Forgotten Treasures #19: THE SPECKLED BROOK TROUT--PART III

THE SPECKLED BROOK TROUT

PART III: THE HABITS OF THE TROUT.

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Most prominent among the trouts-in fact, of any of the American fishes which
the anglers of this country prize as a quarry-is the brook or red-spotted
trout, Salvelinus fontinalis. These technical appellatives are derived from
Salvelinus, said to be the old name of the char, and fontinalis, "living in
springs." Unlike many other game fishes, it has but few common or popular
names and is know among anglers simply as the "brook, speckled or
red-spotted trout."



It is a pure char and the most beautiful of our fresh-water fauna, the more
so from the mantle of rose and violet which it wears, the mellow diffusion
of which from gills to base of caudal at once suggests the descriptive
phrase so often heard among anglers, "the bloom of the trout." Nor is our
admiration lessened as we examine his clipper-built form, the bright
vermilion dotlets with their dark-blue areola, the strength and symmetry of
his paired fins, and the broad sweep of his truncate tail, and when we have
him hard and fast upon a barbed hook and a springing rod, we cannot fail to
appreciate his knightly qualities, his sturdy resistance, and keen
intelligence in his effort to escape from the steel.



Premising that an angler will recognize on sight this brook beauty, aptly
and poetically known as "the pride of the rills" wherever he is taken on a
light rod and dancing fly, we will now look into his home life and take note
of his habits, habitat, and idiosyncrasies, for he is not without a few odd
traits and actions. Fontinalis-"living in springs"-is without doubt the
most amply descriptive, specific name that ichthyologists have ever bestowed
upon a fish, for take a trout from its native and highly aerated home and it
will die if placed in water of a higher temperature; put him in a large
aquarium tank and ice it as you may, and his life is only a question of a
few months; the solstice season ends it. At the New York Aquarium, where
every appliance for the preservation of fish-life is at hand and
intelligently used, the brook trout can seldom be kept from season to
season.



Living thus in pure waters, the habits of the trout naturally partake of the
character of its environment, if we except the fact that he seems to be
somewhat of a gourmand. We have frequently taken them on the fly when the
head and shoulders of a half-swallowed minnow was sticking from their
mouths, which would seem to indicate a tremendous gorging habit; but, on the
other hand, even this trait would seem to show their eagerness of pursuit
for the most delicate entrée of their water menu, the insects of the pools,
hence all anglers with whom to decry their brook beauty is to blaspheme
nature, would be disposed to call him a gourmet rather than a glutton.



But be this as it may, when a brook trout is hungry, he is very much like
all other creatures of the earth, air, and water, including the human
family-he will eat what he can get, his own spawn-child, minnows of all
kinds, earthworms and grubs, crawfish and dobsons, all living things of the
water-bottoms, and insects of the air that fall upon the surface of the
pool. But he is, without doubt, one of the most energetic and persistent
foragers for food that our waters contain. We find him dashing over and
through the shallows in chase of frightened minnows; breasting the wild
waters of the rapids while awaiting the drifting bug or other surface-washed
food, and then again we find him leaping for hours into the air,
particularly in the gloaming, for the midges, the no-see-ums, or the
mosquito fry, born and fledged by the rays of a single day's summer sun. He
has been charged with nastiness of appetite because small snakes are eaten
by him. Why not eat them? The Chinaman loves his puppy pottage, the
Mexican Indian his grasshopper pudding, and the Southern negro his carrion
buzzard stew. The trout will not eat carrion food of any description, yet
the French Creole of Louisiana is said to hang his wild duck outside the
kitchen walls until the atmosphere is soaked with the fowl's decaying odors,
before he cooks and eats it. Again, I very much doubt if a trout could be
tempted to nibble at a thread of boiled sauer-kraut or even a crumb of a
Welsh-rarebit, at Limburger cheese or a Spanish Olla-podrida. Delicacy of
taste and appetite, per se, are seldom, if ever, correlative, but both are
strongly, and often strangely, individualized in all creatures of this world's
habitat.



The habits of the trout being born of the springs, with an environment, the
beauty and almost kaleidoscopic condition of which, changing with every
glint of a sunbeam through the foliage, are, as has been noted, in touch and
quality with its habitat. He seeks the purest portions of the home stream,
loving the white-capped aeration of the strong currents, and the mouths of
the little rill-like tributaries which not only bring down food for his
well-developed appetite, but a fresh supply of oxygen for his arterial
system. Whenever he is found in a pool of quiet water, a long stretch of
which often exists in large trout-streams, he is less forceful in action,
lazily and leisurely taking surface lure, and robing himself with a more
subdued coloration, which latter, however, seems to illuminate the vermilion
spots on its body and deepen the glow of the blue areola around each dotlet
tinged with a scarlet hue.



