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| Alaskan Arctic Grayling are living beings |
In Part 1, I remembered an experience that has left me somewhat traumatized. I think a lot about conservation and how we can better create a sustainable fishery in South Dakota. One question that I consistently ask myself is: Do we use conservation as an excuse to justify catch and release fishing? Yes, I may be releasing the fish relatively unharmed, but how many others are?
Morals are very important to me. I am a 'live and let live' kind of person as long as your living is not causing harm to others. And by others, I don't only mean human beings. Most of us are so ignorant to believe that we are the only lifeforms on earth who feel pain or emotions. We ignorantly and subjectively deem many living things as "insignificant" or "unworthy" of life just because they are small, different, or not human. This is a big problem for me.
Yes, I kill things. I shoot pheasants during hunting season and occasionally clean fish for the dinner table. I understand my place on the food chain, and am willing to utilize the tools I've had the good fortune of being born with...here at the top of the chain. But we are lying to ourselves if we consider each other saintly as catch and release people. Because that is just not always the case. I know some fishing enthusiasts who don't seem to understand that a fish should not be dropped on the shoreline, or handled out of water for more than 5-10 seconds at a time. What type of damage are we causing to the fish in the long run? Not to mention the fact that we are embedding a hook in their face and dragging them to shore. The lactic acid that builds up within the muscles of the fish can cause death long after the fish has tail flipped back to the depths.
I liken it to the way we lie to ourselves about this experience not being about the fish. It's always about the fish in some way. The battle is won when a fish is brought to hand. Photos feed the ego and quench the appetite of your friends who clamor for evidence of your conquest. The ability to hold a living wild animal in your hands, having the will to choose if it lives or dies gives us a primal hard-on. If it's not about the fish, then why not just go for a hike, or sit in the sun? The fly rod we carry along incriminates us without question.
A friend of mine in Germany asked me about fishing. He wasn't familiar with fly fishing, so we got into that a bit. When he asked if I really like to eat fish, I informed him that I almost exclusively release the fish I catch. "You mean you drag them in and then let them go back to the stream?" (my German accent is horrible, I know) he questioned. "Well, that's not very nice is it? How would you feel if you were hooked in the face manhandled and thrown back into the water?" he continued. His sincere analysis made me double take for a moment. "I guess you're right," I floundered.
Seeing his point was like looking into the sun for the first time, and not looking away. I was blind to the things that had drawn me to fishing in the first place. But time and reflection brought back my muddled vision. I return to my place on top of the food chain. Our instincts as humans to outfox our prey won over in the end. The gratification I get from creating a simple fly with feathers and fur and presenting it to a wild animal in such a way that they mistaken for their breakfast, lunch, or dinner is empowering. My ability to foil an escape at every turn of their tail legitimizes my existence. When the fish does finally come to hand, my movements are precise and quick, for the challenge of returning the fish unharmed is almost as great as the challenge to catch the fish in the first place.
I will take more pride in my practice, and work harder to teach others about the importance of treating these animals with respect. After all, I would certainly appreciate that if I was a fish. Do unto others...human or otherwise.
