Convergence '20: Death Throws

The gently undulating body of a dying sea lamprey brushed against my leg, as blind to the fact that I was a living organism as it was to the rest of its surroundings. Sea lamprey, like Pacific salmon, die after they spawn. They don't eat for months at a time during their trip into the freshwater streams of the northeast in which they build their nests and deposit and fertilize their eggs. By the time they're finished spawning, they are just about spent. Many rot alive, going completely blind and loosing more and more strength until they succumb, settle to the bottom, and return their nutrients to the river.

People hate lampreys. They don't look pleasant, their rings of teeth and suction cup like mouth strike fear in many. That their bodies are serpentine does not help; the prejudice against snakes and snake-like animals persists to this day. Fisherman accuse them of killing their favorite game species, swimmers fear that they'll bite them and suck their blood like giant leeches, but in reality, in the case of sea lamprey in their native range, these fears are based entirely in falsehoods. The reality is that sea lamprey are on of the most valuable and important species in our waters. Cut off the run of sea lamprey into freshwater rivers, and you cut off the nutrient delivery train. The lipid rich bodies of lampreys, alive or dead, feed, well, just about everything in the ecosystem. Pacific salmon follow an extremely similar life history and are also a huge sea-to-river nutrient carrying species. Salmon, though, are blessed with objectively beautiful physical characteristic. Salmon are highly regarded around the world, almost everyone that knows anything about them wants there to be more salmon and realizes how important they are. Lamprey, on the other hand....
I let this mottled, serpentine, rotting, animal brush by my bear leg and thought to myself how beautiful it was. This individual, in its final death throws, wasn't long from falling limp into the rocks to be ravaged by caddis and stonefly larvae, crayfish, minnow, and juvenile eels. It had likely successfully passed on it's genetic material to a new generation, which would live as tiny larvae in the bed of the river, grow large enough to head out to sea, grow large by feeding on the blood of large deep water fish species that they'd be too small to kill, before eventually carrying the nutrients they attained at sea back into this very stream, to start the cycle again.
I don't think I've ever heard or seen anyone else call a sea lamprey beautiful. Not once. But they are and they deserve to be recognized as such. I will shout it from the hilltops until the day I'm dead. These fish matter. We need them.

This is a beautiful animal. 

As I watched this amazing fish init's final death throws, I recognized that it symbolized the death throws of the herring and striper season in these waters as well. As the lamprey are about done spawning and the last few stragglers are in the river, the herring have all but disappeared and what bass are left have turned focus to other foods. The fishing might still be good, and can definitely be quite interesting. But the run is about to end. Any evening the fish could disappear. I wasn't even here for striped bass this night, but there they were, up shallow, feeding on who knows what. Darters, juvenile eels., golden stonefly nymphs, helgramites... the answer isn't clear as I couldn't and wouldn't stomach pump these fish to see. But they liked something buggy over something fishy.

This has been the story year after year. The herring disappear as the water warms and gets low. There's one last blast, a bug bite, small stripers, five weight fish in five weight water feeding on small food items. Then suddenly there's a full stop, the bass thin out and become unforgettable, and other species become the new focus in these waters. But those death throw days can be something special. This one was. The fish weren't big at all but on the five and 6 pound tippet, it hardly mattered. The larger ones ran hard and fast, like flats fish in equally clean cold water do. I caught many.

 Perhaps more exciting though was the number of white perch in the mix. Silly though this may seem, tidal water white perch are a nemesis of mine. Noah and I have put hours into the winter fishery unsuccessfully. But here they were, very suddenly, and it seemed like I might get a nice one any moment in the mix with the bass and the more typical sized perch. It happened at dusk. I had switched to a small gurgler by then which was drawing strikes but not getting many hookups. I was mostly okay with that, I'd given enough small stripers mouth piercings. But then it got blasted, I strip set, and the fish fought very much unlike the others had. It was a white perch of the caliber I'd been seeking for years. This was the fish of the night.

Though the herring run had ended and the very next night there wasn't a bass to be found in the same spots, this ended up being one of the most memorable nights of the whole run. It was a fitting end as it was a strong reminder of why it's worth going right up until the end and then some. I hate to miss something amazing. Even in the dying gasps of the herring run some remarkable events transpire.

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

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