We consider the rock-fish, striped basse, one of the finest game fish to
be found in American waters. From all that we can learn, it is peculiar
to this country, and to particular sections, not being found farther
north than Maine, nor farther south than the Carolinas, where it is
known as the Rock-Fish. It varies in weight from six ounces to one
hundred pounds; and though a native of the ocean, it spends a portion of
every year in the fresh water rivers—yet it seems to be partial to the
mouths of our larger estuaries. Our naturalists have pronounced it a
member of the perch family, and doubtless with scientific propriety; but
we have seen a basse that would outweigh at least four score of the
largest perch found in the country. The rock is a thick-set and solid
fish, having a strong bony mouth, and sharp teeth. In color, it varies
from a deep green on the back to a rich silvery hue on the belly, and
its scales are large and of a metallic lustre. But the distinguishing
feature of this fish consists in the striped appearance of its body.
Running from the head nearly to the tail, there are no less than eight
regularly marked lines, which in the healthy fish are of a deep black.
Its eyes are white, head rather long, and the under jaw protrudes beyond
the upper one, somewhat after the manner of the pike. The strength of
the basse is equal to that of the salmon, but in activity it is
undoubtedly inferior. As an article of food, it is highly valued, and in
all the Atlantic cities invariably commands a good price.
The spawning time of this fish we have not positively ascertained,
though we believe it to be in the spring or early summer. The New York
markets are supplied with them throughout the year, but it is
unquestionably true that they are in their prime in the autumn. The
smaller individuals frequent the eddies of our rivers, while those of a
larger growth seem to have a fancy for the reefs along the coast. On the
approach of winter, they do not strike for the deep water, but find a
residence in the bays and still arms of the sea, where they remain until
the following spring. They begin to take the hook in April, and,
generally speaking, afford the angler any quantity of sport until the
middle of November. For the smaller fish at the North, the shrimp and
minnow are the most successful baits; and for the larger individuals
nothing can be better than the skin of an eel, neatly fastened upon a
squid. The river fisherman requires a regular fit out of salmon tackle,
while he who would capture the monsters of the ocean only needs a couple
of stout Kirby hooks, a small sinker, a very long and heavy line, a gaff
hook, and a surf boat. But those who capture the basse for lucrative
purposes resort to the following more effectual methods—first by using
set lines, and secondly by the employment of gill-nets and the seine.
The sport of taking a twenty-pound basse in a convenient river is allied
to that of capturing a salmon, but as the former is not a very skittish
fish, the difficulties are not so great. As before intimated, all our
Atlantic rivers, from the Penobscot to the Savannah, are regularly
visited by the basse; but we are inclined to believe that they are found
in the greatest abundance and perfection along the shores of
Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and Maine. At any rate, our
own experience has been confined to this region; and though we remember
with unfeigned pleasure our success in taking the larger varieties along
the shores of Martha’s Vineyard, at Montauk Point, and in the vicinity
of Watch Hill, yet we are disposed to yield the palm to Block Island.
This out-of-the-way spot of the green earth belongs to Rhode Island,
comprises a whole county of that State, and lies about forty miles from
the main shore. It is nine miles in length, and varies in width from
three to four miles. It is quite hilly, with an occasional rocky shore,
contains a number of salt water ponds, and is covered with a scanty
growth of trees and other vegetation. The male inhabitants, numbering
only a few hundred souls, are devoted exclusively to the fishing
business, and they are as amiable and honest at heart, as they are rude
and isolated in their manner of life. Block Island sailors frequently
find their way to the remotest quarters of the globe, though few who
were born upon the island ever become entirely weaned from its
ocean-girt shores. The Block Island fishermen build their own smacks,
and as these are about the only things they do manufacture, they have
acquired remarkable skill in building swift vessels, which are also
distinguished for their strength and safety.
