Poachers and Poaching

The jack snipe is the smallest British species, and is only a winter visitant to this country. It breeds upon the tundras of the far north, and arrives here late in September. Unlike its congeners, it is usually seen singly, and it procures its food in the boggiest situations. It feeds much at dusk both morning and evening, and when satisfied retires a short distance upland, where among dry grass tufts it rests during the day. Its food consists of worms and other soft-bodied creatures; under favourable conditions it lays on much fat, and is considered a delicacy at table. Upon its first coming it makes for wet meadows, plashy uplands, and sea-coast tracts, although the weather regulates the altitude at which the bird is found. If severe frost sets in it leaves the hill-tarns for lower land, and seeks the protection of grass and rushes by the margins of streams. Open weather, however, soon drives it from the valleys. The jack snipe is very local in its likes, and will return again and again to the same spot; in ordinary seasons its numbers are about equal to those of the common snipe. It lies well to the gun, often until almost trodden on, and birds have been known to have been picked up from before the nose of a dog. It is more easily killed than any of its congeners, for although it flies in a zig-zag manner it invariably rises right from the feet of the sportsman. About April the birds congregate for their journey northwards, and there is no authentic record of the species having bred in Britain. Mr. John Wolley, an English naturalist, discovered in Lapland the first known eggs of the jack snipe. And this is how he relates the interesting find: "We had not been many hours in the marsh when I saw a bird get up, and I marked it down. The nest was found. A sight of the eggs, as they lay untouched, raised my expectations to the highest pitch. I went to the spot where I had marked the bird, and put it up again, and again saw it, after a short low flight, drop suddenly into cover. Once more it rose a few feet from where it had settled. I fired, and in a minute had in my hand a true jack snipe, the undoubted parent of the nest of eggs! In the course of the day and night I found three more nests, and examined the birds of each. One allowed me to touch it with my hand before it rose, and another only got up when my foot was within six inches of it. The nest of the 17th of June, and the two of the 18th of June, were all alike in structure, made loosely of dried pieces of grass and equisetum not at all woven together, with a few old leaves of the dwarf birch, placed in a dry sedgy or grassy spot close to more open swamp."

At one time snipe were commonly taken in "pantles" made of twisted horsehair. These were set about three inches from the ground, and snipe and teal were mostly taken in them. In preparing the snares the fowler trampled a strip of oozy ground, until, in the darkness, it had the appearance of a narrow plash of water. The birds were taken as they went to feed in ground presumably containing food of which they were fond.

CHAPTER IX.

WATER POACHERS

If trout streams and salmon rivers are ever more interesting than when the "March-brown" and the May-fly are on, surely it must be when the fish are heading up stream for the spawning grounds. Then the salmon leave the teeming seas and the trout their rich river reaches for the tributary streams. At this time the fish glide through the deep water with as much eagerness as they rushed down the same river as silvery samlets or tiny trout. Maybe they stay for a short time at some well-remembered pool, but the first frosts remind them that they must seek the upper waters. A brown spate rolling down is a potent reminder, and they know that by its aid the rocks and weirs will be more easily passed. If the accustomed waterways are of solid foam the fish get up easily, but the soft spray gives them little hold. Let us watch them try to surmount the first obstacle; and here, by the White Water rocks it is a silvery sight to see the salmon "run." There is a deafening roar from the waterfall, and the almost impalpable spray constitutes a constant maze of translucent vapour. Ever and anon a big fish throws its steel-blue form many feet above the water, endeavouring to clear the obstacle. Many times it is beaten back, but at last it gains a ledge, and by a concentrated effort manages to throw itself into the still deep water beyond. Instead of leaping, the female fish try to run through the foam and on from stone to stone until a last leap takes them over. Where no passes exist many fish are picked up dead, the majority of these prove to be males, and this preponderance is also noticeable upon the breeding grounds. The spawning redds are selected where the tributaries are clear and pure—where there is bright gravel and an entire absence of sediment. Here the fish settle down to their domestic duties, and their movements seem to be regulated by a dulling stupor. This facilitates observation, but it also assists the poacher in his silent trade. Once settled, the female fish scoops out a hollow in the sheltering gravel, and is closely attended by her lord. Whilst spawning is proceeding, observe with what care he attends her, and in what evolutions he indulges. He rises and falls, now passing over, now under her, and settling first upon this side, then upon that. Observe, too, how he drives off the young unfertile fish which are ever lying in wait to devour the spawn. The eggs are deposited at intervals in the sand, and when the milt has been fertilised the whole is covered over, there to remain until spring. The salmon deposits nearly a thousand eggs for every pound of its live weight, and from the quantity of spawn in some salmon rivers it would seem that nothing which man could do—save pollution—would have any appreciable influence upon the increase of the species. The fecundity of trout is even greater than that of salmon, while a tiny smelt of only two ounces contains upwards of thirty-five thousand eggs, and even these are as nothing compared with the rate of increase of several marine and "coarse" fish. An individual cod has yielded more than six million; a turbot fourteen million; and a twenty-eight pound conger eel fifteen million eggs.

