I like the society of fish, and as they cannot with any convenience to
themselves visit me on dry land, it becomes me in point of courtesy to
pay my respects to them in their own element.
William Scrope.
Of the genuine salmon, we believe there is but one distinct species in
the world; we are sure there is not in the United States. From its lithe
beauty, its wonderful activity, and its value as an article of food, it
unquestionably takes precedence of all the fish which swim in our
waters. It is an ocean-born fish, but so constituted that it has to
perform an annual pilgrimage into our fresh-water rivers for the purpose
of depositing its spawn. Their running time usually occupies about two
months, and that is the period when they are in season, and of course
the only period when they are taken in great numbers.
The variety of which we speak is a slender fish, particularly solid in
texture, and has a small head and delicate fins. The upper jaw is the
larger, while the tip of the under jaw in the female has an upward turn.
The back is usually of a bluish color, the sides of a silvery hue, and
the belly pure white, while along the centre of its body runs a narrow
black stripe. The scales are small, and the mouth is covered with small,
but stout and pointed teeth. A few dark spots are dispersed over that
part of the body above the lateral line, and the females usually exhibit
a larger number of these spots than the males. The tail of the young
salmon is commonly forked, while in the adult fish it is quite square.
To speak of the salmon as a bold biter and a handsome fish, or of his
wonderful leaping powers, would be but to repeat a thrice-told tale.
And now for a few words on some of the habits of the salmon. He is
unquestionably the most active of all the finny tribes, but the
wonderful leaps which he is reported to have made are all moonshine. We
have seen them perform some superb somersets, but we never yet saw one
which could scale a perpendicular waterfall of ten feet. That they have
been taken above waterfalls three or four times as high we do not deny;
but the wonder may be dispensed with, when we remember that a waterfall
seldom occurs, which does not contain a number of resting-places for the
salmon to take advantage of while on his upward journey.
Contrary to the prevailing opinion, we contend that the salmon is
possessed of a short memory. While fishing in a small river on a certain
occasion, owing to the bad position in which we were placed, we lost a
favorite fly, and it so happened that in about one hour afterwards a
fish was taken by a brother angler, in whose mouth was found the
identical fly that we had lost.
This fish is a voracious feeder, and an epicure in his tastes, for his
food is composed principally of small and delicate fish, and the
sea-sand eel; but it is a fact that the _surest_ bait to capture him
with is the common red worm.
The salmon is a shy fish, and as he invariably inhabits the clearest of
water, it is always important that the angler’s movements should be
particularly cautious; and in throwing the fly, he should throw it clear
across the stream, if possible; and after letting it float down for a
few yards he should gradually draw it back again, with an upward
tendency.
Like all other fish that swim near the surface of the water, the salmon
cannot be eaten in too fresh a condition; and, judging from our own
experience, they may be eaten three times a-day, for a whole season, and
at the end of their running time they will gratify the palate more
effectually than when first brought upon the table.
The process of spawning has been described by various writers, and the
general conclusion is as follows. On reaching a suitable spot for that
purpose, the loving pair manage to dig a furrow some six feet long, in
the sand or gravel, into which the male ejects his milt, and the female
her spawn; this they cover with their tails, and leaving this deposit to
the tender mercies of the liquid elements, betake themselves to the sea
whence they came. This spawning operation usually occupies about ten
days, and takes place in the autumn; and when the spring-time comes the
salmon are born, and, under “their Creator’s protection,” are swept into
the sea, where they come to their natural estate by the following
spring, and ascend their native rivers to revisit the haunts of their
minnowhood. And it is a singular fact, that the salmon leaves the sea in
an emaciated condition, acquires his fatness while going up a river, and
subsequently returns to the sea for the purpose of recruiting his wonted
health and beauty.
The salmon is a restless fish, and seldom found a second time in exactly
the same spot; but his principal traveling time is in the night, when
the stars are shining brightly and all the world is wrapt in silence.