The pleasantest time to kill basse at Block Island is in the month of
October, and immediately after a severe blow, for then it is that the
larger fish seek a sheltering place between the reefs and the shore. And
if the angler would be certain of success, he ought to be upon the water
before sunrise, or at the break of day. He must have only one companion,
a stalwart Block Islander, whose duty it shall be to steady the boat, as
she dashes along upon the restless bosom of the ground swell, so that,
with his legs carefully braced, he can throw his squid to a great
distance, instead of being thrown himself into the sea. And if an
occasional shark should stray into the vicinity of his boat, he must not
suffer himself to be alarmed, for a single discharge from the
fisherman’s pistol (which he usually carries for that purpose) will be
sure to frighten the monster out of his way. Gulls without number, large
and small, of a dark gray and a pure white, will be sure to fly
screaming above his head, and their wild chorus will mingle well with
the monotonous war of the waves as they sweep upon the shore. The
fatigue attendant upon this mode of fishing is uncommonly great; and if
the angler should happen to strike a forty-pounder, he will be perfectly
satisfied with that single prize; but if his luck should lie among the
smaller varieties, he ought to be content with about half a dozen
specimens, weighing from ten to fifteen pounds, which would probably be
the result of the morning’s expedition. On returning to the shore, the
angler will find himself in a most impatient mood for breakfast; but
with a view of enhancing the anticipated enjoyment, he should first
throw aside his clothes and make a number of plunges in the pure white
surf, which will cause him to feel as strong and supple as a leopard.
We did think of commenting upon Block Island as a most fitting place to
study the mighty ocean, for the waves which wash its shores come from
the four quarters of the globe. It so happens, however, that we have
just been reading a passage in an admirable little volume entitled “_The
Owl Creek Letters_” (the author is a man after our own heart), which was
written at Block Island, and we are sure the passage in question would
“take the wind out of any sail” that our pen might produce. The passage
alluded to is as follows:—
“Men speak of our ‘mother the earth.’ But I never could appreciate the
metaphor. A hard mother is old Terra. She refuses us food, save when
compelled by hard struggling with her, and then yields it reluctantly.
She deceives us too often, and finally takes us, when worn and weary,
only by the difficult digging of a grave.
“But the ocean is mother-like, singing songs to us continually, and
telling a thousand legends to our baby ears. She casts up toys to us on
every shore, bright shells and pebbles. (What else do we live for?)
True, maniac as she is, she sometimes raves madly and hurls her children
from her arms, but see how instantly she clasps them again close, close
to her heaving bosom, and how calmly and quietly they sleep there—as she
sings to them—nor wake again to sorrow.”
As to basse fishing in the vicinity of New York, where scientific
anglers are quite abundant, it affords us pleasure to give our readers
the following account, written at our request by G. C. Scott, Esq., who
is quite distinguished for his love and practical knowledge of the
gentle art.
“The weather and the tide are in our favor, and the moon all right, for
this planet, you must know, always gives the basse an excellent appetite
and great activity. Speaking of its influence upon the appetite of fish,
reminds me that those in the waters near the ocean bite best in the new
of the moon; whilst salt water fish which are up the creeks and near to
fresh water, are killed in the greatest number during high tides, and
immediately after a hard ‘nor’easter,’ when the wind has shifted to the
north-west. You may prove these facts without going half a dozen miles
from old Gotham, and I have always noticed that it is better fishing in
‘the Kills’ and at the hedges of Newark Bay, as well as at those in the
lower part of the Bay of New York, when the tide is high; while the
fishing at King’s Bridge and the mouth of Spiting Devil is always best
at extreme low tides.
“As we are out after basse, suppose we ‘make a day of it,’ and first try
the bridge at Haerlem Dam. Being an angler yourself, you know of course
that much depends upon bait, and we will want to use the best. As it is
the month of August, we will purchase a few shedder crabs in the market;
and if we find shrimp necessary, we can procure enough of them at either
of the fishing-grounds. During the spring, I use shad roes for basse
bait; but in summer, and until the first of October, I prefer shedder
crabs; after that, I use shrimp and soft-shell clams. Some anglers
prefer shrimp at all seasons, as it is well known that small basse are
more generally taken with them; but for my part, give me shedder crabs
enough, and I will agree to forego the use of all other kinds of bait
for basse. Next, you may want to know how to rig your tackle? Where we
are going to-day, you want nothing but a good basse rod, reel and float,
with a single gut leader, to which you fasten a hook and attach it to
the line one-third of its length from the hook. Use your float only when
the tide runs slowly, for bottom fishing is the best for large fish,
unless you troll for them, when you use a squid and fish in the Bronx
with a regular trolling tackle, of sufficient strength to land a fish
weighing one hundred and fifty pounds, for they are sometimes caught
there of that weight, but generally from thirty to eighty pounds.
