The secret was smelt fishing, and my accomplice — or my opponent, I wasn’t too certain which — was Chris Russell, a journey specialist with Maine’s Division of Financial Improvement. We had been enjoying the sport in a shanty on the ice-bound Japanese River at Dresden, Maine, and I used to be rapidly studying that it’s a sport of ability reasonably than probability.
The principles known as for us to take a seat on upended bins at both finish of the shanty as a way to have a tendency 19 traces, the decrease ends of which plumbed the river’s depths by means of a trough minimize by means of the ground and the ice under. One way or the other I felt like a harpist in a symphony orchestra — that brooding gentleman (or girl) who sits there and stares into area for lengthy durations of time, then lastly leans ahead on cue and plucks madly on the strings.
However I missed my cue. I’d been sitting for a while, staring on the wall and ready for my time to “pluck,” when Chris all of a sudden cried, “You’ve bought a chunk!”
“The place?” I requested, galvanized into motion.
“On quantity twelve,” he replied. “However he’s gone now. You … Chew on eighteen!”
I plucked line No. 18 and pulled up a naked hook. Then, by myself, I gave No. 10 a yank and pulled up a baited hook. In the meantime, in a kind of rhythmic arpeggio, Chris had three plump smelt flopping on the shanty flooring. With that, the motion ended.
“That,” I stated, “makes the rating three to nothing. Mr. Russell leads, first set.”
“If you wish to play it that method,” Chris stated smugly. “However this was only a warm-up. The colleges received’t actually begin hitting until later.”
That was excellent news, I believed, for it might give me an opportunity to check the foundations and get a bit extra teaching from the sidelines. I’d already realized one thing about this sport since following Chris onto the ice that afternoon. And I used to be destined to be taught much more earlier than we’d go away the river close to midnight.
My course of instruction started with the smelt itself. That is the American smelt, which some folks name Osmerus mordax. It’s discovered alongside the Atlantic Coast from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to Virginia.
Writing in 1622, Capt. John Smith, who apparently was extra at house with the sword than with the pen, declared, “Of smeltes there’s suche abundance that the Salvages doe take them up within the rivers wyth baskets like sives.” There are nonetheless fairly a couple of smelt round as we speak.
Greenish-colored on their backs and having silvery sides and darker fins, these fish common eight to 10 inches in size, although specimens a foot lengthy and a pound in weight have been taken.
In winter smelt enter brackish bays and rivers to spawn. From then till spring, after they return to the ocean, they’re avidly pursued by a military of economic and sport fishermen armed with hooks and contours, dip nets, and “baskets like sives.”
One of many streams these fish ascend in numerous thousands and thousands is the Japanese River, a tributary of the mighty Kennebec in Maine. Right here, at Dresden, Chester Burton and Leland Smith have their smelt camps, and it was to this spot that Chris Russell introduced me on a chilly day in late February.
Three ft of snow coated the bottom, and six-foot drifts had been heaped over the river’s ice. A precarious street had been plowed down the steep embankment and out alongside the ice to the smelt shanties, however Chris and I made a decision to go away our automobile beside the freeway and stroll the quarter-mile to the scene of operations. For this we’d be grateful afterward.
From the place we stood on the excessive bluff overlooking the river, the shanties regarded like a abandoned village. There have been 48 of them facet by facet in two rows, they usually ranged in colour from weathered grey, by means of yellow and orange, to crimson. I realized later that the shanties had been organized in rows, reasonably than scattered about like shad colonies, as a result of this fishing have to be executed in the principle channel of the river.
Just a few yards again from the river’s edge stood a bigger construction, which served as an workplace. Beside that was a snack shack.
When Chris and I, encumbered with impedimenta, had negotiated the treacherous street to the shanties, we discovered them locked and empty. However then we noticed Leland Smith and the cabin boy, Leon Clancy, trudging towards us over the slippery tidal ice.
“You’re early,” Leland stated. “There received’t be a lot doing until excessive tide round 5.”
“That’s all proper,” Chris informed him. “We need to go searching and take some footage. And Ted desires to get some dope on the fishing.”
“Nicely, make yourselves at house,” Leland stated. “Chet’ll be alongside later. We’ll get a hearth going, and you’ll thaw out.”
He led the best way into the workplace, which was cluttered with instruments and ice-fishing gear and adorned with pinup artwork. Whereas Leon went to get extra wooden, Leland began a hearth within the sheet-iron range and swept a pile of papers from a bench beside it.
“Sit down,” he invited, uncorking a quart-size thermos bottle filled with espresso. “What was it you wished to know?”
