Some years ago we were wandering around Ireland on vacation and stopped in the little town of Cahirciveen on the coast of County Kerry. The proprietor of our bed-and-breakfast mentioned that a big sea-fishing tournament was underway, so we went down to the harbor to watch the weigh-in.
The competitors had come from an angling club in the Netherlands and seemed pleased with themselves, so it was quite a shock when they produced their catch, which consisted almost entirely of dogfish (sand sharks) and slimy eels.
I asked one Dutchman why anyone would go so far to catch such humble stuff? "We have no choice," he said. "There's nothing left to catch where we live."
So goes the tyranny of lowered expectations. I was reminded of that experience last week on an excursion to the Choptank River with Sherman Baynard, fisheries chairman of the Maryland Coastal Conservation Association.
Baynard is a dedicated, shallow-water flyrod and light tackle angler who retired from farming to devote himself to fishing tidal rivers around his home in Centreville on Maryland's Eastern Shore. He and his wife, Diane, used to go several times a week, trailering their 17-foot Mako wherever the fishing was hot. They love to catch striped bass (rockfish), the Maryland state fish.
But every year Baynard finds it harder, to the point where he now says, "If you gave me a whole day to take you out and all you wanted to do was catch one legal [18-inch] rockfish, I'm not sure I could do it."
Baynard knows hundreds of shallow-water spots where he used to catch legal-size rock all summer. He still goes out and tries them and finds fish there, but they aren't legal rockfish, they're either little ones of eight to 12 inches or white perch about the same size.
"If you want white perch, I can get you a bucket full," said Baynard.
I've been around the Chesapeake long enough to know few fish are tastier, filleted and fried, than white perch, which are from the same family as rock, only smaller. They're fun to catch on ultra-light tackle or flyrod, too, so off we went last week to load up for a fish fry. We were not disappointed.
Baynard launched at the Talbot County ramp in Bellevue, just across the Tred Avon River from Oxford, and headed out onto the broad Choptank and over to the Dorchester County side. It was a hot summer day, muggy and calm, and the fast ride in an open boat was refreshing. We stopped first at a submerged rock wall near shore, one of dozens he's mapped over years of exploration, and tossed small spinner baits along its outer edge.
Bang! Plump white perch charged out of the rocks to smack the lures. It was a preview of the day ahead. We roamed from spot to spot around the southern tip of the mouth of the Choptank and down to the Little Choptank, at each stop finding concentrations of hungry perch along with a few throwback-size rock. All were eager to attack spinner baits or Clouser-minnow flies.
The rocks, Baynard explained, were old riprap barriers designed to protect points of land that had long since eroded away. Most were barely submerged, making them hazards to navigation for the unwary but excellent habitat for fish.
