"
"No."

All four campers nervously regard each other, trying to gauge their respective panic levels.

"What the fuck? What kind of people float right by in a canoe in the middle of the night and don't say anything when asked a simple question?"
"Did they have fishing poles?"
"I'll tell you what this is. It's a lack of human ethics!"
"Jack, you go and try to talk to them."
"Fuck that!"
"Did you see if they had fishing poles?"
"They're probably listening to us right now."
"Jesus Christ. They're probably laughing their asses off."
"Either that or sharpening their hatchets."
"A simple lack of human ethics."
"Everyone just shut the fuck up!"

They sit around the campfire in silence, terrified. Their ears stretch to hear anything resembling oars being paddled, rods being reeled, asses being laughed off, or hatchets being sharpened. Joe breaks the silence.

"Can someone at least tell me if they had fishing poles?"

The question remained unanswered. Their gazes fixed on the fire, too ashamed to risk making eye contact with one another. Over the course of the next hour they retired to their tents, one by one, without as much as a single word exchanged.

Nobody slept.

The next morning the campers retook their places around the fire for a solemn breakfast before packing their things and returning to where they belonged. Turns out their driver's licenses were right after all.