It's true, fishing is my slide away addiction. I will sling my hook from any rocky outcrop, into any puddle. I am not alone in this. Recreational fishing is far and away the most popular pastime in this country, especially up here in the BOI.
When Imoved here a hundred years ago from the right-thinking, hard-working south I was rightly astonished to find half the shops closed on any given day of the week. A swing card on the door, 'Gone fishing,' meant just that, and not 'Back in 10 minutes' either. Plumbers and lawyers and candlestick-makers worked to the rhythms of moon and tide, the call of mooch and phaff and mucking about in boats.
I would recommend this lifestyle to the world and his wife but for one irksome detail: there don't seem to be a lot of fish left in our bit of the ocean to phaff about with.
It is also true that we don't know what we don't know. In his editorial about marine reserves, Mr Jackson is right to point out that each generation has its own baseline of 'normal'. We need to remind generation X, Y and Z that there is nothing normal about the loss of marine life in their coastal waters. The young need to hear more stories from our elders about the fish they used to catch, and the ones that got away.
And the young need to get angry about that; they need to protest, long and loud, about a government that dithers and a fishing industry that marauds while fish quietly become extinct. It is, after all, their future.
I never thought I'd be an eco warrior when I grew old, but then I never imagined that I'd have to describe to my great grandchildren what fish tasted like.
