NATURE The false economy of fishing early-season trout

SPARE THE ROD Over fishing early-season brown trout means less healthy specimens like this brightly coloured, well-rounded 2lb fish, later on. 

The false economy of fishing early-season trout


Country sights and sounds
John Shelley

When I wrote of pike preying on frogs I was not advocating the use of the latter, dead or alive, to entice these or any other fish to the hook. To the contrary, I agree entirely with another writing angler who says ‘No man who was ever a boy could use a frog as bait’. The sense of wonder we felt when we found our first frog at the edge of that damp meadow should stay with us forever.
Now, with early season trout fishing underway the annual slaughter of spawned out, anorexic-looking trout is in full swing. Shoals of these fish currently swim over flooded farmland along the shores of the great lakes, searching for any morsel of food they might find, easy prey for the bait angler. The humble earthworm will take trout at any time of the year and is widely used, but there are other baits that work extraordinarily well during February and March.
Luncheon meat, for example, has a delicious, savoury smell that makes it a favourite among coarse anglers, for whom it takes a wide variety of fish. What’s that I hear? Gasps of disapproval? And why would that be?
The object of angling is to catch fish, is it not? Is it somehow more of a sin or unsporting to use a new bait that works better than another traditional one?
The number of trout taken by bank anglers varies from year to year; this time around we are getting mixed reports, with heavy bags being taken in some areas, while others fail to produce the goods altogether. And as always, in among the ranks of the lean and lanky there is the occasional deep-flanked, heavy-shouldered fellow of several pounds in weight.
‘Ha,’ says the lucky captor, ‘who was it that said February trout were in poor condition?’ as he hurries off to find another.
We must concede that not all are poor, that indeed there are fish that do not spawn every year, but remain in the lough while their companions run the rivers and streams. Spared the physically exhausting cycle of reproduction, they remain fat and fit, firm fleshed and bright in the eye even after death.
Sadly, it is often only when a fish has been killed that its true nature becomes evident. Pulled fresh from the water even the leanest specimen has that fabulous coppery back boldly spotted with black and vermillion; its fins are rigid, gills bright and belly firm. The first of the season! Into the bag it goes. The hook is quickly rebaited and cast out to the same spot and before a minute has passed a second trout comes thrashing to the bank to join the other in the angler’s creel.
With dusk falling and the day’s sport at an end the angler pulls out his catch to show it off. Could this really be the same brace of early afternoon? The bright metallic sheen has gone, replaced now by a dull, grey complexion. Those fins that had quivered with strength have collapsed upon themselves. The belly is soft as if the fish were already dead a week, the vent protruding, red and swollen, and the gills, the barometer of fish health, weak, pale pink, clinging.
Worse, when the fish is opened to be prepared for the oven, the belly cavity is bloody and slimy and the flesh lacks both texture and flavour. In truth it would have been better left alive. But then, in another month or so, it would have left the bait fishers domain and gone into deeper water to feed up on the insect hordes that appear in Spring Proper.
A trout can only be killed once. And logically, that trout needs only to produce one viable offspring before it becomes expendable. The 27,000 acres of Lough Mask are more than capable of sustaining the local population of trout. This last winter saw good spawning activity in many areas. Each spawning female trout produces hundreds and maybe thousands of eggs (a healthy 2lb female might yield from 1,000-3,000 ova).  That there are currently good numbers of trout in the lake is indisputable, as is the fact that even a moderate spawning run can easily make up any deficit in the overall population.
The question for us must be this: What do we want from our fishing? If the answer is ‘Barely-edible early-season dinners’ then yes, the law allows us to partake freely. On the other hand, we might want to see happy fisher tourist folk who take delight in a lake fed by clean streams, where speckled trout equal euro notes for those prepared to invest time and effort in one of the best things we ever had.
So spare that trout, or eat him if you must; then spare his fellow.