“Well, having arrived at King’s Bridge, and as it is about ebb tide, we
will first see what we can kill from the east bridge. I like bridge
fishing, for it is so fine to pay out line from; and then in striking a
fish thirty yards off, there is so much sport in playing him, and your
being such a distance above the water, you generally fasten him at the
first bite. Reel off! reel off! you have struck him! There! give him
play, but feel his weight and let him contend for every inch of line
that you give him, or he will take the whole of it without exhausting
himself, and you will lose him. Keep him in slack water, and after
playing him until you kill him, land him on the shore, for he is too
heavy to risk your tackle in raising him to the bridge. And now, having
fished out the last of the ebb, and the turn until the tide runs too
fast to use a float, just step into this punt and we will anchor out
near the edge of the current, by the first island below the mill, and
fish in the current without the float, until the tide turns, when we
will make for the mouth of the Spiting Devil, and fish fifty rods below
it in the Hudson.
“Now, my friend, this day’s sport may be considered a fair criterion for
these grounds. We have taken between twenty and thirty basse, but there
is only one that weighs over five pounds, and their average weight will
not vary much from half that. To-night we will troll in the Bronx, for
if the sky be clear, the basse will bite sooner at a squid ‘by the light
of the moon’ than in the day time; and there is very little use in
stopping to try McComb’s Dam, as the sport will not be first-rate there
until the Croton Aqueduct is finished and the coffer dam is torn away,
so that the fish may have a clear run and unobstructed passage between
the East and Hudson rivers. It is supposed that this will be effected
next year, when McComb’s Dam will retrieve its lost honors and furnish
one of the best places for sport in this vicinity, to those who prefer
bridge fishing.
“Having given you a taste of the sport on the waters bounding this
island on the north and east, let us to-day fasten our punt to the lower
hedges of New York bay, and try the difference between ‘bottom fishing,’
and that ‘with the float.’ I will remark, in passing, that it is better
to anchor your punt about a rod above the hedge and fish towards the
hedge without a float, than to fasten your boat to the hedge, as
commonly practiced, and fish with a float; for you will notice that
while you, in the old way, are continually reeling up and making casts,
I am feeling for them with a moving bait toward the bottom, and as near
the hedge as I can venture without getting fast. And then when I strike,
I am sure to fasten them as they turn from me for the shelter of the
hedge. I can also better play my bait without the danger of too much
slack. You will see also that I kill the largest fish.
“Let us now up anchor and away for the Kills and to the reef opposite
Port Richmond. Here the fish are about as large as those at the hedges
we just left. The tide is nearly full, and we will fish without the
float until it is about to turn, when we will move over to the Jersey
shore about fifty rods below the mouth of Newark Bay. Here, as the tide
is just in the turn, we can fish an hour of the ebb with floats, when it
will be best to try bottom-fishing again. Well, if you are tired of
killing younglings varying from one to three pounds, let us put the punt
about and prepare for a beautiful row up to the third, fourth, and fifth
hedges in Newark Bay—trying each one—and we may strike some fish that
will try our tackle. Change your leader for a heavier one and let go the
anchor, for we are three rods above the hedge. The water is quite slack,
and we will try the float until the tide ebbs a little more and the
current becomes more rapid. There, sir, what think you of that? He feels
heavy—see him spin! take care of your line or he’ll get foul, as I
cannot govern him, and it will be with great difficulty that I keep him
out of the hedge. What a splendid leap! I’ll see if I can turn him—here
he comes—take the landing net—there! there, we have him, and I will bet
the champagne that he weighs nearer twenty pounds than ten!
“Thus, my friend, having shown you the principal grounds and informed
you of the bait and tackle to be used in killing basse in this vicinity,
I hope that you will not be at loss for piscatorial sport when trying
your skill in the waters of old Gotham.”
It is now time that we should say something about basse or rock fishing
in the South. The only streams frequented by this fish, of which we have
any personal knowledge, are the Potomac, and Roanoke, though we have
heard many wonderful stories related of the James River and the Great
Pedee. In speaking of the Potomac we are sorely tempted to indite an
episode upon the beautiful and magnificent sweeps which this river makes
after it leaves the gorge of Harper’s Ferry until it loses itself in
Chesapeake Bay, and also upon its historical associations, among which
the genius of Washington reigns supreme—but it is our duty to forbear,
for we should occupy too much time.
