Every year, right around late June or early July, the damp, foggy weather rolls in off Trinity Bay. Around home, we call it caplin weather. It’s the time when millions of small, silver fish teem close to the shore, rolling onto the gravel beaches to spawn.
As a boy growing up on Random Island, the annual caplin roll was one of the most exciting times of the year. We would head down to the beach at Apsey Brook or later as the commercial fishery took too many, Weybridge, with dip nets, five-gallon buckets, and cast nets, scooping up tons of them as they swarmed in the wash. Years ago, I wrote a short account of these memories on the main site, reflecting on how much has changed since the commercial roe fishery took off.
But while the commercial boats now harvest them for the global market, back home on the land, the caplin roll can still be a part of our off-grid food security.
Back in the old days, when the caplin were so plentiful they choked the harbours, they weren’t just for eating. People would haul horse-cart loads of them straight from the beaches up to their gardens, burying them in the rocky beds. In our thin outport soil, digging caplin into the ground was the traditional way to fertilize potatoes and cabbage, turning the ocean’s summer abundance into winter root vegetables. Mind you, the smell for the first week was something else, but the garden grew like wildfire.
For our cabin pantry, the real value of the roll lies in traditional preservation. I was never a fan of eating caplin fresh – they are a bit too … I don’t know … for my liking. But once they are dried or better yet, dried and smoked, they turn into something entirely different.
The traditional way is to thread the caplin through the eyes onto thin wooden sticks or wires, hanging them on outdoor caplin racks to dry in the wind and sun. We salt them lightly first, which helps draw out the moisture.
Once they are dry, we move them into the smoker. Currently, I have an electric smoker, but if I do ever realize this dream of off grid retirement, a real wood fire smoke house will be in tbe works. Alders give a thick, sweet smoke that will cure the caplin, and kippers for that matter, beautifully. After a day or two in the smoke, the caplin dry out into a tough, shelf-stable treat. It is almost like fish jerky – or, as I like to call it, fish bacon. It’s salty, smoky, and absolutely delicious to chew on during a cold winter evening when the gales are howling outside the cabin.
Having a couple of bags of dried smoked caplin in the cupboard is a great comfort. They keep for months without any refrigeration, providing a high-protein snack, or quick supper with a few potatoes from that root cellar I need to build too, that connects us directly to the old outport ways of life.
Did you grow up harvesting caplin on the beach? How did your family preserve them, and did they ever make it into your garden beds? I’d love to hear your memories in the comments below.