I spearfish because I love to; because I love the environs where fish are found, which are invariably beautiful and I hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly; because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing, I thus escape; because, in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing things they hate, my spearfishing is at once an endless source of delight and a small act of rebellion; because fish do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience; because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don’t want to waste the trip; because only in the ocean can I find solitude without loneliness; and, finally, not because I regard spearfishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant – and not nearly as much fun…
