Why Do I Fish? A Carp Fishing Philosophy

(Text adapted from a base published in 1max2carpe #6)

Gipcy – April 15, 2021

As you might expect, this topic can easily be considered a philosophical one.

It leaves room for endless personal reflections.

With this open question, I would like to share some of the thoughts that

regularly cross my mind about our little microcosm: carp fishing.

This article is therefore something of a test — a way to see whether readers are interested in this

kind of reflection about our shared passion.

Maybe I fish just for the chance to encounter treasures like this

Do I fish simply because I love it?

For convenience, I will deliberately write in the first person.

Not because my personal experience should be taken as an example, but simply because it helps to illustrate the ideas.

So here is today’s question:

Why do I fish?

What are my real motivations for going to the water’s edge?

Is it simply a desire… or more of a need?

Am I chasing a fleeting pleasure, or trying to cultivate a lasting emotion?

Do I fish for myself, or for what the eyes of others might bring me?

Do I fish because I truly love it — or because I’m trying to satisfy my ego?

As you can see, many deeper questions hide behind this seemingly simple one — a question most people would answer instinctively, without really taking the time to understand it.

Maybe it’s just an excuse to lose myself in nature

Let’s take the example of an average angler and try to understand his journey: his evolution… and sometimes his drift away from the original purpose.

Whether fishing is passed down or discovered by chance, it almost always begins with one thing: pleasure.

I don’t know anyone who goes fishing under pressure or obligation.

If we choose to go fishing, it’s usually because we enjoy it.

So we can agree that pleasure is the foundation of this entire reflection.

Then comes learning, which often happens in two stages.

The first stage is discovering and understanding the basics of fishing.

The second is adapting that knowledge to the endless variety of situations we encounter on the bank.

The first stage can sometimes be quite fast — even obsessive — as we devour information.

But the second stage, in my opinion, lasts a lifetime.

An angler who remains open to his environment will learn something new every single day, from every situation, right up until his final cast.

What interests us most, however, is the journey of an angler over the course of his life.

Along the way, that journey is punctuated by encounters with other anglers — some minor, others decisive.

Depending on personality, these encounters may be rare or extremely frequent.

But the earliest ones are often the most influential.

They help shape the foundations of our values.

And that leads us to the next question.

Releasing our catches in the best possible conditions isn’t optional — it’s part of our values

What are values?

That’s a vast subject.

Let’s simply define them as what each of us considers essential for a “good” way of practicing this passion.

What is acceptable?

What do we refuse to do?

In other words: ethics.

And it quickly becomes clear that ethics have as many faces as there are anglers.

Everything is a matter of perspective.

What becomes truly interesting is understanding where each

person places their moral boundaries.

This detail matters more than it might seem.

Although those boundaries often evolve over time, they can sometimes shift dramatically without warning.

The problem isn’t changing your mind — as the saying goes, only fools never do.

The real question is what pushes us to change our mind.

And that’s when each of us should once again ask the question that gives this article its title:

Why do I fish?

Am I still fishing for the same reasons as when I started?

So how can those motivations evolve over time?

Sometimes, getting lost is the best way to find yourself again

It’s Not Me… It’s the Others

Once again, there are countless possible answers.

But one factor has always been present: other people — their influence, and the importance we give to their opinions.

Humans have always carried a competitive instinct.

The need to measure ourselves against others in order to find our place within a group is deeply rooted in our nature.

However, every individual gives a different level of importance to this instinctive need to compare their status with that of others.

Where the subject becomes more complex is in our ability to underestimate how much this actually affects us personally.

The irony is that what most often distorts our judgment… is precisely the gaze of others.

What will they think of me?

What I find most absurd in our little fishing microcosm is seeing how we constantly compare ourselves using factors that are not fully within our control — and therefore, by definition, not truly comparable.

Once you realize that, it becomes very easy to understand the rather sad drift of anglers who now live primarily through their virtual identities on social media.

A souvenir photo or undeniable proof of narcissism?

Let’s return to our average angler.

He started fishing because the croaking of frogs, the smell of crushed wild mint, and the excitement of a take brought him intense joy.

Later, he began comparing his results with others.

He tried to become better.

He wanted to catch bigger fish.

He worked harder to catch more fish than his friend… more than his friends… more than all the anglers around him.

Then came the internet, social media, and the race for sponsorship.

The limits slowly stretched… until they became invisible.

Until one day he no longer heard the frogs croaking.

Until the value of a fishing session was reduced to nothing more than numbers — numbers used to declare whether the fishing had been “good” or “bad”.

That’s when the famous question begins to echo again — accompanied by many others.

How did I end up fishing for fish damaged by overfishing, when the last thing I ever wanted was to harm them?

How did I end up stepping over my neighbour just to secure the “best swim”, when what I

originally loved about fishing was peace and connection with nature?

How did my need for recognition become stronger than my respect for this fish?

Did I really need to “burn” this lake just to feed my ego a little more?

How did I manage to drift so far away from the very origin of my love for fishing?

Maybe I fish simply because I love it

These lines are only an introduction to a personal reflection that each of us must undertake for ourselves.

Our vision of this passion may take many forms throughout our lives.

But I believe that remembering where we come from is the best way to find our way again.

Asking ourselves these questions from time to time is essential if we want to maintain a healthy balance between our roots and our ambitions.

Next year will mark 30 years since I began shaping my life around this fish.

Thirty years of living like a wanderer, chasing creatures that fascinate me, often at the expense of other pleasures in life.

Three decades of knowingly stressing animals that I deeply admire… while still advocating for catch and release.

And yet, one question remains.

Why do I fish?

Soël