The hunter's prey darted into the shadows, just out of reach of Henry Demar's gun.
"Come on, stand up and be counted," Demar muttered. "There was a ripple that came out of the weeds. There's something out there."
PHOTO: NY TIMES
Dressed in camouflage, gripping his .357-caliber Magnum, Demar was primed to shoot. But this time, no such luck. With a flick of its tail, his quarry -- a slick, silvery fish -- was gone.
Fish shooting is a sport in Vermont, and every spring, hunters break out their artillery -- high-caliber pistols, shotguns, even AK-47s -- and head to the marshes to exercise their right to bear arms against fish.
It is a controversial pastime, and Vermont's fish-and-wildlife regulators have repeatedly tried to ban it. They call it unsportsmanlike and dangerous, warning a bullet striking water can ricochet across the water like a skipping stone.
But fish shooting has survived, a cherished tradition for some Vermont families and a novelty to some teenagers and twenty-somethings. Every spring, fixated fish hunters climb into trees overhanging the water or perch on the banks of marshes that lace Lake Champlain, on Vermont's northwest border.
"They call us crazy, I guess, to go sit in a tree and wait for fish to come out," said Dean Paquette, 66, as he struggled to describe the fish-shooting rush. "It's something that once you've done it ...."
Paquette, a retired locomotive engineer, has passed fish shooting on to his children and grandchildren, including his daughter, Nicki, a nurse. "You have to be a good shot," said Paquette, 31, who started shooting at age six. "It's a challenge. I think that's why people do it."
Her 87-year-old great uncle, Earl Picard, is so hooked that, against the better judgment of his relatives, he frequently drives 1000km from his home in Newport to Lake Champlain. Picard still climbs trees, although "most of the trees that I used to climb in are gone," he said. "You can sit up there in the sun and the birds will come and perch on your hat and look you in the eye."
There is art, or at least science, to shooting fish, aficionados say. Most fish hunters do not want to shoot the actual fish, because then "you can't really eat them," Paquette said. "They just kind of shatter."
Instead, said Demar, "you try to shoot just in front of the fish's nose or head." The bullet torpedoes to the marsh bottom and creates "enough concussion that it breaks the fish's air bladder and it floats to the surface."
Often the target is a female fish come to spawn in shallow water, accompanied by several male acolytes who might also be killed, or stunned, by the concussion.
"If you shoot a high-powered rifle, you can get a big mare and six or seven little bucks," Paquette said.
Permitted from March 25 to May 25, and only on Lake Champlain, fish shooting has probably existed for a century. (Picard was 10 when he started.) It also used to be legal in the state of New York, which also borders the huge apostrophe-shaped lake.
State officials say that fish shooting disturbs nesting birds and that killing spawning females could endanger the northern pike population (although so far there is no evidence it has).
Worst of all, state officials say, many shooters do not retrieve all the fish they kill. They leave behind fish they cannot find or do not want to wade after and fish that exceed the state's five-pike-a-day limit or fall under the minimum length for northern pike. Marcelle recently found 18 dead fish left to rot.
Two dead fish recently greeted Demar and his companions at the marsh, a species he called mudfish. There were some frolicking muskrats, chickadees in the ash and willow trees, and shell casings from an 8mm Mauser. ("Oh, that's made for blowing them out of the water," Rushford said.)
There were not, however, enough live fish to shoot. So Demar tested his gun on a log in the water, and spray shot up.
"I got a little water on my sunglasses," he said sheepishly. "That's the thing about pickerel shooting. Afterward, you have to turn away, or you get sprayed in the face."
In recent weeks the Trump Administration has been demanding that Taiwan transfer half of its chip manufacturing to the US. In an interview with NewsNation, US Secretary of Commerce Howard Lutnick said that the US would need 50 percent of domestic chip production to protect Taiwan. He stated, discussing Taiwan’s chip production: “My argument to them was, well, if you have 95 percent, how am I gonna get it to protect you? You’re going to put it on a plane? You’re going to put it on a boat?” The stench of the Trump Administration’s mafia-style notions of “protection” was strong
Every now and then, it’s nice to just point somewhere on a map and head out with no plan. In Taiwan, where convenience reigns, food options are plentiful and people are generally friendly and helpful, this type of trip is that much easier to pull off. One day last November, a spur-of-the-moment day hike in the hills of Chiayi County turned into a surprisingly memorable experience that impressed on me once again how fortunate we all are to call this island home. The scenery I walked through that day — a mix of forest and farms reaching up into the clouds
Late last month US authorities used allegations of forced labor at bicycle manufacturer Giant Group (巨大集團) to block imports from the firm. CNN reported: “Giant, the world’s largest bike manufacturer, on Thursday warned of delays to shipments to the United States after American customs officials announced a surprise ban on imports over unspecified forced labor accusations.” The order to stop shipments, from the US Customs and Border Protection (CBP), came as a surprise to Giant, company officials said. Giant spokesman Ken Li (李書耕) said that the CPB never visited the company’s factories to conduct on-site investigations, nor to interview or
With one week left until election day, the drama is high in the race for the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) chair. The race is still potentially wide open between the three frontrunners. The most accurate poll is done by Apollo Survey & Research Co (艾普羅民調公司), which was conducted a week and a half ago with two-thirds of the respondents party members, who are the only ones eligible to vote. For details on the candidates, check the Oct. 4 edition of this column, “A look at the KMT chair candidates” on page 12. The popular frontrunner was 56-year-old Cheng Li-wun (鄭麗文)
RSS