Unquestionably, the finest rock-ground on the Potomac is the place known
as the Little Falls, about four miles above Georgetown. At this point
the river is only fifty yards wide, and as the water descends not more
than about ten feet in running three hundred yards, the place might be
more appropriately termed a schute than a fall. The banks on either side
are quite abrupt and picturesque; the bed of the stream is of solid
rock, and below the rapids are a number of inviting pools, where the
water varies from forty to sixty feet in depth. The tides of the ocean
reach no further up the Potomac than this spot, and though the rock-fish
are caught in considerable numbers at the Great Falls (which are ten
miles further up the river, and exceedingly romantic), yet they seem to
be partial to the Little Falls, where they are frequently found in very
great numbers. They follow the shad and the herring in the spring, but
afford an abundance of sport from the 1st of May until the 4th of July,
though they are caught in certain portions of the Potomac through the
year, but never above the Great Falls. The rock of this portion of the
Potomac vary in weight from two to eighteen or twenty pounds, and it is
recorded of the anglers and business fishermen that they frequently kill
no less than five hundred fish in a single day. The favorite bait in
this region is the belly part of the common herring, as well as the
shiner and smelt; but it is frequently the case that a common yellow
flannel fly will commit sad havoc among the striped beauties. A stout
rod, a large reel, and a long line are important requisites to the
better enjoyment of rock-fishing at this point; but as the good standing
places are few in number, many anglers resort to boat-fishing, which is
here practiced with pleasure and profit. Of the many scientific anglers
who visit the Little Falls during the spring and summer, the more expert
ones come from Washington; and of one of these the story is related that
he once killed no less than eighty handsome rock-fish in a single
afternoon. He occupied a dangerous position upon two pointed rocks in
the river (one foot upon each rock and elevated some five feet above the
water), and fished in a pool that was some seventy feet down the stream,
while the fish were landed by an expert servant stationed on the shore
about thirty feet below the spot occupied by the angler. The gentleman
alluded to is acknowledged to be the most successful angler in this
region, and in an occasional conversation with him, we have obtained a
goodly number of piscatorial anecdotes. One or two of them are as
follows:—
On one occasion, while playing a good-sized rock-fish, it unfortunately
ran around a sharp rock, and by cutting the line made its escape,
carrying off the angler’s float, and a favorite fly. On the third day
after this event a boy who was playing on the river about half a mile
below the Falls, happened to see a cork darting hither and thither
across the surface of the water, and immediately went in pursuit of the
life-like piece of wood. After many twistings and turnings and a long
row, he finally overtook it, and to his utter astonishment he landed in
his boat a very handsome five pound Basse. He recognized the fly as the
one commonly employed by our angler, to whom the fly, the float and the
fish were promptly delivered by the honest boy.
Another and a similar incident was as follows:
Our angling friend had lost another float, by the obstinacy of another
fish. About a week after the mishap a fisherman who had a “trot line”
set across the river at Georgetown, for the purpose of taking cat-fish,
discovered a great splashing in the water near the middle of his line,
and on hastening to the spot he had the pleasure of pulling up a very
handsome twelve pound Basse. After faring sumptuously upon the fish, the
fortunate individual took it into his head that the tackle belonged to
_the_ angler of the Falls, whereupon he delivered it to our friend,
accompanied with a statement of the manner in which he made the
discovery. The distance traveled by that fish, with a hook in his mouth,
was four miles, and it was by the merest accident that his leading
string had become entangled with the “trot line.”
The angling ground at the Little Falls is annually rented by the
proprietors to a couple of men named Joe Paine and Jim Collins, who are
the presiding geniuses of the place, and have been such for upwards of
twenty years. They pay a rent of seventy dollars per annum, and as they
receive from fifty cents to five dollars from every angler who visits
them, and as they are occasionally troubled with as many as thirty
individuals per day, it may readily be imagined that their income is
quite respectable. Some of Collins’ friends allege that he has several
thousand dollars stowed away in an old pocket book, which it is his
intention to bequeath to a favorite nephew, he himself being a bachelor.
The reputation of Jim Collins in this section of country is very
extensive, and that this should be the case is not at all strange, for
he is a decided original. He is about fifty years of age, measures six
feet five inches in height, and the offshoots from the four prongs of
his body number _twenty-four_ instead of twenty as in ordinary mortals;
I mean by this, that his fingers and toes number no less than
twenty-four. Notwithstanding this bountiful supply of fingers and toes,
Jim Collins has a great antipathy to useful labor, and is as averse to
walking as any other web-footed animal. Fishing and sleeping are his two
principal employments; and that he is a judge of good whisky, none of
his acquaintance would have the hardihood to doubt. The taking of small
fish he considers a business beneath his dignity, and the consequence is
that his tackle consists of a miniature bed cord, with a hook and cedar
pole to match, and his bait a whole herring. He commonly fishes in a
boat, and the dexterity with which he “_Kawallups_” the fish upon his
lap is truly astonishing. But if you would see Jim Collins in his glory,
wait until about the middle of a June afternoon, after he has pocketed
some fifteen dollars, and he is sunning himself, with pipe in mouth,
upon the rocks, absorbed in _fishy contemplations_. His appearance at
such times is allied to that of a mammoth crane, watching (as he does
his cockney brethren of the craft) the movements of a lot of
half-fledged water birds.
