If so be the angler catch no fish yet hath he a wholesome walk to the
brook-side, and pleasant shade by the sweet silver streams.
Robert Burton.
The Pike is a common fish in all the temperate, and some of the northern
regions of the world; but in no country does he arrive at greater
perfection than in the United States. For some unaccountable reason he
is generally known in this country as the pickerel; and we would
therefore intimate to our readers that our present discourse is to be of
the legitimate pike. In England, he is known under the several names of
pike, jack, pickerel and luce. His body is elongated and nearly of a
uniform depth from the head to the tail; the head is also elongated, and
resembles that of the duck; his mouth is very large and abundantly
supplied with sharp teeth, and his scales are small and particularly
adhesive; the color of his back is a dark brown, sides a mottled green
or yellow, and belly a silvery white. The reputation of this fish for
amiability is far from being enviable, for he is called not only the
shark of the fresh waters, but also the tyrant of the liquid plain. He
is a cunning and savage creature, and for these reasons even the most
humane of fishermen are seldom troubled with conscientious scruples when
they succeed in making him a captive. Pliny and Sir Francis Bacon both
considered the pike to be the longest lived of any fresh water fish, and
Gesner mentions a pike which he thought to be two hundred years old. Of
these ancient fellows, Walton remarks, that they have more in them of
state than goodness, the middle sized individuals being considered the
best eating. The prominent peculiarity of this fish is his
voraciousness. Edward Jesse relates that five large pike once devoured
about eight hundred gudgeons in the course of three weeks. He swallows
every animal he can subdue, and is so much of a cannibal that he will
devour his own kind full as soon as a common minnow. Young ducks and
even kittens have been found in his stomach, and it is said that he
often contends with the otter for his prey. Gesner relates the story
that a pike once attacked a mule while it was drinking on the margin of
a pond, and his teeth having become fastened in the snout of the
astonished beast, he was safely landed on the shore. James Wilson once
killed a pike weighing seven pounds, in whose stomach was found another
pike weighing over a pound, and in the mouth of the youthful fish was
yet discovered a respectable perch. Even men, while wading in a pond,
have been attacked by this fresh water wolf. He is so much of an
exterminator, that when placed in a small lake with other fish, it is
not long before he becomes “master of all he surveys,” having
depopulated his watery world of every species but his own. The following
story, illustrating the savage propensity of this fish, is related by J.
V. C. Smith. A gentleman was angling for pike, and having captured one,
subsequently met a shepherd and his dog, and presented the former with
his prize. While engaged in clearing his tackle, the dog seated himself
unsuspectingly in the immediate vicinity of the pike, and as fate would
have it, his tail was ferociously snapped at by the gasping fish. The
dog was of course much terrified, ran in every direction to free
himself, and at last plunged into the stream. The hair had become so
entangled in the fish’s teeth, however, that it could not release its
hold. The dog again sought the land, and made for his master’s cottage,
where he was finally freed from his unwilling persecutor; but
notwithstanding the unnatural adventure of the fish, he actually sunk
his teeth into the stick which was used to force open his jaws.
The pike of this country does not differ essentially from the pike of
Europe. His food usually consists of fish and frogs, though he is far
from being particular in this matter. He loves a still, shady water, in
river or pond, and usually lies in the vicinity of flags, bulrushes and
water-lilies, though he often shoots out into the clear stream, and on
such occasions frequently affords the rifleman a deal of sport. In
summer he is taken at the top and in the middle, but in winter at the
bottom. His time for spawning is March, and he is in season about eight
months in the year. In speaking of the size of this fish, the anglers of
Europe have recorded some marvelous stories, of which we know nothing,
and care less. In this country they vary from two to four feet in
length, and in weight from two to forty pounds; when weighing less than
two pounds, he is called a jack. As an article of food he seems to be in
good repute; but since we once found a large water-snake in the stomach
of a monster fish, we have never touched him when upon the table. He
suits not our palate, but as an object of sport we esteem him highly,
and can never mention his name without a thrill of pleasure.
In this place we desire to record our opinion against the idea that the
pike and maskalunge are one and the same fish. For many years we
entertained the opinion that there was no difference between them, only
that the latter was merely an overgrown pike. We have more recently had
many opportunities of comparing the two species together, and we know
that to the careful and scientific observer, there is a marked
difference. The head of a maskalunge is the smallest; he is the stoutest
fish, is more silvery in color, grows to a much larger size, and is with
difficulty tempted to heed the lures of the angler. They are so
precisely similar in their general habits, however, that they must be
considered as belonging to the pike family. They are possibly the
independent, eccentric and self satisfied nabobs of the race to which
they belong; always managing to keep the world ignorant of their true
character, until after their days are numbered.
We will now mention one or two additional traits, which we had nearly
forgotten. The first is, that the pike is as distinguished for his
abstinence as for his voracity. During the summer months, his digestive
organs seem to be somewhat torpid, and this is the time that he is out
of season. During this period he is particularly listless in his
movements, spending nearly all the sunny hours basking near the surface
of the water; and as this is the period when the smaller fry are usually
commencing their active existence, we cannot but distinguish in this
arrangement of nature the wisdom of Providence. Another habit peculiar
to this fish, is as follows:—During the autumn, he spends the day-time
in deep water, and the nights in the shallowest water he can find along
the shores of river or lake. We have frequently seen them so very near
the dry land as to display their fins. What their object can be in thus
spending the dark hours, it is hard to determine: is it to enjoy the
warmer temperature of the shallow water, or for the purpose of watching
and capturing any small land animals that may come to the water to
satisfy their thirst? We have heard it alleged that they seek the shore
for the purpose of spawning, but it is an established fact that they
cast their spawn in the spring; and, besides, the months during which
they seek the shore as above stated, are the very ones in which they are
in the best condition, and afford the angler the finest sport. Autumn is
the time, too, when they are more frequently and more easily taken with
the spear, than during any other season. And as to this spearing
business, generally speaking, we consider it an abominable practice, but
in the case of the savage and obstinate pike, it ought to be
countenanced even by the legitimate angler.
We have angled for pike in nearly all the waters of this country where
they abound. The immense quantity of book lore that we have read
respecting the character of pike tackle, has always seemed to us an
intelligent species of nonsense—a kind of literature originally invented
by tackle manufacturers. Our own equipment for pike fishing we consider
first-rate, and yet it consists only of a heavy rod and reel, a stout
linen line, a brass snell, a sharp Kirby hook, and a landing net. For
bait we prefer a live minnow, though a small shiner, or the belly of a
yellow perch, is nearly as sure to attract notice. We have taken a pike
with a gaudy fly, and also with an artificial minnow, but you cannot
depend upon these allurements. Sinkers we seldom use, and the
fashionable thing called a float we utterly abominate. We have fished
for pike in almost every manner, but our favorite method has ever been
from an anchored boat, when our only companion was a personal friend,
and a lover of the written and unwritten poetry of nature. This is the
most quiet and contemplative method, and unquestionably one of the most
successful ones; for though the pike is not easily frightened, it takes
but a single splash of an oar when trolling, to set him a-thinking,
which is quite as unfortunate for the angler’s success as if he were
actually alarmed. Another advantage is, that while swinging to an anchor
you may fish at the bottom, if you please, or try the stationary
trolling fashion. To make our meaning understood, we would add, that an
expert angler can throw his hook in any direction from his boat, to the
distance of at least a hundred feet, and in pulling it in, he secures
all the advantages that result from the common mode of trolling. The
pike is a fish which calls forth a deal of patience, and must be
humored; for he will sometimes scorn the handsomest bait, apparently out
of mere spite; but the surest time to take him is when there is a cloudy
sky and a southerly breeze. Live fish are the best bait, as we have
before remarked, though the leg of a frog is good, and in winter a piece
of pork, but nothing can be better than a shiner or a little perch; and
it might here be remarked, that as the pike is an epicure in the manner
of his eating, it is invariably a good plan to let him have his own
time, after he has seized the bait. As to torchlight fishing for pike,
though unquestionably out of the pale of the regular angler’s sporting,
it is attended with much that we must deem poetical and interesting. Who
can doubt this proposition, when we consider the picturesque effect of a
boat and lighted torch, gliding along the wild shores of a lake, on a
still, dark night, with one figure noiselessly plying an oar, and the
animated attitude of another relieved against the fire-light, and
looking into the water like Orpheus into hell. And remember, too, the
thousand inhabitants of the liquid element that we see, and almost fancy
to be endowed with human sympathies? What a pleasure to behold the
various finny tribes amid their own chosen haunts, leading, as Leigh
Hunt has exquisitely written,
“A cold, sweet, silver life, wrapped in round waves,
Quickened with touches of transporting fear!”
In some of the Northern States fishing for pike with set lines through
the ice, is practiced to a great extent. The lines are commonly attached
to a figure four, by which the fisherman is informed that he has a bite,
and if he has many lines out and the fish are in a humor to be captured,
this mode of fishing is really very exciting. Especially so, if the ice
is smooth and the fisherman can attend to his hooks with a pair of sharp
skates attached to his feet.
Another mode for catching pike in the winter, and which we have seen
practiced in the lakes and rivers of Michigan, is as follows. You cut a
large hole in the ice, over which you erect a tent or small portable
house; and after taking a seat therein, you let down a bait for the
purpose of alluring the fish, and as they follow the hook, even to your
feet, you pick them out with a sharp spear.
But it is time that we should change the tone of our discourse and
mention the favorite waters of the American pike. The largest we have
ever seen were taken in the Upper Mississippi, and on the St. Joseph and
Raisin rivers of Michigan, where they are very abundant. They are also
found in nearly all the streams emptying into Lakes Michigan, Erie, and
Ontario;—also, in the Ohio and its tributaries. We have heard of them in
the Upper St. Lawrence, and know them to abound in Lake Champlain, and
in a large proportion of the lakes and rivers of New England. A very
pretty lady once told us that she had seen a pike taken from Lake
Champlain, which was as long as the sofa upon which we were seated
together, and conversing upon the gentle art of fishing, and the tender
one of love. Pike fishing with the hook we have not practiced to a very
great extent. Our angling experience has been chiefly confined to the
smaller lakes of Connecticut, particularly those in the vicinity of
Norwich. Our favorite resort has been Gardner’s Lake, whose shores are
surrounded with pleasant wood-crowned hills, teeming with partridge and
wood-cock, and the Sabbath stillness which usually reigns about it is
seldom broken, save by the dipping oar or the laugh of the light-hearted
fisherman. Dearly indeed do we cherish the memory of the pleasant days
spent upon this picturesque lake; and we hope it may never be used for
any other purpose than to mirror the glories of heaven, and never be
visited by any but genuine sportsmen and true-hearted lovers of nature.
Preston Lake is another beautiful sheet of water near Norwich, which
reminds us of a night adventure. A couple of us had visited it for the
purpose of taking pike by torch-light, having brought our spears and
dry-pine all the way from Norwich in a one-horse wagon. It was a cold
but still autumnal night, and as we tied our horse to a tree in an open
field, we had every reason to anticipate a “glorious time.” So far as
the fish were concerned we enjoyed fine sport, for we caught about a
dozen pike, varying from one to four pounds in weight; but the miseries
we subsequently endured were positively intolerable. Not only did we
work an everlasting while to make our boat seaworthy, but in our
impatience to reach the fishing grounds, we misplaced our brandy bottle
in the tall grass, and were therefore deprived of its warming
companionship. About midnight a heavy fog began to arise, which not only
prevented us from distinguishing a pike from a log of wood, but caused
us to become frequently entangled in the top of a dry tree, lying on the
water. Our next step, therefore, was to go home, but then came the
trouble of finding our “desired haven.” This we did happen to find, for
a wonder, and having gathered up our plunder started on our course over
the frosty grass after our vehicle and horse. We found them, but it was
in a most melancholy plight indeed. Like a couple of large fools, we had
omitted to release the horse from the wagon as we should have done, and
the consequence was that he had released himself by breaking the fills
and tearing off the harness, and we discovered him quietly feeding a few
paces from the tree to which we had fastened him. What next to do, we
could not in our utter despair possibly determine; but after a long
consultation we both concluded to mount the miserable horse, and with
our fish in hand we actually started upon our miserable journey home.
Our fish were so heavy that we were compelled at the end of the first
mile to throw them away, and as the day was breaking we entered the
silent streets of Norwich, pondering upon the pleasures of pike fishing
by torch-light, and solemnly counting the cost of our nocturnal
expedition.
But the most successful pike fishing we ever enjoyed was at Crow Wing,
on the Upper Mississippi. We were spending a few days with an isolated
Indian trader of the wilderness, around whose cabin were encamped about
three hundred Chippewa Indians. Seldom was it that we allowed a night to
pass away, without trying our luck with the spear, and as a dozen canoes
were often engaged in the same sport, the bosom of the river often
presented a most romantic and beautiful appearance. Each canoe usually
contained two or three individuals, and our torches, which were made of
dried birch bark, threw such a flood of light upon the translucent
water, that we could see every object in the bed of the river with the
utmost distinctness. Beautiful indeed were those fishing scenes, and
when the canoes had floated down the river for a mile or two, the
homeward bound races that followed between the shouting Indians were
exciting in the extreme. And what added to _our_ enjoyment of this
sporting was the idea that to grasp the hand of a white man (besides
that of our host), we should have to travel one hundred miles through a
pathless wilderness. We seldom took any note of time, and sometimes were
throwing the spear even when the day was breaking. The largest fish that
we saw taken at Crow Wing weighed upwards of forty pounds, and we have
known five spearmen to take seventy pike and maskalunge in a single
night.
But we must curtail our pike stories, for we purpose to append to our
remarks a few interesting observations upon that and a kindred fish
which have been kindly furnished to us by an accomplished scholar, a
genuine angler and a valued friend, John R. Bartlett, Esq.
The pike bears the same relation to the finny tribes that the hyena and
jackall do to animals, the vulture to birds, or the spider to
insects—one of the most voracious of fishes. He feeds alike on the
living or dead; and even those of his own brethren which are protected
by nature against the attacks of other fish, find no protection against
him. It is remarkable in the economy of animals, that while nature
provides her weaker and smaller creatures with the means of defence
against the stronger ones, she has, at the same time, furnished some of
the latter with weapons, apparently for the very purpose of overcoming
the feeble, however well they may be guarded. Thus, the pike, with its
immense jaws, armed with innumerable teeth, is able to seize and crush
every kind of fish. Its own kind do not escape, for instances are
frequent when a pike of three or four pounds is found in the stomach of
one of twelve or fifteen pounds weight.
It is interesting to notice the habits of the pike, which an angler may
easily do in still, clear water. They have been characterized as a
solitary, melancholy, and bold fish. Never are they found in schools, or
even in pairs, as most other fish are, nor are they often seen in open
water, where other fish would discover them and avoid their grasp. When
in open water they lie very near the bottom, quite motionless, appearing
like a sunken stick. Their usual and favorite place of resort is among
the tall weeds where they cannot be seen. Here they lie, as it were, in
ambush, waiting the approach of some innocent, unsuspecting fish, when
they dart forth with a swiftness which none of the finny tribe can
attain, seize their harmless victim, and slowly bear it away to some
secluded spot. Here they crush their prey with their immense jaws, and
leisurely force it into their capacious stomachs. Often, when angling
for the pike with a live perch, from a wharf so far raised above the
water that I could see every object for twenty feet on either side, a
pike has so suddenly darted from a cluster of weeds, beyond the range of
my vision, that the first intimation I had of his presence was, that he
had seized my bait.
On one occasion, when angling in the St. Lawrence, where pike are very
abundant, I put a minnow on my hook, and threw my line towards a mass of
weeds, in the hope of tempting a perch to take it. Not many minutes had
elapsed before my silvery minnow had tempted the appetite of one, which
soon conveyed him to his maw. Knowing that my game was sure, I let him
play about, first allowing him to run to the extent of my line and then
drawing him towards me, when on a sudden a pike shot from his hiding
place and seized my perch. I was obliged to let the fellow have his own
way, and give him all the time he wanted to swallow the perch, when with
a good deal of difficulty, I succeeded in disabling him and towed him in
triumph to the shore. The perch weighed a pound and a half; the pike ten
pounds.
The long and slender form of the pike, tapering towards the head and
tail, enables him to move with great rapidity through the water, while
his smooth and finless back facilitates his movements through the weeds
or marine plants. Thus has nature provided this fish with a form adapted
to its habits, and with large and well-armed jaws, to give it a
pre-eminence among the finny tribes which inhabit the same waters. I
have often thought why so great an enemy, so great a devourer of his
race, should be placed among them, favored by so many advantages. May it
not, nay, must it not be for some wise purpose? It is known how very
prolific fishes are, and unless some way was provided to lessen the
number, our inland waters could not contain the vast numbers which a few
years would produce. Most fish live on each other, others on decomposing
substances floating about. It is not always the largest that prey on
each other, for the sturgeon is one of the largest fresh water fish, and
he subsists on decomposing matter, or minute fish. A few pike placed in
a lake, would very effectually prevent an over-population. May it not,
then, be so ordered that the inhabitants of the seas, which are not so
favored as those who dwell on the earth’s surface, and who have a great
variety of food to supply their wants, may have the means of providing
their own sustenance by an immense increase of their own species?
Blaine observes that “the abstinence of the pike and jack is no less
singular than their voracity; during the summer months their digestive
faculties are somewhat torpid, which appears a remarkable peculiarity in
pike economy, seeing it must be in inverse ratio to the wants of the
fish, for they must be at this time in a state of emaciation from the
effects of spawning. During the summer they are listless, and affect the
surface of the water, where in warm sunny weather they seem to bask in a
sleepy state for hours together. It is not a little remarkable, that
smaller fish appear to be aware when this abstinent state of their foe
is upon him; for they who at other times are evidently impressed with an
instinctive dread of his presence, are now swimming around him with
total unconcern. At these periods, no baits, however tempting, can
allure him; but on the contrary, he retreats from everything of the
kind. Windy weather is alone capable of exciting his dormant powers.
This inaptitude to receive food with the usual keenness, continues from
the time they spawn, until the time of their recovery from the effects
of it.”
The peculiarity above noticed does not entirely apply to the pike of the
Northern States, and particularly of the great lakes and rivers, whose
waters are not so sensibly affected by the heat of summer as shallow
water is. In the smaller streams he lies in the listless state described
by Mr. Blaine, but when he can reach the deep water he always does so.
Pike are found in all the lakes and inland waters of the Northern and
Middle States of the Union. In the great lakes they grow to an enormous
size. No fish is better known throughout Europe and the northern parts
of Asia. In colder climes he attains the largest size, and is said by
Walkenburg to disappear in geographical distribution with the fir. In
our waters they are taken of all sizes, from four or five pounds to
fifty or sixty. Their haunts are generally among the weeds or marine
plants near the shore, or in deep bays where the water is not made rough
by winds, and in all parts of rivers. They are rarely found on rocky
bottoms or bars. A high wind and rough sea often drives them from their
weedy haunts into deeper water. I have noticed this particularly on Lake
Ontario. From wharves where basse are only taken on ordinary occasions,
pike will bite with avidity when a severe gale is blowing and the water
is in a disturbed state.
This fish, according to Donovan, attains a larger size in a shorter
time, in proportion to most others. In the course of the first year it
grows eight or ten inches; the second, twelve or fourteen; the third,
eighteen or twenty inches. Some pike were turned into a pond in England,
the largest of which weighed two and a half pounds. Four years after,
the water was let off, when one pike of nineteen pounds, and others of
from eleven to fifteen, were found. Mr. Jesse, in his Gleanings of
Natural History, relates certain experiments by which he shows that the
growth of pike is about four pounds a year, which corresponds with the
growth of those before stated.
The various books on sporting give numerous instances of pike weighing
from thirty to forty pounds, taken in England, though an instance is
mentioned in Dodsley’s Register for 1765, of an enormous pike weighing
170 pounds, which was taken from a pool near Newport, England, which had
not been fished in for ages. In Ireland and Scotland, they are found
larger than in England. In the Shannon and Lough Corrib, they have been
found from seventy to ninety-two pounds in weight. At Broadford, near
Limerick, one was taken weighing ninety-six pounds. Another was caught
by trolling in Loch Pentluliche, of fifty pounds; and another in Loch
Spey, that weighed 146 pounds. But these are small in comparison with a
pike, which is stated by Gesner (and from him quoted by most writers on
fish) to have been taken in a pool near the capital of Sweden, in the
year 1497, which was fifteen feet in length, and weighed 350 pounds.
Under the skin of this enormous fish was discovered a ring of cypress
brass, having a Greek inscription round the rim, which was interpreted
by Dalburgus, Bishop of Worms, to signify: “I am the fish first of all
placed in this pond, by the hands of Frederic the Second, on the 5th of
October, in the year of grace 1230;” which would make its age 267 years.
The ring about his neck was made with springs, so as to enlarge as the
fish grew. His skeleton was for a long time preserved at Manheim.
During the past summer, which I spent on the banks of the St. Lawrence,
I had frequently tried the spool trolling, and always with success.
Sometimes I would use two lines, one 70, the other 120 feet in length.
On the larger one I had the best success, and my bait would be seized
three times, when on the shorter one it would be but once; it being
farther from the boat, the movements of which through the water, and the
noise of the oars, drove the fish off. From experience I am satisfied
that long trolling lines are the best. Basse will seize a fly or spoon
at a few feet distance, but a pike will not. I have tried the
experiment, when trolling for pike, to attach to one hook a bait of pork
and red flannel, a very common bait, and to the other a brass spoon. The
latter was invariably seized first, for the only reason, I suppose, that
it made more show in the water. Neither resembled a fish, fly, or any
living creature, but curiosity or hunger attracted the fish to the
strange bait gliding through the water, which they seized, paying with
their lives the penalty for so doing.
There is a large fish of the pike species commonly called the Maskinonge
or Maskalunge before spoken of, of what specific character is not well
understood by naturalists. Their habits and their haunts are the same as
those of the pike, and they attain a larger size than any fish of our
inland waters. I have seen them carried by two men of ordinary height,
with a pole running through the gills and supported on the shoulders of
the men. In this position the tail of the fish dragged on the ground.
Forty or fifty pounds is not an unusual weight for them, and instances
are known when much larger ones have been caught. Maskinonge are
generally taken in seines, seldom with the hook. Their size is so large
that the ordinary baits of anglers would be no temptation for them. In
the several opportunities which I have had to examine the stomachs of
these fish I have invariably found within them, fish of very large size,
such as no angler would ever think of putting on his line. The largest
perch I ever saw, about fifteen inches in length, was taken from the
paunch of a Maskinonge, and I have often seen catfish, perch, and other
fish, weighing from one to two pounds, taken from them; but in no
instance small fish; and hence anglers have not taken them, as few would
angle with live bait of that size, where there are no fish but these
which would take it.
The most exciting sport I ever had on the St. Lawrence, or anywhere
else, was in taking a maskinonge. It was a regular battle, such only as
the salmon anglers enjoy when they hook a twenty-pounder. As the method
was quite different, I will send you all the particulars.
A friend and myself took a small skiff, with one trolling line,
intending to take turns at the oars, and proceeded at once to a favorite
spot among the “Thousand Islands.”
I held the trolling line with a spoon hook attached, while my companion
pulled the oars. We sailed among the secluded places, wherever weeds
were seen below the surface of the water, and were rewarded with good
sport by taking several fine pike, weighing from six to fifteen pounds,
which we managed to secure with ease, save the largest, which gave us
some trouble. We then thought we would try deeper water, in the hope of
tempting larger fish. A few windings among the clusters of small islands
brought us to the channel of the river, when I directed my companion to
increase the speed of our skiff, determined that the curiosity of no
fish should be satisfied, without first tasting my gilded spoon. We
pulled for half a mile, when the river wound suddenly round an island,
which presented a bold shore, from the rushing of the river’s current.
The tall forest trees extended to the very brink of the river, over
which they hung, throwing a deep shadow on the water. This quiet spot
looked as though it might be an attractive one for some solitary fish,
and we accordingly took a sweep around the foot of the island.—Scarcely
had we entered the deep shade spoken of, when I felt a tug at my line,
which was so strong that I supposed my hook had come in contact with a
floating log or fallen tree. My companion backed water with his oars to
relieve my hook, when another violent pull at my line convinced me that
it was no log, but some living creature of great weight. My line was
already out its full length of 150 feet; no alternative was therefore
left but to give my fish more line by rowing after him.
This we did for a few minutes, when I began to pull in the slack of my
line, some fifty feet or more, when I felt my fish. The check was no
sooner felt by him than he started forward with a velocity scarcely
conceivable in the water, bringing my line taut, and the next moment our
skiff was moving off stern foremost towards the river’s channel. We soon
perceived that our fish had turned his head up stream, and as the water
was deep, there was no danger of his coming in contact with weeds or
protruding rocks. We therefore allowed him to tow us for about five
minutes, when he stopped. Then quickly backing water with our oars, and
taking in our line, we carefully laid it over the skiff’s side, until we
had approached within twenty feet of our fish. I then gave him another
check, which probably turned his head, for he again darted off in a
contrary direction down stream. We pulled our skiff in the same
direction as fast as possible to give the fish a good run before
checking him again, but he soon had the line out its full length, and
was again towing our skiff after him with more rapidity than before.
This did not last long, however, for I then took the line and hauled
towards him to lessen our distance. He made another slap, when I managed
to keep my line taut, and with our oars moved towards him. Our victim
now lay on the surface of the water with his belly upward, apparently
exhausted, when we found him to be a maskinonge, between five and eight
feet in length. We had no sooner got him alongside than he gave a slap
with his tail and again darted off the whole length of the line, taking
us once more in tow. His run was now short, and it was evident he was
getting tired of the business. Again the line slacked and we drew the
skiff up to the spot where he lay turned up on his back.
He now seemed so far gone that I thought we might draw him into our
skiff, so I reached out my gaff and hooked him under the jaw, while my
companion passed his oar under him. In this way we contrived to raise
him over the gunwale of the skiff, when he slid to its bottom. I then
placed my foot back of his head to hold him down, in order to disengage
my hook, which passed through his upper jaw. No sooner had I attempted
this than he began to flap about, compelling us to give him room to
avoid his immense jaws. Every moment seemed to increase his strength,
when my companion seized an oar in order to dispatch him, while I took
out my knife for the same purpose. The first blow with the oar had only
the effect to awaken our fish, which taking another and more powerful
somerset, threw himself over the gunwale of our skiff, which was but a
few inches above the water, and with a plunge disappeared in the deep
water at our side. We had scarcely recovered from our surprise, when I
found my line drawn out again to its full length, save a few tangles and
twists, which had got into it in the struggle between us and our fish.
We determined to trifle no longer with the fellow, with our small skiff,
but to make for the shore and there land him. A small island, a short
distance from us, seemed to present a convenient place, and here without
further ceremony we pulled, towing our fish after us. I leaped into the
water about ten feet from the shore, and tugged away at my victim, who
floated like a log upon the water, while my companion stood by with an
oar to make the capture more sure this time. In this way we landed him
in safety just one hour and a quarter after he was first hooked. This
maskinonge weighed 49 pounds, and had within him a pike of three pounds
weight, a chub, partially decomposed, of four pounds, and a perch of one
and a half pounds, which appeared to have been but recently swallowed;
yet this fish’s appetite was not satisfied, and he lost his life in
grasping at a glittering bauble. Any person who has ever killed a pike
of ten pounds or upwards, can readily imagine the strength of one five
times its weight.
The great strength of these fish was shown in a sporting adventure which
happened to a friend of mine when out a few evenings since, spearing by
torch light. The person alluded to had never before tried his hand with
the spear, although he was a skillful angler. On this occasion he had
killed several fish, which he secured without trouble. He was then in
about six or eight feet of water, when he discovered a large fish,
either a very large pike or maskinonge. He planted himself with one foot
below the flaming torch, the other a little behind, when he plunged his
spear into the huge fish that lay so quietly before him; but whether he
was so deceived in the depth of the water, or whether he had not braced
himself properly in the boat is not known, at any rate he struck the
fish, which darted off like lightning, taking the spear with him, as
well as him who threw it. For the gentleman, probably deceived by the
depth of the water, had reached forward too far and thereby lost his
balance. So over he went head foremost, holding on to the spear. But he
was satisfied without following the fish further, which escaped with the
long spear, neither of which could be again seen. The gentleman made the
best of his way into the skiff. Two days after a large maskinonge
floated ashore several miles below the spot where the event took place,
with the spear still clinging to him, just before the dorsal fin.