During the approach of last winter, like other anadromous species, I chose the river to winter over in rather than the deeper water in the ocean. The river has been comfortable for myself and the other bass.
I survived yet another year. I guess that you could say that my scales are a little more silver in color. The water has been a lot cleaner since I was born here in the Hudson River. I have grown from a schoolie to a cow size, as you humans call us. During the spring, the heavy-laden cows like myself spawn our young. The eggs are fertilized by the male bass. Depending upon a lot of "ifs" (weather, temperature, pollution, etc.), our year class can be good or bad. Some years have been better than others.
I can recall speaking with an older female a couple of years back. She told me that she remembered what happened to many bass generations back. You humans had almost hunted us to extinction with nets! There were so many of us, but, unfortunately, we ended up as fertilizer on your crops. Finally in 1639, you humans stopped using us once there was a tax placed upon using us. These taxes were utilized to start the first public school system.
Some of my other ancestors were taken out of local rivers in the east and were transported to other states to live in. In 1879 and 1882, we went west by trains, wagons, and boats. Another old timer I met throughout my years claimed that she had relatives living in the Mississippi River. It seems when fingerlings were being transported west, a couple of dozen appeared to die in route. They weren’t actually dead, but they were stunned and then tossed into the river where they flourished. In what you humans call records, you can see that sometimes we were found to be over 100 pounds.
When the spawn takes place, I can feel the males pushing my sides. Some are quite handsome with their broad black stripes. As my eggs fall, the males fertilize them. I feel sorry for the males of my species because they rarely survive to my age.
The river holds shad, eels, worms, clams, and other small fishes — all to help fill my stomach. While chasing shad, I notice what seems to look like a large fish. It is not a shark, but it is just as long. It is what you humans call a sturgeon. With so many of us in the river, food becomes scarce. It is time to move down river to the sea for a different type of diet.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of us move down river. At the end of the river I can taste the salt in the water. I am hungry, so hungry! Some of my companions choose to go left, and some right. I feel a commotion through my lateral lines which are almost under my bold stripes. Something is taking place, I can sense it. The water in front of me is boiling — fish of all sizes. Bunker are being worked over by bluefish. I can remember the first time I saw this happen. Fish without tails and some sides missing flesh. I hid behind a rock with my scales shaking. It was all over in a couple of minutes.
The dying and disabled we picked off very fast. As I am feeding on a piece of bunker, I notice a bird in the water trying to chase an injured bunker. I think you call it a cormorant. It is a bird that dives underwater trying to get its share. Another type of bird I see every so often is called an osprey. It is a type of sea eagle that dives on bunker and picks the fish on the surface with its talons.
Now the bottom is fairly well cleaned of scraps from the blitz. It is time to search for more food. Being 56 inches long, I carry quite a big hunger. The sun is now setting and night is almost here. I do most of my feeding during the darkest hours of night because worms, eels, and small bait fish are more active with night to cover their movements. I feel safer in the darkness, too.
I’ll move more closer to the shore in the shallows. I can remember that there is a marina in this area which usually holds flounder on the muddy bottom. I really have a taste for them now. The first time I came here, I noticed that you humans sometimes can be sloppy. There are cans, paper, and trash dropped into the water. I found a piece of old sandwich with some odd smelling spread. I ate it and it stuck to the roof of my mouth. It is called peanut butter, I think. It took a lot of bunker scraps to get it off of the roof of my mouth.
I smell a scent of bunker now which draws me closer. I can see it now, it is a bunker head. It has a very fresh odor. Even though I came here for flounder, this is also a favorite. I will just suck it in and continue my search for flounder. As I suck it in and swim away, I feel a pull in the side of my mouth. Why didn’t I look closer, I think to myself? Maybe I can over power the pull in the corner of my mouth. I swim with every muscle in my body stressing. If I can just get to the pilings, I’ll know what to do. I am still being pulled towards a string piece. I make a second and third dash towards freedom. But, I am still slowly being pulled back to the string piece. It seems that my strength is not here anymore. I am slowly coming closer to this string piece. Maybe a tail slap will help? I see human fins coming into my mouth. I am being lifted out of the water. There are two humans, one older and one schoolie. A flash of light goes off. I am nearly blinded.
"Quite a fish," says the older one.
"Yeah Gramps, 56 inches long and a girth of 38 inches. Let’s put her back," replied the schoolie.
I see the schoolie bend down and kiss my head. Strange! The hook is being taken out of my mouth. I smell a faint odor of peanut butter. A tag is inserted into my flanks. Back into the water I go. The human’s fins are working me back and forth in the water. The water feels great on my gills. I feel powerful again. Off I swim with a wag of my tail to survive another day.
I hope that we’ll cross paths this season, and please do not forget to practice CPR on my breed (Catch, Photo, Release)!
Old Girl
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