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The pin of the arcade wheel at Seaside Heights came to rest in the slot Dad had wagered his dime on, and I wasted no time choosing a prize. I picked a five-foot conventional boat rod with a simple reel. On Dad's next spin, he won one for my younger brother, Doug. Together the next morning we picked up some sinkers, swivels, hooks, and squid, and set out on what would become a lifelong hobby and, for me, career.
It was the late forties or early fifties. Population density, distribution of homes relative to workplaces, number of cars per family, number of highways and lanes per highway, and hence wildlife habitat and public access were quite different then. The Garden State Parkway had not yet been opened. Once off Route 34 south of Matawan, having passed the always eye-catching series of Burma Shave signs, Dad's old Kaiser poked along the original Route 35 to Ocean Beach. Route 35 was a two-lane secondary road all the way to Seaside Heights until the late fifties, when it was split into north and south arteries at Metedeconk. The present southbound lanes traverse fill heaped into what had been salt marshes lining the inside of the barrier beach, thereby expanding our summer Mecca and boat-docking spaces.
I grew up in Union County, which in 1800 boasted of thriving commercial fisheries in Elizabeth and Linden, and our family bought one of the first little plywood cottages in the sand dunes of what was to become Ocean Beach. Doug and I could fish practically anywhere along the surf or in the little tidal inlets and channels of Barnegat Bay. In less than a decade that would become more difficult, but new friends and beach parties that came with the territory made for a most enjoyable and fertile time "down the shore." Many of those friends were also fishermen. During the off-season, our Union-based "Jersey Coasters" fishing club persisted in making excursions to Island Beach, Sandy Hook, or the Brielle and Point Pleasant party boat fisheries. Smelling the salt air and driving through towns that were, in those days, all but evacuated after Labor Day caused me to reminisce and look forward to the next summer's hubbub.
Meanwhile, the passion I had developed for freshwater fishing blossomed. My buddy Jim's dad got Doug and me started on that when we were _ ten years old. The memory of that first cold, rainy opening day of trout season on the Rockaway River in the middle of Dover will always be with me. The river was littered with discarded old drums (containing who knows what), tires, and engine blocks- and laced with minimally treated industrial effluent. Doug and I caught no fish that day, but we enjoyed the challenge and watching more experienced anglers land their trout. It also provided some perspective on water quality and habitat, then and now.
There were no Routes 78, 80, 280, or 287, and Routes 10, 46, and 23 were largely undeveloped beyond Livingston, Caldwell, and Pomp- ton Plains, respectively. Public access to streams and lakes abounded, and access to more pristine or secluded habitat could be gained simply by requesting a farmer's permission to cross the pasture. That too changed as the state's population increased by a factor of almost 1.5 between 1950 and 1970 (more than 2 million people), suburban sprawl crept outward from the major metropolitan areas, and a small but conspicuous number of fishermen began abusing the privilege by trampling the landowners' plants and leaving piles of litter. Still, thanks to the joint efforts of the state, some water purveyors, and fishing and/or conservation organizations, New Jerseyans continue to enjoy a wealth of fishing opportunities.
New Jersey has over 6,000 miles of rivers and streams; 24,000 acres of public lakes, reservoirs, and ponds; 420 square miles of open bay and estuary waters; and 120 miles of ocean coast (NJDEP 1998a). Some relatively pristine areas remain despite our history of industrial, agricultural, urban, and suburban development. Over the past forty years many new waterbodies have been created, new species have been introduced, which I have yet to tackle, and the amount of toxins assaulting our inland waters-such as that first place I drowned a worm in the Rockaway River-has generally diminished with implementation of dumping restrictions and effluent limitations.
This book opens with a chapter on the taxonomic origins and classification of sport fishes I have chosen to include, and what I hope is just enough technical jargon and information on the general biology of fishes to make the remaining chapters more winning. Chapter 3 describes freshwater, and chapter 4 saltwater, sport fisheries. In total, fifty-nine species of fish are illustrated and seventy-two are discussed. Most of these can be categorized as "sport" fishes in the sense that people truly seek them, but I was compelled also to include some bait- fish that ought to be recognized, as well as a number of creatures you might unwittingly hook into. In each case I have tried to capture the essence of the species or group of species-what they look like, how big they get, where they came from, what kinds of waterbodies they live in, what they do for a living, generally how and when they may be caught, how they've fared over the years and are doing today, and where you can find more specific information about some of them.
The second halves of chapters 3 and 4 describe the aquatic ecosystems of New Jersey. For inland (fresh, or "sweet," as the Europeans would say) waters, I have broken these ecosystems down into six categories of running (lotic) waterbodies and three classes of standing, or lentic, waterbodies. The breakdowns are a fabrication of my own reasoning (as far as I can determine), and are meant to provide the reader with a utilitarian but fundamentally not unscientific basis for evaluating fishing alternatives. In each case, you will find a description of what I refer to as a "type" of waterbody (or section of waterbody), with a description of that type's characteristics and what sorts of fish one might expect to catch there. Similarly, but in accord with traditional breakdowns based on physical form and variations in salinity, major categories of saltwater habitats and fisheries are described. Both fresh- and saltwater chapters are laced with facts about their geology and beginnings dating to the last great ice age.
My next chapter is entitled "Factors in Distribution and Abundance of Fishes." It is divided into subchapters on "The Importance of Habitat," "How Clean Is Clean?" and "Fishing for Fun or for a Living," and it is offered as an outgrowth of the frequency with which people ask questions about controversial subjects like wetlands preservation, chemical discharges, and apportionment of fish among sport and commercial interests. I have undertaken here to condense many years of personal observations and academic and applied experience into a fathomable snapshot of determinants of fish population welfare and how the scientist approaches the development of water quality criteria and fisheries management decisions.
Finally, a chapter assigned to the history of the profession and laws dealing with fisheries management. Few people have a full appreciation of the history of this field in America, which dates back to the mid-nineteenth century in a never-ending race to keep pace with growth. This chapter hopes to remedy that, along with an accounting of the myriad laws dealing with fisheries per se, their habitats, and water quality. I end the chapter, and indeed my book, with a slate of activities you may want to try as complementary avocations to the pure fun of fishing.