...not literally, of course. I don't fish, nor do I eat fish. But I am always fascinated by fishing culture - because it preaches patience and persistence over instantaneous gratification and immediate satisfaction. A deliberate attempt (despite the goings on in the world) to always be looking to "slow it down". Even if the fastest, most exciting thing happening in one's neck of the woods was a lone plane flying over head, and nothing else of note to take notice of in the world, even that is "too much" busyness for a humble fisherman. Being one with nature and the "energy" of the environment, being able to know (or think to know) where to cast, what to bait the hook with, how long to let the line settle - it's about being in-touch with one's surroundings. Not distracted from them.
That's why I like fishing culture. And I did grow up in a family of fishermen - my late-Father, my uncles, family friends - we all took time multiple days of the year (when the weather was accommodating) to head to a local lake/pond and try our luck. Of course, there was Pinewoods Campground, too (which is now a sprawling car dealership on that property), that had five or six large "lakes", and a handful of ponds to dip the lines into. No complaining during those times. No quarters for arcade games nor vending machines. Not even any loud noises, because "we'd scare the fish". Just silence, whispers, and (for the older crowd) long drags on cigarettes to be extinguished in dew-filled grass below their chair.
Of course, I sometimes feel like fishing when I see a lake/pond, but I don't partake, because, like Pinewoods, I liken it to an activity of "a time gone by". An activity and past time that lays there, in the past. No photographs nor archival record of those days - just potent, joy-filled memories of youth and history.
And like I once heard in a TV series about fishing some time ago: "these skills and memories will die with the old - but they are never written down".