Richard Jernigan -> RE: Fake Wasabi Alert! (Feb. 8 2017 2:33:26)
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ORIGINAL: Leñador Interesting, you suppose these American fish preferences developed out of sport fishing? In my extended Texan family, sport fishing diverged from subsistence fishing only in my father's generation. During the Depression he was in the miitary, and so was among the few in the family who had a steady cash income. Before the discovery of oil and the arrival of irrigation the ranch was nearly a subsistence operation. The Gulf of Mexico and the bays behind the barrier islands were nearby. Men fished to provide food for their families. Among the most popular were redfish (spotted sea bass), speckled trout and flounder, tasty and plentiful. Drum were not quite so desirable, but stil acceptable. Salt water catfish and mullet, though plentiful, were not on the menu. Shrimp were also plentiful in the bays. Few had boats capable of navigating the Gulf. One of my uncles was an exception, having a moderate sized sailboat. Spanish and King mackerel appeared in seasonal "runs." During my father's youth little time or energy were spent on sport, but during a mackerel run you could catch enough fish to make the trip worthwhile. There was one exception to this. Up until the time I was 12 years old there were still expeditions of several days or even a week to one or other of the barrier islands. These islands were sand, from one to three miles wide, tens of miles long, and uninhabited. Back from the beach sparse grasses and other low growth partially anchored the dunes. An expedition of up to a dozen family members would set out across the bay to the island. In the early days for me most of the people traveled in 14-to-16 foot wooden skiffs, propelled by a single oarsman. Often one man would row the whole three or four miles from the mainland to the island. In later years there were small outboard motors. In a display of macho self confidence, we took beans, bacon, cornmeal, coffee and water, with pup tents to sleep in and blankets for cover. If we caught fish, we ate them. If not, it was beans, bacon and hushpuppies. No cornbread because we brought no buttermilk or baking soda. But we always caught fish. The first task after setting up the rudimentary camp was to seine for shrimp. The shallow water on the bay side contains patches of grassy seaweed. A fine mesh rectangular net, about 2 by 6 feet, was fastened along each end to a wooden stick. Two people, one at each end, would work the net through a patch of "grass" and fill bait buckets with shrimp. Then it was time to set up trot lines. Water in the bays is seldom more than six feet deep. There are stretches for miles of water more shallow than that. A line of slender wooden poles, 15 or 20 feet apart, were driven into the sand or mud bottom. A line stretched between the poles, and from it descended other lines at 4 or 5 foot intervals, with floats, hooks and weights dangling into the water. The hooks were baited, then we got into the boats and fished with poles for trout over oyster beds, or redfish over sandy bottom, again using shrimp for bait. Out of the whole crew only one or two would have something as fancy as a rod and reel. It was cane poles and woven fishing line, with a short plastic leader. We usually caught enough fish for the evening meal. After dark we would sometimes go gigging for flounder. A flounder gig is a steel fork with two sharp pointed tines, fixed to the end of a four-foot stick. You shuffle along-- usually barefoot in those days--through sandy bottomed patches of shallow water, some people bearing bright gasoline lanterns. If you see a legal size flounder, you stick it with the gig. It is illegal for a flounder gig to have barbs on the tines, so you reach under the fish and bring it to the surface, before putting it on the stringer hitched to you belt. Woe betide the man or boy who mistakes a stingray for a flounder. The next day we ran the trot lines. If a float was submerged or bobbing in the water, we knew there was a fish on the hook. The size and species of the catch varied. We only took trout and redfish of legal size. One morning when I was eight or nine years old I was in the bow of a skiff, lifting fish into the boat. One float was sunk out of sight. I reached down and pulled on the line. Something very heavy was on the other end. I pulled harder and it pulled back. I went into the water, but it was less than four feet deep. I had to have help to get the 45-pound redfish into the boat. I have never seen or heard of one so big since that day. Now fast forward to the late 1950s-early 1960s, when my father retired, first from the Air Force, then from a stint as stockbroker in San Antonio. They moved to Corpus Christi on the coast. Dad went fishing at least once a week, usually twice, with his regular buddies. He owned a 19-foot "deep-vee" molded plywood boat with dual 40-horsepower outboards. It was hauled on a trailer behind a slightly superannuated Cadillac, and launched from a public boat ramp. This boat was for fishing in the bays. Dad knew the entire stretch of water from Corpus Christi to Port Mansfield (we used to call it Redfish Bay) like the back of his hand: every sandbar and oyster bed for nearly a hundred miles--or so it seemed to me. On a plane, his bay boat would do 25 knots, so he covered a sizable area over the course of a few months. His other boat was a mahogany and chrome 42-foot Chris Craft. It was bought new in 1952 by a friend of a friend. When the first owner retired from sport fishing, he sold it to Dad's friend. When that friend got too old, he sold it to Dad. All three owners maintained the boat in pristine condition. It looked like a prized piece of furniture. Berthed at the T-head docks in the Corpus Christi marina it was maintained and driven by a retired shrimp boat captain from Mexico, who practically lived aboard the boat. He said he had nothing else to do except to see his grandchildren. Usually once a week there would be an expedition out to the blue water of the Gulf Stream, weather permitting. The weather had to be fairly strenuous not to permit it. One of my cousins held the record for being seasick more often than anybody else. Mackerel were still an objective in the Gulf, but leisure and prosperity enabled the pursuit of marlin and sailfish. Dad was the best sport fisherman I ever knew, or knew of. He always caught the first fish. He always caught the most fish. But if they weren't biting, he and my brother both could spend a whole day on the water, starting at first light and coming back to shore in early evening without a single bite, and enjoy themselves immensely. I was in my thirties before I learned to bring a book, a cigar and a thermos of coffee for days like that. So from my personal perspective it was the other way around. Sport fishing tastes evolved from subsistence. Going after the big ones in the Gulf was enabled by prosperity and leisure. But Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea" is for me perhaps his greatest book. It's the account of an old Cuban fisherman, almost too old to keep at it, without a single catch for many weeks, setting out in his tiny skiff for the blue water, further out than any reasonable person would go, and his epic struggle with a giant marlin. RNJ
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