WHEN THE SEASON IS ENDED 



139 



And fish ! It is not a question of find- 

 ing them, but of choosing the kind we 

 want. At least twenty different spots 

 are. within a few minutes sail of ns, in 

 any one of which the chances are all in 

 favor of a good catch. If we prefer 

 weak fish, we can go on the flats west 

 of the Seven Islands, and with a float 

 line obtain enough sport to satisfy the 

 most exacting devotee of the piscator- 

 ial art. Weak fish weighing from four 

 to five pounds each, — the trout of the 

 salt water, take the hook with avidity, 

 and the line whizzes through our fin- 

 gers as the prey strives to avoid cap- 

 ture. Skill acquired from experience 

 is necessary to save a weak fish of this 

 size, and our patience is well rewarded 

 when our trophy lies in the bottom of 

 the boat, his black and silver back and 

 golden belly flashing in the sunlight. 

 Other kinds of fish also abound in these 

 waters, all of fine flavor. Spots, or 

 Cape May goodies, porgies and king 

 fish or barb, — so-called .from tentacles 

 sprouting from the lower jaw which 

 have a fancied resemblance to a beard. 



We catch a number of oyster fish, 

 which are utterly worthless, as they are 

 not edible. They are the pariahs of the 

 fish community, slimy, repulsive crea- 

 tures, nearly all head and mouth, the 

 latter filled with teeth like miniature 

 paving stones. The jaws are as power- 

 ful as a steel trap. Their favorite food 

 is oysters ; with their teeth they crush 

 the shells of these bivalves as if they 

 were tgg shells and suck out the soft 

 meat. 



Nearer the inlet, where the water 

 is deep and the current swift, we find 

 the black fish and the sea bass. A 

 hundred sea bass in two hours has 

 been caught by the writer and a com- 

 panion upon more than one occasion 

 at a certain spot near the inlet. Here, 

 also, is found the sheepshead, that 

 gamey fish whose difficulty of capture 

 with hook -and line, exquisite flavor 



and pecuniary value when caught makes 

 it the king of the finny tribe on the 

 New Jersey coast. Possessed of great 

 strength and swiftness, and with a 

 mouth literally paved with teeth, even 

 the skilled fisherman, after the fish is 

 well hooked, often loses it with all the 

 gear. It is a feat to take home even 

 three or four of these fish after a day's 

 work. Great skill, perfect quiet and 

 unlimited patience are required for 

 success in sheepshead fishing. They 

 are a very timid fish, and sometimes 

 hours will pass without a bite. 



An invigorating bath supplements the 

 fishing. Along the shores of the har- 

 bor are coves where, on the high tide, 

 still water bathing can be enjoyed to 

 perfection. The water, in which is 

 stored up the heat of July and August, 

 is at its warmest, just the right tem- 

 perature to be inviting and pleasant. 

 We have earned that recreation, for 

 we have pulled in fish until we are 

 tired, and have as many weak fish and 

 sea bass as we can carry home. 



The sun is going down, sinking to 

 his rest in a couch of crimson and 

 purple clouds. The stars appear one 

 by one as the daylight fades. In the 

 lantern of the lighthouse on the beach 

 nearby a glow of red tells that Little 

 Egg Harbor's sentinel is on guard until 

 the luminary of day again goes on duty. 

 Its alternate red and white flashes warn 

 the mariner in unmistakable language 

 that the shoals and beach of the New 

 Jersey coast lie in its immediate vicin- 

 ity. Far to the south a steady white 

 light, gleaming like the eye of a 

 Cyclops, tells us that the lamp in the 

 tall tower of Absecon is fulfilling a 

 similar mission. The south wind blows 

 just strong enough to keep the main 

 sheet taut, as we take the first of the 

 flood tide, and with the star-lit dome 

 of a September sky above us, start on 

 our return trip of fifteen miles to 

 Manahawken. 



