‘Was fishing better in the good old days?’ is a simple question to which many fishermen would, without hesitation, provide a simple answer. In some circles, particularly ones dominated by older fishermen, you would even be scoffed at for asking it. In her Dictionary of Clichés (Methuen, 1992), Christine Ammer quoted philosophers from almost 2000 years ago that ‘last year was always better’ to invoke the human propensity to view the past as inherently superior. Most fishermen have spent a lot of time reflecting on the issue—commonly more as an attempt to relive treasured experiences, to recreate history, or as a fantasy, than as an academic exercise. The answer is assumed. Bias in remembering the idyllic days when everything fell into place and the fish bit on every cast ensures that the cold windy nights that resulted in a ‘wet arse and no fish’ are not given priority in memory, storytelling or history.
But the history of fishing does give an indication of how it was valued in the very old days, good or otherwise. The scientific literature reports that one-third of the world’s ancient hunter–gatherer societies were dependent upon fishing, half on gathering and one sixth on hunting terrestrial animals. The successful fisher, or hunter, had access to a greater variety, and inherently more and better food with resulting nutritional benefits. It has been deduced that fishing success, and to a similar but numerically lesser degree that of hunting, influenced a person’s status in society. This in turn affected sexual opportunities, and presumably, success. Good fishers were likely to have more offspring. These progeny could, because of the availability of the food their parent(s) caught, and perchance, trained them to catch, be anticipated to have a greater chance of survival and procreation.
Science has also confirmed that the development of the human brain into the superior analytical organ that it now is was made possible, or at least catalysed, by the regular consumption of fish that followed the learning of how to catch them. Homo sapiens evolved from around the edge of Africa, including the banks of Lake Victoria, where fish were caught, not out of the middle of Africa. Genetic selection for fishing commitment and aptitude seems inevitable.1 Is this evolutionary advantage still imprinted in the human genome? Are at least some of us ‘hard wired’ not only to appreciate the spoils of fishing but to have an innate predisposition to accumulating large catches? I, for one, have empathy with this suggestion. Perhaps my ancestors’ fishing skills are responsible for my addiction that others often regard as, at least, a little unusual!
While an evolutionary advantage remained with those capable of accumulating fish for food, the sporting aspects of hunting and fishing were less obvious. The first written record of the joys of recreational fishing are described by Pitcher and Hollingworth.2 They are believed to have originated 2500 years ago with the written acknowledgement of ‘the sheer enjoyment of matching and overcoming the strength, swiftness and cunning of the quarry’. But even then, not everybody attributed the same value to recreational fishing. Of recreational fishing, Plato wrote 2400 years ago, ‘I pray that no yearning, no passionate love, of sea fishing or of angling may ever take possession of you, my young friends’.3
Plato’s concern was that fishing was a temptation which wasted time and dissipated the energy of those who should have been preparing for the service of their country, probably in the military. Obviously, Plato was one who didn’t value recreational fishing highly, even though he was well aware of its appeal.
It is well documented that Australian Indigenous peoples were good at fishing for food and even at times gathered from afar to have spear-fishing contests. Presumably, the spoils would have been eaten, but there appears little doubt the sport component was recognised, perhaps many thousands of years ago.
For those who do value recreational fishing, wouldn’t it be lovely to always have your favourite fishing spot completely to yourself, or a small number of close friends, and have undisturbed schools of big fish present? Of course, it was better for an individual fisherman way back when this happened, provided of course they had gear good enough to catch the fish, and a means of transport to get to them. But a considered and more holistic answer to the question of whether fishing was better for the average fisherman, or for more fishermen, or for the total of civil society only some of whom fish, is not simple. The issues can in fact be so complex that consideration of the inferences of the question may lead to the conclusion that it has many conflicting answers. Perhaps individual opinions are so varied that there is no single ‘correct’ answer. Perhaps it is a question that is best not answered, merely discussed.
In musing on this question of whether fishing was better in the good old days, much depends on the interpretation of the definitions that are needed for each of the question’s components. There are three obvious parts to the question: what type of fishing, when are we talking about, and what was, or was not, better about it?
‘Fishing’ as used in the title of this book refers to the use of rod and line off the rocks and beaches to catch fish of a variety of species. Most of what I have described fits within the common usage of the word angling, but not all of it fits within the modern definition of recreational fishing. Social attitudes to who can and should sell fish, and therefore who qualifies as a true recreational fisher, have changed greatly over time. This is discussed in chapter 6.
