The Sportswoman's Library, Vol. 2 of 2

by Unknown

This being a sport in which delicacy of hand is more necessary than mere brute strength, it is especially adapted to women who love fresh air and beautiful scenery, and who are willing to bide the good time at which the fish feel disposed to rise.

I should perhaps say here that my remarks are intended to apply to salmon and trout fishing in rivers and lakes, taking incidentally such "coarse fish," pike, perch, etc., as are to be found by the way.

Of all fish the salmon stands pre-eminent for his sporting qualities, and next to him in order come trout of all kinds.

Salmon are a curious and interesting race, whose habits have been an object of study to the naturalist for many years past. They are born in the shallow reaches of rivers, the eggs taking from eighty to over a hundred days to hatch, the exact length of incubation being determined by the temperature of the water, and they sometimes remain in or near their original quarters till they are from one to three years old, when they migrate to the sea. By far the greater number, however, descend to the sea within twelve to fifteen months after they are hatched out from the ova. Up to this crisis in their history they are called parr, and seldom exceed some three ounces in weight. As the period of migration approaches—usually in the spring, though autumn migrations also occur—the samlets increase in size; silvery scales replace their barred markings, and they are known as smolts. Both parr and smolts feed greedily in the rivers, but it is a curious fact that subsequent to their first visit to the sea none of the salmon tribe appear to feed in fresh water, the stomach almost invariably being empty when examined. They remain in the sea for an uncertain period which may vary from three or four months to as much as two years, and during this time must certainly feed with voracity, as they increase many pounds in weight. On their first return to fresh water as grilse they weigh from two to eight pounds.

I have myself seen, in the Killery Bay, a shoal of salmon making for the mouth of the Erriff river. They were apparently led by a large fish, which from time to time sprang out of the water, I suppose to reconnoitre the neighbourhood. The fisherman used to look out for this leading fish, and run a net round the shoal. Salmon certainly do not live in company in the rivers, whatever they may do in the sea. They start on the journey up stream in shoals, but soon separate to take up their quarters in the different pools through which they pass. They are now promoted to the name of grilse, and attain the rank of salmon on their second and all subsequent migrations. Their arrival in fresh water is partly determined by conditions of weather and water; also by the special circumstances of the river to which they belong, i.e., whether it be early or late. The fish come up in prime condition, for the purpose of spawning, and return eventually emaciated and most unattractive-looking, after this has been accomplished. In the first state they are called "clean" or "fresh-run" fish, and are a bright silvery colour; in the second they are termed "kelts," become reddish or dark in colour, and from being thick and cobby in shape appear long and eel-like, the males having developed strange crooked snouts which vanish in quite a miraculous way when they return to the sea. There is no sign of this odd proboscis when they first enter the river, so that it comes and goes, leaving no token of its presence behind.[4]

Salmon are now unfit for the table, and must be returned to the water uninjured, when they are caught. I might here say, as I am regarding the salmon from a culinary point of view, that it greatly enhances the flavour and firmness of a clean fish, if he is "crimped" at once on being landed. He should first be killed by a blow on the head, and then cut into slices about an inch thick; taking out the joints of the backbone and running a stout piece of cord through the hole thus made. These slices may then be put into the river where the current is not too strong, the string being secured to the bank by a stout peg, and they should remain in the water for several hours until the flesh "rises," as it is called, to the "crimp."

My appetite for crimped salmon received, however, on one occasion a severe shock. I caught a beautiful fish weighing about eight or ten pounds, in the Hampshire Stour. The keeper proceeded first to kill him, and then began the crimping process. He advanced as far as the shoulder, at which moment I told him to stop, saying he might have the rest for himself. Thanking me, he laid his portion on the ground and we went further down the river. In half-an-hour we returned, and a friend who was with me and who had studied medicine, took up the head and shoulders of the fish and showed it me. To my horror, the heart, which was plainly visible and untouched by the cut of the knife, was still beating strongly. My companion assured me it was merely muscular action, but it was a ghastly sight, and for a long time I could not face crimped salmon again.

The instinct of the fish urges them to run up the river as high as possible, sometimes at a tremendous pace, and to make violent efforts to leap all obstacles in their way.

When in this state of mind they very frequently turn into small tributary streams, which, being flooded, allow them to pass up, but where they are sometimes found almost high and dry and unable to return, like a stranded whale of small proportions.