With one boot in the bucket and hand to the wheel

I remember when my brother caught a fish near Terrigal lagoon in 1968. He was so happy. It was carried, still struggling for  breath,  back to our holiday house.

 I was a very tortured young child. I was so concerned about war and nuclear bombs. The idea of killing a fish was unthinkable. I cried to my father to take it back. Amazingly they did.  So up to this point my experience with catching fish has been negligible if not fraught with anxiety. You know the phrase "if fish could scream there would be no anglers", well I took this seriously, as I did most things.

 The idea of catching our own meals on our boat was greeted by me with mixed feelings. 

 After all- you have to kill it. Eating fish has never caused me much concern, but killing them....

Typical of most people who have never been part of the hunting world, the notion that these animals have to die is conveniently forgotten. 

We never have had much luck fishing. Steve and I tried once in our tinny on the Richmond river. We got bored pretty quickly. We even have trolled before, leaving a line to drag behind our boat suitably hooked and attached to an attractive plastic fish or insect. No luck.

Then the impossible happened. Steve has written about catching the fish, but not about what happened in the aftermath.

 Now ... I assumed there would be a lot of blood and scales, messy. I had said we needed to think about what we would do with "it"in the unlikely event that some poor fish actually did take the"bait". We couldn't do it in the deck: what about the teak? And where was the knife, and how were we going to secure the catch? I assumed it would still be still alive. 

Sailing to Orhayne past Bozburan we looked back to the line - stretching behind us tens of meters. 

Looks like we've got something, Steve commented, not particularly excited as we still thought it might be rubbish or a snag of line. I went into action, what are we going to put it in...as Steve reeled in the line I grabbed a bucket out of the locker. 

The struggling fish was finally in the bucket. In the melee that followed Steve announced, I don't know what to do!!! I casually stated this was my blog topic now... after all such an admission could not go uncommented on. 

As the auto- helm capably steered our course, Steve went below to check with our trusty iPad - what to do with fish. I kept my foot on the fish in the bucket as it tried to escape. Now auto -helm was being unreliable. As I waited for further instructions, I steered the boat -with one foot in the bucket ensuring that dinner did not escape. 

Well you know the rest. Dinner was great. Steve produced a beautiful meal of our tuna , cooked to perfection.

  In Australia I knew people who fished or hunted rabbits. In Turkey I have met people who hunt, not just for sport but to put food on the table. For many in Turkey, particularly in the villages, life is tough. Hunting is still, though controlled, a means to feed your family. Protein is scarce in their diet, which is rich in refined carbohydrates like bread or pastry. Our fish was caught to be eaten not just for sport. Our diet of protein has declined since coming here so the fish made a difference to us too. 

So maybe it is ok to fish as long as you eat what you catch and only fish for what you can eat.