The Fishy Smiths

by Mike Bruton

  Assembling what had become a huge body of scientific discovery, in 1949 Smith produced one of the first comprehensive colour-illustrated tomes on southern African vertebrates: The Sea Fishes of Southern Africa. This was published after Austin Roberts’ 1940 The Birds of South Africa, but before equivalent books on the other vertebrate groups (amphibians, freshwater fishes, reptiles and mammals).

  In the various editions of the Sea Fishes book a ‘Fin Formula Key to Bony Fishes’ is given for most species, with the least variable feature (the number of anal fin spines) given in the left-hand column followed by the other traits (dorsal fin spines, anal fin soft rays, and dorsal fin soft rays) in increasing order of variability. For most species, this identification key works very well and can be used by non-specialists, but fishes are such variable creatures that there are inevitably some complications. For instance, the dorsal fin may be split into two or more parts, the last soft ray may be divided at its base into two (but only counts as one), and spines or rays may not be completely developed and easily visible in young fishes. The fin spine and ray and scale count formula nevertheless provides a quantitative way to identify most fishes to the species level, a method that is not applicable to most other vertebrate groups. Some regard Smith’s key as a more important contribution to ichthyology than the discovery of the coelacanth.

  There was some disdain in academic circles regarding what came to be known as Smith’s ‘D ’n A formula’. In the 1960s Dr Frank Talbot at the South African Museum in Cape Town, as part of the ongoing repartee between marine biologists in Cape Town and Grahamstown, sent a goldfish to JLB Smith with a note to say that the dorsal and anal fin counts didn’t work; JLB was offended by the prank and blew his top (N Tietz, pers. comm., 2017)!

  But the key was welcomed by anglers and commercial fishermen and is still widely used today. In the flyleaf text in the 1977 edition of the Sea Fishes book it states, ‘… he effectively reduced ‘nature’ to numbers and made the identification of any fish – on the basis of its fin count – a simple matter. … His Main Key is regarded by many as his greatest contribution to ichthyology’.

  Smith even devised formulae for calculating the weight of a bony fish, or shark, from its length, taking into account the extent to which the fish’s body shape diverges from being a double cone. To calculate the weight of a bony fish in pounds, the greatest girth (in inches) is squared, multiplied by the length in inches, and then divided by a figure between 700 and 1,000 (obtained from a table), depending on how much the body tapers. For sharks, the formula is: 8.1 x L. 2.8 x 10–5, with ‘L’ being the length in inches.

  Smith also introduced a numbering system for marine fishes in The Sea Fishes of Southern Africa, which was continued in later editions, and is still widely used by scientists and anglers today. The Smiths’ Sea Fishes number comprises the number of the fish family followed by the species number after a decimal point. Due to taxonomic revisions, the fish numbers in subsequent revisions have changed from those in the original 1949 edition. A conversion table from the old to the new fish numbers is therefore provided in Smiths’ Sea Fishes. As examples, the new numbers for some selected species are 1.1 (sixgill hagfish), 14.1 (great white shark), 31.1 (sixgill stingray), 35.1 (coelacanth), 178.1 (elf or shad) and 270.4 (trunkfish).

  JLB Smith, the expert angler, ca 1930.

  JLB Smith was, of course, an expert angler who combined his knowledge of fishes, aquatic habitats and organic chemistry to outwit his prey. When fishing from a boat, he made his own sinkers and traces, and never let his line, hook or bait wallow in the bilges where they could acquire ‘foreign tastes’. He was also aware that the pheromones (hormones released into the outside environment) of humans might repel fish if they were detected on the bait, and even postulated that the relative success of women anglers might be because their pheromones contain more fish attractants (Bruton, 2017b)! He kept meticulous notes on what he caught, and where, as well as on the state of the tide and phase of the moon. He was also renowned for his success in predicting what he would catch on a given day. He filled his boat on days when other anglers caught nothing and seemed to be able to land a given prey at will. Smith (1977) also waxed philosophical about angling:

  ‘The angler is in many ways a wise and fortunate man for, though it is not generally realised, angling is virtually the only remaining method in any civilised area whereby men in numbers may legitimately satisfy the primitive urge to secure meat by direct action.’

