fishers. Amid rumors of the good shad 

 run, business has been especially brisk. 

 "I've ordered more fishing tackle in the 

 last month than I usually sell in the 

 whole spring." 



The next morning, I try out some of 

 that tackle. I spend a good 20 minutes 

 figuring out how to cast into the current 

 at the mouth of Contentnea Creek, as 

 McLawhorn and Bahen duck and 

 grimace behind me. Finally, after at 

 least half an hour of ineffective casting 

 — during which Bahen reels in three 

 fish and McLawhorn, two — I get my 

 first nibble. My line pulls hard to the 

 right — my first fish ever. 



If anything, the men are more 

 excited than I am. Sadly, my first 

 hickory shad disappears into the muddy 

 water as I bring it alongside the boat. 

 Bahen declares it a catch and release. 



Even more determined, I flick the 

 line out into the stream over and over. 

 Around 1 1 a.m., as my casting wrist is 

 getting numb, I pull a two-pound hickory 

 roe shad over the side of the boat. Smiling 

 proudly, I hold it all wrong for the camera. 



There's a long road ahead with no 

 refrigeration, but I wish I could pack up 

 my fish and take it home to eat. I'm a 

 child of grocery stores and fast food 

 chains, and the only herring I'd eaten 

 before yesterday came in a can with a 

 peel-back lid. Self-sufficiency is a flavor 

 I've never tasted. McLawhorn assures 

 me that someone will enjoy my catch 



and adds my shad to the others in the fish 

 well. Then he guns the engines for a fast, 

 cold ride back to the boat ramp. 



JAMESVILLE, 



Roanoke river 



As we drive north, I scan the 

 roadside canals for signs of fishing. In the 

 old days, kids used to suspend bushel 

 baskets from the bridges, waiting for 

 telltale vibrations to travel up the ropes to 

 their hands. A deft flick of the wrist, and 

 up came the dripping basket with a few 

 herring in it. Men and women would fish 

 in the shallows with bow nets made from 

 curved pieces of juniper and hand- 

 knotted twine. When fish flooded the 

 streams, a good bow net could trap more 

 than 100 herring in a single dip. 



In Jamesville, once home to three 

 commercial fisheries, seine hauls were so 

 heavy that horses had to pull them in. 

 These are the kind of memories Jeff 

 Phelps wants to preserve in a Jamesville 

 museum. An outspoken member of the 

 town board, he appreciates the proud 

 local traditions of the river herring 

 fishery. "Elders have told me that for 

 hundreds of years, when the herring 

 would come up the river, there was some 

 kind of festival here. . . . They'd have a 

 seine all the way across the river and 

 they'd crank them in. People would come 

 down to the river in their Sunday dress to 

 buy herring." 



The herring run and the festival 

 historically coincided with Easter 

 Sunday and homecoming for local 

 churches. The modern Jamesville 

 Herring Festival is held on Easter 

 Monday every year. For Phelps, a 

 museum is the next logical step to 

 recognize Jamesville' s heritage. History 

 buffs also could pull tourist dollars into 

 an economically depressed county. 



He hopes to open a temporary 

 museum in the town hall, displaying old 

 photographs of the fishery. If his dreams 

 become reality, a permanent museum 

 will be housed in the Burras House 

 someday. "It's the oldest building in 

 town, established around 1790," Phelps 

 says. "All the rest of the buildings were 

 burned in the Civil War." The museum 

 could include Civil War-era artifacts and 

 relics of the fishery. Phelps would also 

 like to see Jamesville get a public boat 

 ramp — something inexplicably missing 

 from a town so defined by its relation- 

 ship with the river. 



Jamesville is so renowned for its 

 herring that it boasts the Cypress Grill, a 

 weather-beaten restaurant open only 

 between January and May. What's on 

 the menu? Herring, herring and herring. 

 People drive from all over the state to 

 eat there, and at the neighboring River's 

 Edge Restaurant. But when we arrive in 

 town and drive to the parking lot 

 overlooking the water, we find both 



Continued 



COASTWATCH 11 



