Formal notions of sportsmanship and angling ethics arguably
first came to saltwater fishing in 1898, when the Avalon Tuna Club was
established on Catalina Island, off the southern California coast.
“The Club had established revolutionary big-game fishing
standards and practices that are still in use today such as the concept of
using light fishing line and rods only, to not only level the playing field
between rival fishermen but to create a sportsmanlike atmosphere intended to
prevent the over-fishing of pelagic giants such as tuna and marlin.”
As technological advances in fishing gear made it more and
more possible for anglers to successfully catch and target big fish, it became
a matter of pride for recreational fishermen—typically wealthy recreational
fishermen who could afford the boats and equipment and travel necessary to
pursue large pelagic fish—to bring such fish back to the dock to hang on the
scales and show off in both informal and formal competition with their
peers.
Big egos and a desire to catch a bigger fish than anyone
else led to questionable conduct by some of those anglers. In response, in
1939 a group of avid saltwater fishermen formed the International Game Fish
Association, in order to
“create a portfolio of standardized angling rules along with
a rigorous ethical credo, [and] develop a network of representatives to
promulgate IGFA principles in distant lands.”
In other words, to make saltwater angling a legitimate
sport, with rules attractive to sportsmen.
“A sportsman, is a gentleman first. But a sportsman, basically, is a man who
kills what he needs, whether it’s fish or bird or animal, or what he wants for
a special reason, but he never kills anything just to kill it. And he tries to preserve the very same thing
that he kills a little of from time to time.
The books call this conservation.
It’s the same reason why we don’t shoot that tame covey of quail down to
less’n ten birds.”
The International Game Fish Association’s rules have been adopted
by many clubs and fishing tournaments, and although the rules in place today
differ a bit from those first adopted nearly a century ago, the follow the same
theme: The contest between angler and
fish should be a sporting battle, in which the angler does not enjoy an unfair
advantage.
For many years, such rules generally reflected the ethics of
anglers along the coast, even if they weren’t familiar with the IGFA. Most people didn’t follow them to the letter—for
example, IGFA rules disallowed the use of wire line, which was nonetheless
often used, out of necessity, for fish ranging from New England striped bass to
Bahamian wahoo, and if you fish in Alaska, your guide will shoot
a big halibut before bringing it into the boat—but by and large, most inshore
and offshore anglers conducted themselves like sportsmen, in a manner similar,
if not identical, to that called for by the rules.
Lately, though, that behavior has changed, enough that I have
to wonder whether many traditional ethics remain in saltwater angling.
I first noticed it happening offshore, in the tuna fishery.
Big fish like giant bluefin tuna can’t be simply reeled in
and dragged over the side of the boat.
There is a point in the fight when the angler manages to bring the close
to the boat, with only a leader—perhaps 15 or 30 feet in length—separating the
fish from the fisherman.
Traditionally, that was one of the most critical points in
the battle, as a crewmember would reach out with gloved hands to draw the fish
alongside, while others in the crew stood by with gaffs, ready to sink them
into the fish and end its struggles.
A lot of things could happen at that stage of the
fight. A strong fish could rip the
leader out of the crewmember’s hands, and begin the fight anew. Or, in doing so, could dive and sever the
line on the boat’s running gear. The
hook could pull, and end the fight that way.
Or, if the crew and angler were strong and skillful, the fish could be captured
and either released (rather than gaffed), or secured alongside.
But during the 1970s, just as I began fishing offshore, the
tuna fishery changed. A high-end market
for bluefin opened up in Japan, and tuna buyers began stalking the docks at
Montauk, Pt. Judith and Gloucester, and at other northeastern tuna ports,
offering anglers thousands of dollars in cash for their fish. That transmuted the bluefin from merely a
worthy quarry, which generated bragging rights, maybe a tournament trophy, and celebratory
drinks at a dockside bar, into a hard asset that could yield a substantial
payday.
As so often happens when money arrives on the scene, ethics
began to exit.
It started with harpoons.
A lot of sportfishing boats carried them even then, hoping
to stick one of the swordfish that, in those days, were often spotted finning
out on the surface within a couple dozen miles of shore. But once a good part of the fleet began selling
their bluefin, harpoons quickly began to replace gaffs in the cockpits of tuna boats,
not only to minimize the risk of losing a fish, and the cash such fish
represented, but also to end the fight sooner, in order to maximize the
quality, and the cash value, of a bluefin’s flesh.
It was only a matter of time until harpoons were used to end fights with sharks and smaller tuna as well. The certainty of capture that came with a dart, a buoy, and a hundred feet of nylon line replaced the challenge of leadering and gaffing an animal that was still struggling, with all its strength, to escape the hook.