Among the fly-fishermen for trout we often hear these characteristic
phrases: "He is a slow striker," or "a quick striker," and these qualities
when applied to the methods of an angler seem to satisfy his brethren of the
craft as to the reasons for success, or the lack of it, in the rodster under
discussion. Experience has shown, however, that slow or quick striking on
the part of the angler has much less to do with success in scoring than the
well-established fact that trout of different waters, even of the same
waters where the physical conditions are changing with nearly every rod of
its downpour, have varied ways of taking a fly when it is deftly thrown to
them. In long, quiet pools overhung with alder growth from which insects
are falling constantly the trout has the habit of coming leisurely to the
surface, lazily as it were, taking the fly in its mouth in a manner
indicating a duty rather than a physical necessity, closing its jaws slowly
upon the feathers and then quietly turning tail and returning to its lair
below. Now, such fish are a glory to the "slow striker"; he will creel
every one of them that rises to his flies. But, then and again, taking the
same stream, just above this quiet pool, where a strong rapid is boiling and
foaming over the rocks in mid-stream, and "the slow striker" is all afield.
A quick eye with the nerves all aglow, an instantaneous turn of the wrist
when the slightest swirl in the water is seen, or the faintest pluck at the
feathers is felt, are the only assurances of a successful outing.



Much discussion arose, some years ago, as to the trout flopping its tail at
a floating bug, in its efforts to disable or drown it and thus render its
prey more easy to capture. In rapid or turbulent waters this never occurs;
in a large quiet one it has been my good fortune to witness it nearly every
day for about a fortnight. This delightful experience was awarded me on the
Ontonagon River, some fifteen miles from Watersmeet, Mich. The trout,
averaging about half a pound each, lived in a pool with but little current,
nearly 300 feet in length and fifty in breadth, the banks of which were
densely grown with large alders, the branches overhanging some six or eight
feet on each side of the pool. The trout seemed to be loitering expectant
under the shadows of the alders for falling insects, which now and then
would drop into the water. There was no rush, no flash in the pool of a
velvet-robed, red-dotted arrow, but a sluggish coming to the surface of a
sombre fin with a sort of aristocratic leisure, self-satisfied and confident
of success, but a seeming indifference as to the result. It would open its
relatively ponderous jaws, gulp down the insect, and leisurely turn tail for
the bottom. At least one out of every five of these trout, as if more lazy
or less hungry than its congeners of the pool, would rise nearly to the
surface and flop its tail over the floating bug, seldom if ever missing its
aim, and so far as I could see, the insect being under water, secured its
prey at every sweep of the caudal fin. I noted that the fish with this
habit were always, seemingly, the largest trout in the swim, hence their
sluggish, lazy way of "taking things as they come," even food or anything
else of material value in the economy of fish-life.



Since the days of old Juliana Benners of 1486, who wrote the first printed
book on fishing, writers on angling have described the trout as a leaping
fish when on the hook, with acrobatic efforts to free themselves from it.
No angling outing could be described or a monograph written on this fish
without an allusion to his rapid, aerial, and ofttimes successful gyrations
to escape. In a trout-angling experience of about half a century but one
instance of a trout, when hooked, leaping into the air, on a slack line, has
occurred to me. True, this fish, when tightly held, will come to the
surface, with its head and part of its body out of the water, and sometimes
with the entire body at length on the surface as it fights frantically to
escape, but the angler's rod held tightly and upward causes this; given a
slack line and the trout will surge deep. On the one occasion when the
exception above noted occurred, the trout was struck in the middle of a
small pool, and a bowlder protruded its head from the surface of the left
side about six inches with a breadth of two feet. Holding tightly, the fish
surged deep to the left, and when within a foot of the rock, and unable to
go around its lower side because of a the strain of the line, and fearing
still more its human enemy in front, the fish suddenly leaped into the air
on a slack line, and over the top of the bowlder, but this unusual strategic
action did not save him; in a few moments he was in my creel.





