The January thaw was a refreshing
break, but it was all too short. Today the wind is from the west and grasping
the falling snow like sand. Blue skies are above, with sunshine to the south.
My view of the river is only in my imagination, as it is being obliterated by a
constant curtain of white. Most recent days have been well below freezing and
have kept me in the confines of our cabin. Every time the thermometer gets a
boost into the twenties, the wind tags along. I haven’t even gotten out on the
river for a walk… yet. On the clear cold windless days I have (still) been
watching the deer carcass out front. It has provided me with entertainment and
at least a ‘feel’ of being out there, in nature.
A new predator has joined the
cavalcade of diners to feast on the expired deer. A coyote came early in the
week under a bright sun, to tear at the carcass. It is unusual to see one of
them mid-day as I did; they are known to be primarily nocturnal. I took a
chance and walked outside to sneak in for a decent photograph. It was ten
degrees below zero and the snow squeaked under my foot prints, as if I were
walking on Styrofoam. I thought that the carnivore would hear me and dart away.
I used the cedar trees to shield my movement, which was slowly paced. Each time
the coyote drove its muzzle into the deer flesh, I inched forward. Two crows
were also eating along side the coyote and they did not tolerate my movement.
When they left, the coyote merely took a short break to look around and then
resumed eating.
The odd thing is that I have seen
some uncommon bedfellows sharing the venison, side by side. An immature bald
eagle sat on top of the deer, while two crows worked on the extremities. A
mature eagle watched from the side, perhaps guarding the younger one. Neither
eagle made a move on the crows…amazing to see. Yesterday just the crows
remained by the now skeletal outline of the deer. During the nights this week
it looks as if the coyotes had been busy. They have torn the carcass into pieces
that are scattered over a larger area of the ice. Just a white and pink ribcage
remains, where crows are picking it clean daily. It reminds me of the
photographs of cattle that perished on the westward migration of settlers. This
blue summer paradise has become a dry arid desert of winter. Blowing snow cuts
like sand, the wind dries the hands and chaps the lips. As with the adventurous
settlers of the west, a short shot of pain is worth all of the gain.
It drives me crazy that I can’t get
out on the hard water to fish… there is so much good ice. Many recent winters
have been void of thick ice and shortened the season due to it. This year it is
a bitter cold, which temporarily keeps the jigging rods in the corner of the
basement. I do have a portable ice shanty, but I’m afraid that I would be blown
away, trolling my way to Canada in it! My last outing only produced a catch of
four large perch, before I was forced off of the ice by the wind. All of those
perch were all female. As a matter of fact every time I come home with perch,
there are darn few males, even in the summer.
I began to wonder if there are any
male perch around. Do they school separately? Are their numbers so low that I
seldom catch one and how does or would that effect reproduction? One male in
thirty females would be a daunting responsibility, don’t you think? My
curiosity got the best of me so I contacted a biologist at the DEC. She did not
have an answer and forwarded my question to two fishery biologists. It just
took one day for me to get a reply.
This is the response that came from the
first biologist. He said that male yellow perch seldom attain a length greater
than seven to eight inches. ‘Most’ anglers do not keep perch until they are
larger than that, so the lack of males in a ‘keeper’ bucket is not unusual.
That notion had never occurred to me! I have long assumed that the larger pike
and bass are females and l release them. I should have known that this might be
applicable to perch as well.
The second response came from an
Aquatic biologist. His answer was a bit more detailed. “This is an interesting
question regarding yellow perch.” He said that gill netting on the St. Lawrence
in the summer, reveals a similar pattern, it is unusual to catch males in the
nets. “This is not a new thing; data indicates that this is how it has always
been. Our typical net with perch will have 95-100% females.” He also said that
during spring spawning they see equal numbers of males to females. So it seems
that like many mammals, perch may also separate into gender groups, when
procreation is not a priority. This would explain why many of us who encounter
schools of perch find them of similar size!
I have noticed that in the tail end
of the ice fishing season, the fish vary a great deal in size. I often have to
weed out a dozen small perch before I get a good one. Now I know that they are
males moving into the habitat, to commence the breeding process. We all like to
keep perch that are over eight inches (I being one of them). Perhaps the
anglers that keep the smaller ones are making for a better ratio, of males to
females. It all is beginning to make sense to me, while I’m sitting here!
Smaller fish are more vulnerable and will seek out dense weeds and cover to
survive. They are at the mercy of what ever food is available there. Larger
fish are better able to move about in schools to find a better food base. Logic
would tell me that the small fish have a limited ability to get larger due to
habitat and food resources. On top of that, if the smaller of the species is
dominated by males then the survival rates of the females would be much
greater. Now I understand why the perch population of the St. Lawrence thrives
and continues to be a viable, self sustaining and renewable resource. What a
River!
Mike LaDue, Monday, January
27, 2014
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