The second component can be answered rather simply. Even though ‘the good old days’ is of itself non-specific, very precise boundaries can be set for the times that are then compared. The two ends of the continuum I have chosen for comparison are up to sixty years apart: the period beginning in 1960 and the one ending in 2020.
The year 1960 was an obvious reference point for me personally. It was also a sufficiently long time ago to unquestionably be ‘the old days’ for most current fishermen. At the chosen benchmark time I was maturing as a fisherman and it was the beginning of my serious pursuit of large jewfish, which I have used as the signature species for much of this book. Nineteen sixty was also a year when the ‘industrialisation’ of recreational fishing was gaining momentum like never before. Fishing gear was improving rapidly: lures, other than chrome spinners, were just beginning their ascent; garfish and even pilchards were beginning to be used for tailor fishing; deep freezers had started to be accepted as a good thing to have to keep bait in; and for beach fishermen, four-wheel-drive vehicles began to become common on beaches. The year 2020 needs no justification as the other boundary in time.
‘Was fishing better?’ may appear a simple question, but as inferred above, attempts to provide a simple answer quickly encounter problems. Most of these problems arise from one word, ‘better’. ‘Better’ mandates comparisons and analysis. Better for whom? Better in what way?
The inclusion of the word ‘fishing’ in the question, superficially at least, endows those who do the fishing with a preferential right to an opinion. ‘Was fishing different’ can be answered by academics. But does it really matter to a fisherman if an academic can find an obscure reason to contend that it wasn’t better, when to him it was?
As the sixty years under analysis have seen considerable evolution in social analyses and assessments, sociologists, anthropologists and perhaps even psychiatrists may feel they are more qualified to answer questions on such a relative term as ‘better’. Indeed, in the scientific literature they already do. This is particularly the case as a key part of the question is ‘Better for whom?’ An individual, a group or the total of civil society?
In this book I have invoked science when it is relevant to fish behaviour or fisheries assessments but I have avoided academic folly to the best of my ability. I accept that complete avoidance may be impossible for somebody who has been a scientist and an academic. I have favoured a narrower interpretation of ‘who’, being the intended readers of this book, and not merely those who fish.
Unfortunately, though, the pursuit of a simple definitive answer to ‘was it better’ would not even be guaranteed by restricting it to anglers. Recreational fishers are themselves a disparate and complex collection of individuals and groups. Furthermore, the definition of a recreational fisher and what was expected of him/her has changed considerably in the sixty years covered in this narrative.
The second aspect of ‘better’ is the assignment of value to what is being compared. Why do, or should, people value recreational fishing? What makes it more valuable (that is, better), now or then?
I have previously published several assessments of both who recreational fishers are and why they and the broader community value fishing. The first was in the Keynote Address to Australia’s first National Conference on Recreational Fishing in Canberra in 1994. The theme of the Conference was ‘Recreational Fishing: What’s the Catch?’ At that time there was no published estimate of even the magnitude of Australia’s total recreational fish catch, let alone its composition. Governments, at least in NSW, did not assess either. There had been no real need; they did not actively manage marine recreational fishing.
Even the total of what anglers caught had not been considered important to either conservation or fisheries management. The recreational catch had up to only a few years before been accepted to be inconsequential when compared to the commercial catch. In that address in 1994 I estimated the total Australian recreational fish catch to be of the order of 50 000 tonnes per year. The significance of this estimate was two-fold: first, the amount represented more than a quarter of the total Australian commercial catch at the time, all species combined; second, it was subsequently confirmed by a comprehensive national survey to be a good approximation of reality. The catch was of such magnitude that recreational fishing had to be included in fisheries management for conservation and allocation. For a number of species, the recreational catch had already come to exceed the commercial catch. Its impact could no longer be ignored.
In that same address I listed eleven groups that contribute to the potpourri that is called recreational fishers and whose catches, impacts and opinions needed to be taken into account. Those groups were:
1. unlicensed professionals (who claim to be recreational fishers but sell their catch)
2. accumulators of large quantities of fish for food or for barter
3. competitors, including those to whom the capture of more and/or bigger fish than others is primary
4. hunters, motivated by the chase and the capture, but not necessarily of lots of fish
5. sportspeople, to whom the challenge, the skill, the odds, the adrenaline rush, the satisfaction of a job well done, are all important. But so is a feed of fish, perhaps with friends on the barbecue after fishing
6. recreational enthusiasts, to whom the outing is most important but for whom an occasional feed of fish is still a benefit
7. social fishers, to whom the camaraderie and fellowship are the most important
8. adventurers, who, like the hunter, savour the chase, but not the kill; they release their catch
9. lovers of open space, who if they have a line in the water, do so primarily to justify being there
10. observers, particularly underwater enthusiasts
11. preservationists, who enjoy experiencing the situation and presence of fish but actively work to prevent change, including change to fish abundances.
