Ti Point Wharf was was where I started seriously, used to be lot going on in those days there in the 70s.

And there is another whole world that just does not get it. Weird.

Are they weird, or is it us?

Alan

When I was born, my parents were sent a telegram that was short and simple: "Congratulations, another fisherman". How true that turned out to be.

I agree with MB and other posters - I think it's in your blood.

My grandparents on my father's side were working class and did it tough in Depression era NZ, but had a boat and fished for food and I guess the enjoyment of it in the Manukau - rowing a dinghy huge distances apparently. My dad was born and grew up in Onehunga and went on their outings from the time he was a toddler. He has fished all his life, had small boats throughout adulthood and still wants to get out in his late 80s. He is a meat hunter at heart, still a child of the late Depression.

I spent hours fishing off wharves and rocks as a kid, and going out in the boat with dad to target snapper. We usually took a boat with us on summer holidays at Oamaru Bay, Port Jackson and Coopers Beach. My mum said that any time we went out for a family dinner my meal choice was not negotiable - fish and chips.

I became totally fascinated with fly fishing as a teenager, saved up for some gear using holiday earnings, and taught myself casting and fly tying out of books. 

When in my OE, I grabbed the chance to fish if I could borrow a line, rod, whatever. Kob off the coast of Namibia; piranha in the Amazon.

I finally got my own small runabout four years ago and still find it hard to sleep the night before a trip. The thrill of hooking a big fish always gives me a surge of adrenaline. My name is The Tamure Kid, and I'm an addict!

As others have touched on, I also love the outdoors, the beach, the coast. My wife is the same, and we bought a house with a distant sea view. Out on the water, I love and appreciate the bird and other wildlife, and the natural beauty - whether it be storm clouds, dawn light, sunsets, whatever.

My theory is that some people carry a hunter gather gene more strongly than others, and I'm one of them, as are you Smudge, and others on this thread. When I travelled to the wilderness parts of Africa I was noticeably better at game spotting than others, picking out shapes of animals a long way away after a quick glimpse through a gap between bushes, or out of the corner of my eye.

i'm not saying that to boast, but as a pointer to something I think is genetic.

So today I fish for food and the thrill, always scheming about how to catch big snapper on softbaits, while also bringing home a feed. I love going flounder spearing a couple of times a year, totally focused on the hunt and the solitude of the estuary at night. Squid, yip tried that too.

I still do the odd fly fishing trip, combined with family holidays. Love it. 

I have spent more than I care to think about on tackle and rods/reels, including a lot which was just part of a passing fad and will likely never get used. George Best's quote about spending a fortune on booze and women etc comes to mind - the bit about the rest he wasted. Just the ritual of placing a new lure into my fishing tackle cupboard, dreaming about one day catching a kingie on it, for example, was probably worth the money - especially at a time when my fishing was limited for some reason. I was fulfilling my passion in another way.

I also love taking my boys out in the boat. The older one has it in his blood too. He carried around sticks at kindy, pretending they were fishing rods. He too has seemingly endless patience when out fishing. 

I just want to be fit and able to enjoy going out on missions with my boys as they become adults, like my father before me, and his father before him - and for our waters to still have fish to catch.

Sheer luxury,    I recall using bent nails as hooks when eeling.  Good times. 

Those green cotton handlines caused havoc on the charter boats in the old days due to the drag they created compared to others fishing with mono.  

An aerial off a Sherman tank was what my dad used in his younger days. Again, simpler times

Age 5-8 yrs old.

Alan

Nice. Some common themes emerging here. There is one thing we all share in common so far. We've all been in this for the long run. Awesome stuff guys 

wow that's cool. Must be tricky keeping up!