Bob Simpson
PELTIER CREEK--We were surrounded by the gray dead of last year's woods speckled with the fire of swamp maple, the silvery gray of Spanish moss and new greens peeking out as to see if the frost had departed.
Overhead, vultures circled, vapor trails of passing aircraft playing tick-tack-toe across the intensely deep blue of a spring sky. A skittering of waterbugs danced about us. Beyond, a couple of dozen boats worked upstream, some anchored, others milling about, lines arching, lures splashing as they flailed the dark, quiet waters of Pitchkettle Creek.
We were seeking to seduce those silent stalkers of the deep, those powerful creatures with bodies shielded by plates of overlapping silver armor. It's called shad fishing, a more laid-back, rural, countrified style of angling. No uniform is required, as in trout vests and tweed hats, or marlin fishing's long-billed caps. Yet here is a fast and agile fish with few equals.
Known as the "poor man's tarpon," shad are members of the herring-like fishes, family Clupeidae, as in menhaden, alewives, herrings, sardines, and more important, related to the incomparable bonefish and tarpon.
Our early founders of this nation found the American shad by far the preferred fish, such illustrious leaders as Washington and Jefferson considered shad so superior that attempts to substitute salmon were considered insulting.
Found in two basic forms, the hickory and the white or American. The Latin name for the American is Alosa sapidissima, roughly translated, Alosa meaning shad and sapidissima meaning the ultimate in savory or the most pleasing to the taste.
Hickory, also known as shad herring, has a formal Latin name of Alosa mediocris. That translates to "of mediocre quality."
Both normally deep ocean-dwellers, they enter fresh waters only to spawn. A female may deposit from an average of 28,000 to a 156,000 eggs at a time. Although many die in the spawning efforts, a large percentage return to the ocean to repeat the process. Surviving juveniles remain in fresh waters until reaching 4 to 6 inches, before returning to sea and maturity. In reaching maturity in two to four years, they, too, return for spawning.
We were working a deep hole, 30 to 40 or more feet, at the junction of the main river and a small feeder stream, where we had found fish before. Plankton eaters, shad do no or little feeding during their spawning runs. Yet, when sufficiently irritated, they can be induced to hit small feathers and shad darts. It could well be a defensive strike, for up to half of our landings were snagged in the cheek or alongside the head.
I chose a single rig with a red-and-white yellow-feathered shad dart. Casting cross-stream with a fairly fast retrieve seemed the most productive. Color preferences vary with the weather, such as white or gold during overcast or rainy spells.
The sun was warm, fishing slow. I had landed a couple of medium-sized hickories earlier, 12 to 18 inches, the larger inevitably roe-bearing females, the smaller, bucks.
I was in a half-state of dozing when it struck.
A solid hit that bent my ultra-light rod double. I was loaded with 4-pound test, and that fish was ripping line off the spool as if its tail had been set afire. After a speed run, it took to acrobatics, sailing into the air, dancing on its tail and porpoising, a series of leaps of 4 or more feet. Then it sounded. Down. Deep. As it headed for some downed trees, I was fully convinced I had lost the contest. I applied as much pressure as I dared, but the fish seemed unstoppable, until just at the last moment it turned and began jumping again.
Gradually, I worked the silver torpedo closer. Gene, manning the net, was giving advice and encouragement. Another deep dive, then it turned, a steady pumping of the rod, it slowly moved upward, only to make another spectacular run, but this time it made the mistake of coming too close to Gene and the waiting dip net.
I was elated, an American shad, about 4 pounds, perhaps 20-plus inches.
Filled with bread stuffing and baked slowly, the Alosa sapidissima was a savory ultimate.
Correspondent Bob Simpson can be reached by mail at 4500 Termite Lane, Morehead City, NC, 28557
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