Obviously, these categories were suggestions. Their delineation was arbitrary. The first and last groups stretch the boundaries of how recreational fishers are defined. Under strict interpretations of the definition of a recreational fisher they do not even qualify. But individuals in these categories do have strong opinions on the subject and almost all of the first group, in NSW at least, have paid for recreational fishing licences. Having the list more inclusive helps draw attention to the problems of defining boundaries of who should have a say in whether fishing was better then or now.
The groups are not by any means intended to be rigorous subdivisions of a much larger and more diverse group. Equally obviously there is overlap and change. One person may be in one group one day and another the next. For example, a fisher may chase a jewfish one day because he/she really wants a quality feed of fish for the family (category 2, or perhaps 4) and the next day be fly-fishing for trout, which are all released (category 8). Casting a fly for jewfish could qualify an individual for quite a few groups; much depends on whether the primary motivation is to catch and keep a jewfish, to be fly-fishing or simply getting some exercise, or just being in an appreciated location.
Equally obviously, the values individuals place on fishing will vary enormously. What makes fishing better (more valuable) for individuals in one group could make it worse for those in another. What are the key determinants of the value anglers give to fishing?
At the first International Recreational Fisheries Conference, ‘Evaluating Recreational Fishing’, held in Vancouver, Canada, in 1999, I presented a keynote address entitled ‘Recreational Fishing: Value is in the Eye of the Beholder’. I concluded, ‘Individuals frequently attach great value to recreational fishing but the reasons which underpin this evaluation are often idiosyncratic and even vary with time for each individual’. The reasons societies may use to evaluate fishing can be, of course, completely different to those of individuals, particularly individuals with self-interest. Society’s attitudes do not change as quickly as they can for individuals, but they do evolve over time. In sixty years they can change greatly, as they have in Australia from 1960 to 2020 (the subject of chapter 6).
In the publication of that 1999 address I provided listings of the positive and negative contributions of recreational fishing to the ecological, economic and social balance-sheets. For both the ecological and economic contributions the negatives outnumber the positives. Fortunately for we anglers, the social reasons for fishing and the benefits of it are compelling, even though they may be different for individuals in each of the eleven groups listed above.
Ecological benefits include promoting environmental responsibility, aiding environmental monitoring and engendering support for restoration. The problems include fish mortality, fish behavioural disturbances, species translocations, pollution and inadvertent environmental disturbances. The economic benefits include employment, tourism and decentralisation, while the negatives include access costs, reducing commercial catches (hence less seafood supply to the bulk of the population), management and compliance costs, and impacting the national balance of payments by increasing imports (fishing boats and gear).
In this book I describe fishing around 1960 from the perspective of a fisherman who began fishing in the top couple of the eleven categories listed above, but who, with time, progressively worked his way down the list.
There is little doubt fishing and attitudes to it were different in my good old days. I provide some evidence and some analyses but leave readers to judge, from whatever perspective you might choose, whether fishing was, or was not, better in the good old days. Hopefully, you will have reached your conclusion before you encounter my assessments in the last two chapters.
To my scientific colleagues I apologies unreservedly that my reference data set cannot be duplicated or repeated. I have no structured before-and-after experiments or relevant external reference sites. I do not even have recorded data that can be re-analysed. But my intent is not to provide a statistically rigorous determination that fishing was or was not better back then. My hope is rather that my stories will revive some memories, provoke some comparisons and perhaps spark some consideration of what the future might hold. I will be delighted if they initiate a few recollections, or even fantasies, about how good fishing can be, and looking to the future, why it is worth protecting.
1 See, for example, RE Kearney, ‘Recreational Fishing: Value is in the Eye of the Beholder’, in TJ Pitcher and CE Hollingworth (eds), Recreational Fisheries: Ecological, Economic and Social Evaluation, Blackwell Science, Oxford, 2002.
2 TJ Pitcher and CE Hollingworth (eds), Recreational Fisheries: Ecological, Economic and Social Evaluation, Blackwell Science, Oxford, 2002.
3 Cited by AJ Butler, Sport in Classic Times, William Kaufmann, CA, 1930, p. 127.