Fishing aint fun

Woah. Nothing’s been going on lately so I’m just gonna write something out of the blue.

I haven’t got any workshop in which I can spend my days crafting lures, the days are short and the absence of daylight in the gloomy afternoons doesn’t make ice fishing worth the effort yet.

I mostly sit around by my computer without that true inner push that one needs to get his or her thumb out of the ass and actually do something. I think about New Zealand a whole lot, nearly a year has passed since I set foot in the wonderful rivers of Southland. Jacob, a friend with whom I spent countless hours fishing there, is catching fish at our favourite spot in the Wakaia river right now and he keeps on sending me pictures. Going into comparing my current life with his is just a disastrous thing to do. I’m a worm, and he’s a free bird. A worm without vision, with only its brain to produce countless images of the past.



I’m not sure if all of these dreamlike memories from another world are a good thing. They haunt me every day. I try so hard by reading my old blog entries, I’m trying to make it all feel real. But I can’t, it’s the past, not the present, and thinking about it is just fantasising.

My whole trip from the start in February 2013 all until May 2014 feels like a clear memory of a perspicuous childhood dream. The worst thing is, the more I dwell in the NZ content of my blog the more I remember and the more I remember, the more I miss. I’d like to experience every single bit of the trip again.

All the screaming, all the walking, all the sandflies, all the nagging bumble bees, all the spooky fish, all the rainy days, all the lousy knots that broke, all the wind, all the stress, all the lost flies, all the premature strikes, the lonely nights in the car, the porridge, the noodles, the raw potatoes, the wet underwear, the long roads, the gravel in my shoes, all the cows that followed me, all the sheep, the sun, the humid air, the crystal clear rivers, the magical scenery, the red sunsets, the rises, the happiness, the birds, the joy, the people and all of those beautiful fish.


Me on the Wakaia evening rises, Feb 2014.

Crying, oh yes I cried. And that wasn’t necessarily the sweet tears of happiness. These tears fell into the rivers while I screamed in frustration at the fuzzy fish that kept on screwing me over and over again.

Someone just told me that she would like to have an interest as well, something fun to spend her days off with.

But. Who ever said fishing was fun? Fishing is not fun. Pinball, pool and pingpong is fun. This draw for fishing is a curse. It controls the heart, telling it that you have to force yourself through countless hours of obnoxious work just so you can spend the vague amount of money earned on gas, rods, lines, flies, tippets, food and other pieces of useful equipment.

And then there’s the time. You have to quit your job and get on with your next assignment. A full time position working for your cursed heart that demands your full attention and your presence during every single hour of daylight.

There’s no staying at home, because you haven’t got a home. There’s no doing this and that, because you haven’t got shit to do. There’s no friends, just eventual fishing companions. There’s no food, just garbage you eat to stay alive. You’re a bum and the only thing you’re allowed to do is to get on those rivers and try and catch something that is going to make you feel satisfied, but you’re immune to real satisfaction. Your life is a complete mess, and the only feeling relative to happiness in your pitiful life is excitement.

I know, I make this sound pretty dark.

But there’s purpose to it. A lot of people sell their souls for money, meanwhile some sell their souls to something greater. Some might slap two flies with one hand and get the money as a bonus. But it’s not the money they’re in for.

I personally serve this particular obsession that sometimes give me excitement and satisfaction in return. This obsession that roam outside the bonds of what I can control, is serving the greater purpose.


My old Corolla, a few lonely nights in there, yes

I’ve asked myself multiple times; Does this obsessive habit ever do something good for the world ?

What kind of people care for the waters and hinder human entities from exploiting and destroying these? What kind of people say no to dams, inconsiderate farmers, pollution and greedy power companies? What kind of people prioritize environmental preservation over money and why do they care so much?

Even if we’re not actively doing something to oppose the destruction of the watery parts of the earth one might still be pushing it passively by just giving in to this obsession. We spend our money in the fishing stores and a whole lot of it end up in the hands of those who actually do something. If not, they end up in some smug rod-company owners pocket, but their future has always been dependant on healthy fisheries and there’s not many ways around that. As long as we fuel the industry, we’re up to something good in some way.

As if that wasn’t enough, taking folks out fishing or telling your fishing stories to fellow humans might inspire and spread the influence of the great water spirit that controls us fishermen, a spirit which I earlier on labelled ”obsession”.

The end.


Markus with a troutie at the Wakaia back in feb 2014


The magical Travers River


Lewis Surfcasting the shores of Marlborough on a rugged winter morning back in July 2013


A seemingly hovering trout in the upper-mid reaches of the Wakaia river


A happy man and his wonderful catch


A happy girl and her wonderful catch


And then there was the cows, happy or not, they’re there


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