Harpoons arguably
put more dead fish in the boat, but in doing so, they diminished the sport, as
recreational fishing regressed a step back toward its commercial and
subsistence origins.
Then, anglers began to abandon the duel that was
always the essence of offshore angling, the struggle between one angler, who matched
his or her strength and endurance against the raw the power of a big fish, in fights
that could last for hours and ended only when one of the combatants—and which
one was often in doubt—finally reached the limits of strength and
endurance and could fight no more. These
were the fights memorialized by writers such as Ernest
Hemingway and Zane
Gray, by S. Kip
Farrington and by Van
Campen Heilner, whose works I read when I was young, and who inspired me to give
offshore fishing a try.
To that coterie of anglers, the notion of giving up on a
fish and handing the rod off to someone else was unthinkable; you fought a fish
until you beat it or broke it off. Sometimes,
on charter boats, vacationers who weren’t really anglers and didn’t know how to
fish would team up on a tuna or marlin, something that wasn’t discouraged by captains
who might want to sell the fish or use it to advertise their boat, but among
serious anglers, it just wasn’t done.
Today, I see even experienced anglers giving up when the
fight gets a little tough and their muscles threaten to cramp, instead of
fighting through the pain and taking on the responsibility of winning or losing
the fight—that they started—without calling for aid. It seems that instead of seeking a sporting challenge, they no longer seek more than another dead fish.
But at least they try to fight their fish, even if they fail
to do it alone. These days, more and
more fishermen don’t even do that, instead leaving the rod in the holder so
that the fish pulls against the boat, and not against the muscle and bone of
the angler. That lets them use lines
stronger than the 130 pound maximum in IGFA rules, end fights more quickly, and
put more dead fish in the boat. In some
fisheries, particularly deep-dropping for swordfish, electric reels are also a
part of the equation.
Yes, they put fish in the boat, but if all you want is dead
fish, it’s probably cheaper to buy them. Wthout the challenge of the one-on-one fight, is a caught fish worth more than a bought one?
In a society where the ends seemingly justify the means, and
a fish may be valued less than the Internet photo it stars in, the answer may,
unfortunately, be yes.
Sportsmanship seems no longer valued.
While offshore fishing is a big stage, and what I most enjoy, making the decline of sportsmanship there particularly irksome to me, I see the same trends on the inshore grounds. In fact, it was an inshore issue that led me
to begin this essay.
Remember the Robert Ruark quote that I cited earlier? Especially the “a sportsman…tries to preserve
the very same thing that he kills a little of from time to time” part?
I was perusing an Internet forum, where the topic of circle hooks
in the striped bass fishery came up. The
Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission will require states to adopt rules
mandating the use of circle hooks when bait fishing for bass, in an effort to
reduce the number of fish that are gut-hooked and die after release; the
definition of bait will include rigged eels, and in some states, including New
York will probably include pork rind trailers on lures such as bucktails as
well.
I can understand why anglers might not like such a broad
rule; striped bass are rarely gut-hooked on rigged eels or bucktails, and some
might legitimately believe that the circle hook requirement for such baits isn’t
needed. But the ASMFC’s Law Enforcement
Committee advised that any exceptions to the circle hook rule would make it
both more difficult to enforce and less effective.
Thus, when I see anglers writing that they’ll continue to
use rigged eels with J-hooks, in violation of any regulations, because law
enforcement won’t see them or catch them in the dark of the night, I have to
wonder where sportsmanship has gone.
The fact that someone dislikes a rule doesn’t justify them becoming
a poacher, particularly when that rule is intended to protect the fish that they
rely on for their sport.
I feel the same way about the
far too many anglers and professional captains who ignore the ban on striped
bass fishing in federal waters, some of whom claim to care about the
fish, but nonetheless violate the rules designed to protect them. Actions speak louder than words.
Whether we’re talking about targeting protected sharks
in the surf, illegally
removing tarpon from the water for photos, or kicking
a bluefish back into the wash because someone can’t be troubled to release
it properly, saltwater anglers seem to be losing their sense of sportsmanship, while
also losing respect for their quarry.
I suspect that the Internet is part of the cause, with many fishermen, particularly inexperienced fishermen, caring more about posting photos of themselves with fish than they care about fishing itself.
Part of it is companies’ related desire to
push product, with various company reps and “pro team” members using photos of
fish to hawk the latest and greatest rod, reel or lure, and the related desire
of the pro team members to keep themselves relevant to anglers and to the industry.
There are likely other reasons as well, some cultural, some
reflecting changing times and changing attitudes toward fish, people, and the
sport of angling.
But notions of sportsmanship ought never go out of style.
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