What are your thoughts on the morality of fishing?

Why would it be immoral? One can argue this in a dozen different ways.

If you think that morality is tied to religion (and many people do!) then eating fish is decidedly a moral thing to do – catching and eating fish shows up all over the Bible as an approved activity. See some of these: link

If you are asking whether taking away the fish’s “freedom” is in someway denying it its potential to reach the pinnacle of its pescatorial identity – it’s ultimate fishiness – then I would say that fish are not intelligent beings that have an identity and self-understanding to be taken away. Basically trying to ascribe human feelings to fish is – well, sort of fishy.

I don’t fish – not for moral reasons, but because I find it boring as hell.

But I eat fish regularly without a moment’s remorse. I see no moral issues at all about catching, eating, sporting, or doing much of anything with fish.

About the only immoral use of fish is what appeared in the Godfather movie, when Luca Brasi “slept with the fishes” – see this clip

^^ Not sure if I totally agree but GA for being so well-written!

I used to love to fly fish. Everything about it, from tying the flies to the craftsmanship of the gear to enmeshing myself in the ecosystem of the river—I loved it all.

I released almost all of my catch, which gave it a satisfyingly ethical veneer. But when I finally looked at it honestly, I had to admit that this was a thoroughly rotten experience for the fish. Even when done right—with small, barbless hooks and a long period of gently nursing the exhausted fish back to swimming strength—catch and release has a spotty survival rate. At best, they’re released wounded, subject to infection, and exhausted. And even the most careful fishermen “foul hook” some fish, wounding them in their eyes or flesh.

I stopped fishing when I could no longer justify ruining the day (at least) of these beautiful creatures, who already have a precarious existence, for my entertainment. I didn’t need to fish at all, but they desperately need all of their strength and health.

I think “catch and release” is unethical. I don’t think anyone who has done it or seen it done can argue that it does not harm the fish – and it certainly doesn’t allow the fish to end up on anyone’s plate. So, it’s kind of like firing into a holding pen for the fun of it, and then driving home with nothing. It’s a waste of life for our amusement.

I think fishing for food is ethically fine, as long as the fish are not endangered. I mean, fishing in a stocked lake (which most of them are), fine. Commercial ocean fishing, not fine.

And then, the last concern, eating fish that have effectively been poisoned by mercury/oil dispersants/whatever is ethically unsound from the viewpoint of what we should and shouldn’t feed ourselves.

@thorninmud That’s the answer I was trying to put to words. I’ve always been a big time fisherman and hunter. I love being on the water, and I love freshly caught fish. I did the catch and release too, but last time I hooked one, it was pretty deep and I had to face I had probably killed this beautiful creature for my own enjoyment. Took all the joy out of that. I outwitted a fish? I might still catch some to eat, but that’s it. They’re probably going to get eaten by something along the way, it’s the food chain. What kind of “sport” is it when the other team doesn’t even know they’re playing?

I fly fish. I eat the legal ones and release the ones that are not. Not all of them will survive but most do. There is nothing wrong with it. Much, much better than farming trout or eating products from commercial fisheries. I don’t see any moral issues with an individual fishing. I do see issues with commercial fishing and fish farming irresponsibly

I think Catch and Release just terrorizes the fish.
I am also amazed at the number of fishermen I talk to who don’t eat their catch. Why do it then?
I believe in responsible hunting and fishing, but not mounting trophies of your kill.

Thanks everyone. My reason for asking the question is related to this boring, long story of my history with fishing and the relationship with my father…

I grew up fly fishing, hiking and camping with my father. I can’t even fathom how many hours we spent together fishing in northern NH, ME, and western MA. We would hike into a river with our hip-boots and spend the day on the river. We’d keep enough fish for lunch or dinner and head back to camp.

Our relationship got a bit rocky during my teenage years, and the last time we went together, I was 16 years old when we took our last trip up north together. The following years saw even further disintegration of our relationship, as well as my interest in ethics, which led me to 9 years of vegetarianism. Back in 2000, I started eating meat again, but still had no interest in fishing because I still spent so much time in the woods and needed no additional reason to be there.