The size of a trout at its different stages of growth depends upon the area
of the water in which it lives, the food therein, and vigor and health of
the individual, hence this fish and all other species show characteristic
and personal physical traits: some are large and vigorous for their age;
others are stunted and feeble, in fact, the natural law of the "survival of
the fittest" is supreme among the fauna of the world, whether of the air,
the water, or the land, extending, as all know, to the genus homo. Hence it
is somewhat difficult to decide upon the age of a trout from its size,
weight, coloration, or specific form, but, as a rule, the average growth of
a trout is about one ounce for the first year, eight to ten ounces in two
years, and one pound in three years. These sizes are naturally and
relatively increased where their habitat is fully supplied with food and
where the water is of higher temperature than in the pure spring streams.
For instance, the trout of the Rangeley Lakes in Maine grow to the weight of
ten pounds or more; they are pure Salvelinus fontinalis, a classification
which some anglers have been disposed to doubt. These trout have become
acclimated in the Rangeleys, and, doubtless, their scions from generation to
generation and for thousands of years have transmitted to those of the
present day the constitutional aptitude to adapt themselves to the higher
temperature of these lakes, where food is plenty and constant foraging for
it not imperative, as it is in smaller mountain-streams and other waters.



On the approach of the spawning season, which usually occurs in September,
October, and November, but is dependent upon the latitude and temperature of
the stream or pond, the trout makes its way upward nearly to the sources of
the clear, cold spring water brooks, giving preference to those that flow
rapidly over gravelly bottoms. Here it selects a spot near the bank and the
females flops with the tail the sand from her nest and uses her nose to push
the gravel aside, thus forming a slightly concave hollow, in which she
deposits her eggs, and the male emits the milt upon them almost at the same
time. The parent trouts leave their nests immediately after the act of
spawning is completed, giving no parental care to either the ova or their
young, a trait so beautifully exhibited by the black-bass, the sunfish, and
the lowly "catty." In about an average of eighty days, qualified by the
temperature of the water-125 days in that of 37° F., and fifty days in 50°
F.-the young are hatched and the fry thenceforth take care of themselves as
best they may, the food-bag, or more properly the umbilical sac, which is
attached to their bellies, sustaining life for thirty to forty days. It is
estimated that not more than five per cent. of the young trout hatched in
native waters escape from their enemies and attain maturity; by fish-culture
methods, to which we are indebted for the perpetuation of the trout, a
percentage of eighty to ninety per cent. is ordinarily reached.



In studying the trout physiologically, we find that its senses are not more
acutely developed than those of the other so-called game fishes, in fact,
not as much so as those of the small-mouthed black-bass, a fish as quickly
alarmed or as "skittish" as the trout, but with more varied and intelligent
resources for escape from the hook. There is no question, however, as to
the high development of the senses of sight, taste, and hearing in the
trout. He is always on the alert for food or enemies, with his head
up-stream, poising in silence and beauty of form, and, at times, as
motionless, seemingly ossified, as a brook-pickerel, which of all fishes is
the most statuesque in repose, and one of the swiftest in action. Every
angler is aware of the danger of having the shadow of his body, his uplifted
rod, or that of his line thrown across a quiet pool; instant alarm and
speeding to his home lair, like a thread of fire, is the result. We have
seen a trout shy and dart downward at the shadow of a butterfly fluttering
over the water, and a low-skimming swallow will send this brook beauty of
ours frantically up and down, or crosswise the pool. No other fish, to my
knowledge, is so affected by shadows on the water.



The sense of taste in the trout is more fully attuned to nicety than that
possessed by many other fishes. If the lure used to entice him be dead, it
must be fresh and sweet; he touches nothing that is not pure and clean. If
the artificial fly is thrown to him in swift waters, he quickly recognizes
the gritty impact of the steel and spits it out at once, hence the value of
"quick striking" in rapid streams.



The sense of hearing in all species of fish is a matter of concussion on the
surface of the water. Sit motionless in a boat, and you may sing "I Won't
Go Home 'Till Morning," or any other gala song, to the extreme high limit of
your voices, and the trout or any other fish will remain undisturbed, but
scratch your toe upon the bottom of the boat and, presto! the pool is as
dead and barren as a burned prairie. Approach a pool from over the bank
with a careless tread, and when you reach it the trout are gone, none know
where. Crawl to the pool noiselessly on all-fours and you will find your
trout reposing without fear of danger. The avoidance of concussion is the
great factor on a trout pool or stream in getting a satisfactory creel;
slide, rather than step, in wading and your success will be greater.