The eggs of salmon are nearly as large as the seed of a garden pea, and those of good trout only slightly less. The ova is of a delicate salmon colour and the cell-walls are semi-transparent—so much so that the embryo shows plainly through. Although delicate in appearance they are elastic and capable of sustaining great pressure, and an egg thrown upon a flat surface will rebound like an india-rubber ball. The economy of the extreme prolificness of the sporting fishes of Britain can best be understood when we come to consider the host of enemies which beset both salmon and trout in the very first stages of their existence. Nature is prolific in her waste, and a whole army of nature's poachers have to be satisfied. So true is this that the yearly yield of the largest salmon-producing river in the kingdom is computed at about the produce of one female fish of from fifteen pounds to twenty pounds in weight; the produce of all the rest being lost or wasted. Sometimes a single ill-timed spate will destroy millions of eggs by tearing them from the gravel and laying them bare to a whole host of enemies.2 These enemies are in the air, on the land, in the water, and nothing short of an enumeration of them can convey any idea of their numbers and wholesale methods of destruction. In addition to the yearling salmon and trout which for ever haunt the skirts of the spawning grounds, there are always a number of mature unfertile fish which for a part of the year live entirely upon the spawn. An instance of this is recorded by a river watcher on the Thames, who states that while procuring trout ova in a stream at High Wycombe, he observed a pair of trout spawning on a shallow ford, and another just below them devouring the ova as fast as it was deposited by the spawner. The keeper netted the thief, and in its stomach was found upwards of two ounces of solid ova, or about three hundred eggs. Eels particularly root up the gravel beds, and the small river lamprey has also been seen busily engaged in the like pursuit. These have a method in going about their depredations that is quite interesting. Small parties of them work together, and by means of their suckers they remove the stones, immediately boring down after the hidden spawn. If a stone be too large for one to lift another will come to its aid, even four or five having been seen to unite their forces. It is a good-sized stone which can resist their efforts, and the mischief they do is considerable. Even water beetles and their larvæ must, on account of their numbers and voracity, come within the reckoning, and among the most destructive of these are water-shrimps and the larvæ of the dragon-fly. Have we not been told that while the loved May-fly is "on," all hours, meats, decencies, and respectabilities must yield to his caprice, so that the pink-spotted trout, rushing from every hover, may be lifted gently from its native stream to gasp away its life among the lush summer grass? But if the gauzy-winged fly is one of the loved likes of the trout, the former has its day, for none of the larvæ of water beetles is so destructive to spawn and fry as this. Pike and coarse fish are equally partial to the same repast, and even salmon and trout devour the young of their own kind. Waterfowl are among the trout-stream poachers, and the swan is a perfect gourmand. My swan and her crew (five cygnets) would dispose of two million five hundred thousand eggs in that time. Some of the best trout streams in the country have been depopulated of fish by these birds, and the Thames as a fishing river is now greatly suffering from the number of swans allowed upon it.3 Both wild and domestic ducks are destructive to spawn and almost live on the "redds" during the breeding season. We have more than once shot moorhens in autumn with spawn dripping from their bills, and the birds themselves gorged with it. The coot has been charged with the same crime, though as yet guilt has only been brought home to it with regard to coarse fish; and to the silvery bleak it is said to be particularly partial. The grebe or dabchick must be looked upon as an arrant little poacher not only of eggs and fry but of fish in every stage of growth. It is said that a pair of dabchicks will do more harm on a river than a pair of otters, which, however, is perhaps not so terrible as it sounds. Fourteen little grebes fishing about a mile of trout stream, as we have known, is overstepping the balance of nature, and would certainly injure the river; and Mr. Bartlett has stated that a pair of these birds which he kept in confinement cost the Zoological Society a considerable sum in providing small fish for them. Frank Buckland had a grebe sent to him which had been choked by a bullhead, and the same fate has not unfrequently befallen kingfishers and other aquatic feeders. The vegetarian water-voles may be written down innocent with regard to spawn, or at the worst "not proven." Our British voles are miniature beavers that haunt the water sides and lead a fairy-like existence among the osier-beds and lily-pads. They know but little of winter, and therefore of the spawning season, and their delectable lives are lived on through ever-recurring summers. Until lately naturalists knew but little of the life-history of the voles, and the country folk called them "water-rats" and "field-mice," and knew little beyond except that they tunnelled their meadow-banks. As the little creatures pass from one bank to another they swim fearlessly towards the observer, and when within a few yards of the side suddenly disappear and enter their holes from beneath. Much abuse has been heaped upon the vole for its alleged propensity for destroying ova, but as yet nothing has been proved against it. We have watched scores of these little creatures feeding on the succulent leaves of water-plants, but have never detected them searching the "redds" or taking trout fry. It has been asserted that voles feed upon flesh when opportunity offers, but perhaps we cannot better vindicate their general character in this respect than by relating an incident which has occurred annually for some years past. In a quiet pool known to us, a couple of moorhens have annually hatched and reared one or more broods under the shadow of an old thorn-tree, the nest being interwoven with one of the lower boughs which floats on the surface of the water. Under the roots a pair of voles have annually brought forth several young families; and yet perfect amity seems to exist between the birds and the rodents. We have seen the eggs lying for hours uncovered and unprotected, and at other times the young birds, not more than a few hours old, swimming about in the water when the voles were constantly feeding, crossing and recrossing from bank to bank. If voles were addicted to killing birds the downy young of the moorhen would have afforded tender morsels, and have been easily obtained in a small confined pool ere they were able to take wing.

