by Doug Pemberton

For the uninitiated it would have been a sad and shocking sight to behold. Dead fish by the thousands lying on the beach in a secluded Newfoundland cove. Most were drying and rotting in the sun while many more floated belly-up in the calm water along the shore. The few birds in attendance, having already had their fill of the corpses, were almost too lethargic to fly away as I approached.

But this was not the scene of some sinister toxic waste spill. In parts of eastern Canada, especially the east coast of Newfoundland, this is a scene that is repeated year after year. It is merely nature re-enacting the age old rituals of propagation.

For most fish, breeding is a matter of the female laying their eggs which are fertilized by the male. This is a ritual that occurs year after year from the time a fish reaches maturity until it dies. And it usually happens unseen by all except those of us who are divers and take the time to observe. But, for some fish, breeding seems to be their sole purpose in life.

Few sights in the world leave us more in awe than the spectacle of animals carrying out their need to ensure the survival of their species. In some the obsession is so great that nothing short of death will deter them from their mission. And in many species, ensuring their continuation is something they do only once and it is their last act.

In Pacific Canada we marvel at the sight of salmon fighting their way upstream, in some cases for hundreds of miles through a gauntlet of wild rapids and nearly drying streams lined with hungry predators. Their bruised and battered, deformed bodies struggle through life-threatening obstacles in order to complete their one true goal in life.

In Atlantic Canada, one of the most important species of forage fish is the capelin. A close relative of smelt, the capelin is a cold water, pelagic, schooling species inhabiting Arctic and sub-Arctic seas. They are found along Canada's Pacific as well, but their presence there is not as significant as in the northwest Atlantic where they are considered to be a pivotal species. They provide an important food source for other commercially important species such as cod and flounder, and they are also an important resource for whales, seals and man.

Capelin spend most of their lives out at sea in large schools, but during the summer they move inshore along the coast of Newfoundland to breed, and they do this in a couple of different ways. Some populations stay in deeper water where breeding takes place while others come ashore in what is known as the 'capelin scull'.

In shore-spawning populations, the males usually congregate in dense schools near shore while females gather just offshore, in deeper water. During most of the year the sexes are nearly indistinguishable but a few weeks before spawning, the males develop a ridge along the length of their bodies which is formed by extensions of the scales that grow just above the lateral line. This gives the fish a 'hairy' appearance. The male also has considerably larger fins and it is thought that these characteristics allow the male to either hold a female or stay ashore for a longer period of time in order to wfertilize as many eggs as possible.

Water temperature, beach topography and weather all seem to play a big part in their breeding actions. In eastern Newfoundland beach spawning occurs during the summer months usually at night or on dull days but there are exceptions. Capelin prefer beaches that are made up of small pebbles from .5 to 2.5 cms in diameter. As the females ripen, they move towards the beach to join the males and when conditions are right, they cast themselves into the surf to be washed ashore to breed.

Waves come ashore and unload their silvery cargo of capelin. Thousands of writhing bodies flopping on the shore. Females deposit their eggs and the males fertilize them. A few capelin survive this ordeal but most perish in the effort. It seems more females survive than males, probably due to the fact that males may spend longer in the turbulent surf while mating with more than one female. In small outports along the coast the call goes out that the capelin are coming in and soon, the local population is on the beach collecting the harvest.

When all is said and done, all that remains are the decaying corpses, some happy birds, gratified locals and, lying beneath the gravel, a hopeful promise that the capelin will be back next year.