The longer I carry on fishing the less bass I take home. It’s not that advancing age makes me too creaky to reel them in, too forgetful to find my fishing spots or too long-sighted to tie up a new rig. I still land a fair number – occasionally I run into a blanker who reckons my numbers aren’t fair at all, more like the unfair catches of a jammy so-and-so who sold his soul to the devil in return for the ability to think like a ten pounder. But not many wind up in the bag. Unless a fish clearly isn’t going to survive, back she goes. I’d like to say this is because I’m a good conservationist, and that’s part of the story. I release all my seatrout as well, even though I cough up every year for a migratory fish licence, just in case one should be deeply hooked and not worth returning. So I could boast that I’m single-minded in my dedication to the wellbeing of marine species under pressure. But the truth’s less noble; it isn’t just a desire to look after fish stocks that’s turned me into a catcher-and-releaser. Bass and seatrout are pleasant enough, but these days there are other fish I prefer to eat, and the way to my sense of environmental responsibility is through my stomach.
GOLD MEDAL
First in line, the tastiness gold medal goes to the pilchard. That’s what we called it when I was growing up, and I can’t get