November 26, 1992 - 'Let's Give Eeling One More Try'6A • The Suffolk Times • November 26, 1992
`Let's Give Eeling One More Try'
By Paul Stoutenburah
A month ago I thought we'd done our
last firelighting for eels for the season
but no, father's and son's enthusiasm
had to give it one more try. The wind
had dropped off and the tide was low,
making it an ideal night for such an out-
ing.
As we discussed last- minute prepara-
tions over the phone, I was to gather up
the old eel spears, buckets, etc., and
Roger was to get the boat ready. By
seven o'clock we had improvised a light
by taking a battery out of an unused car
and were soon off to our favorite creek
for a night of eeling.
With the temperature at 30 degrees it
was lucky I had changed my shoes from
moccasins to lined boots, for wet, cold
feet can be miserable under any circum-
stances. Our venture was actually half-
hearted for it was awfully late in the
season to be trying this kind of trip. By
now the blue crabs were hibernating in
their muddy winter sleep and we were
afraid the eels had taken to the same
quarters.
Other years we have speared many of
these dormant eels through the ice. Now
we were hoping to catch the last few be-
fore they went into the mud. The differ-
ence with this trip was our equipment.
The spears this time would have long
needlelike points that would pin the eels
as the spear went down. The winter
"mud spear" has a series of barbed -type
points that actually catch the eel on the
upward pull and, of course, not being
able to see where the eels are under the
ice, you're actually blind spearing in the
mud.
Focus on
Nature
Last night our light was battery -
powered. A far cry from the early days
when lighted torches were first used.
Later came oil lamps to be followed
even later by gas lights. Many's the
night I've speared eels accompanied by
the hissing glow from the light attached
to the boat's bow as we moved slowly
through the shallow waters of our
creeks and bays.
One year we used a big old "one -
ltinger" power boat I had and speared
from the high bow with two gas lights
lighting our way. The problem with
power boats of that size is that it takes a
good distance to stop should you see
shallow water ahead. One of my best
friends, Bill Jackowski, found this out
one night when he was standing up on
the bow. We hit and stopped abruptly,
catching Bill off balance and over the
bow he went into the water. How we
laughed through the years at that ma-
neuver!
This one - lunger boat allowed us to
get farther out into the bay and it was
over in the cove I speared a 12 3/4
pound weakfish in what was just a lucky
shot for it was in 10 feet of water and
the boat was moving. We'd often get 20
or more pounds of eels in an evening
and they'd all be split up among those
who went along. The big job was to skin
them but with a little practice I could
skin and clean an eel in less than a
minute. This operation was usually done
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on a sandy beach where you could get a
handful of sand to help grip the slippery
eels and then, of course, there was al-
ways the nice saltwater to wash them in.
But let's get back to last night's eel -
ing at freezing temperatures. We
launched the boat at the head of the
creek and found the tide had about an-
other hour to go before it would be low.
We could see our breath in the head-
lights of the car and the area above the
surface of the creek water was in a con-
tinual motion of fog. It was quite eery.
It looked like something out of the
"Hound of the Baskervilles." Evidently
the cold, upland air was sliding down
over the banks and running out over the
water in what looked like great liquid
wisps of mist. This would in some
places make it impossible to see bottom
and we were continually hampered by
this moving veil.
Maybe They Are Gone
As we moved about the edge of the
creek where the water varied from one
to four feet, we saw nothing for the first
15 minutes. Perhaps we were too late.
Had the eels gone into the mud? I surely
thought so. My fingers started to get so
cold I could hardly hold the spear and
light. Once in a while ducks would rise
from the shallows ahead, calling in
alarm as they drifted off. There were
plenty of bait -size fish milling about
under our light so we thought there
should be eels about as well.
Soon it was Roger's turn at the spear
and, of course, he immediately got one
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and brought it up, almost as if it was in
a daze. The cold had stunned it and it
moved sluggishly in the bottom of the
bucket. If it had been summertime the
eels would have been thrashing about
with uncontrolled vigor. I've actually
seen them shoot out of a bucket and
squirm away on the bottom of the boat
but tonight they were feeling the cold of
winter.
We saw small stripers moving in
spurts along with small, white perch that
we find in our brackish creeks. As I
rowed along, every once in a while
Roger would say "Hold it!" and the boat
would glide along in silence, then a jab
It looked like
something out
of "The Hound
of the Baskervilles"
— often, not always an eel would come
up.
As I mentioned, it was dead calm and
sounds could be heard for long dis-
tances. The sky was filled with stars and
I searched for old friends I'd made ac-
quaintance with while on watch in the
service. A great homed owl called from
far off. He was sending chills through
the woods, for the flying tiger was out
hunting for his evening meal.
"Look at this!" Roger said in a low
voice. With oars up we drifted upon a
great blue heron hunting for killies
along the shore edge. I'll bet his feet
were cold. About 11 o'clock we headed
back, content with our meager catch of
eight to 10 eels, enough for a good rea-
son to start up the smoker.
As we put the boat on the trailer we
noticed the dazzle of ice crystals being
caught by the car's lights. A heavy frost
would greet the early risers in the
morning. We had truly taken our last
eeling trip of the year. We had caught
some eels but the night with all its won-
der was for me the best part of the trip.
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