MANSON AND ME

by Richard Bird

Members of the MacDonald family of Point Anne have been commercial fishers on the Bay of Quinte and Lake Ontario for many generations. Manson MacDonald was the last member of the family to carry on this tradition. He was the twin brother of Manly MacDonald, the artist who documented local commercial fishing in many of his famous oil paintings. In the 1920’s the MacDonalds fished for lake trout and whitefish off Huyck’s Point, west of Wellington. Manly’s painting, Hauling the Boat, was no doubt from this location. Manson held gill net and hoop net licences in Big Bay as well as a gill net licence for carp west of the Bay Bridge in Belleville.

In the 1950’s as soon as the bay froze in early December, Manson and his helpers Guy Frazer and Tony Basisty would venture out on the ice to set their gill nets. I lived on the bay just west of the bridge and it was a big event for me to see them hauling their gear out on the ice. It would be a stretch to say I helped them. Rather, I showed up, got in the way and asked too many questions. Manson tolerated the nosey kid and we became friends.

They often started when the ice was only an inch or two thick, but later when the ice was thicker they used a truck. It was always a dangerous business and Manson drove with both doors open. Big pressure ridges developed later in the winter and these were particularly treacherous. In early days, gill nets were strung under the ice using a system of many long poles lashed together. However, the job became much easier in the 1950’s with the invention of the “jigger”. This contraption had been invented for the winter ice fishery on Lake Winnipeg. It was a wooden plank 5 or 6 feet long, painted bright orange and pointed at one end, like a small boat. There was a long slot in the centre of the board and a hinged arm swung down from the forward end of the board. A light line was fastened to the end of the arm and this line went to a small pulley at the end of the board. When the line was pulled, the lever went up. Near the hinged end of the lever a shorter metal arm sloping backwards was attached. This metal arm was razor sharp on the end that projected up through the board. The jigger was placed under the ice and when the line was pulled, the sharp pick dug into the undersurface of the ice and projected the whole contraption forward. The net that was to be set was stretched out on the ice to judge the distance the jigger would have to travel. With a series of many jerks, the jigger was sent on its way. If the ice was thin and clear, it was a simple matter to follow the jigger. However, if the ice was cloudy or the snow was thick, all we could do was listen for the pick digging into the ice. When the desired length was reached, a hole was cut allowing the line to be retrieved. The net was then pulled along under the ice to the hole. The jigger was left in place under the ice and jerked along for the next string of nets. This all worked well and in a day several thousand feet of net could be set.

The nets were left in place all winter and only lifted periodically to remove fish. Manson claimed that the fish moved with the phases of the moon, but with cloud cover and ice covered with snow, I was never convinced. His licence was for 8 inch mesh which was particularly large. Carp were big fish and the mesh size certainly minimized incidental catch of small fish not covered by the licence. The mesh size was determined by the ‘pull tight rule’. From knot to knot properly stretched the mesh could be no smaller than 8 inches.

Lifting day was always exciting. We chopped a hole and attached a line to one end of the net. At the other end where the net was to be lifted, we cut a much larger “bag hole”. No mechanical lifters were ever used; one person pulled the cork line while the other pulled the lead line. Carp were big fish and some weighed at least 25 pounds. To get them out of the mesh, we had a small wooden handle with a very short steel hook. With the help of this device we could get the net twine out of the gills and sometimes squeeze the fish through the net. Sometimes we only needed 5 or 6 fish to fill a box. If we had the truck on the ice, we simply threw the fish in the truck. If it was very cold, the fish started to freeze, or if it was milder we shovelled in snow. As soon as we removed the fish we reset the nets. This was a much easier process than gill netting whitefish where the whole net was pulled in and many hours were spent picking fish.

The carp were sold to Herb McCabe’s Fish House on the Bay Bridge Road. Manson made sure his fish were in perfect condition. He took only live fish and left the occasional dead one on the ice for owls or foxes.

Sometimes when hauling nets we would come to a section of net all rolled up like a rope. We knew immediately that a bill fish (garpike) was coming in. How such a long skinny fish ever got tangled up in 8 inch mesh net was a mystery. Their hundreds of sharp teeth were tightly wound up in the net. All we could do was break off the bill and leave the fish on the ice for whoever was hungry. The net had to be taken home and repaired. The bill fish could grow to 3 feet long and looked like they were left over from the dinosaur era.

Occasionally a pickerel would come in and Manson was always careful to return it to the water. I do remember one wonderful exception; I must have been looking wistfully at a particularly nice pickerel because he pronounced injured and sent it home with me. In spite of this incident, he was a careful rule follower. Fred MacDonald who also lived in Point Anne was the local Game Warden and no doubt a relative. In those days the appointment of game wardens was a political issue and caution was required.

Although it was brutally cold, proper dress for Manson seemed to require a plaid shirt and necktie. Combined with his pipe and chewing tobacco, he was a classic. If the fish were coming in fast, he forgot the pipe and focused on chewing. More fish, more chewing. We could see a bulge growing in his cheek and could predict what was coming. Soon he would “let fly” with little concern for accuracy. The necktie often suffered as did the snow around him. In addition, the large carp would flop around on the ice leaving blood everywhere.

If the fishing was good, a bottle would appear and each person would carefully rub the top of the bottle with his hand before enjoy his portion. The wiping may have been to avoid tobacco juice or blood—and I was never offered a sip.

Manson usually was paid 10 cents a pound “in the round”. This meant the heads were left on and the insides were intact. When he lifted before the big Jewish holidays in New York City, he earned a few more cents a pound. On one memorable day, the back of the truck was full and it barely managed to get up the rocky shoreline to the road.

This world of ice and fish was exciting to me as a boy. But for Manson and his co-workers, it was plain hard work which could be dangerous. Weather conditions could make it brutal. Their clothes were wet and soon froze and I never saw them wear gloves. Their livelihood depended on fluctuating markets, licensing restrictions, ice conditions, weather and the movement of fish. But I never heard a word of complaint. These men carried on in silence, like the members of their families before them. I realize now that I learned many lessons from these silent heroes.