  However, as this author stated in his autobiography, When I was a Fish – Tales of an Ichthyologist:

  ‘It is almost sacrilegious to say so, as JLB Smith is a demi-god in South African ichthyology circles, but he also caught, with rod and line, far more fishes than necessary. Judging by the groaning ropes of fishes that he hooked off the southern and eastern Cape coasts, portrayed in photographs in the Ichthyology archives, he was one of the most insatiable anglers of his day. He could not have eaten all the fishes that he caught, nor did he need so many replicates for his scientific collections.’

  Although JLB did catch prodigious numbers of fishes he was also a ‘fair’ angler who tried to level the playing fields between ‘predator’ and prey. He used light tackle and small hooks and made optimal use of his knowledge of fish behaviour, habitat preferences, activity patterns and bait preferences. He was also very conscious of the factors that scared fishes away, such as noise in the boat. He rubbed his hands and fishing line in fish guts before casting and insisted on complete silence while fishing. He also released fish that had only been hooked in the mouth (as they could recover) but kept those that had been hooked in the throat or stomach. He quickly despatched those fishes that he kept, and broke off one or two gill arches to allow the fish to bleed, which improved their flavour.

  Bob, JLB’s son from his first marriage with Henriette Pienaar, had this to say about JLB Smith the angler:

  ‘From 1926 to 1941 I fished with my father, or was with him at Knysna during the Christmas holidays. … From about the age of 35, my father seldom used heavy tackle. We did a lot of sea fishing using river tackle and a drift bait, and caught many fish. A fish of two or three pounds [0.9–1.3 kilograms] took some handling, it was exciting, and it also gave the fish a sporting chance of escape. J.L.B. Smith did enjoy solitude, whether it was from the rocks, the beach or the boat. He was first and foremost an angler, and a very good one. Fishing was an abiding passion with him – he enjoyed catching them, outwitting them and also eating them.

  ‘But he found it frustrating and also infuriating when he collected a specimen which he could not identify from the existing literature; from there it was but a short step to the point when he began collecting specimens and working to do something about the scientific side. He had that sort of enquiring mind. For health reasons, he had to do a lot of walking. In very short order he could identify and name every plant that grew in the veld near Grahamstown; he also became interested in the proteaceae, which also set me going.

  ‘Success at angling depends on so many factors: what bait to use, how to present it, where, when and how different fishes feed, and the variable factors such as barometric pressure, winds, water temperature, tidal flow, etc. My father’s knowledge was gained over many years of careful observation and experimentation.

  ‘Experiments with regard to noise were also carried out, mainly because of its effects on still-water fishing. I would submerge at different distances, and he would make noises in the boat, e.g., bang a tin, scrape a rowlock, even hurl an anchor into the water. Sound travels clearly and rapidly, especially that of an outboard motor. Unusual noise does scatter fish, and cause them to become wary. He took careful note of the configuration of sand and mud banks at low tide, and the water movement as the tide rose or fell. Likely places were tried, and those that proved successful were named and cross bearings found. Each fishing spot was used under specific conditions of tide, weather, and so on.

  ‘While he itched to get his line into the water, J.L.B. Smit
h was never foolhardy. Whenever he arrived at an unknown stretch of beach, he would spend up to half an hour or more, watching the sea. Up in a sand dune, or on a high rock, well out of reach of the water, he would sit and watch, particularly if there was deep water close in. Only when he was satisfied that it was reasonably safe did he cast in.

