• My First Trout
• A Personal Code of Ethics
• Dame Juliana Berners
• Cultural Values in Alaska's Sport Fisheries: A Question of Respect
• Catch and Release
• How to fish crowded spots

When I was ten I dreamed of catching a trout. I came from a family of non-anglers but I lived to fish. We lived just up the road from my grandparent's farm in the Connecticut River Valley. The farm had been in the family for hundreds of years. We were what the locals called "Swamp Yankees", the scion of the original English farmers who had settled the area in the 1600s.

No one else fished in my family. Even so, as with all true swamp yankees, we never threw out anything either, so there was a corner of my grandfather's gun room which held fishing poles, reels and hooks. Broken cane rods tangled their lines with rusted hooks poking from gobs of feather and dried worms. I found a pre-World War II bakelite (pre-plastic plastic) bait casting reel with what must have been thirty feet of fifty-pound woven line and a stout metal rod in the pile. I used this tackle to fish in the local farm-polluted creek and a neighbor's stock pond for bluegills and catfish.

My wallpaper was covered with deep-sea boats and anglers fighting huge sailfish. I read "Big Two-Hearted River" again and again. I tore through old issues of Sports Afield and Outdoor Life hungry for everything I could read about fishing, but stories about trout and the wilderness where they were found cast a special spell on me. I believed all good resided in trout.

So, back at the dawn of time (around 5:00 A.M.)on April 15, Opening Day, when I was ten, I crawled from my bed, dressed and crept out of the house. I retrieved my worm can from the cellar steps, lashed it and my rod to my bike and pedaled off to find trout.

The nearest reported trout stream lay in a valley miles from home. I intended to be on the water at 6:00 am when the season opened. It was barely light, still cold in the damp spring air. I rode out the lane past our field of paper-capped strawberry plants, past the fog-draped shade tobacco fields with their pole and wire frames, over a series of long low hills with farm dogs barking me along, down wide curves past new homes where people I did not know slept. I pedalled past more fields, more turnings, over a waterless creek bed, up long steep hills.

As I gained the top of the final hill, the sun sprang through the trees across the long valleys behind me. I would not be late for the opening. I charged down the steep grade beyond, past more fields, hedge rows of brush and tobacco barns. Finally, the brush closed in on both sides of the road, the cold damp that I knew signaled a stream engulfed me and I saw a narrow bridge ahead.

It was barely bigger than the raised cement curbs at the culvert near my house. I had expected a real bridge and a clear, deep stream befitting trout. This was just a wide bench of concrete on either side of the black-topped lane. I expected to see water the color of mud, but it was clear. It bubbled over gravel where it emerged from a dark tunnel of brush upstream. The riffle slowed and the water deepened, darkening to Moxie-brown in the deepest part of the bridge pool.

I sat on the bridge, looking down into the clear-to-black water. The sun rose higher and,as sunlight hit the stream, the air came alive with bugs. I could see suckers as long as my forearm at the edge of the dark water below. They were big fish, larger than any I had caught. I threaded a worm onto my hook and tossed the split-shoted line and bait into the pool. Nothing at first, then, soon enough, one fish moved ever so slowly to my bait. It fought harder than I expected, but my stiff rod and woven line held. I finally dragged it to me on the bank. I unhooked it and started to throw it back when a man who had stopped his car in the road to watch asked if he might have it. He was pleased with it, but I was not: it was not a trout and I was not satisfied.

The stream and woods above the bridge belonged to a distant relative: I knew I would be welcome to fish there. I hiked up stream with my heavy rod and can of worms, entered the tunnel of brush, and slowed even more as the light turned nearly to dark, the tunnel's bright mouth rapidly closing behind me. I walked as far into the dark as I dared. With no light ahead and none behind, the day was simply shut off by the gloom of the brush. When from fear I could go no further, I turned back. I tried to fish, quickly drifting my worm through the water I had disturbed. I tried casting to the shallow pools and the undercut banks that might hide a trout, but I wanted to be back in the light. By the time I emerged back at the bridge, two other men were fishing for suckers.

I sat on the bridge and looked toward the field and water below the bridge. I had passed "No Trespassing" signs, but saw none beyond it. The stream must be open to fishing but I didn't know where the boundaries were. I could see a deep bend in the stream, with brush covered banks back across the meadow downstream. There had to be a pool there and trout. I asked the other fishermen if I could fish below the bridge. They did not know.

I climbed on my bike and pedaled back to the first driveway. I had never had someone tell me I could not fish on their property but this was a trout stream. I had to ask. It was early morning and I hesitated before ringing the bell. A woman opened the door. When I asked if I could fish the creek beyond the lawns, she laughed and said her husband wouldn't like it, but it was fine by her. She closed the door and I was left to puzzle it out. On the ride back to the bridge I concluded she had said "yes." I dropped my bike by the bridge and struck out across the field.

