The Game Fish, of the Northern States and British Provinces / With an account of the salmon and sea-trout fishing of Canada and New Brunswick, together with simple directions for tying artificial flies, etc., etc.

by Robert Barnwell Roosevelt

Spearing invariably swim near the surface; they haunt the gates of tide-mills when the tide is rising, and are drifted in with the current when the gates open before the advancing waters. The snappers take the opportunity, not merely to plunge among the shoals before the gates lift, but afterward, when the spearing, who are helpless in a strong current, are swept along, to pounce upon them.

Of course in such places they can be captured with most success. When they first make their appearance, not longer than your forefinger, but tender and delicate beyond belief, they may be found at low water in the rivulets of white froth that run bubbling from holes and leaks in the mill-gates. The best mode of taking them at this time, for they are small and fastidious, is with a salmon-rod and a tiny spearing on a Limerick hook; by making casts and drawing the bait along the surface of the water and through the frothy eddies, the young innocents are deceived, and thinking to prey upon their weaker brethren, become themselves a palatable viand for larger creatures. They break like trout, without throwing themselves out of water, but with a noisy snap, and if they miss the bait at first, will follow it resolutely. It is no mean sport to stand upon the old worm-eaten, weather-stained bridge, and wield the long rod, playing your allurement over the water to the music of the rushing current and the steady clack of the mill-wheel, and see one after another of the green-backed, silvery snappers dart from under the accumulated froth, chase and swallow your bait, and no slight satisfaction to observe the increasing number in your basket, and think of how your friends will enjoy their supper that night.

There is one singular fact to be observed, that whereas blue-fish invariably take the invitation squid, or artificial fly, with voracity, the snapping mackerel, except in the South Bay of Long Island, can rarely be tempted by it. In Long Island Sound I have failed with the fly and the spoon entirely, and have found the gutta percha minnow to work only passably, whereas in the South Bay they are taken readily with a leaden squid, of a peculiar shape, run on a large hook and polished bright.

The spearing is their favorite food, but the extreme sensitiveness of that remarkable little fish, that renders keeping him alive impossible, injures the attractiveness of the bait. As has been elsewhere observed, when small fish are used, it is desirable to keep them alive if possible, and the snappers will often give the preference to a lively killey, that by his efforts to escape incites the eagerness of their pursuit, over a dead spearing, that by his peculiar manner of resting in the water arouses their suspicions.

As the season advances, the fish are found in all rapid currents of the salt water, and the barred killey is by far the most killing bait. The best way of rigging your tackle is to have a small float and light swivel sinker, below which there is a short leader of gut. The latter is fastened to the middle of a piece of whalebone or wire about two inches long, to each end of which the hook, dressed on gut, is attached. As the teeth of these voracious fish are sharp, and after being hooked they snap continually, the silk whipping of the hook, as well as the gut itself, is soon bitten through. Either a small quill may be slipped down over the hook before it is attached, and into this the teeth sink without damage, or care must be taken to put a couple of half hitches with the snell over the shank, as the whipping wears out.

A light rod and reel are necessary for this sport, and there is the same skill and excitement in the repeated casts that lend to striped bass fishing one of its peculiar charms. The morning hours, the last of the ebb and first of the flood, are the most propitious times; but as the Fall advances, any hour, tide or place will furnish sport in abundance.

I was once fishing with a friend whose experience is greater with the pencil than the rod, on one of those glorious evenings of what might be properly styled in our country “fiery brown October,” and our success made us unmindful of the fleeting hours that had bid the sun farewell and welcomed the moon from her bed. Cramped as we had been in a cockle-shell of a boat, we had taken one of the thwarts and the oars, and placing them across the gunwale, had made two high but dangerous seats. The boat was extremely unsteady, and many and solemn had been my unheeded warnings to move as little as possible, and to exercise care in whatever motions were unavoidably necessary. The fish were out in force, and seized our bait frantically the instant it touched waves, over which the moonlight glanced in tiny ripples. A northeaster had been blowing, but, dying away, left only a long, heaving swell, that was broken by neighboring projecting rocks, and in no wise added to the steadiness of the boat. Our eagerness increased with the increasing darkness, and when unable longer to see our floats, we cast out and reeled in, finding generally a worthy reward for our pains. The fun grew fast and faster; at one particular place we were always sure of a fish. To reach it was a long cast, and my friend, in an effort to excel himself, leaned back for a vigorous throw, lost his balance, and toppled overboard. His weight, as he went on one side, careened the boat, threw me down to leeward, and let the water pour in over the gunwale in barrels. Down almost under water I saw the other gunwale turned up and nearly over me, when my friend, falling headlong out, gave the boat a lift, of which I took advantage by getting back amidships pretty well ducked, but not yet cast away. The water was nearly up to the seats, but by careful balancing, I could keep her afloat. Imagine my horror when my friend reappeared from the oozy depths to which he had descended, and commenced madly trying to clamber over the side. I begged and besought him to think of what he was doing; that I was still partially dry; that my watch was a patent lever; that I had a family of small children; and that the boat would never, in her present state, hold us both. Reluctantly he listened to reason, and allowed me to bail her out with a bucket we had provided to carry our fish. As I threw out the water I could just see with deep regret, in the moonlight, the sparkle of fish after fish that I was unavoidably throwing away, and that I hoped would have served so different a purpose. She was finally freed of water; hats, oars and rod were picked up, the latter by means of the float that was calmly fishing all by itself; my friend, who had swam to and was shivering on a neighboring rock, was taken aboard, and we returned, solemn and sad, my friend very cold and myself greatly disgusted.

In fishing, therefore, for snappers, it is better not to fall overboard; but if, by your awkwardness of doing so, you half fill the boat, never try to climb in over the side, but sacrifice yourself bravely. We were using on this occasion a bait that, late in the season, is often more successful than any other—a part of the fish himself. This, in the early fishing, they will not touch; but in cold weather, frequently prefer.

It is a singular fact, that although blue-fish have always abounded in the Great South Bay, snapping mackerel were unknown there till lately; whereas, while the latter have been abundant in Long Island Sound from time immemorial, the former have never been taken there to any great extent.