The salmon come up from the sea during a flood or a freshet, and in
ascending a river, they invariably tarry for a short time in all the
pools of the same. Their object in doing this has not been clearly
defined; but is it unreasonable to suppose that they are influenced by
the same motives which induce a human traveler to tarry in a pleasant
valley? The only difference is, that when the man would resume his
journey he waits for a sunny day, while the salmon prefers a rainy day
to start upon his pilgrimage. The best places to fish for salmon are the
shallows above the deep pools; and it is a settled fact, that after you
have killed a fish, you are always sure to find in the course of a few
hours another individual in the same place. It would thus seem that they
are partial to certain localities. Another thing that should be
remembered is, that salmon never take the natural fly while it is in a
stationary position, or when floating down stream; hence the great
importance of carrying the artificial fly directly across the stream, or
in an upward oblique direction. When you have hooked a salmon, it is a
bad plan to strain upon him in any degree, unless he is swimming towards
a dangerous ground, and even then this is an unsafe experiment. The
better plan is to throw a pebble in front of him, for the purpose of
frightening him back, and you should manage to keep as near his royal
person as practicable. Another peculiarity of the salmon is the fact
that (excepting the shad) it is the only fish which seems to be
perfectly at home in the salt sea, as well as in the fresh springs among
the mountains. It is also singular in the color of its flesh, which is a
deep pink, and the texture of its flesh is remarkably solid: the latter
circumstance is proved by the fact that you cannot carry a salmon by the
gills, as you can other fish, without tearing and mutilating him to an
uncommon degree.
In olden times there was hardly a river on the eastern coast of the
United States, north of Virginia, which was not annually visited by the
salmon; but those days are for ever departed, and it is but seldom that
we now hear of their being taken in any river south of Boston. They
frequented, in considerable numbers, the Susquehanna, the Delaware, and
North rivers, but were eminently abundant in the Connecticut and the
Thames. On the former stream it used to be stipulated by the
day-laborer, that he should have salmon placed upon his table only four
times in the week; and we have been told by an old man residing on the
latter stream, that the value of three salmon, forty years ago, was
equal to one shad—the former were so much more abundant than the latter.
But steamboats, and the din of cities, have long since frightened the
salmon from their ancient haunts, and the beautiful aborigines of our
rivers now seek for undisturbed homes in more northern waters. Once in a
while, even at the present time, the shad fishermen of the Merrimac and
Saco succeed in netting a small salmon; but in the Androscoggin,
Kennebec, and Penobscot, they are yet somewhat abundant, and these are
the rivers which chiefly supply our city markets with the fresh article.
As the ice melts away in the spring, says Dr. J. V. C. Smith, in his
interesting little book on the Fishes of Massachusetts, they rush to the
rivers from the ocean; and it is an undeniable fact, confirmed by
successful experiments, that they visit, as far as possible, the very
streams in which they were born. When undisturbed, they swim slowly in
large schools near the surface; yet they are so timid, that if suddenly
frightened, the whole column will turn directly back towards the sea. It
has also been proven that a salmon can scud at the surprising velocity
of thirty miles an hour. The young are about a foot long when they visit
the rivers for the first time; and at the end of two years, according to
Mr. Smith, they weigh five or six pounds, and attain their full growth
in about six years. When running up the rivers they are in a fat
condition; after that period, having deposited their spawn, they return
to the sea, lean and emaciated. In extremely warm weather, and while yet
in the salt water, they are often greatly annoyed by a black and
flat-looking insect, which is apt to endanger their lives. As soon,
however, as the salmon reaches the fresh water, this insect drops off,
and the fish rapidly improves.