I hardly knew the place to start.
“These smelt,” I stated. “Do you solely catch them at excessive tide?”
“On the outgoing tide,” he replied. “Fishing’s finest for about six or seven hours after excessive water. River has fairly a tide right here, and the smelt faculties comply with it out and in. Proper now most of ’em are upstream of us. When the tide ebbs, it varieties an enormous eddy out entrance of right here. The smelt feed so long as the eddy lasts, after which they drop on downriver.”
“How lengthy is the season?”
“In tidal waters equivalent to these it lasts from the time the ice varieties in December till it goes out within the spring. We stop the final day of March to be on the protected facet as a result of the legislation says it’s a must to have shanties off the river by ice-out.”
“And what do you employ for bait?” I requested.
“Sea worms,” Leland stated. Then he actually warmed to his topic, and I didn’t should do any extra prompting. Leland digs the worms himself— all 12 months — not just for the native smelt fishing but additionally for cargo to saltwater fishermen all alongside the Atlantic Coast.
“I’ve dug up as many as twenty-eight hundred a day,” he stated, “and it’s kind of rugged work. In scorching climate I dig at evening so the worms will maintain recent. I maintain them in an enormous wood field I haul behind me. With water in it the field weighs round seventy-five kilos, and generally I’ve to lug it throughout a half-mile of mud flats, sinking as much as my knees at every step. It’s kind of rugged … ayah.”
Working the camps is kind of rugged, too. The massive snowstorm of some days earlier had encumbered the tidal ice in order that it sank 9 inches. When this occurs, because it does continuously, Chet and Leland and Leon should jack up all 48 camps in order that they received’t freeze in and ice received’t cake over their flooring.
Then they should shovel snow from the roofs; plow out the street; herald provides, meals, and firewood; and restore the injury attributable to wind and ice. Some days, Leland declared, the camp stoves fritter away over a twine of wooden.
“It doesn’t hardly pay fishermen to personal their very own smelt shanties,” Leland stated, “after they can hire one from us for a buck and a half a person, plus bait. That method, they don’t have any complications.”
“Are the camps rented fairly steadily?” I requested.
He nodded. “They’re normally full, particularly on weekends. It’s like a county truthful round right here. You’ll see afterward.”
About then Leon confirmed up, lugging an armful of firewood, and stated, “All set, Leland.”
“O.Okay.,” stated his boss. “I’m giving these boys camp quantity eleven. Get it rigged up for them.”
I adopted Leon and Chris throughout the tough ice, anxious to see the shanty’s inside. However I needed to wait a short time for that. On the door, Leon turned.
“When you gents will simply stand again a bit,” he suggested, “I’ll have a hearth stepping into a jiffy.”
That turned out to be the understatement of the month. He disappeared inside, and I heard the lid of the sheet-iron range clang.
I can’t say whether or not Leon makes use of kerosene, gasoline, or TNT to begin his fires, however the subsequent factor Chris and I knew, Leon was tumbling out of the shanty on the heels of a boring Growth. Concurrently an ideal cloud of smoke and flame belched from the shanty’s chimney like a blast from a 175 mm cannon.
Leon’s methodology works, however I can’t suggest it.
When the roar of flames had died to a gentle crackle, Leon allow us to enter, and I had an opportunity to examine my environment. Measuring about 8 x 9 ft, the camp contained, in addition to the range, a few bins to take a seat on and a desk. Alongside one total facet, a few foot from the wall, the ground had been minimize away. Beneath this rectangular opening, a trench had been sawed by means of thick river ice, giving entry to the tidal currents that rolled and eddied beneath our ft.
There have been no home windows within the shanty, however illumination was offered by an electrical gentle suspended from the ceiling, and by two different lights coated with tin hoods and positioned near the water at both finish of the opening.
“Electrical energy and operating water,” Chris noticed approvingly.
What me most, although, was the gadget Leon was now rigging. A 2 x 4 ran the size of the wall, about 5 ft above the open water, and was fixed at both finish to projecting, flat boards. These had been connected to loosely coiled springs in order that the two x 4 may very well be jigged up and down.
Nineteen wood pegs, spaced about each eight inches, studded the two x 4, and round every peg was a coil of line. The enterprise finish of every line was fixed to a conical two-ounce sinker, and from the underside of the sinker hung a six-inch strand of monofilament to which a small hook had been connected. Leon uncoiled these 19 traces one after the other, baited every hook with a small piece of sea worm, and lowered them into the water. Then he started adjusting the skinny match-size chip of wooden tied to every line.
“What’s that for?” I requested.
