Weather lousy, wish they weren't here

When the local daily paper runs a front-page story entitled "MFC Proposes Reducing Snook Bag Limit", you just know you're in a place where they take fishing very seriously. (Inside, a page lead reveals that there will be a night-time close season on harvesting mullet between November and March.)

I'm writing this from Islamorada in the Florida Keys, a place where it's easier to buy a dozen pre-rigged balao for sailfish bait than a readable paperback. But (and this is the real bummer) I'm not here for fishing. This is a "family holiday". Taking rods (even that little carbon number that fits neatly into a suitcase) was strictly forbidden. So if two weeks of theme parks wasn't enough punishment, I've now got to endure a further week of suffering.

The unrelenting Orlando trudge from roller-coaster to waterslide was only relieved by one incident: the escape of a lioness from a local wildlife park. It took a couple of days to recapture, during which time its keeper delivered this memorable advice to those unlucky enough to encounter it. "Walk back slowly and don't threaten her. If she attacks you, hold out something that you can afford to lose, like an arm..."

No escaped lions here, alas. Just water, water everywhere and not a drop to fish. The 100-mile Florida Keys is really just one road with sea on either side. Drive along this horrendously busy highway, and you won't get more than 40 yards without seeing a fishing boat ready to sail, heading out to sea or coming back. It's not just bars and shops that are decorated with pictures of anglers displaying their catches: pop into a bakery, a chemist or a ticket agent and you will see the same thing.

Even if you miss all this, you can't escape the hoardings, the advertisements and the shop signs. Everything is fish related, from Dolphin Realty to Bonefish Photography. The local radio station, WTCH, is called Catch 100 and uses a marlin as its emblem.

Out of wifely earshot, I have tried to persuade the children what great fun it would be if we all went fishing together (even this being better than not going at all). The plan was that when asked what they would like to do tomorrow, they say: "Go fishing!" I then say: "What a great idea!" or "No, come on, kids, this is a holiday for your mother too," whereupon they scream and shout and sulk, and eventually get their way as children do. Trouble is, my little monsters won't play the game. Having daughters doesn't help, but even with bribery, they still refuse to divert from their routine of swimming, water skiing, windsurfing and tennis.

I wouldn't mind so much, but the weather has been awful (worst in living memory, that sort of stuff.) Florida, the sunshine state? Huh! It's been one gloomy procession of torrential rain and high winds. There hasn't been one day of uninterrupted sunshine. In such conditions, fishing seems the only sensible thing to do, and there's the added bonus of some spectacular wildlife, from ospreys and alligators to roseate spoonbills, sharks and rays.

That one didn't work either. The only consolation has been to discover that in adversity, like ET (sorry, that's the theme park influence), I am not alone. I have now met almost a dozen men in similar straits. We need no secret handshake to recognise each other. You can spot us easily enough, peering through tackle shop windows, sitting gloomily at a bar staring across the water, or wandering down to the docks to view the daily catches. We share a haunted look and are invariably trailing a shoal of kids who whine: "I'm bored, dad. Can't we have an ice cream/go and watch the pelicans/play on the beach?"

We may be down, but the Fathers Who Would Rather Be Fishing are not quite out. Working in unison, we may just be able to contrive a solution. It just needs a couple of us to share child-minding duties. I reckon that a rota system should leave the rest free for at least half a day's fishing each, without our partners being any the wiser.