Every so often I like to get away by myself, camping and doing some fishing. I'd get to the camping grounds early on a Friday evening, pitch my camp, and rest for a while, getting an early night. To counter the early night I'd be up early the next morning, hunting for the elusive fish.
Depending on weather and my mood my fishing could be one of various methods. Get in a boat and dangle a worm, stand on the shore and toss out some flies (a very frustrating way to not catch a trout), or take out my spear gun and go in after the little bastards. This last was usually the best way to catch something but also the most energetic, so the least often undertaken.
This morning I was simply going to relax by the side of the river and toss out a line, hoping the fish were hungry. I sat back and relaxed, reading a book to pass the time. Then I was interrupted.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" demanded a strident voice.
Slowly turning my head I confronted the loud voice. An attractive young woman stood there, glaring at me. I estimated that she was about twenty, slender, nicely shaped, a pleasant heart-shaped face, and an annoyed scowl.
"It's called reading," I explained. "You have what is called a book, which has a story printed in it. When you want to relax and fill in some time you take out the book and peruse the story. A lot of people do it."
"Not that. That!" She pointed rather indignantly at my rod. How you can look indignant pointing at a fishing rod is hard to imagine, but she pulled it off.
"Oh, that. It's called fishing," I explained. "I tie a worm to the hook and dangle it in the water, hoping that some nice fat fish will eat it and get fatter. If he's fat enough I will then cook and eat said fish, making myself fatter. The great cycle of nature, you understand?"
"You can't do that. You're murdering animals. I won't stand for it. You stop it or I'll report you."
"Do fish count as animals?" I asked, not sure what she considered to be an animal. "I'm sure the worms don't, but I drown them before I tie them to the hook. A humane killing, saving them from being savaged by the fish. Who will you report me to? It's a legal activity and I have a license."
"It's immoral and disgusting. I demand that you stop it. It offends me."
"You get offended easily, don't you? Why not take a sedative and have a lie down?"
"Don't you talk down to me. Are you going to stop or not?"
"That would be not," I said with a smile. "While you may be offended I am indifferent to your emotional state, especially as you are choosing to be offended. You could just as easily choose to be happy to be out communing with nature on a lovely day. It's a personal choice, you understand? Now run along and find someone else to annoy. Look, if you swim out there you'll find the men on the boats are also fishing. Maybe they'll stop if you ask. I wouldn't hold my breath waiting but you being young and attractive you may have a chance. And maybe not."
Without realizing it I'd made a mistake. My rod was propped up, waiting for a fish to strike. Any bites would give a tug and sound the alarm, giving me plenty of time to grab the rod. It didn't give me time to grab the rod when she bent down, grabbed up the rod, and pitched it into the river.
"What the fuck?" I yelled.
"Don't you yell at me," she snapped. "It serves you right for practicing such a vile and harmful activity. How would you like it if a fish hooked you?"
"I'd probably give the little bugger a prize. Let me inform you that if I don't recover that rod I'll charge you for it."
"I wouldn't pay. It was all your fault."
With that she turned and stalked away.
I returned to my camp, got changed, went back to the river and into the water. While the rod was light enough to float the reel was quite heavy, weighing the end of the rod down. I swam out to roughly where the rod hit the water and ducked down. It only took about five minutes to find the rod and I took it back to my camp. I don't think it was damaged but it would probably pay me to thoroughly clean it before I used it again. I'd clean it that evening. Meanwhile, seeing I was dressed for swimming I grabbed my spear gun and went back in the water.
I finished up with three fat trout, probably a better catch than I'd have obtained waiting for the fish to offer themselves up as voluntary sacrifices to my rod. Perhaps I should thank the nut-case. And perhaps not.
While I was cleaning my fish I found I could easily keep track of the rabid Social Justice Warrior. She was moving along the river bank, chastising any fishermen she found. They tended to mumble and move away, probably afraid she'd bite them. She also visited campsites, complaining if people had small campfires (wasting out national resources) and complaining if they had gas stoves (polluting the atmosphere).
She strolled along, happy as could be, leaving a trail of irritation behind her, spreading her version of truth.
I finished up putting my catch in my icebox, keeping my dinner fresh until that evening. After that I had a snack for lunch, cleaned my reel and untangling the line (thinking nasty thoughts about that idiot woman while I did so) and then trotted down to the river to see if I could catch something else.
I caught something else, all right. She came up from behind and screamed in my ear. That's what it felt like, anyway.
"What do you think you're doing? I told you earlier that fishing offends me. How dare you start doing it again? Have you no sensibilities for peoples' sensitivities?"
"No. None," I said cheerfully. "If you don't like to witness people fishing then don't come down to a camping spot where that is the main activity. Personally, I have to say that you offend me. You are deliberately trying to upset people who are engaging in a legitimate activity simply because you can, using the feeble excuse that it offends you. Now do us both a favour and piss off."
"I'll do no such thing. I have a right to protest activities that I consider detrimental to nature and you can't make me leave."
"Actually, the river is currently overstocked," I pointed out. "What I and the other fishermen are doing is culling the herd you might say, removing excess fish so that the remainder may thrive. Are you against natural selection? The dumb fish get caught and the smart fish don't. This means that the smart fish live to breed, improving the genus as a whole."
She spluttered a bit, trying to find the right name to call me. She promptly rejected my whole argument on the spot, which showed she had the rudiments of common sense.
"That's nonsense and you know it," she snarled. "You're just a vicious animal torturing those fish for no reason."
