If You're Going Fishing, Try Kishu Fishing

Recently, I went fishing for the first time in about 30 years.

That said, it wasn't anything serious, just some sabiki fishing at the harbor. Even so, as I cast my line and gazed out at the sea, a strange sensation came back to me.

When I was a child, I did nothing but fish.

On holidays, I would strap my fishing rod to my bicycle and head to the sea with my friends. We would venture out to breakwaters, river mouths, and sometimes even piers a little further away.

Thinking about it now, it wasn't much of a distance. But the range I could reach on my bicycle back then was the entire world to a child.

There were no maps. There were no smartphones.

Even so,

“Let's go over there today.”

That alone was adventure enough.

Among the types of fishing, one I occasionally did back then was Kishu fishing.

It is a traditional method for catching black sea bream, said to have originated in Wakayama, where you knead rice bran into a ball, wrap your rig inside it, and drop it to the seabed. I think the bait was shrimp.

Come to think of it, I first learned of the existence of “rice bran” through Kishu fishing.

I can't even remember how I used to get it back then. Was it from a neighborhood rice shop, a rice mill, or perhaps a fishing tackle shop?

However, I strangely remember the smell of the bran in the bucket and the sensation it left on my palms.

As a child, I was just trying to imitate what I saw, but the bite I felt while sabiki fishing the other day rekindled my desire to try Kishu fishing again.

Of course, if I were to start now, I would have to replace all my gear. I have nothing left on hand.

Rods, reels, bait buckets, and landing nets.

Fishing is a surprisingly expensive hobby.

But it’s a strange thing; I don't feel like it's the fish I'm truly drawn to.

What I remember isn't the catch, but the smell of the sea.

The rod strapped to the back of my bicycle.

The breakwater with its intense glare.

My fishy-smelling hands.

The siren at dusk.

And the time I spent watching the sea until it got dark.

Back then, as long as I had a bicycle and a fishing rod, I could do anything.

I had no money.

I had no smartphone.

But I was never bored.

The range I could reach by bicycle was my entire world, and that world had more than enough freedom.

So perhaps the reason I want to try Kishu fishing again now isn't because I want to catch black sea bream.

I want to go and pick up the time I left behind 30 years ago.

Although, even while thinking about such things, I don't know if I will actually start.

Gathering the rods, spooling the reels, and heading to the sea on my days off.

It's not as simple as it sounds.

Because my energy, stamina, and time are not as infinite as they were back then.

Still, I think that's fine.

It doesn't necessarily mean I have to start doing the things I used to love all over again.

Just remembering them is enough.

Talking about Kishu fishing, recalling the smell of rice bran, and feeling nostalgic for the version of myself that used to ride around on a bicycle.

That time, too, is a sufficiently rich experience.

Perhaps what I wanted to reunite with wasn't Kishu fishing, but my own self from back then.

And I feel that just arriving at that answer made casting my line for the first time in 30 years worth it.