“These are indicators,” Leon defined. “When a chip begins to spin, it means you’ve bought a chunk. You need to set the hook then, however do it gently as a result of smelt have very smooth mouths.”
“What about jigging?” Chris requested.
“Sure, you need to jig on occasion,” Leon stated. “Like this.”
Greedy a brief piece of rope tied to 1 finish of the two x 4, he gave it a delicate pull. The two x 4 dipped, after which the coiled springs lifted it once more. Pulling and releasing the rope brought about a rhythmic, rocking movement that jigged the 19 traces up and down.
Then I seen an fascinating legend scrawled in pencil on the wall. “January 10, 1965,” it learn. “J.W. and T.L. — 73 smelt.” I known as my companions’ consideration to it.
“That’s nothing,” Leon stated, pointing. “Take a look at that one.”
“February 3, 1967, 135 smelt.”
“After they’re operating good,” Leon stated, “you would fill the camp with ’em.”
He left us then, and for a time we jigged industriously, impressed by the data on the partitions. However nothing occurred, so we took some footage across the camps and purchased a few sandwiches on the snack bar. Chester Burton drove up in his four-wheel-drive truck, and we chewed the fats with him for some time.
Simply at excessive tide we returned to the shanty, wading now by means of brackish water that had overflowed onto the ice. It was then that I missed my cue, and it was then that Chris deposited three flopping smelt onto the ground at my ft, as described earlier.
Now, in late afternoon, an air of expectancy overhung the smelt camps as if the curtain had been about to rise on the night’s efficiency. Fishermen started to reach. Via the open door of our shanty Chris and I noticed them straggling down the icy street from the freeway. They got here singly, in pairs, and in teams of three or 4 — males, ladies, and some kids.
Most of them had been afoot, some dragging heaped-up sleds or toboggans behind them, however on occasion a gaggle extra adventuresome than the remainder lurched gingerly alongside the frozen ruts of their vehicles. A few of these turned caught, and Chet made a number of journeys in his truck to tow them to the workplace. Transportable radios and six-packs of beer gave the impression to be normal tools.
Because the chilly winter sundown light, floodlights got here on, casting a garish glow on clothes of crimson and inexperienced plaid. A line fashioned outdoors the workplace, the place fishermen paid their cash and picked up their bait. From there, the group trickled away towards the shanties.
The intense lights, the laughter and chatter of voices, the smoke curling from shanty chimneys all gave a bustling, carnival air to the scene.
After which the smelt started to hit. Chris flipped one out on line No. 8 and one other on No. 3. I used to be tending the final 9 traces. Immediately Chris barked, “Quantity fourteen!”
I grabbed it, and after I set the hook this time I felt slightly flurry down within the chilly depths. Hauling line quickly, I flipped a nine-inch smelt up by means of the opening. However I nonetheless hadn’t seen the chip spin.
Then, as I sat watching, the small piece of wooden on line 18 moved barely. I twitched it, felt the transient flurry, and snaked one other fats smelt out of the water.
The thriller was solved. Spin was hardly the phrase to explain the chips’ motion. Typically they made sluggish half-turns, at different occasions they merely vibrated backwards and forwards, and solely sometimes did they flip in a full circle. After they moved in any respect, I found, it was time to seize the road and pull.
For the following 10 minutes Chris and I had been saved busy hauling traces and re-baiting hooks. Typically we had bites on 4 or 5 traces without delay. In between bites we jigged. We nonetheless introduced up empty hooks once we grabbed a line too late or tore the barb from a fish’s tender mouth, however when the flurry ended, as all of a sudden because it had begun, a fair dozen smelt lay on the ground.
“Now then,” Chris stated, “get out your knife and costume these fish, and I’ll provoke you into one other section of smelting.”
Whereas I gutted our catch, Chris pulled a skillet from his pack and set it atop the recent range. Into it he sliced a few half-pound of butter, and when the butter was brown and smoking, he laid the fish facet by facet within the skillet. Ten minutes later he forked them, crisp and brown, from the pan. Peeling every head and spine away in a single piece, he positioned the fish between slabs of buttered bread.
Capt. John Smith had a couple of well-chosen phrases to say concerning the consuming qualities of Osmerus: “When taken from the fyre and eat, smeltes are of a richness and flavore which is to be in contrast with no different fishe.”
The captain stated a mouthful. When Chris and I completed, solely heads and backbones had been left.
Turning our consideration to the fishing once more, we discovered that almost all of our hooks had been cleaned whereas we ate. However regardless of – we knew there’d be extra smelt alongside shortly.
