Food Chain Fishing: The Snail's Revenge

I was in charge of my 7 and 9 year-old sons and their two pre-teen boy cousins for a day at the Cape last summer.  Wanting to avoid any chance that they would be zombied by an electronic screen for the day, I made a bold claim:  “We’re going Food Chain Fishing.”  When the boys asked what I was talking about, I explained. 

As the only present male members of the “tribe” around for this day, it was our job to catch food.  We would eat tonight only what we caught with our own hands.  And?  We would bring only three tools:  A sharp knife, fishing rods (with hooks) and a net.

They looked at me as if I had told them we were going to Mars to fish the afternoon tide. 

Quickly though, they started to take to the idea.  The importance of being the “sole” providers for our families brings out ancient instincts in kids.  Soon, they had taken the lead on packing up and we were off to a nearby tidal river, our mission firmly in mind.

The weather was very hot.  When we arrived at the trailhead, sand underfoot was already hot enough to force a running pace in bare feet.  The tide would be moving in for most of our hunting time and we got right to work. 

Step one, I explained to the little hunters, was to consider the possibilities of the menu. 

“Stripers!” the youngest one began, optimistically. 

“Maybe” I said, knowing the small likelihood of that happening in mid-day in mid-July. 

“Blue Crabs?” my 10 year-old asked. 

“Definitely.” I replied.  We had seen good numbers at the bridge a mile away the day before.  We noticed a fisherman in hip deep water pulling in good sized Scup not far down river and we had our second menu item targeted.  Snapper Bluefish was the decided third menu item and we set to it. 

Step two:  How to catch the Crabs, Snappers and Scup?  I remembered from my earliest days on the RI coastline, my father teaching us that you could use Periwinkles to pull Mummichogs from the marsh pools at Quonochontaug.  We crushed a few of the thousands of snails around us and tried our luck with good success.  The sport of yanking the three inch minnows from the water as their lips gripped the snail bodies was good stuff for the under 13 crowd and we probably could have spent most of the day doing just that if we didn’t refocus on “feeding the tribe“.

Step three:  Putting the Mummichogs on a hook is the early fisherman’s dilemma.  Most 7 year-olds are still sensitive enough to know that “hurting” other things isn’t good.  Luckily, they had me as a guide whose karma has been shattered enough by years of live-lining that I could teach the art of “fishing rationalization” – to catch big fish, you usually have to hurt little fish.  After the first cast produced a 12-inch Bluefish, everyone was pretty good with sacrificing the Mummichogs.  We set the 10 year old and one of the cousins on Bluefish duty.  They got to it with gusto.

Step four:  The Blue Crabs.  We had seen them cruising the shallows around us and we sacrificed the first Snapper Blue for bait.  One cousin and the 7 year old worked as a team baiting and netting with me as the “measurer”.  We began to gather the crabs with consistency and our feast was building. 

Step five:  Chasing Scup.  Watching the fisherman near us, we realized we’d need either live Mummichogs or pieces of Bluefish as bait for Scup.  We baited a double line with one of each and began Scupping.  After a few small keepers the 7 year old took over the duties as “Chief Scupper” and the rest of us wandered around hunting some of the other prey.  Soon, the fisherman (who had begun watching our crew amusedly) called out to me that the little guy might need some help.  Looking the 80 yards downstream to him, I saw him backing up on our little patch of sand lifting a large fluke from the water on his now tripled-over pole.  We all began sprinting up to him as he simple smiled broadly at all of us and said “I got a big one!”

The fluke measured 18” and, after proclaiming him “the Fluke Whisperer”, we promptly surveyed our total catch:  5 Scup, 8 good sized Snapper Blues, 6 Blue Crabs and the Fluke.  The boys beamed with pride as we hauled dinner back toward the car.  When we arrived back at the house, we surprised our families with dinner plans that none of them had known about.  There was much joy and pride from the successful “hunters”.  With a little corn and salad  (and Old Bay) tossed in, the meal was fit for kings,…or at least tribal chiefs.

The epilogue to the story involves the “Snail’s Revenge”.  A few nights after the big catch, my oldest awoke at midnight complaining of itchy ankles.  The next day, it looked like a good-sized spider had delivered a string of about 20 nasty bites on his ankles and feet.  We applied ointment and watched him struggle with the irritation for days.  I was angry at the spider but thought little of his pain, thinking that he needed to “toughen up” a bit, until I woke up at midnight with my own “pain”.  The “bites” had visited me.  Thinking little of coincidence, I called over to the cousins house.  The cousins were also reeling from the “bites”.  With a little more research we found our answer:  The Revenge of the Snail!  In very warm weather in some estuaries on the east coast, some species of Periwinkles spawn.  Their microscopic eggs take hold in anything they drift upon, including human ankle flesh.  We dealt with the pain for three solid weeks until the sores disappeared and we have not been back to “food chain fish” lately.