There are certain fish we spend an entire season trying not to catch. Sea robins have always been near the top of that list. Drop a bucktail for fluke anywhere around Long Island and, sooner or later, that familiar rattling grunt and pair of oversized wings would come to the surface instead of the flatfish you were hoping for.
At least, that used to be the case. This season, one thing I kept noticing—and hearing from other fishermen—was just how few sea robins seemed to be around. For a fish that was once almost impossible to avoid during a summer of bottom fishing, their absence became noticeable enough to make me wonder: Where did all the sea robins go?
It is funny how quickly perspective changes. Years ago, catching half a dozen sea robins while trying to put together a limit of fluke was annoying. You would feel the bite, set the hook, reel halfway up and know almost immediately what was on the other end. Another robin.
Now, after fishing stretches where I would have expected to catch several and seeing almost none, I almost miss them. Almost.
Of course, fishermen are very good at noticing changes on the water, but a single season of observation does not necessarily mean a species is in trouble. Sea robins are migratory, moving into our inshore waters as temperatures warm and eventually heading back toward deeper water. Their abundance in any one area can change with water temperature, bait, currents and other environmental conditions.
That becomes especially important when you consider how much our local fishery seems to change from year to year. Some seasons bring unbelievable amounts of one species while another seemingly disappears. We have watched southern visitors become increasingly common, seen certain baitfish arrive earlier or later than expected and watched traditional fisheries change enough that fishermen are constantly adjusting.
Sea robins might simply be another example of that shifting picture.
The interesting part is that broader survey information does not necessarily point toward a coastwide sea robin collapse. NOAA Fisheries has noted that sea robins do not have a quantitative stock assessment, but an examination of Northeast Fisheries Science Center bottom-trawl catches going back to 1970 did not show obvious signs of a declining population. That suggests what Long Island fishermen are seeing could be more complicated than simply having fewer sea robins overall.
Maybe they were somewhere else.
That possibility deserves some attention because fisheries scientists have documented changes in fish distribution throughout the Northeast. Species collectively have shown movements farther northeast and into deeper water over time, although every species responds differently. Long Island Sound surveys have also documented changes in the overall makeup of the fish community as environmental conditions change.
None of that proves why sea robins seemed scarce around Long Island this year. But it does remind us that what fishermen encounter from one season to another represents only one snapshot of a much larger ecosystem.
And sea robins, despite their reputation, are actually a pretty interesting part of that ecosystem.
Their huge pectoral fins make them unmistakable, while the finger-like rays underneath allow them to probe along the bottom searching for food. Anyone who has held one has also heard the grunting or croaking sounds they produce. They are one of those strange fish that newcomers remember after their first encounter.
They are also much better table fare than their reputation would suggest. More fishermen have figured that out in recent years, and a sea robin that once went directly over the rail occasionally finds its way into the cooler instead.
Still, their real value might be what their presence—or absence—can tell us.
As fishermen, we tend to measure a season by the fish we want to catch. How were the fluke? When did the stripers arrive? Were there albies? Did the tuna show? Sometimes, though, paying attention to the species we normally ignore can tell just as interesting a story.
That is why the lack of sea robins stood out to me.
Maybe next summer we will be complaining about them again. Maybe every fluke drift will once again be interrupted by those familiar wings coming toward the surface, and we will wonder why we ever questioned where they went.
I actually hope that happens.
Because sometimes you do not realize how much a fish belongs in your local waters until suddenly you are not catching it anymore.
