Dying Bait Fish – Day 25

From the Waterways series:

I return to the dock to board my dinghy to head back to Artful Dodger. On the dock is a fisherman, long salt water fishing rod in hand, he is casting expertly like he has done it ten thousand times before, which he probably has. On that same dock is a freshly caught fish flapping about helplessly. It’s a small striper – I’m not sure of the variety. My (foolish) instinct was to throw the fish back in the water but of course the fisherman wants to keep it to cut up for bait. Bait fish don’t warrant a bucket full of water – it doesn’t matter whether they are alive or dead when they are cut up.

I am stopped not so much by the potential annoyance of the fisherman but by my awareness of my hypocrisy – I have cupboards full of canned fish on board. I had fish for lunch and I may have fish for dinner. I am suddenly slapped in the face by the sheer violence of living, and a refrain that I once heard and have often quoted rings in my head: "all life survives on other life," and for just an instant I force myself to imagine what it would be like to drown – to be trapped in an alien environment while one’s lungs fill with water. In that instant I force myself to stare at the fish, as much as I can, to feel its agony, knowing that even fish must feel, as if to buy the right to my next dinner. The instant passes, I smile and greet the fisherman and wish him luck with his catch as I board my boat.