An Amateur Fisherman Sets Out to Catch Dinner

ILLUSTRATIONS BY SARAH GOFF COOPER

I’m standing on the rocky shoreline of Beavertail State Park in Jamestown on a rainy afternoon in May. With a pair of shears in hand, I cut the legs off a green crab, slice it in half and thread a portion onto the hook of a bright green “tog jig.” I’m not feeling particularly safe as an angry wave breaks, and white water swirls below. Sheets of rain continue to fall from the dark gray sky.

I’ve persuaded my editor to let me write a story about catching a fish and preparing it for dinner—a reel-to-table tale about the joys and rewards of fishing our local waters. I’ve never caught a tautog before, but how hard can it be?

I lob the crab into the water. Simultaneously, one of the metal guides halfway up my dust-caked fishing rod breaks off and swings loose on the line. I try to reel in the jig but find it’s already snagged in the rocks below. As I break the line, I lose my footing and crash down on my knees. This is not a good start.

I’m not alone in my desire to catch a fish. More than 80,000 Rhode Islanders fish recreationally, with an equal number of out-of-staters coming here to fish, according to the Rhode Island Environmental Monitoring Collaborative. It’s big business, bringing in as much as $419 million annually after factoring in hospitality, restaurants, bait shops and marinas. Data collected by the Coastal Resources Management Council identified more than 2,500 coastal fishing spots around Rhode Island.

“I think that’s one of the things that makes Rhode Island special,” says Nate Andrews, a marine fisheries expert and field technician for the Department of Environmental Management. “There’s a huge amount of shoreline access points.” He’s sitting on stage in the gallery space at the United Theater in Westerly with three other experts in a panel discussion about fishing. The smell of clam chowder from a crock on a nearby table lingers in the air. It’s a month before my Beavertail blunder, and I’m feeling optimistic.

“We’re excited about tonight’s event because it will give you guys a chance to learn a little bit more about how you can actually catch and then hopefully cook and enjoy your own seafood,” says Kate Masury, executive director of Eating with the Ecosystem. Along with Nate, the panel includes Melva Treviño Peña, a professor in the fisheries department at the University of Rhode Island; Frank Salustri, a South County–based chef and fishmonger; and John Lee, a charter captain out of Narragansett.

“My kids think I’m absolutely nuts about fishing,” says John during the talk. “But it’s my world.”

The topics range from recipes like broiled bluefish and tautog picatta to harvesting and cooking slipper limpets, a common sea snail that’s creeping its way onto menus around New England.

I leave the theater that night feeling like there’s plenty of fish in the sea, and I’m going to catch one.

My editor is a little skeptical. At one point, after my initial reports, she suggests the article refocus on advice from more seasoned fishers and experts, “if you can’t engineer the actual personal fish catching.”

The story also opens a new lane of mockery from my wife.

“I just don’t know why you think you can catch a fish,” she says, standing in our kitchen one morning. “You never catch fish.”

She’s mostly right. I grew up fishing on Long Island Sound for striped bass, fluke and porgies but always caught sea robins instead—with their wing-like pectoral fins and adorable croak. I knew I was going to need some help if I was going to catch a tog.

“You want to make sure to keep tension on your line,” says Sam Costa, as he grabs a handful of green crabs and puts them into a bucket behind the counter of Quaker Lane Bait and Tackle in North Kingstown. “You’re going to feel a really subtle thump.”

I tell Sam and coworker David Danis about my deadline to catch a fish and, though they’re roughly half my age, they take me under their wing.

“Toggin’ can be pretty tough,” David says at one point, adding that I might not catch anything so early in the season.

Over the next two weeks, I visit other bait shops throughout the state, including The Saltwater Edge and Sam’s Bait and Tackle in Middletown, and Watch Hill Outfitters in Westerly. I fish often, hopping along the rocks on the west wall in Point Judith, casting off the wild Narragansett shoreline near Hazard Rock, and hiking around Rome Point and Bissel Cove in North Kingstown, hoping for bass. Not even a nibble.

I catch up with Captain John Lee on the phone one afternoon in between rain clouds while fishing for tog on Sachuest Point. We go over the game plan again. Tautogs like rocky shorelines and structures.

“They’re in closer than you think,” says John. Then he tells me something I hadn’t considered: Togs are “strictly daytime feeders” and go dormant at night. Had I been wasting my time fishing for tautog in the evening after work?

The next morning, I’m up before the sun and head to the ferry dock in Jamestown. I fish from sunrise until 8:30 am, when I have to report to work. Nothing.

Feeling dejected, I check OnTheWater.com’s Rhode Island fishing report and see the Frances Fleet in Point Judith is offering a squid trip that very night. Surely I’m more likely to catch something on a boat under the tutelage of professional fishers as a paying customer.

It’s just past 11 pm and lights from the Lady Frances glow in the murky water off Point Judith while dozens of rods bounce up and down along the side of the large fishing boat.

I feel like a foreigner on the boat, visiting a world I never would have if not for this article. To my incredible relief, I hook a squid. The gentleman next me says it’s a real “corker” as it spins around shooting water and instructs me to get it “over the rail and into the pail.” We celebrate with a high five.

I catch two other decent-sized squid—an enormous haul in my terms—and finally have something of substance to cook, if only as an appetizer. I get to my car around midnight and, having woken up at 4 am to fish for tog, I feel dedicated, and a little tired of fishing.

The following night, the squid hits the grill with a satisfying sizzle. It’s a simple preparation, marinated in lemon juice, garlic, salt, pepper, a handful of fresh herbs and the good olive oil. It has a sweet and subtle taste of victory, and although my deadline has arrived, maybe I’ll catch a fish tomorrow.

Eric C. Voorhis is a Providence-based journalist who likes to find himself in the middle of stories about food, arts and culture. A native of Long Island, he’s now on a mission to find the best food in New England and hang out with the people who make it.

Art credit @SarahCooper_GoatCrafter

For more information about fishing regulations and licensing, visit RIO.RI.gov.

To find fishing hot spots around the state, visit the RI Coastal Resources Management Council’s “fishing tool” at CRMC.RI.gov/recreationalfishing.