My father was an avid fisherman. He would often take my brother and I on fishing expeditions. This was not sea fishing it was river and lake fishing. I often wondered why he was so enthusiastic about it as we caught so little and what we caught was small. He knew all the terms and had an assortment of tackle that was always in dilapidated condition . I sensed that what he really liked, was to just sit and smoke and watch his float, at witch, at the slightest bobble he would become so alert. Often it would be a small perch , to small to keep. Still it satisfied the craving of the hunt for those little finny friends beneath the water in their own watery world.
Shortly before he died and was becoming a tad feeble at eighty I took him fishing. I was like a reverse roll.He still loved it and I have never seen a man more content wiith a rod in one hand and a cigarette in the other he was the most contented man on earth, he was in his fishing world maybe dreaming of landing a great sword fish or tarpon or thinking of his past actions as an anti aircraft gunner during the war. My Dad could tell a few tall tales, mostly true but a little embellished here and there and I was surprised when he told me as a gunner they had never once hit an enemy aircraft. The Jerries eluded his shells the way the fish eluded his bait. Fishing for him, was a state of bliss.