During the fishing season he is generally actively employed, but the
remainder of his time he spends about the Little Falls, as if his
presence were indispensable to the safe passage of the waters of the
Potomac through this narrow gorge. That Jim Collins should have met with
many queer mishaps, during a residence of twenty years on the Potomac,
may be readily imagined; but we believe, the most unique adventure of
which he has ever been the victim, happened on this wise. The substance
of the story is as follows:—
Our hero is a great lover of “sturgeon meat,” and for many years past it
has been a habit with him to fish for that huge leather mouthed monster
with a large cord and sharp graffling hooks, sinking them to the bottom
with a heavy weight and then dragging them across the bed of the stream;
his sense of touch being so exquisite, that he can always tell the
instant that his hooks have struck the body of a sturgeon, and when this
occurs it is almost certain that the fish becomes a victim to the cruel
art. In practising this mode of fishing, Jim Collins invariably occupies
a boat alone, which he first anchors in the stream. On one occasion he
had been fishing in this manner for a long time without success, and for
the want of something more exciting, he had resorted more frequently
than usual to his junk bottle. In process of time, however, he found the
exercise of fishing decidedly a bore, but as he was determined not to
give up the sport and at the same time was determined to enjoy a quiet
nap, he tied the cord to his right arm, and lounged over on his back for
the purpose of taking a snooze. There was an unusual calmness in the air
and upon the neighboring hills, and even the few anglers who were
throwing the fly at the Falls, did so in the laziest manner imaginable.
While matters were in this condition, a sudden splash broke the
surrounding stillness, which was immediately followed by a deafening
shout, for it was discovered that a sturgeon had pulled poor Collins out
of his boat into the swift stream, and was in great danger of leading
him off to the residence of _David Jones_. At one moment the fisherman
seemed to have the upper hand, for he pulled upon his rope, and swore
loudly, sprawling about the water like a huge devil fish; but in another
instant the poor fellow would suddenly disappear, and an occasional
bubble rising to the surface of the stream, was all the evidence that
the fellow was not quite drowned. This contest lasted for some fifteen
minutes, and had not the sturgeon finally made his escape, Jim Collins
would have been no more. As it happened, however, he finally reached the
shore, about two hundred yards below the Falls, and as he sat upon a
rock, quite as near the river Styx as he was to the Potomac, he lavished
some heavy curses upon the escaped sturgeon, and insisted upon it, that
the best hooks that man ever made were now forever lost. Years have
elapsed since this occurrence took place, and when the ancient Fisherman
“hath his will,” he recounts the story of this catastrophe with as
brilliant a fire in his eye as that which distinguished the countenance
of Coleridge’s particular friend, the “Ancient Mariner.”
Before closing this essay, it is “right and proper” that we should
allude to the beautiful scenery that the angler will enjoy in going to
and returning from the Little Falls. The entire region, in fact, known
by the name of Cooney, and comprehending some fifteen miles of the
Potomac, is particularly picturesque, but is at the same time said to be
the most barren and useless portion of Virginia. In visiting the Falls
you have to pass over a kind of wooded and rocky interval, and by an
exceedingly rough road, which is annually submerged by the spring
freshets. The water here sometimes rises to the height of fifty feet,
and often makes a terrible display of its power; on one occasion the
water came down the valley with such impetuosity that a certain wall
composed of rocks six or eight feet square, and united together with
iron, was removed to a distance of many rods from its original position.
To the stranger who may visit the Little Falls, we would say forget not
on your return to Washington, the superb prospect which may be seen from
the Signal Tree on the Heights of Georgetown. From that point the eye
comprehends at one glance, the church spires and elegant residences of
Georgetown, the Metropolis of the land, with its capitol and numerous
public buildings, and the more remote city of Alexandria, with a reach
of the magnificent Potomac, extending a distance of at least thirty
miles. The better time to look upon this prospect, is at the sunset
hour, when the only sounds that fill the air are the shrieking of the
swallows, and the faintly heard song of a lazy sailor far away upon the
river, where perhaps a score or two of vessels are lying becalmed, while
on the placid stream a retinue of crimson clouds are clearly and
beautifully reflected. Scenes of more perfect loveliness are seldom
found in any land.