El Vicario

We have been walking to the reservoir north-west of here, to the dam, then along the bank for several miles, to the road bridge. It is a beautiful place when the weather is right, and it was today; suuny and warmish, with not a breath of wind, nor a cloud in the sky. The opposite bank and the mountains beyond were reflected in the water, fowl of the heron family were seeking a living in many places, or resting proudly on rocks and logs. It is hard to explain why it was so satisfying to be there today- you have to like that sort of thing, and you probably had to be there.

There were many fishermen along the bank; recently, in the last couple of years, steps have been run down every 20 feet or so for over a mile, and these are rented out to fishermen, who catch cat-fish, carp, and what we call 'lucios' (Esox lucius) and black bass. I must say I do not understand the attraction of fishing. I appreciate the beauty of the wild and of silence disturbed only by birds, insects, the rippling of water and the rustling of leaves, but sitting for hours waiting for a fish to bite does not appeal. It has often seemed to me that fishing is the quantum unit of human activity; it is impossible to do less than to fish, unless you are dead.

The photos say what I can't, and you can ignore them if you wish.