I am a fisherman. Correction: I am a damn good fisherman. More than fifty years experience will do that to a guy. Each time I head out to the lake, river or creek, I set out with the notion in mind of decimating the local fish population. Metaphorically speaking of course. Fish. Fear.Me. Having said all that, let it be known that I fastidiously follow all fishing rules and regulations when I am on the water. Fact is, I rarely ever even keep any fish after one of my fish-slaying extravaganzas. I practice catch and release 99.99999% of the time.Going fishing for me is more like “going to Church”. I talk to God on a regular basis, but there’s something about fishing that brings me closer to the Almighty. I feel more at peace when I am fishing than at any other time. Is it the solitude? The calming effect of the water? I don’t know, but I do know that Jesus hung around with a bunch of fishermen,so it can’t be all bad. Crying Over Spilled Fish I bring up fishing today because of the following story from United Press International: IRVINE, Calif. (UPI) — An animal rights group is asking a California city to put up a sign acknowledging the suffering of fish that died in a traffic incident.