Furunculosis Outbreak in Retrospective

Here's an article published this past spring for my Recorder Newspapers column. The furunculosis outbreak of late 2013 will not affect trout stocked this year, although only rainbow trout will be stocked.

 

Furunculosis changes trout season plans

By Bruce Litton

          Many of us became informed last fall of the fish disease, furunculosis, likely transmitted from a heron or herons to trout at Pequest Hatchery. Caused by a wild bacterium, Aeromonus salmonicida, it’s assumed the birds picked it up somewhere else, since the hatchery is groundwater fed. The infection altered some of the fall stocking program, and we wondered what lay ahead.

          The changes for this spring are far reaching, but there will be trout for Opening Day, Saturday, April 5^th, and weekly stockings through May 2^nd. However, to protect native, wild, and holdover trout populations, no trout will be stocked in Trophy Trout Lakes (Merrill Creek Reservoir, Round Valley Reservoir), Holdover Trout Lakes, (Clinton Reservoir, Lake Aeroflex, Lake Wawayanda, Shepherd Lake, White Lake), and some of the Trout Production Streams and waters directly connected to them too numerous to list. Information is available online under NJ Fish & Wildlife postings, among other sites.

          Most of our Highlands streams will receive a lion’s share of pre-Opening Day stocking. Since rainbow trout are resistant to this disease, although they may carry it, don’t expect many brook and brown trout. Furnuculosis is not a threat to human health, although it’s understandable if the thought of the fish’s infection is not appetizing. Only fish unexposed to the disease will be stocked in any Trout Production stream associated with wild, and perhaps also native, trout. Exposed trout, testing negative for the disease, will be stocked in Trout Maintenance streams. Put and take waters will get fish treated by medicated feed, but don’t expect to catch deformed trout, although some may be carriers of the disease. CO2 is the quick and painless method of eradicating the many unfit trout. This is the first outbreak of furnuculosis in Pequest Hatchery’s history, although it has happened in Pennsylvania hatcheries.

          “They (Pequest) raise way over 600,000 trout every year, but they’re still stocking 570,000,” Brian Cowden, Trout Unlimited Musconetcong Coordinator, said. “It’s a conservative plan, and they will not stock fish that test positive.” While the disease is not likely to spread in the wild, the possibilities are unknown. The Pequest Hatchery’s care is important.

          Trout-rearing raceways will be disinfected, and in the future, the state plans to rear furnuculosis-resistant brook and brown trout. For the time being, remaining trout are being vaccinated. Over the course of the next few years, rainbows will mostly replace the other two familiar species until the resistant trout are established.

          It’s disheartening to know that our reliable trout stocks have taken such an onslaught from perhaps a few ospreys and herons. However, three years ago when I began this column, I noted that hatchery reared trout have been shown to have smaller brains than wild fish, and this raises a point about hatchery susceptibility. Wild trout thrive and survive by so many more environmental variables than a straight, concrete, crowded raceway. It may be supposed that positive growth, and ultimately health, depends upon multifaceted environmental opportunities for animals of any species—including humans—to make choices and respond, have impulses and address situations, if any animal other than human addresses anything. I consider that the way a trout overtakes a streamer fly displays impetus from within the fish, not a purely responsive swipe, but an address is a rational consideration.

          I’ve been unable to find anything online about an entire wild, or native, trout stream waylaid by furnuculosis, although Susquehanna River smallmouth bass have suffered an epidemic due to low water and heat stress. Again, Aeromonus salmonicida is a wild bacterium. “Aero” implies that the disease is commonly transmitted by birds. Wild trout, salmon, even minnows, chub, pike, carp, bass, etc. get it. As a boy, I saw it on minnows in Little Shabakunk Creek, Mercer County, never infecting all the fish. Nature is resistant; simplified man-made spaces vulnerable. It reminds me of Michael Crichton’s science fiction debut The Andromeda Strain.  