As I neared the bend in the stream I had to get down on my knees and crawl through the brush. I circled around a hedge of old raspberry canes and came into clumps of dense forsythia bushes, just beginning to unroll their raucous yellow flowers. I peered over the edge of the bank, and there below me swam my first trout. I knew it was mine. I baited my heavy line, tossed the hook upstream of the fish, and waited. My trout refused my worm. I fished until that worm drowned, then changed bait and fished again. My trout was steadfast. It refused all worms.

It knew I was there: it had seen me before I saw it. I crept back from the bank and waited. I fell asleep. When I awoke my last worm was just easing out the lip of the overturned can. I threaded it onto my hook, rolled silently toward the edge, held myself back. I eased the rod tip over the edge upstream of my trout. Ever so slowly I lowered the worm, till there was slack in the line. I waited. After a few minutes, I reeled in. My trout had nibbled the wiggling ends of my last worm away and left the remainder on the hook untouched. My trout spotted my hook? This trout was a smart fish.

I crept back through the brush and hurried to the roadside. I needed fresh bait. I tore clods of grass from their shallow roots along the shoulder, looking for local worms. That had to be it. My willy old trout could tell his worms from mine. I struggled to rip up a large chunk of sandy sod. It tore loose suddenly, tumbling me backward down the bank, the sand, grass, tar, glass, and worms raining down on me.

When I looked up two men were standing above me in the road, dressed in plaid shirts and wool pants with wicker baskets on their hips, rubber waders and long, thin cane rods. Their vest bulged, their hat brims ringed with flies. They were smiling down at me, and asked "How's fishing?"
I stammered, "I caught a sucker, but I gave it away. I'm really after trout."
"Looking for worms?" The older man said, "We saw you coming from the field. Any fish out there?"

I knew the game was over. I could not lie: that was part of the angler's code. "There's a big trout out there, in that bend under the bushes, but he knows all about worms..."
They were sure to catch him.

"Knows worms, does he?" The older fly fisher said as he rummaged in a vest pocket. He held out a piece of leader attached to a dry fly. He said, "This is an Adams, size 12. Float it over him."

They smiled at me, crossed the road and stepped over the other rail.
I was dumfounded. They left my trout for me and they gave me an Adams, size 12. No more worms! I managed to holler "Thanks!"
"Good luck!" echoed back from the dark opening.

My first trout didn't stand a chance.

Many sport anglers have a code of ethics-- rules which they use to define their behavior. These rules are set by each angler as an individual. They change as each of us become more involved with our sport. Our personal ethics are a code of responsibility toward nature and other anglers.

When we first learn to fish, most of us want to keep everything we catch. As we become more skilled anglers, we can kill many more fish than we may use. When this happens, we might resolve to harvest only those fish we need. Over time, we may limit our catch in any of several ways. We might set special rules for ourselves to keep a plentiful species of fish and release other fish. I know some anglers who clip the hook off their flies and count the number of rises their flies elicit. Other anglers simply stop fishing for awhile. Personally, I like to change my flies when I find a successful pattern to see what else the fish might take. This technique often stops me from catching any more fish, period.

Our personal ethics involve more than just the fish we choose to keep. Ethics are how we treat other anglers, respect we show to private property, honesty in our relationships with others, picking up litter, working for the environment, and helping other would-be anglers appreciate our sport. Some anglers use a list like this to guide their development as ethical anglers:

• Respects other anglers rights
• Respects the rights of others who use the resource
• Respects the rights of property owners
• Keeps only fish s/he wants
• Releases unwanted fish unharmed
• Never litters or pollutes
• Knows and follows boating and fishing regulations
• Seeks new knowledge and skills
• Shares his/her knowledge with others

As sport anglers, we often question ourselves and our actions. This is part of learning who we are. Do I ask a landowner for permission to fish, or do I sneak in? Do I enjoy watching another angler fish a hole and wait for my turn, or do I crowd in? Do I leave my trash behind, or do I bring a bag to clean up others thrash and leave my fishing site better than I found it? The way we answer these and other questions as anglers reflects our relationship with other people and how we view our role in the world around us. Establishing a strong personal sport fishing ethic helps us grow as individuals.

Our ethics are tested at times. We may see anglers breaking the law and feel uneasy about reporting them. We may kill more fish than we need or will use.

Our angling ethics reflect our values. As we grow, those values may change. These changes can lead to a greater understanding of who we are and a deeper love and respect for our sport. The ethics we define for ourselves is an unlocked for gift that we find time and again.

Our angling ethics are part of a long tradition. Many sport fishers believe angling ethics were first written down by Dame Juliana Berners in "Treatise of Fishing with an Angle" in about 1450 A.D. This little book has come down to us as one of the first ever writings about fly fishing. The "Treatise" contains instructions on how to build your rod, how to forge your hooks from needles, how to make and tie your line, and which flies to use for fishing.

