Fishing is Life
I’m one of those guys that has a sticker on my car that says ‘I’d rather be fishing.’ One of those guys who lives for the weekend so I can get out on the water, or hang out off the rocks, or a wharf, or a bridge – the setting doesn’t matter, as long as I’ve got my fishing gear with me and I’m trying to hook something. It’s gone past the point of being a hobby, I mean, it started out that way. A friend of mine was a keen fisherman and was always trying to convince me to come out with him, and I resisted for a while, it seemed like a waste of time. I mean, why stand out there for hours and maybe not even catch something when I can just pop down to a supermarket and buy a fish – it’s a whole lot quicker and easier.
That all ended one afternoon he took me out on his boat. It was a beautiful spring day, not too hot or cold, a cloudless sky, and the sea was calm and glassy as a mirror. From the moment we got out onto the water I started to see what the fuss was all about. The peace, the calm, the freedom of being out on the ocean, in nature, just two guys about to hunt for our food. It was primal, and it only got better. Unlike primitive man, we had a fish finder to help narrow down our search and when my friend had found his ideal spot we baited up a couple of rods and flung the lines out into the water. Within minutes I’d hooked something, a quick tugging on the line alerted me to another life form at the end of the line. I pulled the rod up quickly as he’d shown me and began to reel it in. It was tougher than I thought as the thing fought hard – I became locked in that timeless struggle for life and death. I finally hauled it onto the deck and we quickly killed it and tossed it in the bin for later. I was hooked.