          In any event, if it weren’t for hatcheries, the Highlands would have no wild browns and rainbows, although these populations have been established for many generations now. Nowadays, the trend is to remove dams from rivers like the Raritan and Musconetcong, and if two of the three dams on the Paulinskill River are removed, the population of wild browns will increase, since dammed flows warm in summer, and without dams, rivers run more in accord with springs that cool and clean them.

          So this Opening Day, appreciate your surroundings a little more than usual, knowing that wildness, freedom, and health go together. Let some of your own neuronal dendrites spread out a little wider than they would with four walls around you.

http://littonsfishinglines.blogspot.com/2015/02/super-ultra-light-salmon-egg-spinning.html takes you to a comprehensive article on salmon egg fishing.

Latest from Round Valley Reservoir

Round Valley has been slow for us shorebound bottom fishermen. Mike hasn't caught any since his two nice-size browns hit shiners going on two weeks ago, and he fishes a lot. He has no word since then of any other being caught, besides four lakers between two guys trolling in all that rain Sunday, top fish about five-and-a-half pounds.

I fished shiners, and I was happy to be out with the usual fare of catching nothing. I guess that says a lot for a place that most find too desolate and forbidding to visit this time of year, waiting until May when colors of casual wear flourish in abundance like flowers. It should say a lot, because contrary to appearances the park is full of life year 'round, you just have to experience beyond the mental constructions that would tell you "nothing" is there.

And I hope to get out and fish Round Valley again soon. I caught the five-pound bass I wanted so much last May, and I've caught two rainbows over five-and-a-half, one of them barely under seven, but I've never caught a laker anywhere, though I've tried at three places total. Sticking to shiners, who knows. Mike caught a 21-inch laker just weeks ago. I have heard of lakers caught on Power Bait, Merrill Creek Reservoir, but among shore fishermen here at the Valley, lakers all seem to take shiners.

A few out for a stroll in the 30-degree weather. 



7 Inches of Ice Lake Hopatcong

Oliver asked where we would go on Hopatcong, and I suggested State Park, River Styx, and a spot with a drop-off from about 10 feet of water. Two years ago, Landolfi took my son and I here, and we waited for about two and a half hours, just talking and on occasion lifting tip-ups from holes to stir any lagging shiners back to life. The sun touched the horizon and we were thinking of leaving, although my interest piqued, since I'm very familiar with things happening at the magic hour. A flag went up, all three of us threw cares aside and ran for it. The fish hit right on the drop-off about 12 feet down. Matt heaved on the line and could barely move it.

"Here!" Joe grabbed the line. Landolfi's patience is short lived, but he gets things done. The hook pulled.

"That was a big fish," Joe said.

It's the sort of spot not limited to pickerel and bass as State Park at least tends to be, besides perch and panfish. Could have been a walleye, channel cat, or even a musky.

Today I mostly looked forward to getting out, conversation, and having some moments of communion with the environment: all fulfilled. And of course I shot photos, 200 of them. But after our four hours or so were finished and Oliver had caught one yellow perch to show for our efforts, when two guys came walking to Dow's dock behind us and reported catching six pickerel, I felt the old familiar urge to actually catch fish come alive as waiting on our 10 tip-ups never did provoke.

 Felt mild the first couple of hours, though never got above freezing.

Lake Hopatcong never freezes evenly. Great, thick sheets of ice collided here like little continents, heaving up ice to the left of this photo, and driving ice under here where I photographed the fissure with a very thin sheet over it.

Black ice is best. But this time a bust.

Round Valley Reservoir Trout Report

I've fished trout four or fives since I reported last, lost a nice one, and have witnessed three lakers 15-20 inches, two browns 19 and 22 inches, and a 22 inch rainbow. Mike got the browns on shiners, and the lakers also took shiners. A man and his young son fished together, the boy catching the rainbow on what I forget, but the fish was a conversation piece. Whatever I had on hit a marshmallow and mealworm. I've noticed a couple of guys using 9-foot rods to get extra-distant casts. My son and I each own 11-foot steelhead noodle rods, and I'm thinking about it. Can't use more than 6-pound test; noodle rods are light power, but that's the test I use now anyhow.