The streams which these fish ascend are invariably distinguished for
their rocky and gravelly bottoms, for the coldness and purity of their
water, and for their rapid currents. Those which afford the angler the
most sport, are rather small and shallow, and empty into tide-water
rivers; while in these they are chiefly taken with the net. The
tributaries of the Androscoggin, Kennebec, and Penobscot, having all
been blocked up with mill-dams, the salmon is only found in the
principal estuaries; and as these are large and deep, they are of no
value to the angler, and will not be many years longer even to the
fishermen who capture them for the purpose of making money. So far as
our own experience goes, we only know of one river, within the limits of
the Union, which affords the angler good salmon fishing, and that is the
Aroostook, in Maine. We have been informed, however, that the regular
salmon is taken in many of those rivers, in the northern part of New
York, which empty into Lake Ontario and the upper St. Lawrence, but we
are compelled to doubt the truth of the statement. Such may have been
the case in former times, but we think it is not so now. Salmon are not
taken at Montreal, and it is therefore unreasonable to suppose that they
ever reach the fountain-head of the St. Lawrence; this portion of the
great river is too far from the ocean, and too extensively navigated,
and the water is not sufficiently clear. That they once ascended to the
Ottawa river and Lake Ontario we have not a doubt, but those were in the
times of the days of old. Another prevailing opinion with regard to
salmon, we have it in our power decidedly to contradict. Mr. John J.
Brown, in his useful little book entitled the “American Angler’s Guide,”
makes the remark, that salmon are found in great abundance in the
Mississippi and its magnificent tributaries. Such is not the fact, and
we are sure that if “our brother” had ever caught a glimpse of the muddy
Mississippi, he would have known by intuition that such _could_ not be
the case. Nor is the salmon partial to any of the rivers of the far
South, as many people suppose, not being known in any river emptying
into the Gulf of Mexico; so that the conclusion of the whole matter is
just this, that the salmon fisheries of the United States proper are of
but little consequence when compared with many other countries on the
globe. When we come to speak of our territories, however, we have a very
different story to relate, for a finer river for salmon does not water
any country than the mighty Columbia—that same Columbia where a certain
navigator once purchased a ton of salmon for a jack-knife. But that
river is somewhat too far off to expect an introduction in our present
essay, and we will therefore take our reader, by his permission, into
the neighboring Provinces of Canada, New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia.
Before proceeding another step, however, we must insert a paragraph
about the various methods employed to capture the salmon. The Indians,
and many white barbarians, spear them by torch-light; and the thousands
sent to market in a smoked condition are taken in nets and seines of
various kinds. But the only instruments used by the scientific angler
are a rod and reel, three hundred feet of hair or silk line, and an
assortment of artificial flies. Our books tell us that a gaudy fly is
commonly the best killer, but our own experience inclines us to the
belief that a large brown or black hackle, or any neatly-made gray fly,
is much preferable to the finest fancy specimens. As to bait-fishing for
salmon, we have never tried it—we care less about it than we know, and
we know but precious little. Next to a delicately made fly, the most
important thing to consider is the leader of the line, which should be
made of the best material (a twisted gut), and at least five feet in
length. But if the angler is afraid of wading in a cold and even a deep
stream, the very best of tackle will avail him nothing. It is but seldom
that a large salmon can be taken, without costing the captor a good deal
of hard labor, and a number of duckings. And when the character of the
fish is remembered, this assertion will not appear strange. Not only is
the salmon a large fish, but he is remarkable for his strength and
lightning quickness. Owing to his extreme carefulness in meddling with
matters that may injure him, it is necessary to use the most delicate
tackle, in the most cautious and expert manner. To pull a salmon in
shore, immediately after he has been hooked, will never do; the expert
way is to give him all the line he wants, never forgetting in the mean
time that it must be kept perfectly taut. And this must be done
continually, in spite of every obstacle, not only when the fish performs
his splendid leaps out of the water, but also when he is stemming the
current of the stream, trying to break the naughty hook against a rock,
or when he has made a sudden wheel, and is gliding down the stream with
the swiftness of a falling star. The last effort to get away, which I
have mentioned, is usually the last that the salmon makes, and it is
therefore of the highest importance that the angler should manage him
correctly when going down. Narrow rifts, and even waterfalls, do not
stop the salmon; and bushes, deep holes, slippery bottoms, and rocky
shores must not impede the course of the angler who would secure a
prize. And though the salmon is a powerful fish, he is not long-winded,
and by his great impatience is apt to drown himself much sooner than one
would suppose. The times most favorable for taking this fish are early
in the morning and late in the afternoon; and when the angler reaches
his fishing ground, and discovers the salmon leaping out of the water,
as if too happy to remain quiet, he may then calculate upon rare sport.
