Club a Fish!

If I actually told you to go out clubbing fish, I’m not too sure what reaction I would get. For some I guess a picture of a mean hairy looking man who drags his knuckles and whacks every cute guppy looking water creature would come to mind. Some may wonder just how to wade into your local lake and find a fish. For others, I guess no thought would enter their mind. There are those you know, take a look at Paris. But when I was a young’in clubbing a fish was that moment when you knew you had arrived.

Yessirree, my pops and me, had taken that time in our lives to drive out to our favorite pond, drag our aluminum boat into the water, tie on our Canadian Wiggler, and trolled for that ever elusive walleye.

When that fish bit, I would fight it onto the boat, and WHACK that sucker on the head! What a feeling!

I remember the first fish clubbing I ever did, it wasn’t pretty. I was only six years old. Pops handed me his wooden club and while he held that poor creature while it struggled to wiggle away, I hit it over the head. It rolled its eyes and wiggled more. Pops said, “Hit it again boy, this time put it out of it’s misery!” So I whacked it again. It rolled it eyes again, and wiggled some more. Pops said, “Son, hit it right here!” and he pointed to a sweet spot. So with my tongue protruding out the right side of mouth and my left eye closed for good aim, I raised that wooden club and WHACK! Down went the fish, and up went my pops hand. That day I learned a whole new language that I later thought was the official language of the fisherman.

Pops was just as good holding the fish’in pole with his left hand as he was with his right.
But that fish still wasn’t dead, and pops had to finish it off. I later looked at my kill and noticed that it’s appearance was a bit like Rocky Marciano in the final round. I wondered how I was going to get it past the game warden, because I was sure that an assault charge was forthcoming.
That day, I clubbed many fish, and each one we clipped onto a fresh water chain and hung over the boat, giving all the other fish in the lake an opportunity to see their loved ones drug off to the frying pan. In all we caught at least twenty fish.

This is where my bubble burst.
I went out to pick up a copy of the fishing regulations because I recently acquired a nice boat from a buddy and decided I better go out and club me a wack of fish. I could not believe what I picked up!

What has happened to the days of Pisces slaughter? The day when if it had fins and was big enough, you clubbed it, cleaned it, froze it, and later fried it in butter, with a little bit of rice, some lemon, a slice of Tomato, and the peas.........

Ok, I’m back! Those days are gone. Today, if you catch a fish, you have to act like a Sunday Fishing Show Host. You know the type.

The one that sits in his boat, talks to an invisible friend, and speaks very softly and respectfully to his catch, only to sweetly pat the creature on its backside and watch as this mammoth looking Pike swims away. Yep, I bet that fish is thinking. “What a moron, you had me at .. hello!” In some Alberta lakes such as Pigeon Lake you have to apply for a draw. I grew up in a time when you only drew for game that required shooting it with a firearm. I know some like to shoot fish in a barrel, but it’s just not sporting.

Then there is the hold-over from the big game regulation. If you catch a fish, don’t clean it. In the good-old-days, many cleaned fish in the boat, then put the beautiful filets in a cooler to keep fresh. That way the meat stayed fresh. God put a process in place on this earth called decomposition. The moment a living creature dies, it begins to rot. In fishing, your best defense against it is to clean the sucker! Well, today you really can’t do that. You have to carefully do an autopsy, and ensure that the fish’s sexual identity is easily identified. OK, I must be a real hillbilly, because I really didn’t know that you could sex a fish. It’s not like I tipped them over to closely examine its undercarriage. So I absorbed these changes, and decided I would fish anyway. I would talk to them in a soft voice, let them go, and only keep the grand-daddy of the species. Off I went to my local sporting goods store.

Then the other shoe dropped.
I had to use fish friendly, politically correct, liberal loving, nonevasive, barbless fish hooks. That entails buying fish hooks where the fish could optionally stay-on the hook. No Barbs. Did it ever occur to anyone that if the fish fights without barbs, it could just decide to leave. That leaves me with the thought.. Will I only be landing a suicidal fish, and if so, what does a manic depressed fish taste like? Do I even want to assist in a fish suicide. I’m not Dr. Kvorkian! So I finally understand sport fishing. Be kind and let them all go to make more fishes, so we have more of them to let go another day. Don’t eat fish you catch in our lakes, go to your local grocery store and buy them there. Use fish friendly lures, and no live bait. You don’t want the bait to be hurt or insulted. If you catch a fish you are legally able to keep, get its permission before you club the life out of it.

So, have you hugged a fish lately? No! I didn’t think so.

Go ahead and club that fish