  ‘Tackle in the early days, i.e. from 1926 to about ’35, was a light Indian cane rod, which we made ourselves, a wooden centre-pin reel with a backing of 300 yds of w ½ cord or 6 cord green line, and a 40 yd length of gut line joined very carefully to the green line. The gut had to be wet to be able to cast with it, but the 40 yds went out quite well with just the weight of the bloodworm to take it out. Later he tried the “coffee grinder” fixed spool reel, but found it irksome not to have full, direct control on the reel … he noticed small, funnel-shaped indentations in the sand-banks exposed at low tide. We dug, and out came the bloodworm – in 1926, an absolute killer of a bait, and in 1993 still one of the best in the lagoon. He reasoned that it was superior when used whole, and quickly solved the problem of how to get it on the trace undamaged. As far as I am aware, it was he who developed a type of spiral “connector” which made it a simple process, and it was extremely efficient. Again for health reasons, he found it very difficult to dig these, so I, my stepmother (Prof Margaret Mary) and step- [half] brother William, all became adept at it.

  ‘From Grahamstown, sea fishing spots which my father liked particularly were Xora mouth (Transkei), Igoda mouth (west of East London), and the Fish River area … He did take some awful chances, and usually came back soaked from having had to swim out of danger. I can still remember one night when he and another fisherman came back looking shaken. They had gone into a gully from the seaward end, and were working their way towards the shore [spearing soles], when a shark, which had also gone in there for a snack, made a frantic dash for the open sea, and in the process, bowled Dad over like a ninepin … Duiker Rock, or J.L.B. Smith rock as it is now known, and situated on the Western Head at Knysna, was far and away his dream fishing place. ... Somehow he discovered that the Western Head was private land, and not public property as was generally accepted in Knysna. He took a trip to the Deeds Office in Cape Town, confirmed that it was private, and promptly bought it, an area of 140 ha. He fished from that rock until shortly before his death.’

  Smith’s passion for angling even extended to using ox-wagons to reach the remotest fishing spots, and his manic work ethic allowed him to combine these different interests without compromising standards.

  In the book Old Fourlegs, Smith (1956) admits that, to a large extent, he did not conform to the norms of society. He was an academic who was keen on fishing, and a chemist who studied fishes. But he achieved a much higher public profile than most of his academic colleagues and led an anachronistic, self-centred lifestyle, traits that fostered resentment against him in some circles. Also, unlike most academics, he was equally at home in a lecture hall or laboratory, on a remote beach or on the tossing deck of a fishing trawler.

  ‘I endured the miseries of small trawlers on South Africa’s stormy seas, often so seasick as barely able to crawl along the slippery heaving decks to scratch among the slimy rubbish shoved aside. To the crews I was no longer a remote scientist who expected them to do his dirty work while he stayed in a comfortable museum ashore, and they changed from indifference to interest and sometimes to enthusiasm. I went out with small line-boats and lived with the coastal trek-netters. I walked to remote lighthouses, and to coastal farms and stores (reminiscent of George Cory’s epic research hikes), always talking fish, fish, fish. All this took time and effort but paid handsome dividends, and a steady stream of treasures came rolling in’ (Smith, 1956).

  As John Day (1977) wrote:

  ‘“Doc” Smith became known among anglers and trawler skippers as the man who could not only name queer fish but could tell them what baits to use and where to catch them.’

  Notwithstanding his ever-deepening obsession with both fishing and ichthyology, he was mainly preoccupied during the Second World War with teaching and researching chemistry as he had very limited opportunities to do field research on fishes. It was during this time that he wrote and published his three textbooks on chemistry, A Simplified System of Organic Identification (1940, with an American edition in 1943), Numerical and Constitutional Exercises in Organic Chemistry (1941, with a Spanish edition in 1955), and A System of Qualitative Inorganic Analysis (1941, with new editions in 1943, 1944 and 1949).

  According to Mike Brown, who studied at the University of the Witwatersrand before moving to Rhodes University, JLB’s textbooks were still in use at Wits during his first year there in 1956, some 15 years after their original publication.

  Throughout JLB Smith’s writings one is aware of his analytical approach to life. He is constantly counting, classifying and evaluating events and objects around him (including other people). Peter Jackson (1969), who studied chemistry as an undergraduate at Rhodes University from 1946 to 1948, recalled:

  ‘I and my fellow-students made much use of his two “taxonomic” chemistry textbooks (Smith 1940, 1941), both essentially keys to the identification of unknown substances by progressive tests with known reagents. They show that the bent of his mind, whether in chemistry or ichthyology, always leant towards problems of identification and classification.’