The word has been that the browns are gone, but it's rainbows I've heard little about. Oliver fly cast his 10 wt. recently and watched a golden palomino follow his nymph. Not a taker, but a close encounter.

Lake Hopatcong has as many as seven inches of ice in the coves, but this ice may thicken considerably more before the reservoir freezes. In any event, the reservoir won't freeze unless we have more sustained extreme cold than we have enjoyed as yet.

You've got to admit it. Cold can feel good on the face. It stings the nerves and can make the face burn for an hour after you come in, but it's a sure sign that you're responsive and alive.

Ice Fishing Last Year's Knee Deep Derbies and More

Happy New Year! Should be another good one, and we may have ice soon.

 

          Due to plenty of ice on Lake Hopatcong—nearly two feet thick as of March 10th—the Knee Deep Club is hosting another derby on Sunday, March 16, ice conditions permitting. Additional information can be found online. If the derby is held, non-members will be enabled to participate at an additional cost: $25.00 instead of $20.00 for members. Individual membership in the club is $20.00 and a perfect way for beginners to familiarize themselves with ice fishing and the lake otherwise through acquaintances with other members. If mild weather persists until Sunday, surface ice may be a slushy mess, yet safe underneath.

          Pickerel and perch especially fish well through the ice, and plenty are being caught. The February 16th derby winning pickerel was 3 pounds, 12 ounces, and 2^nd and 3^rd place fish were also over three pounds. The winning walleye was also 3 pounds, 12 ounces, not large as this species goes, and the winning yellow perch was 1 pound, 3 ounces—larger than the winning largemouth bass at 1 pound, 1 ounce.

          This does not mean that Hopatcong bass are small. They don’t fish as well as pickerel and perch through the ice, and no one happened to catch any good sized that day. I got a weekend report from Laurie Murphy at Dow’s Boat Rentals on Monday, February 24^th, which included news of a 5 pound, 6 ounce largemouth weighed in at the shop’s scales. The bass was released. Perhaps a party cooler, filled by a siphon stuck through the ice, was used to transport the bass alive. How it was done I prefer to leave to imagination. On Gropp’s Lake, Mercer County, we used to construct live wells by hollowing out 18 inch thick ice, then cutting a small hole through the bottom.

          I also heard from somewhere or other that during the February derby, a few small muskies of about 40 inches were caught. Muskies are not included in the contest, since the overwhelming persuasion on the lake is to release these fish.

          If you want to try for muskies, walleye, or even hybrid stripers and big channel catfish, ice fish one of the many main lake points. If you can find parking at Dows, you can access Nolan’s and Chestnut points, or even walk clear across the lake to Elba or Pickerel points. In any event, purchase a Fishing Map Guides topographic map of Hopatcong, which shows the points, coves, and pickerel flats. If you do fish the main lake, most of the walleye, hybrid stripers, and catfish will probably be 30-45 feet deep. Muskies are not necessarily so deep, although they often are way down at bottom. Sometimes a smallmouth bass is caught at Chestnut Point, but whatever the reason, this species is stubborn through the ice.

          Largemouth bass are better through the ice than smallmouth, but finding where they are is difficult. Pickerel are relatively easy to find and better acclimated to cold water feeding. The State Park flats, for example, about six feet deep when the lake’s level is normal, are acres of weed beds that pickerel prowl winter, summer, spring, and fall. The River Styx is another example of extensive weedy shallows that can be productive for ice fishing. Woodport is productive also, and a good bet with low water now. Perch are available in these spots too, and often rove about in large schools through other areas as well.

          Most of the perch fishing is done by jigging a tiny jig with a mousy grub on the hook. A good idea is to exercise with the manual or power auger and cut a lot of holes. If a school swings in under one hole and is gone after a minute, you can move to another hole and possibly catch up. In any event, especially if you use a hand auger, this is a sure way to keep warm if it’s cold out. The effort expended on ice 18 inches thick is substantial.

          Laurie Murphy told me recently that she remembers years when the ice wasn’t completely gone until early April. It was amazing to contemplate a photo taken of Lake Absegami in Ocean County on February 22^nd this year completely ice free. The Highlands are certainly a winter attraction if you learn how to approach them, while South Jersey is another story entirely.

