VII
THE GENTLE CRAFT
“It has been gravely said that a good angler must also be a good Christian. Without literalising the assertion, it may well be admitted that there is much in the contemplative character of his pursuit, and in the quiet scenes of beauty with which it brings him face to face, to soften and elevate as well as to humanise.”
Thus writes Mr. H. Cholmondeley-Pennell, a distinguished authority on angling. We fear, however, that an examination of the “gentle craft” will scarcely justify the assertion; for the fact cannot be gainsaid that to kill fish for mere amusement is to gratify one’s own pleasure at the cost of another being’s pain, and that, regarded from a moral standpoint, it will not materially affect the case to plead that the fisherman is “contemplative,” or that in the pursuit of his pastime he is brought into touch with the softening influences of nature. Unfortunately, as far as his sport (which is the only point in question) is concerned, there is no sign of this softening tendency on him. Contemplative he may be (in the intervals between “rises” or “bites”), but his contemplation has apparently not taken that introspective turn which would seem to be most needed. He may be gentle—in some relations of life; but in the matter of impaling live-bait and hooking fishes his gentleness is of a worse than dubious quality. One would have thought that a sense of humour would withhold fishermen from making these ludicrous claims to virtues in which, qua fishermen, they are very signally deficient. “There are unquestionably,” says Leigh Hunt, “many amiable men among sportsmen, who, as the phrase is, would not hurt a fly, that is to say, on a window; at the end of a string the case is altered.”
The stories told by anglers of the alleged “insensibility” of fish—how a hooked salmon that has just broken away will sometimes return to the bait—do not prove very much; for that fish are less intelligent and less sensitive than warm-blooded animals is no excuse for torturing them to the extent of their feeling. And it is evident, on the showing of the fishermen themselves, that the process of “playing” a large fish is a very cruel one, since it means gradually and mercilessly wearing down the strength of the victim during a desperate struggle prolonged sometimes for hours. Reading, for example, such a passage as the following, taken from Dr. Hamilton’s book on “Fly-Fishing,” one marvels at the mood which can find enjoyment in so barbarous a sport:
“I know of no greater excitement when, after casting the fly, a sudden swirl of the water tells you that a salmon has risen, and the tightening of your line that he is hooked. Then the mighty rush of a fresh-run fish; the rapid whirl (sweet music!) of the reel, as the line is carried out; the tremendous leaps and tugs and efforts as the fish tries to free himself. Good fisherman as you may be, the chances are against you. You at one end of the line doing all you can, and putting all your experience to the test, to keep and bring to bank the prize you covet. The fish at the other end, with all his knowledge of the rocks and bad places at the bottom of the river, doing all he can to circumvent you.… And then, after a slight pause, with skilful management the strain is put on. An anxious moment; he gives, but oh! how slowly, how reluctantly. The question is, who is to conquer. You feel your power as you wind up; you see his silver side; you know there will be yet one or two terrific struggles for life as he gets a glimpse of you and the gaff; then comes the final rush, the line paying out inch by inch. It is over! Another roll or two, and he is on the bank—and then the soothing pipe while you study his fine proportions.”
Under some conditions the sport consists in practically drowning the fish in its own element. “The most killing place,” says Dr. Hamilton, “when the hook is well fast, is in the lower jaw. The strain of the line prevents in a great measure the free current of water through the gills, and the fish becomes suffocated.”
To what extravagance the angling mania can run may be seen from certain forms of sea-fishing. The tarpon, an inhabitant of the Gulf of Mexico, is a great fish of the herring kind, weighing from 50 to 180 pounds, and measuring from 5 to 7 feet in length. It is not used as food by any but the negroes and “lower classes,” and its chief value, we are told, is for “sporting” purposes. In The Queen of December 7, 1895, an account was given of “an angling feat” performed by a lady who caught a monster of this kind. “The lady’s grip,” we were told, “was firm,” and defeated the endeavours of the fish “to shake the cruel hook from its throat.” In this, and in all angling records, it will be observed that the cruelty is purely wanton—the killing being done not because it is necessary or useful, but because the sportsman enjoys it.
Again, one of the most nauseous features of the “gentle craft” is the use of “live bait”—that is, of worms, maggots, flies, grasshoppers, frogs, and small fish. Here is one of the directions given by Mr. Cholmondeley-Pennell: