_By our Piscatorial Expert._
I have read with great interest, tempered by a little disappointment, the
article of Mr. F.A. MITCHELL-HEDGES on "Big Game Fishing in British
Waters," in _The Daily Mail_ of September 1st. He tells us of his
experiences in catching the "tope," a little-known fish of the shark genus
which may be caught this month at such places as Herne Bay, Deal, Margate,
Ramsgate, Brighton and Bournemouth, where he has captured specimens
measuring 7-1/2 feet long within two hundred-and-fifty yards of the shore.
Personally I have a great respect for the tope and for the topiary art, but
I cannot help regretting that Mr. MITCHELL-HEDGES has omitted all mention
of another splendid fish, the stoot, which visits our shores every year in
the late summer and may be caught at places as widely distant as Barmouth
and Great Yarmouth, Porthcawl and Kylescue.
The stoot, be it noted, is a cross between the porpoise and the cuttle-
fish; hence its local name of the porputtle. It is a clean feeder, a great
fighter and a great delicacy, tasting rather like a mixture of the
pilchard, the anchovy and the Bombay duck.
For tackle I recommend a strong greenheart bamboo pole, like those used in
pole-jumping, about eighteen feet in length, and about three hundred yards
of wire hawser, with a Strathspey foursome reel sufficiently large to hold
it. Do not be afraid of the size of the hook. The stoot-fisher cannot
afford to take any risks. I do not wish to dogmatise, but it must be big
enough to cover the bait. And the stoot is extremely voracious. Almost
anything will do for bait, if one remembers, as I have said above, that the
stoot is a clean feeder. At different times I have tried a large square of
corridor soap, a simulation pancake, three pounds of tough beefsteak or
American bacon, or a volume of Sir HENRY HOWORTH'S _History of the
Mongols_, and never without satisfactory results.
On arriving at the feeding ground of the stoot, cast your line well out
from the boat with a small howitzer. You wait anxiously for the first bite;
suddenly the hawser runs taut and there is a scream from the reel. But do
not be afraid of the reel screaming. In the circumstances it is a very good
sign. Plant the butt of your rod or pole firmly in the socket fitted for
the purpose in all motor-stooter boats and let the fish run for about a
parasang, and then strike and strike hard. The battle is now begun. Be
prepared for a series of tremendous rushes. You will see the stoot's huge
bulk dash out of the water; you will hear his voice, which resembles that
of the gorilla. This may go on for a long time: if the stoot be full-grown
it will take you quite an hour to bring him alongside the boat. Then comes
the problem of how to get him in--the hardest of all. The gaff, if possible
a good French _gaffe_, is indispensable, but the kilbin, a marine
life-preserver resembling a heavy niblick, is a handy weapon at this stage
of the conflict. Strike the fish on the head repeatedly--but never on the
tail--until he is paralysed and then grasp him firmly by the metatarsal fin
or, failing that, by the medulla oblongata, but keep your hands away from
his mouth. The teeth of the stoot are terribly sharp and pyorrhoea is not
unknown in this species.
Having got the fish on board you will need a spell of rest. An hour's
battle with a stoot is the most sudorific experience that I know, even more
so than my contests with red snappers at Mazatlan, in Mexico, or bat-fish
off the coasts of Florida. A complete change is necessary.
I have already spoken of the eating qualities of the stoot, which exceed
those of the tope. One is enough to provide sustenance for a small country
congregation. Cooked _en casserole_, or filleted, or grilled and stuffed
with Carlsbad plums, it is delicious.
And lastly it lends itself admirably to curing or preserving. Bottled stoot
is in its way as nutritious as Guinness's.
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