Trout feed at all hours of the day and night, yet it would seem that in many
waters their hunger approaches a maximum as the dusk of the day gathers on
the stream, or it may be, and doubtless is, that as the shadows fall their
sense of security increases. It is at this hour that insect life is most
abundant, particularly the moths and mosquitoes, and trout will often be
found jumping for the latter and puzzling the angler, who is at a loss to
account for the feeding fish ignoring his feathers. This is easily
explained. The trout are busy feeding on tine "skeets," and nothing but a
gray-midge fly tied on No. 18 or 20 hooks will lure them. We have taken
trout with such flies up to midnight on both dark and moonlight nights.



The accepted rule that a white miller or other very light-colored flies are
the only ones that will attract a trout as the night falls is subject to
modification, for this fish is excessively fond of crickets and grasshoppers
and lie, purdue, at night along the banks of the stream, where bushes grow
thickly close to the water, to feed upon these creatures. Hence when
fishing in the evening it would be well for the rodster to vary the dressing
of his flies to that of the black hackle or dark Alexandria. We have taken
trout of large sizes and in quantities at the foot of a dam where the water
was falling and churning into foam by casting a black fly upon the white
area.



All of us have seen trout, particularly as the dusk grows, leaping into the
air and apparently frolicking, for no lure will entice them. Doubtless,
this fish, as black-bass and sometimes yellow-perch certainly do, indulge in
such antics from causes unknown to us. Perhaps it is from hygienic reasons,
or it may be that our brook beauty enjoys a romp now and then just for the
"fun of the thing." In nine cases out of ten, however, when these fish are
rollicking, as it were, they will be found feeding on minute winged insects
that are floating in the air from two to six inches above the surface of the
pool, as the newly born mosquito is apt to do, or fontinalis may be pleasing
his palate by a feast on the no-see-ums, which the angler can feel to his
discomfort but cannot see.



At night we have seldom found trout feeding in the rapids; in the daytime
they will be frequently found there, even when the water is shallow and the
sun's rays are reflected from every pebble on the bottom of the stream.
This practice of feeding in rapid water is exceptional among the so-called
game fishes of our inland streams. The black-bass lies occasionally in the
eddies at the side of rapids, but seldom, if ever, ventures into the current
except, perhaps, for a dash at a victim, and then a quick return to the
relatively quiet eddy. The perches and the sunfishes, which include all
species of fresh-water basses, are never found in rapids, and the modest
chub, ubiquitous as he is, only seeks strong waters to escape the ravenous
jaws of the black-bass, impelled to do so by his reasoning instinct that the
black-bass does not enter such waters to feed. So we must assign to the
trout the quality of muscular activity and vigor of search for food in
turbulent waters beyond that possessed by any other fresh-water fish. The
wannanish, or ouananiche, of the Grande Déscharge of Lake St. John, Quebec,
a kindred congener of the trout, is the most striking example of this
quality. In this tempestuous water large rocks lie hither and yon and close
together and the boiling current dashes in volume and foam through and over
them at times at least fifty feet at race-horse speed. In such a habitat
the wannanish is at home, and in keeping with the character of it shows game
qualities beyond those of any other member of the salmon family.


The environment of a mountain trout-stream is elevating to the nature and
mood of anyone who reposes on the banks of the brook or wanders along its
shores, yet we have been told that fishing is a lazy man's idling, and the
saying has become somewhat of an axiom with those who do not angle or value
a knowledge of the natural history of the water fauna of the country.
Fascinating as this study is, as it is taught in books, it becomes doubly so
when associated with an angler's life on the stream, where the phases of
animate nature are ceaselessly changing and with every change unfolding a
new delight. It is not an idle hour to study the self-containment and
posing of a patriarchal trout, in his knot-rooted home-pool, or the wild
enjoyment of the giddy troutlets, just out of school, as it were, who seem
to be playing a game of shuttles with their tails as battle-doors among the
fluttering and falling insects of the stream; to watch the frightened
minnows on the shallows, the poise of expectant and hungry yearlings, or the
busy spawners on the gravel-beds; to be charmed by the kaleidoscopic color
flashes as the sun rays or shadows fall and shift upon and over the rifts
and pools; to note the sedate and overhanging alders, under which the lazy
veterans of the reaches listlessly rise to the dropping bugs; to repose in a
moss-bedded nook of verdure and watch the curling lips of tiny eddies, or
the wild rush of mountain-waters; to enjoy the placidity of hill-environed
lakes or to hear the innumerable and mysterious utterances from out of the
hollows, from the hill-sides, and from the hurling waters and the depths of
the forest.

END PART III