Many historians now doubt that Dame Berners actually wrote the "Treatise." While that may be true, I think that fly fishers like having a mythical figure like "the Dame" as the authoress for their sport. Even her name adds to the mystery of fly fishing. A "Dame" in the middle ages was a title reserved for noble ladies who had joined religious orders. The name Juliana comes from the Roman name Julius, which was derived from the name for the ancient Greek god Zeus. I think that all of these little connections encourage fly fishers to believe in Dame Juliana as the authoress of the "Treatise."

They also provide her with the authority to lay out the first code of angler ethics in her writing. In the "Treatise," anglers are encouraged to stay with their sport as it prevents them from being idle and developing idle vices. They are told to respect private property and that it is wrong to take fish from a farmer's fish trap. The angler is encouraged to learn all he can about the fish being pursued and take care of the health of his stream. The Dame puts great emphasis on not keeping too many fish for you to use. Finally, she encourages anglers to pass on their love for fishing and help others become better anglers.

Even if Dame Juliana Berners did not write the "Treatise on Fishing with an Angle" its advice still rings true. Many of the rules we think of as part of our code of angling ethics were first codified, or written-down, there. That we still practice them as part of our rules of behavior is a testament to the history of our sport.

This is an article about how I approach the dilemma of ethical angling. Other anglers may not or do not think the way I do about which fish to keep and what to release. These are choices you have to make for yourself, but to make them you have to be honest with yourself about what your values are. This piece is included to help you begin thinking about what your values are when you go sport fishing.

A Question of Respect

revised and reprinted from "Alaska's Wildlife" May-June, 1992

I am a backslider. I am a devout believer in catch and release, but I do sometimes kill fish intentionally. Normally, I keep wild trout or grayling only when they are hooked deeply and bleeding. I keep most salmon and other fish I catch in salt water. When freshwater fishing, catch and release of wild fish is more than a management tool to me. My belief in catch and release angling approaches religion: with its origins shrouded in mysteries of my youth long forgotten, still attendant to all the trappings and ceremony fly rods and barbless hooks allow.

There are times however, when, for reasons other than those I profess to hold dear, I choose to consume my catch. Times when I harken to the litany of an older, more insistent goddess. Today, with the re-assertion of Native culture, I attempt to understand the values of those who kill and keep all fish they catch and who desire me to do so also. I can only hope that the Native people I meet will understand the sincerity of my beliefs about catch and release and come to accept them also.

Native Alaskans I know believe that the method of showing respect to fish and nature is to eat the fish nature provides. Fish are food. Many other Alaskan fishers believe you show respect for nature in your release of all or a portion of the fish you catch. Some anglers keep very few of the fish they catch. They make certain that the tackle they use and the way they handle their catch assures that the majority of the fish they catch can be released unharmed. It would seem that these two perspectives, one based on consuming your catch, the other on letting it go, are exact opposites. Actually, they are both part of the same ethic of respect for the natural world.

I believe that disrespect is shown when our fish resources are wasted. It should be the waste of our fish resources that concerns both Native subsistence fishers and sport anglers.

Alaska's salmon and halibut are fine examples of fish that should be taken as food. Anglers catch only a small portion of the annual harvest of these abundant fish and should have no reservations about consuming them. Millions of other salmonids are also reared in Alaska's Sport Fish hatcheries. These fish are intended to become food and provide opportunity for anglers.

I like to eat fish: I am very careful with the flesh. Maintaining the quality of fish as food depends upon how the fish is killed, cleaned, and chilled. I fish mostly in saltwater for salmon. When I catch one I do not bring it aboard the boat until it has bled out. I keep the fish in the landing net in the water, leaving the hooks in the jaw, and I cut a gill raker to let it bleed. This prevents bruising while removing much of the blood. Also, most of the blood is kept out of the boat.

Once the flow of blood stops I bring the fish aboard and clean it immediately. If I have been trolling, I'll usually stop the motor and allow my new bait to mooch while I work. I'm amazed at how often my gear catches another fish while I ignore it. By focusing on cleaning the catch, I seem to achieve the level of disinterest in my tackle necessary to attract another hit.

Cleaning my catch means really cleaning it, not simply removing the internal organs. I remove the gills and the entrails completely and scrape the blood from along the spine. Using the side of the knife, I push the blood from between the ribs back through the veins toward the spine until no further blood shows in the lining of the body cavity. Blood decomposes quickly: the more of it removed, the better the fish will taste and the longer it will last when frozen. I rinse the fish completely after cleaning.

