What in the world?
Written by Wingnut   
Monday, 14 November 2005 15:14

The fish were few and far between this day and I had been trolling solo for about 16 hrs. There were a couple badly hooked in the box and a handful that were in good shape were released without boating and I was trying for one more chinook to round out a limit. If I had netted every fish I caught it would have been a short day but as most often is the case, I didn’t want it to be over.

Even after 16 hours I still didn’t want it to be over. After lure and depth change #214 I gazed at the horizon where the sunset was starting to blossom and pondered what in the world was out here that has held me in sway for so many years out on the water. What in the world?

Is it the camaraderie of good people and dear friends that always takes on a special flavor out there? I have never participated in any activity that has such a penchant for creating lifelong friends out of total strangers as fishing. The memories of dear fishing friends and time shared playing Piscatorial Pursuit are some of my most treasured.

Maybe it's the thrilling excitement of screaming drags and pre dawn fire drills when action borders on "too hot", that is if there actually was such a thing as "too" hot. I suppose a case could be made for anticipation as well. "Annnnnny minute now." If it is either of these opposites then it is both because regardless of which I am dealt, I still couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

Perhaps it is the tasty fillets that are the fruits of our pursuits that bring us back for more. When properly prepared, it is hard to beat a good fish dinner. It is brain food after all and I can use all that I can get. There's something special about a meal that you have harvested yourself or with family and friends. There certainly isn't the same joy in going to the supermarket for some mass produced, pre-packaged grub. The fillets are the main draw for some but for myself, I'm sated with a frosty beverage and good pizza over memories of majestic fish caught whether they were taken or returned.

It might be an addiction to the challenge of cracking the code to the day's success. Sherlock Holmes would have been a great fisherman. His powers of deductive reasoning would surely have processed the clues and put together a sure fire plan of attack. Then again, everybody that has spent any time fish knows that even the best laid plans of mice and (fisher)men are humbled by creatures with very tiny brains.

I explored several contenders but none of them really stand out as the clear cause of my passion. There must be something about fishing that has played the larger role in hooking me with such authority. What in the world could it be? That's when it hit me. The world isn't out here. Not that world anyways. Suddenly I thought about all of the things that I never think about when I'm fishing. Not the bills or the job. Not the hectic hustle and bustle of the commute. Not a worry or care has followed me out here. I finally figured out what in the world had me out here alone, without "proper" food and drink, baking in the hot sun with nil for a breeze to cool the sweat, and not a hit in 12 hours. Nothing at all. Not from that world anyways. This is my world and in my world we fish.

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