As to the pleasure of capturing a fine salmon, we conceive it to be more
exquisite than any other sport in the world. We have killed a buffalo on
the head waters of the St. Peter’s river, but we had every advantage
over the pursued, for we rode a well-trained horse, and carried a
double-barreled gun. We have seen John Cheney bring to the earth a
mighty bull moose, among the Adirondac mountains, but he was assisted by
a pair of terrible dogs, and carried a heavy rifle. But neither of these
exploits is to be compared with that of capturing a twenty pound salmon,
with a line almost as fine as the flowing hair of a beautiful woman.
When we offer a fly to a salmon, we take no undue advantage of him, but
allow him to follow his own free will; and when he has hooked himself,
we give him permission to match his strength against our skill. Does not
this fact prove that salmon fishing is distinguished for its humanity,
if not for its _fishanity_? We have set in a cariole and driven a
Canadian pacer, at the rate of a mile in two minutes and a half, on the
icy plains of Lake Erie, and as we held the reins, have thought we could
not enjoy a more exquisite pleasure. That experience, however, was ours
long before we had ever seen a genuine salmon; we are somewhat wiser
now, for we have acquired the art of driving through the pure white foam
even a superb salmon, and that, too, with only a silken line some
hundred yards in length.
One of the most fruitful salmon regions for the angler to visit lies on
the north shore of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, between the Saguenay and
the North-west river in Labrador. A few years ago, however, there was
good fishing to be had in Mal Bay River, above the Saguenay, and also in
the Jacques Cartier, above Quebec, but good sport is seldom found in
either of those streams at the present time. But the principal
tributaries of the Saguenay itself (particularly the River St.
Margaret), afford the rarest of sport, even now. The streams of this
coast are rather small, but very numerous, and without a single
exception, we believe, are rapid, cold, and clear. They abound in
waterfalls, and though exceedingly wild, are usually quite convenient to
angle in, for the reason that the spring freshets are apt to leave a
gravelly margin on either side. The conveniences for getting to this
out-of-the-way region are somewhat rude, but quite comfortable and very
romantic. The angler has to go in a Quebec fishing smack, or if he is in
the habit of trusting to fortune when he gets into a scrape, he can
always obtain a passage down the St. Lawrence in a brig or ship, which
will land him at any stated point. If he goes in a smack, he can always
make use of her tiny cabin for his temporary home; but if he takes a
ship, after she has spread her sails for Europe, he will have to depend
upon the hospitality of the Esquimaux Indians. At the mouths of a few of
the streams alluded to, he may chance to find the newly-built cabin of a
lumberman, who will treat him with marked politeness; but he must not
lay the “flattering unction” to his soul that he will receive any
civilities from the agents of the Hudson’s Bay Company whom he may
happen to meet in that northern wilderness.
