Angling, Sometime in the Future

Angling, sometime in the future

THE OLD MAN sat on his chair, staring into space, his float trotted by and dipped just as it got to the end of the run. He never saw it go under as he was too busy thinking.

When was it he first started fishing? He struggled to remember. He was well into his eighties now and as the winter sun warmed him he pushed the button on his auto reel and the line cut back across the water bringing his end tackle to his hand. He checked it and decided to try fake luncheon meat.

He attached it to the fibre optic sensor and plonked it back in the river. As he glanced down he saw a piece of old fashioned line sticking out of the ground and as he pulled it a hook came into view, he looked at the hook, trying to remember when he had last seen one. It must have been twenty years, just after the ban.

Seven long years with no angling allowed and then after a sustained campaign by the Anglers Alliance ‘no pain fishing was introduced.

More like a computer game then angling, he thought, and as he did so his float twitched and went under. He struck and immediately the rod tip bent into a great arc. This despite the fact that the line remained slack. The reel was singing as its clutch let out line in tune with the fish’s first lunging run, only no line was coming off.

He glanced at the small monitor above the reel: it was a barbel. It went to the left, the rod bending as it did so. He pulled right and the arc changed to mimic his action. The rod bucked this way and that, throbbing like a 1990’s Playstation hand set and then, after about four minutes, a buzzer sounded and all action ceased. The monitor told him he had beaten a 9lb 4 oz barbel and another 7 points had been added to his league table tally.

The concept was simple, fish takes the bait and the angler strikes. The computer decides if the strike would have connected and the fight goes from there.

There is no hook so the fish swims off none the worse. But what about the news item he had seen last week he thought, PETA were now claiming that even with no hook it was distressing the fish by snatching away its food at the last moment. It was not enough that meat was now rationed to once a week and everyone had to eat crappy old veg and pulses. Would they ever be satisfied? He decided that they wouldn’t.

He looked at the hook in his hand. For a minute he thought about tying it on his line to catch a fish in reality, rather than just catching one in virtual reality. Hook it, play it, land it, and admire it in all its glory before returning it.

He knew it was not possible, illegal even, and then the microchip in his neck began to send pain waves to his brain reminding him that even to think illegally was not tolerated. He struggled to clear his mind of such things and the pain slowly subsided.

He looked up to find a robot drone hovering above him, no doubt scanning him for his details. Time to go home he thought.

Not really enthralled by the prospect of yet another vegetable risotto he slowly walked back to his solar powered car, climbed in and had a snooze as the car headed for home on auto pilot.