Cinderella of the streams
The underrated, enigmatic grayling embodies the spirit of winter and is at its peak during Advent, says David Profumo
Don’t dismiss the ghostly grayling, says David Profumo
Graceful, inquisitive, moody and gregarious, with body details ranging from quicksilver to crimson, the european grayling is sometimes known as the freshwater sailfish and reputedly smells of thyme. for a countryman haunting the river in December, it embodies something of the spirit of winter. a relic of the Ice age, Thymallus thymallus (named after the herb) is a close relation of the formidable salmon tribe, but despite being badged with that sporty clan’s adipose fin, it was classified by the Victorians as a ‘coarse’ species and was regarded by generations of snobbish anglers as having been born on the wrong side of the piscatorial blanket. Wherever it was thought to be competing for food with ‘game’ species— or, worse still, gobbling their spawn—it was systematically culled as vermin.
The grayling was introduced to Britain from the Continent (possibly by monks) and is widely distributed across alpine, arctic and Scandinavian regions, where it thrives in chilly waters. Here, it now abounds from the West Country to the Welsh Marches, through the Pennines and Dales and up to the Tay system in Scotland. It’s absent from Ireland.
On the Tweed, it used to be netted out on some beats before Christmas. In the arctic Circle, where a closely related species sports a golden wrist to the tail, it was used as dog chow; the Inuit peoples called it Hewlock Powak: the fish with a fin like a wing, after its prodigious dorsal.
Very particular about its habitat, the grayling insists on clean, alkaline, welloxygenated water with a gravel or pebbly bed; its presence indicates minimal levels of pollution. It prefers gentle lowland streams —an ideal current speed of 2ft per second has been calculated—and thrives in chalk or limestone rivers. Lacustrine populations in Britain are rare, although Thymallus has colonised some Scandinavian lakes.
Overall coloration can vary, but the grayling is generally a discreet pewtery subfusc with subtle embellishments. Its tubular lips are fleshy, the eye has a deep blue pearshaped pupil encased in gold, the gill covers show tints of yellow and blue and the body, which carries indistinct grey lines that may have given rise to its name, is laminated with a nacreous olive bloom. The enlarged dorsal is edged in rouge and stippled with rose madder on an almost purple membraneous background—arthur ransome once compared it splendidly to a cathedral window.
another ancient name was the umber, conceivably from the word for shadow (specifically, on a sundial or quadrant), and that fanciful antiquarian John aubrey believed it derived from the river Humber. In france, it’s l’ombre commun.
One naturalist was convinced that the umber was redolent of cucumber. St ambrose, the 4th-century Bishop of Milan, dubbed it ‘the flower of fishes’ and it has tended to attract feminine sobriquets, such as Queen of the Brook. The Germans know it as Der
Asche, for its grey, cindery aspect. I like to think of her as our Cinderella of the Streams.
She’s a greedy lady, her underslung mouth being ideally adapted to feeding near the substrate on a diet of cased caddis (such as hydropsyche), insect larvae and freshwater shrimp (gammarus). In the urals, grayling gulp down migratory shrews and, in the Loire, they were rumoured to hoover up golden nuggets as they truffled along the bottom, aquablasting for tiffin. In wintry water below 4˚C, they are particularly active.
The umber is a spring spawner, unlike its salmonoid cousins. from March to May, the fish cut shallow redds and the male darkens into epigamic hues, flagging up his presence with his dorsal.
The hen is more fecundative than a trout, laying about 3,000 eggs per pound of her bodyweight. The eggs are about the size of a ‘partridge shot’, according to one Victorian, and were once unbeatably described as ‘opalescent cornelian’ in appearance.
first-year schoolies are known as pinks and, in their second year, they become shots. Grayling are not long lived—a threepounder would be an exceptional specimen.
although it features quite frequently in heraldry—in the arms of the Lancashire Graleys, for instance, or of Cardinal Bentivenga, confessor to Pope Nicholas Iii—the grayling is scarce in folk or proverb lore, largely because of its spectral presence in the water, and you won’t see it on sale in shops.
It’s relished as a dish by many, although, in summer, the post-spawning flesh is still flaccid. However, at about the time you open the first window in your advent calendar, this fish is at its peak and is excellent smoked or potted. In winter, certain edwardian hotels served small graylings split and ‘buttered’. The tastiest one I ever had was grilled as a simple arctic shore lunch, washed down with a beaker of Sauvignon.
It’s panto season: our fragrant Cinderella should take a bow.
‘It was regarded by snobbish anglers as having been born on the wrong side of the piscatorial blanket ’