  JLB knew he risked running foul of the authorities by attempting to excel in two different fields simultaneously, and by placing too much emphasis on research. As he states in Old Fourlegs:

  ‘University staff are normally appointed and paid for teaching, and while research is officially encouraged, anyone who devotes more than normal time to such work runs the risk of being regarded as not giving proper attention to the teaching for which he is paid. It is certainly looked on as peculiar and possibly even as reprehensible to teach in one subject and do research work in another. At the time of the first Coelacanth I was told that it is competent for the head of a University to order a member of the staff to desist from doing research work, even in his spare time, if in the opinion of the head it may be prejudicing the efficiency of this teaching work. All this is fundamentally sound. In general, no man can serve two masters; at least, not for long’ (Smith, 1956).

  In 1945 and 1946, when the troops returned from the War, the combination of Smith’s enormous teaching work load and his private research on fishes became almost unbearable and he realised that he had arrived at a parting of the ways. He was further motivated by his ongoing difficulty working under the authority of other people and knew that he would be most productive in an environment in which he was in charge. He realised, too, that his passport out of relative obscurity in chemistry would lie in developing a leadership role in the discipline of ichthyology. Both fields made use of the scientific method – proposing hypotheses and then trying to refute them using empirical data gathered by experiment and observation – and whatever he turned his hand to would be fuelled by his insatiable curiosity and a ferocious work ethic.

  At about this time he was again advised by his medical doctors to spend more time out-of-doors as he was still suffering from the aftereffects of tropical diseases he contracted during the East Africa campaign of the First World War. He embraced this challenge with relish and his scientific interests shifted towards topics that offered ample opportunities to work outdoors – fish and fishing.

  By the mid-1940s he was ready to metamorphose from an organic chemist into an ichthyologist, an astonishing transformation, but one that was within his capabilities. He committed to abandoning the well-trodden path of a pure academic, and to planning his own career. The way ahead was sometimes difficult and conflict-ridden, but it eventually gave him great satisfaction. He soon found that many people supported his new career path; their support played an important role in erasing the uncertainties that he still felt about his ‘big decision’.

  He remained deeply interested in his teaching and research in chemistry and retain
ed this interest into the early 1960s, according to his private correspondence. For instance, in 1960 he corresponded with Drs RA Dyer, DHS Horn and LE Codd at the Department of Agricultural Technical Services about aromatic plants and their essential oils, and commented on a list of the aromatic oils in local plants. There are also many references in his popular writings that represent ‘crossovers’ between the two disciplines: for instance, detailed but clear explanations of carbon-14 dating, the fossilisation process, the chemistry of fish physiology, the use of explosives, or the chemicals in bait or human skin that may attract or repel fishes.

  In Old Fourlegs Smith (1956) comments:

  ‘Most men find learning new things increasingly difficult after the age of thirty, and indeed I had experienced that myself in chemistry, trying to keep up with the progressive changes in theory. I started my study of fishes when already past thirty, and it was astonishing to discover that my brain soaked it up like a sponge, and even now it is still the same. I can only suppose it must be a kind of natural affinity.’

  CHAPTER 7

  Margaret Mary Macdonald

  A new lifetime partner

  MARGARET MACDONALD’S father, William Chisholm Macdonald MD, FRCS (1871–1919), was born in Dunedin, New Zealand. He had recently qualified in Edinburgh as a medical doctor and was en route back to Dunedin when his ship docked in Simon’s Town in late 1899. The Second South African War (1899–1902) had just started and Macdonald was instructed by the British authorities to break his voyage and proceed to Kimberley to provide medical services there during the siege of the British mining town by the Boers. Cut off from the outside world from October 1899 to February 1900, the town was shelled by the Boers nearly every day (except Sundays), and the casualties eventually comprised 42 dead and over 135 wounded.