When the eggs of salmon and trout have been submitted to the action of clear running water for a few months they begin to hatch. Prior to this the young fish may be seen inside packed away in a most beautiful manner. The embryo increases in bulk until on some warm April day the tiny fish bursts its shell and finds itself in a wide world of waters. Individual eggs may be seen to hatch, and the process is most interesting. First the shell splits at the part corresponding to the back. Then a tiny head with golden eyes appears, and after two or three convulsive waves of his little tail the now useless shells fall from off him. He seems to enjoy the watery element in which he finds himself, for away he swims as fast as his tiny fins and wriggling tail will carry him, round and round in a circle, until presently he sinks down again to the sheltering gravel, for the first time breathing freely by his delicate gills. Every young salmon and trout has a tiny umbilical sac attached, and upon the contents of which it must feed until it has learnt to look out for itself, a period of from six to eight weeks. Frank Buckland has stated that no other animal increases so rapidly at so little cost, and becomes such a valuable article of food as the salmon. At three days old it is nearly two grains in weight; at sixteen months it has increased to two ounces, or four hundred and eighty times its first weight; at twenty months old, after the smolt has been a few months in the sea, it becomes a grilse of eight and a half pounds, having increased sixty-eight times in three or four months; at two and three-quarter years old it becomes a salmon of twelve pounds to fifteen pounds; after which its increased rate of growth has not been satisfactorily ascertained, but by the time it becomes thirty pounds it has increased one hundred and fifteen thousand two hundred times the weight it was at first.

