26 
Forest and Stream 
Vol. LXXXII. June 27, 1914 nC uiui - No. 
’ y JUNM nu / 
The Dead “Game Sport” of The Mexican Gulf 
A Story of The Great Game Fish of The Gulf of Mexico, Illustrated in Natural Colors on Front Cover 
By R. H. McNair. 
The red snapper is a game fish much sought 
after by Southern anglers, as well as those vis¬ 
iting the Gulf section in fishing season. Large 
and heavy, the snapper is fast in the water and 
a very hard fighter. One of the attractions to 
“Pass Christian”—Biloxi—and the other Southern 
resorts, some years ago, was the sport of the red 
snapper fishing. In many of the New Orleans 
restaurants they are taken and served with a very 
attractive sauce and considered exceptionally fine 
table fish. In that connection I have often re¬ 
called with thoughts of amusement, a “bunco” 
played on an epicurean old lady, who was con¬ 
stantly eulogizing the red snapper, in fishing sea¬ 
son and out, as being the only fish worth the 
consideration of any one with an appreciative 
sense of taste. Nothing compared with the de¬ 
licious flavor, etc. A lady relative, at whose 
home the red snapper epicurean was visiting, 
grew weary of listening to the “snapper, snapper” 
in her hearing, and devised a good practical joke 
on the visitor. The hostess was an expert at the 
culinary art and, having gotten a carp, about the 
right dimensions, she gave it a good, rich bake 
—prepared a very attractive red snapper sauce— 
both in color and taste—as a special treat for 
Aunt Louisa’s dinner. Before the fish had been 
cut into or before even the waitress had ar¬ 
ranged the appetizing dish on the table, there 
was an enthusiastic “rise” from Auntie, her hands 
went up in ecstasy: “My my, how beautifully you 
prepare and serve that delicious fish, there is only 
one other place where I have ever seen it so at¬ 
tractively served and that is the St. Charles Hotel 
in New Orleans. Many a time I have stopped at 
that hospitable old hotel just to enjoy the red 
snapper for dinner—and—oh, is this for me! 
Why, you have helped me most bountifully,” and 
as much as was possible during a very busy 
period of mastication, the dissertation on snapper 
went on and on; the different methods of baking, 
the many recipes for attractive sauces, dressing, 
etc., etc., and the dear, old girl was busy hiding 
away carp and, even had a second helping, pro¬ 
nouncing the feed one of the best that she had 
ever sat down to, and to her dying day she had 
never learned of her failure to make a differ¬ 
ential diagnosis, between red snapper and carp. 
“Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise,” 
and “a rose by any other name will smell as 
sweet” and the taste is often a matter of imagi¬ 
nation. The only real good sport that I ever en¬ 
joyed with the snapper, was during a delightful 
vacation spent at “Pass Christian” and its at¬ 
traction, both then and for the retrospective was, 
and is now due, to the fact that a most charming 
and attractive daughter of the Southland was 
spending the same summer on the Gulf. Her 
father was an enthusiastic and very clever angler, 
their cottage was but a stone’s throw from the 
“Mexican Gulf” Hotel, where I was stopping, and 
frequently when I was enjoying a visit to the 
young lady (and the visits were by no means 
few and far between), the father would invite me 
to join him at sunrise on the long pier, to try 
conclusions with a snapper, and I made it a point 
to be there when “old Sol,” pushed his big, red 
face up out of the green briny deep—or, was it 
blue? The water of the Gulf always reminded me 
of a washing day—when the laundress has thrown 
in an extra oversupply of blueing. I even tried 
to imagine, when bathing in the Gulf, that the 
blueing water would make the skin whiter, but 
if one of those miserable, infernal stingers (sea 
weeds) happened to float up from the rear and 
connected, the bather usually said something that 
sounds like “Oh, damn the sea bathing,” and went 
out good and mad with a physical discomfort like 
what one might imagine must result from sitting 
in a bed of nettles with not much covering on— 
only a bathing suit. My friend and fishing com¬ 
panion was a most fascinating man; the be^t 
company under any circumstances, and chuck 
full of .jokes always—besides he was the father 
of a remarkably winsome, pretty daughter, with 
whom I danced many most enjoyable “Germans” 
that were of weekly occurrence at the hotel—the 
treats of the most hospitable hotel proprietor 
whom I ever had the good fortune to know 
and I trust that he is as jovial and as happy as 
when it was my pleasure to talk and smoke Key 
West cigars with him during a bright summer 
outing of yore. When Mr. M. came out and 
found me awaiting him, not many miles from 
land, through on one of the longest piers I ever 
saw, he jokingly remarked, that from my aggres¬ 
sive appearance and his enthusiasm, he thought 
that we would give the red snapper a good 
run for their breakfast, and it was not long be¬ 
fore he had a “rip snorter” hooked; ’twas a “fair 
field and no favor.” Nor were there any ob¬ 
structions, such as rocks and tree roots to en¬ 
tangle the line. The red sport simply made a 
vicious grab for the bait and tried to carry hook, 
line, rod and fisherman to sea; in letting the fish 
run, a very painful accident happened to my com¬ 
panion. His reel slipped from his grasp and 
raced at a furious rate; in trying to catch the 
crank, the middle finger of the right hand was 
painfully hammered and torn, but the game 
angler finally caught up the skirt of his sack coat 
and smothered the racing reel before his line was 
all paid out. The fish acted as though he was 
bent on going across the Gulf, but he was well 
hooked and nothing broke. So with a master 
hand at the butt end he found that his course 
was limited, and that by and by he- would per¬ 
force come back, but he certainly fought against 
the coming; as Mr. M. began gradually winding 
in the stock the old snapper got good and mad 
and, when he found that he could not put out a 
brace sufficient to stop the inshore progress, he 
tried springing clear out of the water and throw- 
ing back somersaults. I simply stood with opers 
mouth, admiration and wonder, at the determinec?, 
easy method pursued by the fisherman and the 
prancing fight of the snapper; he would race in 
a half circle for a short distance, then spring up, 
as though trying to see if there was any signs of 
weakening on the part of his captor, but, as I 
knew the man far better than he did, I could 
have told him in one shout that he might just as 
well resign himself to his fate and stop fighting; 
however, he gave Mr. M. a good, hard tussle; 
finally I had the pleasure of running down the 
steps to the water, and slipping a dip net under 
the hard fighter, by that time exhausted and des¬ 
perate. I think that he was quite twenty-eight 
or thirty inches long and large in proportion. The 
wounded finger was still bleeding and very pain¬ 
ful, and I urged deferring the rest of it to an¬ 
other time, and though Mr. M. was very solicitous 
about my. fortune in catching a fish, he finally 
compromised and invited me to go home with 
him to breakfast, which I readily accepted, as 
his finger needed careful cleansing and an anti¬ 
septic dressing,—and—besides—you know—how¬ 
ever, the wounded finger was quite sufficient as an 
excuse, don't you think so? And, would you be¬ 
lieve it, the finger dressing was done so carefully 
and the discomfort so quickly relieved that I felt 
doubly repaid and found myself accepting another 
feed invitation to eat fish dinner with Mr. M. 
and family the following day. And in the late 
afternoon, when Colonel C. and I were enjoying 
a smoke out under a magnificent live oak tree. 
(It almost makes me sleepy, .even at this late 
date when I recall the soothing, somnolent effect 
of those Gulf breezes after dinner) “We are go¬ 
ing to have a fine fish dinner of red snapper to¬ 
morrow; don’t accept an invitation to dine out.” 
With a long face and assumed tone of regret I 
informed mine genial host that I was, even then, 
851 
