The flesh of spawning fish is loose and watery, insipid and tasteless, and rarely brings more than a few pence per pound. In an out-lying hamlet known to me, poached salmon, during last close time, was so common that the cottagers fed their poultry upon it through the winter. Several fish were killed each over 20 lbs. in weight. Than netting, another way of securing salmon and trout from the spawning redds is by "click" hooks. These are simply large salmon hooks bound shaft to shaft and attached to a long cord; a bit of lead balances them and adds weight. These are used in the "dubs" when spearing by wading is impracticable. When a salmon is seen the hooks are simply thrown beyond it, then gently dragged until they come immediately beneath; when a sharp click sends them into the soft under parts of the fish, which is then dragged out. As the pike, which is one of nature's poachers, is injurious to our interests as well as those of the angler, we never miss an opportunity of treating him in the same summary manner. Of course, poaching with click-hooks requires to be done during the day, or by the aid of an artificial light. Light attracts salmon just as it attracts birds, and tar brands are frequently used by poachers. A good, rough bulls-eye lantern, to aid in spearing, can be made from a disused salmon canister. A circular hole should be made in the side, and a bit of material tied over to hide the light when not in use. Shooting is sometimes resorted to, but for this class of poaching the habits and beats of the water bailiffs require to be accurately known. The method has the advantage of quickness, and a gun in skilful hands and at short distance may be used without injuring the fleshy parts of the fish. That deadly bait, salmon row, is now rarely used, the method of preparing it being unknown to the younger generation. It can, however, be used with deadly effect. Although both ourselves and our nets were occasionally captured, the watchers generally found this a difficult matter. In approaching our fishing grounds we did not mind going sinuously and snake-like through the wet meadows, and as I have said, our nets were rarely kept at home. These were secreted in stone heaps, and among bushes in close proximity to where we intended to use them. Were they kept at home the obtaining of a search warrant by the police or local Angling Association would always render their custody a critical business. When, upon any rare occasion, the nets were kept at home, it was only for a short period, and when about to be used. Sometimes, though rarely, the police have discovered them secreted in the chimney, between bed and mattrass, or, in one case, wound about the portly person of a poacher's wife. As I have already said, the women are not always simply aiders and abettors, but in the actual poaching sometimes play an important part. They have frequently been taken red-handed by the watchers. Mention of the water-bailiffs reminds me that I must say a word of them too. Their profession is a hard one—harder by far than the poacher's. They work at night, and require to be most on the alert during rough and wet weather; especially in winter when fish are spawning. Sometimes they must remain still for hours in freezing clothes; and even in summer not unfrequently lie all night in dank and wet herbage. They see the night side of nature, and many of them are as good naturalists as the poachers. If a lapwing gets up and screams in the darkness the cleverer of them know how to interpret the sound, as also a hare rushing wildly past. I must add, however, that it is in the nature of things that at all points the fish poacher is cleverer and of readier wit than the river watcher.
Looking back it does not seem long since county constables first became an institution in this part of the country. I remember an amusing incident connected with one of them who was evidently a stranger to many of the phases of woodcraft. We had been netting a deep dub just below a stone bridge, and were about to land a splendid haul. Looking up, a constable was watching our operations in an interested sort of way, and for a moment we thought we were fairly caught. Just as we were about to abandon the net and make off through the wood, the man spoke. In an instant I saw how matters stood. He failed to grasp the situation—even came down and helped us to draw the net on to the bank. In thanking us for a silvery five-pound salmon we gave him he spoke with a southern accent, and I suppose that poachers and poaching were subjects that had never entered into his philosophy.