A large proportion of these streams run through an unknown mountain
land, and are yet nameless; so that we cannot designate the precise
localities where we have been particularly successful; and we might add
that the few which have been named by the Jesuit Missionaries can never
be remembered without a feeling of disgust. Not to attempt a pun, it can
safely be remarked that those names are decidedly _beastly_; for they
celebrate such creatures as the hog, the sheep, and the cow. The salmon
taken on this coast vary from ten to forty pounds, though the average
weight is perhaps fifteen pounds. They constitute an important article
of commerce, and it is sometimes the case that a single fisherman will
secure at least four hundred at one tide, in a single net. The cities of
Montreal and Quebec are supplied with fresh salmon from this portion of
the St. Lawrence, and the entire valley of that river, as well as
portions of the Union, are supplied with smoked salmon from the same
region. The rivers on the southern coast of the Gulf of St. Lawrence are
generally well supplied with salmon, but those streams are few and far
between, and difficult of access. But a visit to any portion of this
great northern valley, during the pleasant summer time, is attended with
many interesting circumstances. Generally speaking, the scenery is
mountainous, and though the people are not very numerous, they are
somewhat unique in their manners and customs, and always take pleasure
in lavishing their attentions upon the stranger. The weeks that we spent
voyaging upon the St. Lawrence we always remember with unalloyed
pleasure; and if we thought that fortune would never again permit us to
revisit those delightful scenes, we should indeed be quite unhappy.
The most agreeable of our pilgrimages were performed in a small
sail-boat, commanded by an experienced and very intelligent pilot of
Tadousac, named Ovington, and our companions were Charles Pentland,
Esq., of Launce au Leau on the Saguenay, and George Price, Jr., Esq., of
Quebec. We had everything we wanted in the way of “creature comforts;”
and we went everywhere, saw everybody, caught lots of salmon, killed an
occasional seal, and tried to harpoon an occasional white porpoise; now
enjoying a glorious sunset, and then watching the stars and the strange
aurora, as we lay becalmed at midnight far out upon the deep; at one
time gazing with wonder upon a terrible storm, and then again happy,
fearless, and free, dashing over the billows before a stiff gale.
Some of the peculiar charms of fly-fishing in this region are owing to
the fact that you are not always sure of the genus of your fish even
after you have hooked him, for it may be a forty or a twenty pound
salmon, and then again it may be a salmon-trout or a four pound specimen
of the common trout. The consequence is, that the expectations of the
angler are always particularly excited. Another pleasure which might be
mentioned is derived from the queer antics and laughable yells of the
Indians, who are always hanging about your skirts for the express
purpose of making themselves merry over any mishap which may befall you.
The only drawback which we have found in fishing in these waters is
caused by the immense number of musquitoes and sand-flies. Every new
guest is received by them with particular and constant attention: their
only desire, by night or day, seems to be to gorge themselves to death
with the life-blood of those who “happen among them.” It actually makes
our blood run cold to think of the misery we endured from these winged
tormentors.
Even with the Gulf of St. Lawrence before our mind, we are disposed to
consider the Bay of Chaleur the most interesting salmon region in the
British Possessions. This estuary divides Lower Canada from New
Brunswick, and as the streams emptying into it are numerous and always
clear, they are resorted to by the salmon in great numbers. The scenery
of the bay is remarkably beautiful: the northern shore, being rugged and
mountainous, presents an agreeable contrast to the southern shore, which
is an extensive lowland, fertile, and somewhat cultivated. The principal
inhabitants of this region are Scotch farmers, and the simplicity of
their lives is only equaled by their hospitality; and upon this bay,
also, reside the few survivors of a once powerful aboriginal nation, the
Micmac Indians. But of all the rivers which empty into the Bay of
Chaleur, there is not one that can be compared to the Restigouche, which
is its principal tributary. It is a winding stream, unequal in width,
and after running through a hilly country, it forces its way through a
superb mountain gorge, and then begins to expand in width until it falls
into its parent bay. The scenery is beautiful beyond compare, the eye
being occasionally refreshed by the appearance of a neat farm, or a
little Indian hamlet. The river is particularly famous for its salmon,
which are very abundant and of a good size. But this is a region which
the anglers of our country or the Provinces, with two or three
exceptions, have not yet taken the trouble to visit, and many of the
resident inhabitants are not even aware of the fact that the salmon may
be taken with the fly. The regular fishermen catch them altogether with
the net, and the Indians with the spear; and it is a singular fact that
the Indians are already complaining of the whites for destroying their
fisheries, when it is known that a single individual will frequently
capture in a single day a hundred splendid fellows, and that, too, with
a spear of only one tine. It is reported of a Scotch clergyman who once
angled in “these parts,” that he killed three hundred salmon in one
season, and with a single rod and reel. A pilgrimage to the Restigouche
would afford the salmon fisher sufficient material to keep his thinkers
busy for at least one year. The angler and lover of scenery who could
spare a couple of months, would find it a glorious trip to go to the Bay
of Chaleur in a vessel around Nova Scotia, returning in a canoe by the
Restigouche, and the Spring River, which empties into the St. John. His
most tedious portage would be only about three miles long (a mere
nothing to the genuine angler), and soon after touching the latter river
he could ship himself on board of a steamboat, and come home in less
than a week, even if that home happened to be west of the Alleghany
mountains.
