Critter of the Week: Maine’s Oddball Saltwater Fish
A giant fish leaped from the water within feet of my boat, startling the heck out of me. The fish was a shortnose sturgeon and the incident occurred while striped bass fishing on the Kennebec River, south of Bath. That was only one of dozens of sturgeons my group saw that day and all of them put on spectacular aerial displays.
Why do sturgeon jump? It beats me. It’s unlikely that these big, anadromous fish take flies, since they are not built for such endeavors. Their vacuum-cleaner mouth is on the bottom of their snout and is ideally suited for sucking in insects, snails and whatever it can find from the bottom. Sturgeons are like pigs in that they root around for their food.
Perhaps the sturgeon leap to rid themselves of sea lice. Old-timers used to tell me that’s why Atlantic salmon jumped. Maybe so, but it’s my guess that sturgeon jump because they can. Simply put, sturgeons cavort.
Anyway, the first thing that pops into the angler’s mind upon seeing a sturgeon fling itself toward the heavens is "Wouldn’t I like to take that thing on a fly rod." But alas, our Maine sturgeons are scarce and thus, are protected. According to the law, anyone accidentally hooking a sturgeon must not take it from the water when removing the hook.
A Marine Patrol Officer once told me that in fact, sturgeon were tough as nails and he had seen cases in which people had landed sturgeons and kept them in their boats for hours. When confronted by the officer, the people were directed to release the sturgeons. And guess what? In every case, the fish swam away, seemingly unconcerned about its recent unpleasant experience.
Also, sturgeons, in their wild cavorting and jumping, sometimes land on docks and became stranded. When rescued, the dried-and-wizzled fish seem fine and swim away without apparent ill effect. All this makes me wonder if we might at least be permitted some catch-and-release fishing for sturgeon. That probably won’t happen soon, though.
The Kennebec River sturgeon, both Atlantic and shortnose species, at least, seem to be on the rebound. But it’s a given that they will have to bounce back in other places, too, before they are once again fair game. And, I imagine that it’s easier to get something on the protected list than to get it off it. After all, you can’t take chances with a species that only recently teetered on the brink of extinction.
Such was not always the case. An early, commercial sturgeon fishery existed on the Kennebec in the early 17th century. These fish were cured and shipped to European markets. The fishery continued and 12,500 pounds of Kennebec River sturgeon meat were processed in 1880. But then things took a bad turn and the number fell to 2,777 pounds by 1919. The decline continued and by 1940, only 400 pounds were harvested from not only the Kennebec, but the entire Maine coast.
Anyway, it’s forbidden to purposely fish for sturgeons. Hopefully, someday this mighty fish will thrive and prosper, and maybe we will be able to cast for sturgeon in Maine waters. After all, sturgeons have outlived the dinosaurs, so they have to have a resilient thread about them.
Sturgeons have a cartilaginous skeleton, fleshy barbels which are used to detect food and bony scales (scutes) along the back, side and on the head. Shortnose sturgeons grow to about 43 inches long and the Atlantic sturgeon reaches the amazing length of 14 feet.
Another oddball salt water fish is the skate. It is always a pleasure for me to catch a skate because they are so unusual in appearance and they make great table fare. Looking much like rays, skates lack the typical ray stinger, and that’s a good thing. Skates are one of the few underutilized saltwater fish and that pleases me, too. It’s fine to catch and kill a skate, take it home and cook it. Which elicits the question "How do you clean a skate?" It’s easy. Cut off the pectoral fins (wings) and fillet them. The wings must first be skinned, but that’s easy to do. Then, cut the flesh into small bits and cook as per scallops. These are really tasty, although they don’t taste exactly like scallops, as some say they do.
Most of my skates have been taken on halibut trawls. My career as a trawl-setter is checkered at best and sad to say, halibut never fell victim to my hooks, nor have cod, haddock or anything else that was halfway desirable. But neither did my trawls come up empty. Skates and dogfish (sand sharks) always cooperated.
Once, after failing to take the halibut that everyone said lived in the local "Halibut Hole," it seemed a shame to discard a single, large skate. So we took it to my buddy’s home and cleaned it as per the above method. When sautéed in butter and sprinkled with lemon juice and paprika, the flesh was superb. My esteem for skates got a big shot in the arm.
My next favorite oddball fish has to be the searobin, or what many erroneously call the "sculpin." The two are similar, but searobins are not quite as grotesque as sculpins. All the same, searobins are the gargoyles of the ocean, with big, horny heads, cavernous mouths and fan-shaped pectoral fins.
Searobins are never sought, but often come to the hook as a side catch while fishing for bottom feeders such as flounder or cod. When taken on heavy tackle, the searobin cannot offer much resistance. But if taken on an ultralight spinning outfit, these ugly ducklings put up a pretty good battle. As might be imagined, I purposely fish for searobins. A cooler full of searobins translates into several delicious meals.
While the searobin appears to be mostly head, the body has enough meat to justify taking the fillets. Simply slide them off with a sharp, flexible knife and skin them. The meat is white and somewhat soft. But it is mild and sweet, and reminds me somewhat of flounder.
Maine’s pen-raised salmon industry is a friend to the searobin. The bottom-feeding searobins are attracted to the leavings from the pens and so they flourish. It’s easy to catch a bunch of searobins by anchoring in the vicinity of a commercial operation and fishing on the bottom with some clams, marine worms or even nightcrawlers.
Most searobins taken will be in the 12-inch range. However, these Godzilla look-alikes can attain lengths of up to 18 inches. Dare to be different; fish for searobins.
Cunners are the last on my list of oddball, saltwater fish. These are by-and-large an attractive fish. The body color varies from gray to red to olive and is often mottled with red and blue blotches. In other words, they are highly variable in shading and color. But in shape, the cunner is uniform. The canine teeth, which can crunch a barnacle (Arrrr!) protrude somewhat, giving the fish a buck-toothed appearance. And the dorsal fin, which is fairly low, makes up for its lack of height by being extra-long.
Cunners are fairly well distributed and can be found down to 600 feet. But those of us who seek cunners for sport and table fare fish for them in from 1- to 15- feet of water.
The cunners are fond of living around rocks, especially the foundations of navigational lights and breakwaters. Here, it is best to fish vertically. That is, drop a baited hook down between the boulders, rather than casting out from the rocks. The cunners live in little gaps and holes between the rocks. The bite is rather electric, and feels like a series of minute shocks.
It is best to use a small, long-shanked hook for cunners. A number 8 streamer hook does well. This is small enough for the cunner to take into its diminutive mouth, and the long shank facilitates easy hook removal.
Cunners are taken from spring to well into the fall and probably could be caught in winter by fishing offshore. But nobody is going way out in the ocean to fish for cunners. They are funny-looking (except to me), unglamorous and not too big. A 2-pound cunner is an old baster.
As might well be imagined, cunners make wicked good eating. But like so many of Maine’s oddball saltwater species, they remain unloved and generally ignored. Except for a few old buzzards such as me, that is.
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