I don’t know when I began to love what I kill.
The blood of thousands of sockeye salmon is on my hands. I have applied my intelligence, physical body, experience and competitive nature to kill as many as I can, as fast as I can. For thirty years my family’s income has come from selling salmon. That makes us commercial fishermen.
I am in awe of wild salmon and want them to swim in abundance across the earth forever. Three weeks from now I will be out there killing them again. This seems terribly hypocritical.
Is it just our modern American culture that builds this sanctimonious fence between love and harvest? Have humans revered their prey through time? Does the gardener love broccoli while cutting it for dinner? I heard about a trophy bear hunter who sobbed after the kill. Even the devout fly fisherman inflicts pain and injury before releasing the cherished fish.
Probably we truly love our prey mostly for what we get from them.
Perhaps we love them for the act of harvest itself.
Will I work to save salmon for the sake of salmon and not only for a promise of continued personal gain?