Of all the large rivers of New Brunswick, we know not a single one which
will not afford the fly fisherman an abundance of sport. Foremost among
our favorites, we would mention the St. John, with the numerous
beautiful tributaries which come into it below the Great Falls, not
forgetting the magnificent pool below those falls, nor Salmon River and
the Aroostook. The scenery of this valley is charming beyond compare,
but the man who would spend a summer therein must have a remarkably long
purse, for the half-civilized Indians, and the less than half-civilized
white people, of the region, have a particular passion for imposing upon
travelers and charging them the most exorbitant prices for the simple
necessaries they may need. The salmon of the St. John are numerous, but
rather small, seldom weighing more than fifteen pounds. The fisheries of
the bay of Fundy, near the mouth of the St. John, constitute an
important interest, in a commercial point of view. The fishermen here
take the salmon with drag-nets, just before high water: the nets are
about sixty fathoms long, and require three or four boats to manage
them. The fish are all purchased, at this particular point, by one man,
at the rate of eighty cents a-piece, large and small, during the entire
season. The other New Brunswick rivers to which we have alluded are the
Mirimichi and the St. Croix; but as we have never angled in either, we
will leave them to their several reputations.
We now come to say a few words of Nova Scotia, which is not only famous
for its salmon, but also for its scientific anglers. In this province
the old English feeling for the “gentle art” is kept up, and we know of
fly fisherman there, a record of whose piscatorial exploits would have
overwhelmed even the renowned Walton and Davy with astonishment. The
rivers of Nova Scotia are quite numerous, and usually well supplied with
salmon. The great favorite among the Halifax anglers is Gold River, a
cold and beautiful stream, which is about sixty miles distant from that
city, in a westerly direction. The valley of the stream is somewhat
settled, and by a frugal and hard-working Swiss and German population,
who pitched their tents there in 1760. It is fifteen years since it was
discovered by a strolling angler, and at the present time there is
hardly a man residing on its banks who does not consider himself a
faithful disciple of Walton. Even among the Micmac Indians, who pay the
river an annual visit, may be occasionally found an expert fly fisher.
But, after all, Nova Scotia is not exactly the province to which a
Yankee angler would enjoy a visit, for cockney fishermen are a little
too abundant, and the ways of the people in some ridiculous particulars
smack too much of the mother country.
Having finished our geographical history of the salmon and his American
haunts, we will take our leave of him by simply remarking (for the
benefit of those who like to preserve what they capture), that there are
three modes for preserving the salmon:—first, by putting them in salt
for three days, and then smoking, which takes about twelve days;
secondly, by regularly salting them down, as you would mackerel; and
thirdly, by boiling and then pickling them in vinegar. The latter method
is unquestionably the most troublesome, but at the same time the most
expeditious; and what can tickle the palate more exquisitely than a
choice bit of pickled salmon, with a bottle of Burgundy to float it to
its legitimate home?