Willy Trolove: A day in a boat beats eating canned tuna hands down

In our hectic landlubbing existence, we rarely have time for fishing. Gone are those carefree days when we would set out into the unforgiving ocean in a small unsteady craft armed with a hook carved from our grandmother's jawbone and, for want of anything better to do, fish up the North Island.

The closest we get to fishing in our daily lives is trawling for fish-fingers among the mixed vege and chicken pieces in the supermarket freezer. We have sacrificed our deep ancestral connection with the ocean for chunky-style tinned tuna in a spicy tomato and basil sauce.

It doesn't have to be this way. Recreational fishing is a healthy and relaxing non-violent activity, approved by at least one government ministry. What's more, fishing satisfies our national stereotype of typical New Zealanders in the great outdoors doing it themselves.

The only trouble is that when it comes to fishing, typical New Zealanders in the great outdoors seldom know what they are meant to be doing. This is because most people misunderstand fishing. They think the purpose of fishing is to catch fish. It is not. The purpose of fishing is to tell stories about catching fish.

Take, for example, a typical day's fishing. Your average fisherman consults the Maori moon, contemplates the tides, studies the weather and pretends that all of this actually means something.

He finds his fishing clothes. He has a lucky hat, a fishing jacket, and a favourite T-shirt with a witty slogan on it like "Thank cod for fishing" or "I love to groper" or "Speak up, I need my herring checked".

He gathers his fishing equipment together. This includes an expensive rod, reel, and a tackle box that was on sale at The Warehouse for $14.95. The tackle box contains hooks, sinkers, and other things designed to scare away fish, such as lures.

He heads to the harbour and meets his fishermen friends. They clamber on to a boat. More often than not the boat is not very large, not very new, not very shiny, and the beer fridge is a small chilli-bin that leaks, smells of squid bait, and keeps the beer cold for about seven minutes.

Off they go. They inspect each other's fishing equipment, they discuss the huge fish they will catch, and, as they approach the fishing area, they put on their fishing jackets. These jackets have so many pockets in them that by the time a fisherman finds the pocket in which he placed his seasickness pills, he has already thrown up several times over the side of the boat.

Fishing spots are closely guarded secrets handed down through the generations, and so every fisherman claims to know an excellent spot but flatly refuses to tell the other fishermen where it is. This means that a day's fishing must be carried out in a previously untried location, which gives the fishermen an excellent excuse if they don't catch anything.

The location is only agreed on after a heated debate. This involves repeating several standard phrases such as: "We should be further out", "We should be closer in", "We should be nearer the sewerage outfall", and "I need another beer".

The debate cunningly obscures the fact that where you fish, how you fish and what equipment you fish with has hardly any bearing on whether you actually catch anything. Catching anything is almost entirely a matter of luck.

But at last the fishing begins. Rods are prepared. Hooks are baited. The fish are tempted from the deep.

It doesn't matter if any fish are caught. As well as reconnecting us with the dark and brooding ocean, fishing revives the rich story-telling traditions that have long been absent from our landlubbing lives. Out on the open sea, fighting the elements and the monsters that lie beneath, the stories come thick and fast.

There are pitched battles and overwhelming odds. There are threshing fins, flashing bellies, and hooked giants leaping clear of the water. There are mischievous marlin, devious dogfish and brutal barracuda.

Boats creak. Reels whir. Lines strain under the force of mighty sharks fighting to be free. For hours, fishermen battle their own exhaustion while the sun beats down and the sea all but consumes the story-teller.

Sometimes the fish get away. Sometimes they don't. And sometimes the stories aren't even remotely true.

But one thing's for sure. You don't get any of this with your chunky-style tinned tuna in a spicy tomato and basil sauce.