I was forced to listen to yet another purported fisherman regale me with, “ … the only fish suitable to my palate is the Fillet O’ Fish” … an unabashed reference to the LongJohnus Silverus, that legendary gamefish known only as the “Breaded Unknown.”

… “Unknown,” because its DNA is indistinct and occasionally shows traces of horsemeat … unknown whether it’s a resident of the North Atlantic or South Pacific, and no living creature has witnessed whether it swims, humps its way through the mud, or reproduces outside of a test tube.

… and while my version of fish is often a noble animal and worthy adversary, that distinction has been lost on those that prefer “fast” rather than “good.”

It’s a combination of jaded and jealous, as the only aspect of our pastime that gets airplay is some environmentalist gashing themselves because they saw someone pissing into a trout stream, which brings out the same tired Old Guys to reminisce about the Good Old Days when you could kill everything without repercussion, and not surprisingly, we get few if any converts.

Top Gun boosted recruitment of would-be fighter pilots fifteen or twenty percent, yet for us fishermen the only positive news we can summon is:

… and while even that small bit of positive press from the folks that brought you “Umpteen Billion Served” is welcome in the absence of Hollywood starlets in waders, the reality of it all is much harsher …

Sustainable fisheries be damned, call it Pollack, Polack, or Alaskan Cod, nobody is willing to make eye contact …