          Even Round Valley Reservoir has ice a foot thick at the time of this writing, and ice fishermen are catching lake trout 60 feet deep. It will be interesting to see how long the ice fishing season extends this year. Even if you don’t care to actually fish through the ice, getting out on a frozen lake for a walk can be a very stimulating, brisk way to relax.

 

            

 

Beach Fossils of the New York Bight

 

Beach Fossils of the New York Bight

Here's an article sufficiently outdoors published in The Paleontograph many months ago.

          Rockaway Beach, Queens, New York, is a slice of sand where routines of the everyday Big Apple meet the open Atlantic. Who would think this crowded beach is a great place to pick fossils after a storm? Between November and March, Nor’easters produce opportunity few care about, but those who do seek fossils find tokens of deep time. A group of about three dozen of us from the New York Paleontological Society kicked our way across the sand towards drift lines, having been informed that the treasure to seek is a blue crab fossil from the Pleistocene Epoch more than 11,700 years ago. We were assured that plenty of fossil shells would be found, but that the crabs, locked into place by clay having become rock, are uncommon.

          We could do better. Fossil lobster claws, gastropods, sponges, and other very rare specimens have been found on the Rockaway and Long Island beaches. But no one seems to expect them.

          We walked and picked shells that appeared ancient near the throat of the New York Bight, the indentation or oceanic pocket between Long Island and Queens, and the northern New Jersey beaches, cleaved by the Hudson Canyon. Ocean currents erode the coastline freeing fossils from sediment and sand; storms wash them onto the beaches. To some degree the canyon, 7217 feet deep at the continental shelf’s base, routes current in the direction of Rockaway Beach. At any rate, when the wind is strong from the southeast, fossils tend to grace drift lines. You could bet that collectors walked the beaches after Hurricane Sandy, and in fact a blog account confirms they did.

           We surely found Holocene Epoch specimens only a few thousand years old, and none of our collection seemed to be of the rare Lower Pleistocene exceptions two million years old that sometimes get reported. Most seem to come from the Pleistocene Ice Age, although interglacial periods warmed ocean temperature averages 3.6 to 19.8 degrees F beyond what they are now. That was news to my concern for global warming. It made me feel that we are less alone and unique than I had thought. On the other hand, the Wisconsin Glacier was the last of three ice masses, and ocean levels fell 400 feet lower than at present with ocean temperatures averaging 5.4 to 12.6 degrees F colder than they are now. Thus, the Hudson River carved what remains as the Hudson Canyon cutting through the continental shelf. Almost all of the fossil shells are of species alive and well in the Bight today such as surf clams, ocean quahogs, whelks, and moon snails. However, the Ponderous Ark and the periwinkle turn up while living specimens today are from North Carolina southward. This is clear evidence of those warmer waters of startling climatic shifts between glaciers.

          On our beach trek, I had been finding fossil shells that would have excited me as a boy, had I known this is what they are. North Carolina’s Outer Banks had yielded many finds for me at dawn before other beachcombers took their picks. Fossil shells may be available on any beach, although barrier beaches subject to erosion reveal the most. But how does one know how to identify them?

          They tend to be gray. Once a fossil shell was pointed out to me by an experienced collector, I knew them all. Discoloration can vary from gray, to off-white, to tan or rusty. They have no periostracum, the outer shell layer, nor ligament that holds together the bivalves, although there is more to being a fossil than these lacks of characteristics. On occasion, a blackened shell may be found that is not a fossil. The black shell particularly of clams and scallops is the result of years being buried in bay mud, which may be anoxic as is sometimes claimed to be the case. Sulphides stain the shell. However, black shell stain may not require much lack of oxygen. As a clammer in New Jersey’s Barnegat and associated bays many years ago, I found black mud had permanently blackened shells, as opposed to the whitish shells of those from sand, yet these live organisms were not without oxygen despite abundant sulphides. The smell left no doubt.