The only parts of a young salmon or trout which is fully developed immediately it leaves the egg are its eyes. These are golden with a silver sheen, and beautifully bright—the great aids in steering clear of an almost innumerable set of enemies which this new stage of existence brings. And it is really difficult to say whether these game fishes have more enemies when in the egg or after they are hatched. Of some of the former we have already spoken, and now let us look to the latter.

The heron is a great trout-stream poacher, and destroys quantities of immature fish. This has long been known, but the fact received striking confirmation from an incident which occurred at the rearing-ponds at Stormontfield. Here a heron was shot as it left off fishing, when it immediately disgorged fifty fry. In the trout stream the heron stands looking more like a lump of drift-stuff caught in the bushes than an animate object. Gaunt, consumptive, and sentinel-like, the bird watches with crest depressed, standing upon one leg. At other times it wades cautiously with lowered head and outstretched neck, each step being taken by a foot drawn gently out of the water, and as quietly replaced in advance. Occasionally the wader steps into a deep hole, but this causes not the slightest flurry. The walk is changed into a sort of swimming, and paddling deep in the water until the feet again touch firm ground. Woe to the trout or samlet that comes within range of the heron's terrible pike, for it is at once impaled and gulped down. This impalement is given with great force, and a wounded heron has been known to drive its strong bill right through a stout stick. If a fish is missed a sharp look-out is kept for its line of escape, and a stealthy step made towards it. Should the distance be beyond range of the bird's vision, a few flaps of the wings are tried in the eagerness of pursuit. Nothing from the size of fry to mature fish comes amiss to the heron, and the young whilst still in the nest consume great quantities. Their swallow is insatiable, though sometimes they gaff an individual which is difficult to dispose of. Shooting late one evening in summer we were standing by a stream the banks of which were riddled with the holes of water-voles. It was almost dark, when a large bird flapped slowly over the fields and alighted by the bank. It took its stand, and as we lay low its sketchy form was sharply outlined against the sky. It was a heron; and for an hour among the dank weeds and wet grass we watched it feed. After a prolonged struggle with some object in the water it rose. Just as it did so we fired, and running up to the winged bird were in time to see a live vole which it had disgorged. As an example of "the biter bit," it is related that a heron was seen one evening going to a piece of water to feed; the spot was visited the next morning, when it was discovered that the bird had stuck its beak through the head of an eel, piercing both eyes; the eel thus held had coiled itself so tightly round the neck of the heron as to stop the bird's respiration, and both were dead. Upon another occasion a heron is said to have swallowed a stoat, but in this case also the prey was promptly disgorged. An authoritative statement has been made to the effect that the heron's services in the destruction of pike, coarse fish, rats, and water-beetles may fairly be set off against its depredations in trout-streams. But to this we must dissent; and if a trout stream and a heronry are to flourish in the same neighbourhood, the former must be covered in with netting, especially during the spawning season.

Another bird which is an enemy to both salmon and trout in their fry stage is the black-headed gull. This bird with its laughing cry hovers over the stream and never lets slip an opportunity of snapping up a brown trout or silvery samlet that has left its place of refuge. The late Francis Francis was fully aware of this fact, and he set down both gulls and terns as most notorious offenders. A couple of hundred gulls will devour at least a thousand smolts per day; and the birds may be seen at Loch Lomond travelling to and from Gull Island and the burns all day, each with a trout or parr in its beak. This must have a considerable effect on the future supply of grilse in the Tweed.

