Where is the beauty in that?
Ah Fishnbill the pragmatist, and bdowning the economist. Has the catching of fish so obscured the real purpose of this obsession?
One of the best parts of fishing the hidden haunts of New England, is the purchasing of the several fishing licences, preferrably in the the most backward of country stores or town halls, where a grey haired, bespectacled, granny writes up my licence by hand in a thin spidery scrawl. And I buy my stamps and she gets change from a box marked "petty cash" taken from a huge black 19th century vault with a polished brass wheel. Now THATS a licence. My Pin-on camouflaged holder is fat with them - all the colers of the rainbow.
Buy a license...and a coffee and sandwhich from granny, and say something nice about her penmanship and smile.