The times where we forge along by taking as much as we can, believing that man is stronger than nature, are coming to an end.

A smell of blood, diesel fumes and sea salt was in the air. After what seemed an eternity at sea in the eyes of a 10-year-old boy, we pulled back to the harbor with two dozen bonito on board our lightweight sport fishing vessel. Bonitos are in the same family as tuna, but smaller. It was the summer of 1966. We proudly showed off our catch in the small village on the Italian Riviera, and because it was more fish than one family could eat, we gave away the rest, which was no easy feat since tuna, in the Mediterranean, was not regarded as a desirable seafood staple in those days.

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