Article by Capt. Mark Sampson
A few years ago, my wife and I took a little trip up to Montauk, New York, out on the tip of Long Island. Before leaving there we stopped in a local restaurant for dinner. One of the specials of the night was fresh striped bass covered with some kind of crushed pumpkin seed sauce over steamed spinach and mashed potatoes. “That’s me,” I said, “Just the kind of local flavor I’m looking for.”
But when I asked the waitress for the “rockfish special” she gave me a very puzzled look. “The what?” She asked. “I’m sorry. I forgot where I was. I mean the striped bass special.” That she understood, and before long I was munching on a meal of some of the best rockfish (oops - I mean striped bass) I’ve ever had.
Here in Maryland, we know darn well that besides the name, there’s no difference between striped bass and rockfish. “Striped bass” is, of course, the proper name for these fish, but local folks more often call them “rockfish,” or sometimes just “rock.”
The nickname is used a little bit to our south, but anywhere north of the Delaware Bay nobody knows a thing about rockfish. Up there it’s “striped bass”, “stripers”, or just “bass.” Writers intent on romanticizing old days-gone-by of linen lines, thumb drag reels and bamboo rods sometimes use the term “line-sider,” but it’s seldom heard these days in actual discussion.
I’ve always thought it was interesting, if not downright confusing, how the names for the same fish change so much depending upon the geographic location. Believe me, striped bass aren’t the only scaly source of the confusion.
Take trout for instance. Of course, I’m not talking about the freshwater trout that live in mountain streams. I’m referring to what we locals call “seatrout.” Our neighbors up above us have a different name for them too. Up north they’re more likely to be called by their proper name of “weakfish”, which in itself is often tweaked a little into the more endearing nickname of “weakie.” Back when they used to catch big seatrout in the Delaware Bay, the locals there would call them “tiderunners” and around here the little ones are referred to as “spikes”. Sometimes anglers will use the term “gray trout”, particularly if they are trying to distinguish them from the species close cousin - the “spotted seatrout.”
Spotted seatrout are not as common in these parts as the weakfish are, but there are enough of them taken here, and especially down south, that they too have acquired their own share of names. “Speckled trout” or “spotted weakfish” are names often used for these wonderful fish but their good friends usually just call them “specs”.
Ok, I’ll admit that northern anglers tend to use the more proper name when it comes to weakfish and striped bass than we do on this side of the Mason-Dixon Line, but not when it comes to tautog. Up there they call them “blackfish” or (get this) sometimes even rockfish. Come on Yanks, I’ve got no problem with blackfish, but don’t be stealing our “rockfish” nickname. We Marylander’s take that personally!
Of course flounder aren’t immune to regional name discrepancies either. Here we catch flounder and sometimes winter flounder. But up north they catch fluke and flounder. Bare with me on this one because it’s a little confusing. The fish our local anglers most often catch through most the season are properly known as “summer flounder”. The other flatfish we sometimes get around here is the “winter flounder” which, by golly, we actually call “winter flounder.” Hey, we got one right! But when northern fishermen refer to “flounder” they usually mean “winter flounder” and to them a “summer flounder” is a “fluke”. Just to confuse things even more, big summer flounder are often called “doormats,” winter flounder are sometimes called “black backs” or “mud dabs” and either species might be referred to as a “flattie”.
Now let’s consider the “northern kingfish” which is the fish local surf anglers catch and simply call “kingfish.” Of course, these should not be confused with the kingfish taken offshore which are actually “king mackerel”, a whole other critter altogether. In some places, northern kingfish are referred to as “sea mullet”, “whiting” or “northern whiting”, even though they are not whiting or even close to being a mullet.
I’m sure there’s no need for me to go into the name games with dolphin, mahi-mahi and dorado. Same fish, three names and no relation to flipper. Or that the “shiners” we use down here for bait are also known as “silversides” or up north they’re called “spearing.” It may surprise some that “porgies” are actually “scup” and that “false albacore” are actually “little tunny”, or that what we call “blowfish” or “blowtoads” are actually “northern puffers”. How about red drum? They’re also known as “redfish” or “channel bass” unless they’re small, then they’re usually called “puppy drum”.
Bluefish are “snappers” if they’re small, “tailors if they are medium-size and “choppers”, “slammers”, “gators” or “gorillas” if they’re big!
Even the good-old minnow, so popular as bait for summer flounder, is not immune to having conflicting names. We typically call them “bull minnows”, and in some locations anglers will use names like “killfish”, “killie”, “chub”, “mummies”, “bullheads” or “marsh minnow”. But the real name is actually “mummichog”! I wonder what would happen if you went into a local tackle shop and ask for a pint of live mummichogs?
How about all those schools of “bunker” offshore? Of course, you know the real name for them is “menhaden”, but if you head south a couple states you might find someone calling them “pogies”.
And finally, did you know that technically there isn’t such a critter as a “great white” shark? Nope – no such thing! The real name is just “white” shark. “Great white” is just a nickname.
I guess there’s no need to make a big deal out of the different names of fish. If there’s a problem we can always tell folks that we caught one of those flat things with eyes on one side, or a silvery fish with horizontal stripes. Or then again, we could use the scientific Latin names. That would certainly clarify things. In fact, I think I’ll give that a try. I need a break from this computer anyway. Maybe I’ll just slip on down to the tackle shop, get a pint of fundulus heteroculitus, and see if I can catch a couple paralichthys dentatus for dinner.
Capt. Mark Sampson is an outdoor writer and captain of the charter boat, “Fish Finder”, docked at the Ocean City Fishing Center.
