A friend I’ve known for years (and who, as such, is morally obligated to read this column every week … or at least say he did) recently offered me some unsolicited advice:

“You’ve got to stop writing about fishing,” he said, driving the verbal gaff into my soft underbelly in the way reserved for friends, lovers, and family.

Of course, being a guy who works with words for a living, I quickly fashioned a sharp-witted dagger of a response.

“Err.”

As he walked away, I came up with something better. Honest. I did. But since I didn’t get to use it, I kept thinking. And I haven’t stopped.

Fishing, you ask? Why write about it? Why do it? Why?

It all comes down to that, doesn’t it? Those of us who fish, of course, think we have it all figured out. Until, that is, we have to put our preferred pastime into words that might convince others that we’re not just a bunch of fools who haven’t figured out that Shop ‘n Save actually sells the scaly beasts for $6.95 a pound.

First, let’s start with what fishing isn’t. Fishing isn’t about catching fish.

On a good day, that’s a small piece of the puzzle. On a bad day? It’s not even important.

Fishing, you see, is about the journey. The quest. The experience.

And if a few fish show up to join the party? Well, they’re more than welcome.

To me, fishing is a lot of things.

It’s talking about not going to bed. Trying to convince a friend to just hop in the truck and leave town at midnight, just so you can get on the lake as the first sunlight hits the water … then letting reason get the better of you … and settling for a 5 a.m. start.

Now, I haven’t been blessed with kids, and I have been blessed with a job that allows me to sleep virtually as late as I want … every single day.

To me, hearing an alarm ring, then rolling over and seeing a single-digit number flashing in my face means just one thing: Fishing. And it makes me smile.

Fishing’s not about being there. It’s about getting there. It’s about tooling down the Stud Mill Road (to the fisherman, that’s a major highway … to the rest of you, drive until you get to the middle of nowhere, then hang a right and keep on driving). It’s about coming around a bend and finding out a big black bear didn’t hear you coming.

It’s about finding out how fast a black bear can run when he thinks a Toyota is after his berries.

And it’s about telling the bear story. Over. And over. And over. To the only other guy in the truck.

It’s about watching a duck “troll” 15 feet behind your boat, and finally figuring out (about a half hour later), that he’s still waiting for a snack.

Fishing’s about finding someone you enjoy spending time with, and doing just that.

Men are sometimes accused of being poor communicators.

On the water, everything changes.

There’s something about the sheer boredom (oops … I mean, the carefree bliss) of sitting in an open boat, sewing smelts, and sipping coffee from a battered metal Thermos that makes fishing folk share their innermost secrets and goals and fears.

Fishing is about talking. It’s about listening.

And it’s about sitting with a friend, remaining comfortably silent.

It’s about watching the sun peak over the horizon and turn the brisk morning air golden. It’s about sitting in the same boat until it dips in the west, leaving a pink memory in its wake.

And it’s about planning to go back. Soon.

John Holyoke can be reached at 990-8214, 1-800-310-8600 or by e-mail at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net