Most children just want a line and some bait, perhaps a bit of stewing steak or some bacon fat. Even having an actual rod can be a big step up for a kid who just wants to go fishing.
They just need a nylon fishing line, some hooks, some weights and a knife, off they go. Either walking or on their bikes, to the closest wharf with all their stuff in a bag or a bucket maybe with a lunch provided by Mum or Dad or some lunch money along with strict instructions on when to come home.
Off for the day to sit with other kids and adults on the wharf trying to catch spotties, herrings and all sorts of other slippery creatures. Most fish life is reasonably safe from these intrepid hunters. There is a lot of river and ocean and only a small strip of danger to aquatic life. Now and again there is a nibble, hopefully followed by a big bite. Something slithery is landed.
That’s the big mystery about fishing; you never know what you will get. It can be just sprats or it could be a decent trout or a kahawai, certainly something for the pot that night.
There is nothing better than going home at the end of the day tired and maybe a bit sunburnt but with a big fish to show everyone.
Even just going home with a few spotties, little fish, is fun to show off. One may make it to the family cat but in our home the rest usually ended up in the vegie garden as compost.
I was a bit of a fisherman in my very young days, cycling miles to the local wharf or around the harbour to the rocks with my mates, always into a head wind. Well it was Wellington. We would sometimes even catch the train into Wellington and fish off the city wharves, a real adventure, going home hopefully with a prize or two.
Fishing was free and it used up the days. Parents usually did not mind their kids taking off for miles on bikes to sit by water all day and fish. It helped that they knew we could all swim. Very few kids could not swim back then. It was taught at school in the school baths or at the local pool. I actually do not really remember learning to swim, it just seemed to happen.
Anyway, parents knew we could look after ourselves and that there were always others around. Kids were safe. People looked after each other.
Sitting on the wharf, not making too much noise to scare the fish. Watching hundreds of little fish swarming around in the water immediately below, amongst the piles with the occasional bigger fish appearing hoping against hope that just one, a big one, would gobble the bait and hook.
What is it that fascinates humans so much when fishing? I suppose it is like hunting. Something we used to actually have to do. Are those behaviours simply wired into our DNA after thousands of years of having to chase our food?
Many kids graduate as adults to the bigger things in fishing. Rods, fancy reels, clothing to fish in, boats. It becomes a sport or hobby to thousands of people.
Just visit our boat ramps on a nice morning anywhere along the river and you will see what I mean. People arriving with boats on trailers, off out to sea to fill their freezers with beautiful fresh fish. To relax out at sea on a warm day with a faint wind where the big fish live. On one’s own boat, maybe with a mate or two. What’s better?
It all often started with a small girl or boy and their mates walking or riding their bikes to a wharf on our river with a line of nylon, even twine, a hook, a weight, some bait and lots of hope.
A day of adventure in the outdoors. A day of fun, watching what others catch, especially grown-ups who have been doing it for years.
Life can still be simple if we let it. The simple things are often the most fun.