And there have been. One other brief, quick flurry produced a dozen extra fish, and I noticed now that this was a partnership deal reasonably than a aggressive sport, for we’d lengthy since misplaced observe of our particular person scores.
Exterior, issues had been stepping into full swing, and I used to be anxious to see the evening life. So, leaving Chris to have a tendency the traces, I went out into the chilly and promptly sank by means of raised shell ice right into a foot of frigid tidal water.
Just a few shadowy figures clustered across the workplace now, however the snack shack was doing a brisk enterprise in hamburgers, scorching canine, and sandwiches. From the shanties rose wreaths of pungent woodsmoke. My ears had been beset by the cacophonous blare of radios tuned to totally different stations, by raucous voices, and by the quavering strains of an enthusiastic trio rendering “Down By The Previous Mill Stream.”
I made the rounds of the road of camps, receiving an uninhibited welcome at each I poked my head into. Their inhabitants made up a kind of United Nations — Irish, French-Canadian, Italian, and Down East Maine — all drawn collectively by the frequent bond of smelting. Whereas a chilly wind keened outdoors, they bent over their traces within the heat shanties smelling of mingled woodsmoke, tobacco, steaming wool, and fish.
A lot of the fishermen got here from close by Bathtub, Augusta, Lewiston, and Auburn, Maine, however some had been from as far-off as New Jersey.
“We come up from Paterson for a couple of days yearly,” a New Jersey social gathering in a single camp informed me. “We wouldn’t miss it.”
Speak and good spirits flowed freely. The speak ranged extensively — from geese and deer to trout and striped bass, plus the state of affairs in Vietnam and the Purple Sox’s probabilities for the approaching season. Opened cans of beer stood on the ground beside the upturned bins in order that, in between jigging and hauling in smelt, thirsty fishermen might take a fast swig.
Fish sputtered in scorching fats on among the stoves, and snacks of popcorn, pretzels, and crackers lay helpful on the tables. In many of the camps, smelt littered the ground or reposed in silvery heaps in buckets and baskets.
At every shanty I used to be provided a can of beer, a shot, or each. This made me consider the old-time pastors who used to make the rounds of their flocks on horseback, having fun with a nip of cherry rum at every cease. Often, the final parishioner on the record needed to enhance the parson onto the saddle.
On the final camp I visited, one of many fishermen, in his enthusiasm, stepped into the open water and spread-eagled himself as much as his center in ice water.
“I’m suppose Hector she’s drop by means of the outlet,” his companion informed me gleefully, “an’ somebody she’s goin’ to catch him. She’s one huge fish, him — no?”
This led the dialog round to the enormous sturgeon that sometimes blunder into the smelt traces and make an unholy tangle from one finish of the camps to the opposite. Luckily no sturgeon confirmed up that evening, however alongside about 10 o’clock the smelt started to hit in droves.
Watching the boys haul them in a single after one other despatched me again to our camp to get in on some extra fishing myself. I discovered Chris surrounded by silvery fish, and wooden chips had been twisting all alongside the ditch.
I took my place on the far finish of the shanty, and for the following hour we had been busy hauling in fish, slicing up worms, and baiting hooks. Typically the motion slackened off, solely to be adopted by a blizzard of smelt.
Then, steadily, the flurries turned much less frequent because the time of low water drew close to. One after the other the fishermen started to go away. We might hear their footsteps crackling on shell ice, the snorting roar of automobile motors, and unprintable oaths in French, Italian, and Down East twang as vehicles turned caught within the ice. Chet did yeoman’s service that evening towing stranded autos to the freeway.
Some diehards, he informed us, would persist with the fishing till daybreak. However by 11 o’clock many of the camps had been abandoned, and skinny wisps of smoke rose from their dying fires.
Learn Subsequent: A Spark Plug, a Paper Clip, and Pliers Helped Me Catch More Lake Trout Through the Ice
By now Chris and I had all of the fish we might eat, freeze, and provides away, so we reluctantly pulled up our traces and joined the exodus. Chet Burton gave us a trip as much as the freeway in his truck, and a half-hour later we had been again in Augusta.
That was my introduction to smelt fishing, and a special kind of fishing it’s.
You possibly can’t say that smelt have the wariness of trout or the combating qualities of bass, but there’s a distinctive satisfaction in sitting in a heat shanty on a chilly winter evening, hauling these tasty little fish up by means of the ice. It’s a satisfaction compounded of heat, companionship, and loads of motion.
I’ll let Capt. John Smith, who knew whereof he spoke, have the final phrase: “The catching of smeltes,” declared that redoubtable warrior, “thus affordes bothe entertaynment and riche eat-ynge.”
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