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.
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.
[Illustration: _Out of Date_
_Squib for Snappers_
_For Snappers_]