I fish because I love to;
Because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly;
Because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape;
Because, in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing things they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion;
Because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience;
Because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don’t want to waste the trip; because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters;
Because only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness;
Because bourbon out of an old tin cup always tastes better out there;
Because maybe one day I will catch a mermaid;
And, finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant – and not nearly so much fun.

The fisherman, then, who chooses his pursuit out of love and aligns his actions with his deepest affections, is making a stand for Being against Non-Being, asserting the possibility of a life lived in accordance with an inner truth, a life that partakes of that Parmenidean oneness rather than being endlessly fragmented by external demands and hateful necessities, a quiet affirmation of the pro-nomian principle that life should be ordered towards enduring values, not just economic expediency, and a nod to the Christian understanding that our true vocation is found in aligning our will with God's, not in slavery to Mammon. This choice, to engage in what one loves, is thus a profound act of ontological affirmation in a world largely mired in the shadows of what is not.