Tag Archives: Fishing

Marginalia, no.262

‘What’s the procedure,’ I said. ‘I suppose you lurk in a bush till a bird comes along, and then you out with the glasses and watch it?’

~ P.G. Wodehouse, Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen

My father likes to fish. We used to drive into the Sierra and camp in rustic fashion at some mountain lake where Dad would spend all day fishing and my brother and I would join him for an hour or two before running off to explore the surrounding peaks. Very occasionally, it seemed to me, he caught something. I never had my father’s patience for fishing, though I admired it as a style of philosophy, which is roughly what he considered it to be. I take my kids bird watching instead. Like lake fishing, the activity can sound comical in bare descriptive terms, but the philosophy, I think, is equally admirable.

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