My Dad taught me and my sister to fish when we were kids. We’d trawl a three hook line out the back of a rowboat on a loch and catch rainbow and brown trout. I enjoyed it, mostly because we got to hang out with Dad, I think. I didn’t mind threading reeds through the gills to carry the fish home. I didn’t mind gutting them. I just wouldn’t eat them. But I don’t think I understand this kind of fishing. I’d be wanting to go off up the beach and see what’s round the corner, or play with the dog, or build sandcastles. I don’t think I could sit for hours on end like this, moving the rod forward as the tide goes out. Inch by inch. But I suppose it depends what your life is like the rest of the time. If you never get a moment to yourself; if you’re constantly talking, moving, socialising,; if you’re behaving to suit the job/family; then this must seem like pure heaven.