          As paleontology enthusiasts, we New Yorkers knew that what is essential to making a fossil shell is not the lack of a ligament—which is also usually not present in fairly recent, non-fossil bivalve shells—nor the absence of periostracum, but the mineralization of the fossil substance, whether of shell or crab that also characterizes gray clay concretion. Taphonomy determines specifically how and why fossils are preserved. In common parlance, a fossil is the remains of an organism turned to stone, but fossil shells are not exactly stones and don’t seem to be so at all, although they may be embedded in stone concretion such as common gray clay. Furthermore, shells are mineralized upon formation by organic processes—they’re made of calcium. So are bones, and fossil bones are classics. But the quality of mineralization is not the same in fresh shells or bones as those that have fossilized. The scientific term for the process is perimineralization, which implies the added ingredients from ground water penetrating the pores of bone over great expanse of time, or of brine transforming the mineral content of shells—porous enough—and hardening them to some degree.

          We all know fossils are special. We sensed this as children. Their stoniness is something I sensed as a five-year-old as having to do with a special process of some sort, and I was aware of immense time as a very young boy. It is a natural transformation that results in preservation, as if impermanence in nature is not the whole story. As a child, I found fossils in my Indianapolis, Indiana, backyard and contemplated them as symbols of something absolute within existence of which I am part. They suggested to me that I have something deep within myself that can weather the flux of life.

          True, the earth, the oceans, ourselves—none of this lasts forever. Yet the oceans and the entire planet are part of existence that cannot have come from nothing, nor become nothing. Everything transforms, as a fossil is a transformation of organic matter, given that it is not a fossil footprint or the like. A fossil suggests immortality in the way a work of art is a re-creation or transformation of experiential meaning which lasts for millennia. But nothing lasting would mean anything without particular search here and now, quite limited in time as we were by the few hours of our outing.

         For the time being, we clambered along the beach. We must have walked 15 or 20 blocks and I never expected to find one of those blue crabs, not that any evidence of the original coloration would be present if I did. We all seemed to search with sincere persistence. No one on the beach appeared to be there on a social lark. My son, Matt, had gained a fossilized lightning whelk in perfect condition. What’s the likelihood of this? I saw it first, standing out on the flat, wet sand as the wash receded, like a live creature crawling out of the primordial sea in full view to anyone who would look from the City of New York. I called out to my son. I pointed and he ran immediately to it. We celebrated and soon moved on, my suspecting that this would be our best find and perhaps it was, but everyone had the crab in mind.

          And then it appeared very simply at my feet. I saw the ribbed pattern underside, picked it up, and beheld what everyone else up and down the beach was looking for. I felt more odd than fortunate. This proved to be the only blue crab fossil found. The outing’s expert guide gave my son a blue crab piece he had found on earlier occasion as if to complement his father’s fortune. I was more grateful to the guide than for my own find. I don’t find myself truly avid about paleontology these recent years. But I was so as a young boy; it was important that my son take home a special token. What I remember best is Matt’s triumphant lifting of the whelk above the surf as if he could blow a clarion call through it.    

  

 Fossil oysters in clay concretion

Fossil blue crab (not blue-claw)

My New Website

Good-Size Trout Hooked Round Valley

 I happened to be walking by with my camera when he set the hook. "Can I get a shot?" "Sure."

Nothing's happened for me since I caught the big rainbow more than two weeks ago, but I've been out a few times and got the feeling of Round Valley's expanse that always seems to let me breathe easier. I guess that's important for someone who smoked Marlboros. We had some intense snow showers, obviously low pressure moving through, the kind of conditions that make an angler more expectant. This young man I photographed battled a very good-size trout long and hard before it snapped his line. Once these larger trout get close to the bank, they react by powerful runs. I wish I had thought of telling him to loosen his drag a little.

He used a shiner. Now I'm thinking of doing the same, not that this will dramatically improve my catch. Nothing does that in winter. I'd love to catch a laker, and shiners might make this more likely than marshmallows & mealworms.

Has been very quiet in the park. The Valley has a harsh, forbidding wildness in winter.