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Halifax Daily News, Sunday, August 13, 2006 Feisty mackerel go for shiny things [Accompanying this column was a box of information on mackerel that is missing from the hfxnews.ca Web-site. Why missing?] By Joe Fitzgerald The Daily News Usually it's late June when the call comes, when the first run comes through. It's been a strange decade, however. It's not that fish haven't been showing up, but that the times have been all screwed up. I finally got some first-hand knowledge from a friend who got into a mess of fish in Shad Bay and confirmed that it "was on." What was "on" was mackerel. When you talk about saltwater fish in Nova Scotia, mackerel assumes the top spot as the most accessible, most anticipated, most delicious fish in the province. Closely related to tuna, mackerel imitate their larger cousins in fighting fervour, and when a school swims by, the action is second to none. When you're fishing mackerel, you need nothing more than a shiny presentation with a hook attached, and because of saltwater regulations, you can fish with more than one presentation at a time, and no licence. I have many memories of fishing mackerel, so when I actually went out this week to fish them, it felt a little mechanical. That was, until I got to the wharf, and started casting. No matter how many times I do it and the number of fish I catch, there is always something special about fishing for mackerel. It harkens back to the days of fishing abundance in the Maritimes. I was at Boutiliers Point in St. Margarets Bay, awaiting the incoming tide. Schools of minnows flowed by the government wharf, and a throng of saltwater perch and sculpin patrolled the barnacle-crusted pilings. I had a light-action rod with a six-pound test line and a standard baitless mackerel jig. With a quarter, I shone the jig like a scratch-and-win ticket until it gleamed in the afternoon sun. Then I cast out and retrieved with sporadic jigs of the rod. After about 15 minutes, I had a strike. It was lighter than the dull pull of a pollock, but twitchier as it zig-zagged in front of the wharf. I reeled it in quickly, knowing I had only a few moments. On the end of my line was a blue-green, striped stick of dynamite. I took a moment to admire the muscular fish, then threw it back and changed tackle. Moving like a pit crew at Indy, I fastened a rig with three "feathers" and a mackerel jig on the end for weight. I cast back out, and as I started reeling, I was hit by the passing school. Three mackerel were hooked on my line, and I whooped like a schoolboy as the fishing rod bent double and I pulled up a quiver of shivering, iridescent arrows. Joe Fitzgerald is a freelance writer living in Halifax.
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