My father and I have since grown considerably. And a couple of years ago, he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Along with my health concerns, it’s clear that the two of us have been nudged, by the reality of impermanence, to drop the unnecessary grudges and focus on what we have right now. Both of us are only capable of being who we are, and that’s ok. Our relationship is as strong as it ever has been.

Now, every time I see him, he seems to be withering away. His shaking is quite pronounced (and stronger every time), and his mind seems to be taking a hit. Just to back up a bit – my father has always been a bit of a powerhouse in my eyes, even when I hated him. He’s a veteran who saw considerable combat and earned the purple heart. He has always been a very strong figure whose confidence was unshakable and seemed to be capable of anything (at least from a son’s perspective). To seem him now is unnerving. And in a way, it is frustrating that we’ve finally been able to drop all of our shit and he seems to be expiring before my eyes.

Anyway, a month ago, my father – out of the blue – said that what he would really love would be the chance for the two of us to go up north again and do some fly fishing like we used to. “Of course!”, I said. Shit, how could I not? It felt heavy though. He seemed honestly shocked and moved that I had accepted, and it was clear that he was putting himself out there despite the fear. Two weeks later, I found myself out in the middle of the river, negotiating pools and laying down the fly ever so gently. The smell of the outdoors, the sound of the river, the motion of fly fishing (which was like riding a bike), all was so meditative I honestly couldn’t recall why I had been so insistent in rejecting the activity all of these years.

Well, the weekend was great. My father, however, would get very tired and need to rest. So, we stayed in a cabin and I was able to go off and do some fishing of my own. Being out there in the northern tip of NH, out on the river, just felt amazing. My father, of course, needed some assistance with things, and it turned out that I ended up playing a role he had played for me so many years ago. He needed help tying on the flies, he kept dropping and losing things, and I drove the whole time. But he seemed so genuinely happy, and the experience was great.

Note: neither of us caught a single fish. Not even a hit. I’m not sure how this is even possible, because the rivers we were fishing had been amazing in the past. But there was nothing. The thing was – it didn’t matter. Neither of us really complained. It didn’t take away from the experience.

After we left and I returned home, I realized that my comfort with fishing was not as solid as I had imagined. For example, I realized that I could have caught something. Then what? How would I felt then? Did I want to gut it, as I had done hundreds of times, and cook it up back at the cabin? Or would I have released it? And how would I have felt if I had released an injured fish?

Now I am wondering about the whole thing, and feeling a bit guilty. Fishing season is over. But I had entertained the concept of doing some more fishing in the spring – at least with my father, but possibly alone if I could find the time. Now, I don’t know. I can’t justify catch and release, but the thought of eating the fish just to get around having to release it makes the whole thing seem as absurd as it has been to me for the past 26 years.

Thanks for everyone’s input. It’s pretty clear that I rationalized myself into being ok with fishing for reasons other than being completely ok with it. Now, I’m just confused. At least I have until spring to figure this out.

@hominid I can’t imagine denying your father’s request, under the circumstances. Especially since I have no issue with eating the fish one catches. So, my advice to you would have been to kill, gut, and fry up that catch even if the process itself wasn’t palatable to you. But I also don’t believe in beating oneself up about life choices. Make the choices you make based on the person you’re trying to be, then just live the experience. Often, it is not obvious what “the right thing to do” is. You do the best you can.

@hominid Moral decisions are rarely reducible to a “never do this” or “always do that” form. Part of being a moral person is recognizing the unavoidable messiness of trying to live life without causing unnecessary harm (and that there are many forms of harm). In the end, the best guide for navigating this nuanced landscape is a finely-tuned sense of compassion.

I found that in order to fish, I had to stifle my natural compassion. I had to care less about the quality of life of the fish than about my own pleasure. If I had been “feeling with” the fish, as “compassion” means, I wouldn’t have wanted it to take the hook. But I did want it to take the hook, because that would bring me pleasure.

I eventually saw that whenever you stifle your compassion instead of listening to it, it loses its voice and becomes a less reliable guide, so I chose to listen instead. In doing what you did, responding to your father’s pain and taking a step to heal the separation, you listened to your compassion. Could that have had messy collateral consequences for the trout? Sure. But in moral matters, motivation counts. This wasn’t something you did just to have a good time at the expense of some lower vertebrates. You were on a healing mission. I would have done the same thing.

