
Fishes of the genus Esox have always fascinated anglers. They get big. They look mean. They attack lures and fight… if you can manage to find and hook one.
All of these things make sense. So here is what confuses me: In a world where we chase carp and sing the praises of six-inch brook trout, why aren’t pickerel celebrated?
Although I lived in southern and mid-Atlantic states within their natural range, I never encountered a pickerel until I moved to New England. The first fish I caught upon relocating was a feisty, toothy, sixteen-inch specimen. “Oh, its just a pickerel,” my angling companion noted with the same disdain I would expect to hear had I reeled in a muddy branch. I didn’t know any better. It was a fish. It fought. It looked a lot like a pike. And I enjoyed the whole experience.
I guess I still don’t know any better. Sure, they stink, wriggle, and can chew up your hand. And they can “get in the way” of catching other species. But here and now, I’m defending and offering an apologetic for the pickerel.