As to what part the pretty white-breasted dipper plays in the economy of salmon rivers and trout streams naturalists are by no means agreed. Frank Buckland said that one might as well shoot a swallow skimming over a turnip-field as a dipper over the spawning beds. And this view of the dipper's economy we believe to be the right and just one. Last autumn we had occasion to walk over many miles of trout streams. In these, fish of every size were upon the gravel beds which constitute the spawning "redds." Almost at every turn the white chemisette of the brook bird glinted from some grey stone and went piping before us up stream. As many of these were seen actually rummaging among the pebbles, some few were shot for examination. Although the post-mortems were carefully conducted, no trace in any single instance of the presence of ova of either trout or salmon could be found, but only larvæ of water-haunting insects, roughly representing the four great families of trout-flies. In opposition to the above, however, it must be admitted that individual dippers have been seen with tiny fish in their bills, and even to feed their young ones upon them. Birds in confinement have also been fed upon minnows, but this penchant might be an acquired one. It may be asserted, then, that the ouzel has been known to eat fish, but that fish forms no chief portion of his food; and finally, that it would be quite incorrect to describe it as a fish-eating bird, and therefore as an enemy to salmon and trout. The birds will not long stay where the water is slow or logged; they must have the white foam, the torrent, the pebbly reaches, and the shallows. In fact, they could not obtain their food under conditions other than these. The mountain burns abound with various aquatic insects and their larvæ, and in limestone districts in innumerable fresh-water molluscs. As already shown, not only is the ouzel innocent of destroying eggs of salmon and trout, but it is indirectly beneficial to a fishery. It is well known that among the chief enemies to spawn are the larvæ known as caddisworms, that of the dragon-fly, May-fly and stone-fly, and also of the various water-beetles. Now all these have been found in the stomach of the dipper, and therefore it must confer a decided benefit on the salmon and trout streams which it haunts.

Of all our British birds none is so beautiful or so secluded in its habits as the kingfisher; and its presence is peculiarly in keeping with the rapid, rocky trout streams which it loves to haunt. Although glowing with metallic lustres, and beautiful in its adaptation and every movement, the kingfisher builds but a careless nest, a loose structure of dry fish bones—the hard indigestible parts of its food which, in common with birds of prey, it has the power of ejecting in pellets by the mouth. Again, let us look out the bird in its haunts. We follow the course of the hazel-fringed stream over a mile of its pebbly reaches; now a dipper flits from a green mossy stone, and a pair of sandpipers start with tremulous wings and skirt the shingle-strewn banks. Among the flags the water-voles gnaw the sweet saccharine aquatic plants, and the water-hens run and hide under the friendly roots of an overhanging thorn. The May-fly is upon the stream, the silvery fresh run fish are all animation, and even the great black trout in the "willow dub" condescends to take a fat blue-bottle that is spinning round and round the pool. Dragon-flies dart hither and thither, bronze fly and bee are upon the wing, and the carpet of grass and flowers is alive with innumerable insects, all busily engaged in fertilising their floral friends, or revelling in nectar, and gilded with golden pollen. The lime-trees are "a murmurous haunt of summer wings," and the breath of summer is on our cheek. Over there is an overhanging, leafless bough and upon it has just alighted a kingfisher. At first its form is motionless, then it assumes more animation, and anon is all eye and ear. Then it falls, hangs for a moment in the air like a kestrel, and returns to its perch. Again it darts with unerring aim and secures something. This is tossed, beaten and broken with a formidable beak, and swallowed head foremost. This process is again and again repeated, and we find that the prey is small fish. From watching an hour we are entranced with the beauty of the fluttering, quivering thing as the sun glints from its green and gold vibrations in mid-air. We gain some estimation, too, of the vast amount of immature fish which a pair of kingfishers and their young must destroy in a single season.4 Later in summer the young brood may be seen with open quivering wings, constantly calling as the parent birds fly up and down stream. Their food consists almost entirely of fish throughout the year, though during the rigour and frosts of winter they betake themselves to the estuaries of tidal rivers, where their food of molluscs and shore-haunting creatures are daily replenished by the tides. Kingfishers are among the most persistent of trout-stream poachers, and as many as eighty of these beautiful birds have been killed in a season on a famous nursery in the midlands. As in the case of the heron, nothing will save the fry from these marauders but covering in the rearing ponds with the finest wire net. However one may wish to protect the kingfisher, there is no denying the fact of its penchant for fish, especially the fry of salmon and trout; the bad habit is bred in him.