I try to avoid flexing the fish or stretching it when handling. Some fishermen clean each fish they catch on a board and do not move it from that board until the fish is preserved. I ice my catch as quickly as possible. I pack ice into the body cavity and completely around the fish. When I get home I have the fish filets or steaks vacuum packed at a commercial butcher shop.

Paying close attention to my catch shows respect for fish as food, just as Native Alaskans believe respect is shown to nature. The fish taste better and last longer in the freezer, too. When I practice catch and release I am also showing respect.

In fact, catch and release has become more of a ritual than a practice now. Nearly all trout, grayling, and Arctic char I catch, I release. I am concerned about the health of these and other populations of fish. I do not need them as food, yet I enjoy catching them.

Many of Alaska's wild fish populations are limited in number. Increasing numbers of anglers focusing on decreasing numbers of wild fish results in fewer and fewer fish for all to enjoy. As an example of what anglers can do on their own, concerned anglers have, for decades, practiced catch and release of trophy rainbow trout on Western Alaska's rivers. Anglers know that taking even a few of these old fish might imperil the health of the resource.

In Southeast Alaska, we have seen steady declines in the number of steelhead returning to our rivers and streams. While it is not sport fishing effort that has led to these declines, most steelhead anglers practice catch and release to preserve the wild runs.

How widespread catch and release of steelhead has become was brought home to me a few years ago at a premier steelhead stream in Southeast Alaska. I was fishing at the mouth of a trophy steelhead stream on Chichagof Island in early May. I had just hooked and released a fine fish, a repeat spawner that was nearly 36 inches long. I stood, basking in the adrenaline afterglow, waiting for other fish to arrive with the rising tide.

The fish were not the only ones arriving. A group of young people in a skiff careened around the sheltering spit and roared through the channel in front of me, landing raucously on the far bank. One of their number rigged a rod and entered the stream, the others huddled under a spruce tree on the bank. They produced a boom box and turned it up. Loud.

I have no objection to loud rock and roll in its place. To me, steelhead fishing is not the place. I had abandoned my drift and begun to retreat to the forest upstream when the young angler hooked a fish. It was ocean bright and shot across the stream toward me. When it turned to rush the angler, its flash illuminated the river bed. The fish made several long runs, each punctuated by acrobatics. I hoped for that fish to break off. I was certain that if it did not it would end up as a fish fry on the beach. It ran and leapt, again and again, but the angler had the best of it.

When the steelhead tired the fisherman led it toward shore and lifted it to show his friends, who seemed oblivious. Then he lowered the fish back into the water to remove the hook. The fight had lasted for more than ten minutes. The young man cradled the fish for longer than that, supporting it in the cold water, moving it gently back and forth to wash water over its gills.

A young woman sitting on the bank pulled on hip-boots and joined him for a few minutes, watching closely as he gently rocked the fish. Finally, the steelhead darted from his hands back into the safety of the rising water. The young man joined his friends on the bank. They all climbed into the skiff and they, and their boom box, went away.

An anglers ethics are a personal thing. As anglers become more involved in their sport, their ethics often evolve from catch and kill to catch and release. But with the rapidly increasing number of anglers fishing our diminishing wild stocks, we have to encourage this change in ethics. To maintain healthy populations of many of our fish species, concerned managers and sportsmen advocate that anglers release more fish. Having said all of this, I again confess to backsliding. There are times that I keep and kill a perfect trout. My vision of nature allows this occasional transgression.

I believe that killing of some fish for consumption and the release of others unharmed are equal forms of respect. Nature demands this respect of us all. As the number of anglers fishing Alaska's waters continues to increase and wild stocks continue to decline, what nature can not tolerate and what we can not afford is to waste Alaska's sport fish bounty.

• 1. ALL PERSONS WHO FISH THESE WATERS ARE EQUAL regardless of age, sex, skill, or national origin.
• 2. GIVE OTHER ANGLERS SPACE. DO NOT CROWD EACH OTHER.
• 3. DO NOT TAKE THE SPOT OF AN ANGLER BUSY LANDING A FISH.
• 4. USE STRONG TACKLE TO KEEP YOUR FISH AWAY FROM OTHER ANGLERS.
• 5. LAND YOUR CATCH QUICKLY TO LET OTHER ANGLERS RESUME FISHING.
• 6. STOP FISHING WHEN SOMEONE NEAR YOU HAS ONE ON.
• 7. CAST A SIMILAR DISTANCE TO THAT BEING CAST BY ANGLERS NEAR YOU.
• 8. PACK OUT WHAT YOU PACK IN. DO NOT LITTER.
• 9. DO NOT INTENTIONALLY SNAG FISH. FISH SNAGGED IN FRESH WATER MUST BE RELEASED IMMEDIATELY! It's the law!
• 10. SHARE YOUR FISHING KNOWLEDGE AND SKILLS. PRACTICE ETHICAL ANGLING.