I’ve always likened “catch & release” with telling a small child that Santa doesn’t exist, just as they enter the store grotto…dumb, pointless & really rather cruel.

I love your story, @hominid. I’m glad you shared it with us.

My father lives on the St. Lawrence river in the summer. He grew up on the river. He and his brothers all fished with their father… who could often be found on the banks of the river fishing in his favorite spots after he retired (when he wasn’t in his garden, that is).

I love the water… the smell, the waves, the calm. I used to go fishing with my dad because… well, basically because my dad did what he wanted and if you wanted time with him you had to do those things too.

So I learned to love “fishing”... the act of baiting the hook (and being the girl who was comfortable baiting the hook), casting into the water, waiting. And waiting. And the sun and the water.

But I hated fishing. I hated buying cartons of worms from a fridge in a store. I hated picking the worms out of the dirt. I hated sticking a hook through a worm and sacrificing it to trick a fish into eating it. I hated pulling fish out of the water. I hated pulling out the hook. I felt such empathy for the worms and the fish. I hated the gutting, cooking and eating of fish and never participated in any.

I, also, became vegetarian. I read child-oriented PETA books and hung pictures of veal calves and bunnies in cages in my room. I was anti-hunting, -fishing, -animal testing, -animal eating, -cruelty, -silk, -leather.

Then there was the time that my father had me hold down the fish while he gutted it. I can still see its remains thrown back in the water. The mental sight pains me.

And I realized that I never liked fishing. I just wanted the serenity of nature… and the attention of my father.

To answer your original question… fishing for sport/fun is shitty. Eating the fish gives the act purpose… but I don’t eat fish. So I don’t fish. I don’t judge others for catching and eating fish, though.

I can see, though, how your memories of your dad could motivate you into “fishing”. People who believe in a higher power may even say that it was divinely inspired that the two of you not catch any fish together. It sounds like you had a perfect weekend.

Your father is more important than any fish.

And thanks for sharing that poignant story with us @hominid.

In my early 20s, I had a girlfriend who was both uncommonly smart and very pretty. In other words, I didn’t deserve her. But without my realizing it at the time, she had a profound effect on me regarding things I hadn’t bothered to think about. One of those things was my relationship to animals. On a September morning in the first week of the semester, a girlfriend of hers came streaking into the house yelling in panic about a snake slinking around in the front yard. I snatched up the bat and was halfway thru the door when my supposed girlfriend snatched me by the back of the collar. I was skinny and my legs were still moving. She was supporting me by the collar in a limbo position with my back parallel to and a foot above the floor. I remember looking into that beautiful face and hearing her speaking to me in that tone so irritatingly reminiscent of my mother. “Why not just leave the snake alone?” “It’s a snake!” I yelped, thinking what is there to discuss? She pulled me erect (still by the collar) explaining calmly. “It didn’t choose to be a snake. It isn’t bothering us, and just like the rest of us, it’s just out there trying to earn a living” I stood there like the idiot she surely knew that I was, until she sweetly said in that same tolerant tone of my mom, “now help me make the bed”. I still use that “tryin to earn a living line”.

To me, “catch and release” just seems pretty pointless, so I’ve never done it.

And growing up on Great South Bay (we had a connecting creek right in our literal backyard,) I sure had enough fishing experience but we always ate what we caught, Fluke, Flounder, Bluefish, etc.

I also had crab traps which I’d put down as well as a net to scrape them off the town dock’s supports. They were quite delicious and free.

This was when I was a kid before rampant pollution set in.

I really don’t think there is any sort of catch and release tradition in saltwater fishing (or al least I’ve never heard of it.)

But oddly enough, I could never get myself to eat raw clams even tho I would dig plenty of them out of the sand.

Just the idea of popping something into my mouth two seconds after ripping it out of it’s shell left me horrified. I mean, there’s the strong possibility that it’s still (partially?) alive. I could never get past that thought.

Maybe it’s a little silly, but I’ve never eaten a clam or oyster my whole life, and neither do I plan to.

Anyhow, that being said, I think it’s wonderful that you honored your father’s request and spent some beautiful time together fishing.

It says on the menu of every fish & chop shop, “Battered Fish”
What sick bastard beats up fish?