THE POMPANO OF THE INDIAN RIVER. 



JULIA C. WELLES. 



The whole East Coast of Florida is thor- 

 oughly saturated with the spirit of Izaak 

 Walton. This is not to be wondered at 

 when it is known that the Indian river so 

 teems with fish, as to make fishing cease to 

 be sport, at times; as for instance, when an 

 inlet becomes so choked with fish as to 

 completely* close it to navigation. 



Often after a " cold wave," the beaches 

 may be found strewn with fish, chilled to 

 death, and the decaying bodies then become 

 a menace to the health of people frequent- 

 ing the region. 



One Northerner remarked, after a day's 

 sport on the lower river, " It's no sport to 

 be swamped by them." And this is true. 

 Sometimes when sailing, at night, your boat 

 stops with a sudden jar, and while it stands 

 shivering like some frightened thing, the 

 fish divide at your bow, and go by in phos- 

 phorescent streaks. 



If beautiful, it is startling, for the mo- 

 ment. 



" I always hated to hear the other fellow 

 tell how many fish he caught," said the 

 same Northener, " until coming here. Now 

 it don't disturb me a bit. I'm going back 

 to the Inlet, and I'm not going to see how 

 many I can catch, but how much fun I can 

 have with one." 



" To do that," said the skipper, " you 

 must hook a pompano." Near the hotel, is 

 an old hulk made fast, with state-rooms that 

 let at $4 a day. I have seen an angler, sit 

 in a chair, on the deck of the " floating 

 hotel," and haul in steadily, until he had a 

 half barrel of fish. Every time the cook 

 would throw out his potato peelings they 

 would rise at them. Finally the angler, not 

 sure whether he was pleased or disgusted, 

 would throw down his line, declaring that 

 for once in his life he had had enough. 



Lines hung over the guard in all direc- 

 tions, and it looked odd to see a lady step 

 out of the rear door of her state-room, and, 

 in her dainty silk gown, lean over the rail 

 and play her line till she was tired; while 

 a negro boy on the deck below, would take 

 the fish off and throw them into a box, with 

 her name on it, as fast as she could haul her 

 line up. 



The boats for hire, which crowd around 

 the " hotel." are so littered with fish, in all 

 stages of freshness, or the opposite, as to 

 give the place a decided flavor. But peo- 

 ple come here to fish and this is incense to 

 them. 



And such fish! Blue fish, pompano, sea 

 bass, cavallia, up to tarpon and sea-cows 

 ^manatee) if one cares for such bulky 

 sport. The fresh arrival, in search of the 

 unusual, always expresses a desire to catch 



a tarpon, right after breakfast. He usually 

 doesn't know what he is talking about — at 

 least that's what the skippers say — and who 

 wouldn't be surprised if lie expressed a de- 

 sire to catch a whale: whereupon if he in- 

 sists, he must charter the launch, and 

 enough men to make a small crew. In 

 many cases the skipper does the fishing. 

 One woman caught a tarpon this way, had 

 her picture taken with it, and wrote home 

 all about it. Yet such fishing is little sport. 

 It is wont to leave a lack of satisfaction; 

 and a feeling that somehow you have come 

 out at the little end of the horn. Still, the 

 boatmen say " it's good for business." 



The size and strength of the tarpon makes 

 the taking of them a herculean task. It is 

 better suited to the ideas an old whaler, or 

 a manatee fisher, than to those of delicate 

 men and women. 



But the choice pre-eminently of all an- 

 glers, here, is the pompano. Of this the 

 kindling countenance of the old skipper, 

 when you land one of these grand fish, is 

 sufficient proof. Added to this is the fact 

 that it is the dainty of dainties — the ne plus 

 ultra of epicurean tid-bits. 



This fish, although on an average, not 

 much larger than a fair sized turbot, will 

 •tax the strength of a strong man. Further- 

 more it will use up a good part of his time, 

 for it is the gamiest of its kind. When a 

 pompano takes your hook, it is enough to 

 make you think you have a hold on the 

 lower regions. He is like the Irishman's 

 flea — now you have him, and now you 

 haven't. At one time he threatens to take 

 you overboard — down, down, to Pluto. 

 The next instant he is up in the air, with 

 wings on him. Now it is a game of wits 

 between you. He's playing with your 

 string and with you; flecking your line 

 about as if to remind you that he holds the 

 reins now. You are on your mettle, pro- 

 voked on your side by his small size, which 

 is out of all proportion to his strength and 

 his energy. But you're bound to win, or go 

 overboard, and down to the little — when 

 " Ho — h." At last you are master. And 

 you feel like a conquerer when once he is 

 boated and you gloat over him, with the 

 skipper. 



On your return, when some one calls out 

 to you — as every body does tc every body 

 else here — 



" How many did you catch? " 



You do not feel abashed, as you answer. 



" Only one — A pompano " — and hold 

 him up to view. 



This fish is known as the " leaping fish," 

 and the feats recorded of him would be 

 taken as " fish stories " in any place, ex- 



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