I’m not an angler. Truth be told, my sympathy usually lies with the fish. But there is an appeal to it. At its best, fishing is solitude and simplicity – bamboo pole, worm, and net – and, then, the act of dipping into nature, embroiled in a primitive battle of wills.
It’s all that Hemingway, I suppose.
269/365: vintage fishing net
avant garden 365 