These fish furnish one of the most remarkable instances of the appearance and disappearance of species on our coast. As in our day, with the Spanish mackerel, that darling of the gourmand, so in former times, the blue-fish appeared suddenly. He was first seen on the coast of Massachusetts in 1764, and then not again till 1792; and it is only since the year 1830 that he has been abundant. He seems to have superseded another and larger fish of the same name, and as his numbers augment, those of the weak-fish, otolithus regatis, diminish. The blue-fish has singular vagaries, sometimes crowding every inlet in swarms, and then deserting us altogether, visiting in one season one locality and in the next another, but ordinarily frequenting our entire coast north to Massachusetts.
They afford excellent sport on a rod and line, being among the strongest and boldest of their kind, taking the fly readily, and making fierce and well-sustained rushes; but from the localities they usually frequent, they are mostly taken with a hand-line from a sailboat. An artificial squid of bone, ivory or lead, is trailed along at the end of forty yards of stout line, from a boat dancing merrily over the waves under the influence of a fresh mackerel breeze. The boatman’s business is to watch for a shoal, which can be seen by their breaking, and when he has found it, by repeated tacks to keep the boat in or near it; the fisherman’s duty is to haul in steadily and regularly immediately on feeling a bite, and to get out his line again as soon as possible. The fish dart forward, and throwing themselves out of water, turn a complete somersault, when, if the line is not taught, they will throw the hook out of their mouths. The dashing of the waves and flying of the spray, the rapid exhilarating motion of the vessel, the fresh sea-breeze, the rapid biting and fine play of the fish, make a day pass pleasantly if they do not afford scientific sport.
Blue-fish attain a weight of thirty pounds, and the largest being usually taken outside the bars, beyond the breakers, are a source of much amusement to our yachtsmen; but the arms of the fisherman soon weary, and their hands, unless protected by leather gloves, are often seriously lacerated. The fishing can hardly be said to begin till July, and continues till late in the Autumn; the smaller fish are taken early.
If cooked when just out of their native element, these fish are excellent, but they soon lose their flavor. They should be broiled, or split and nailed on a shingle and roasted quickly before a hot fire.
Undoubtedly they could be taken with the trolling spoon, and a stout leader of double gut running on swivel traces attached to a dark hand-line would add greatly to the success. In fact, like all other fish, at times they are shy and must be fished for with fine tackle, and then the rod and line come into play. In fishing with a rod from a sailboat, the moment a fish is struck the sheet is eased off, the boat run up into the wind, and the fish killed at leisure; if the boat were kept in motion, the strain would be too great for the rod and reel.
One of the favorite haunts of blue-fish, although they frequent the entire length and breadth of the Great South Bay of Long Island, is Fire Island Inlet; and there, of a bright summer day, may be seen congregated the white sails of fifty boats tossing about in the roll of the breakers, clustering together as the shoals collect, or scattering far out to sea in the hopes of better luck. There, when the wind blows, they may be seen under double reef, plunging along, throwing the spray from their bows, or, if a milder day, under full sail, generally a single one, sweeping over the quiet waters. Moderate weather is the best, and it is no use fishing unless the fish are on, which means that their visits are variable. At midday, when they generally cease biting, the adventurous fisherman may land on Raccoon Beach, immortalized by the genial wit of J. Cypress, jr., and either cook his fish by a fire built from the waifs of the sea, which I decidedly recommend, or get a fashionable dinner from Dominy or “t’other man” that keeps a hotel there.[14] At this time it will be found, and I note the fact for the benefit of future generations, that a little liquor containing condensed carbonic acid gas and vulgarly called champagne, with water reduced to the temperature of freezing and commonly called ice, will be pleasing to the palate and beneficial to the inner man. In explanation of this episode, I may say I have just been there.
CHAPTER XII.
SNAPPING MACKEREL.
Temnodon Saltator.—One of the gayest, merriest, liveliest, little fish that chases and devours those smaller than himself, and is chased and devoured by such as are larger, is the Snapping Mackerel, the young of the previous species, but individualized from the voracity with which he snaps at the live or dead bait. He is a beautiful, silver-sided little fellow, weighing from an ounce to half a pound, and makes his appearance in immense numbers along our coast in the latter part of September or fore part of October.
“Whence he comes,
Whither he goes,
Nobody cares
And nobody knows.”
He must have just arrived, however, from the parents’ spawning ground, his diminutive size proving that he has not been long out of the shell. He roams about, at first in small numbers, but soon increasing to multitudes, and gives active chase to the minnow and spearing, that may be seen momentarily springing out of water in their frantic efforts to escape his charges. He lurks in the foaming water of a mill-tail or sluiceway, or in the eddying current of the receding tide, watching for his prey as they swim or are drifted along unsuspiciously. He makes one dash, a dozen startled spearing leap into the air, and swim for dear life; but the victim is generally carried off, a dainty and epicurean meal.