Text and photo by Donna Campbell Smith,
March 2008
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The spring ritual of herring fishing was first introduced to me in 1965 by my boyfriend. He picked me up one afternoon with a peculiar looking net tied to the top of his car, and we drove to Lake Phelps, near Creswell in Washington County. A network of canals, dug by slaves in the 16th century to irrigate the rich black lands of the area, radiate from the lake. Through the centuries blueback herring, also known as river herring, have found their way from the Atlantic Ocean, through rivers, creeks and canals to spawn in the lakes and the sounds of coastal North Carolina. Those that survive return to the sea. The young fish wait until the following fall to make their exodus to the Atlantic Ocean.
I was exposed to fishing trips all my life, Mama having been an avid angler. I supposed the fishing poles and tackle box must be in the trunk of my date’s car. What I soon learned was that herring fishing and fishing poles had little in common. Instead of using a hook and line, herring are scooped up in nets as they swim in schools through the narrow parts of creeks and canals.
Until this fishing excursion with my high school boyfriend, my earliest knowledge of herring was the pungent odor of frying salted herrings wafting throughout my grandfather’s house whenever my aunt cooked them for his breakfast. Papa Tom also enjoyed a breakfast of scrambled eggs and herring roe. Herring roe is the sack of eggs found in the female herring, and is considered by locals to be the North Carolinian’s caviar.
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