Everybody knows what it’s like for a fishing trip to go sour. Whether it’s bad weather, lost luggage, or missed connections, there are a lot of ways an exciting fishing opportunity can become a fiasco. Here’s one of them:
Back in the 1490s stories had begun to circulate in Europe concerning the Spanish discoveries in the New World.
Not to be outdone, when King Henry VII of England was approached by a would-be explorer and discoverer, one Zuan Chabotto (a.k.a. John Cabot) of Venice, he was all ears.
Upon receiving the king’s blessing, Cabot sailed off in his ship “Mathew,” made landfall somewhere in Newfoundland, and scooted right back to England, where he reported his find.
Once the trail had been blazed, fishing vessels from virtually all the seafaring nations of Europe began following Cabot’s path across the Atlantic to take advantage of the vibrant cod fishery off the coast of Newfoundland.
One of the first non-fishermen to become excited about the reports filtering back from Newfoundland was a London hustler named Richard Hore. Hore made his living selling leather goods, but he aspired to bigger things. Much bigger things.
He surmised that if he could find a way to use the tales describing the rich natural resources of the “Newe Founde Lande” to tap into the bank accounts of England’s idle rich, the profits could be enormous.
In one of the slickest promotions since Norseman Eirik The Red named a barren, ice-covered island “Greenland,” Hore managed to sign up a group of 30 or so London “gentlemen” for a combined commercial/recreational fishing excursion to North America.
After securing the necessary funding, Hore chartered a couple of ships and set sail in the spring of 1536. There are varying accounts of the voyage, but it is certain that at least one of the vessels survived the crossing and made landfall somewhere on the rocky coast of Newfoundland.
At first, the land proved to be a sportsman’s paradise, with bear-shooting and fishing providing most of the entertainment.
What happened next is inexplicable. Despite the plentiful fish and game available, the Hore party ran out of food.
Crewmen and gentlemen alike soon became aware of the inadequacies of a diet of roots and berries, and the more resourceful members of the expedition began searching for alternative sources of protein, which mostly consisted of each other.
Here, the record becomes a little hazy. What is beyond dispute however, is that gentlemen began to disappear one at a time, and at least one member of the crew was found to be secretly roasting choice cuts of meat that bore an uncanny resemblance to the haunches of Englishmen.
Master Hore immediately vented his outrage by addressing the group, stressing that cannibalism was an affront to decency, and was no more acceptable in civilized company than was grasping a teacup with both hands. (then, as now, the English were real sticklers when it came to protocol)
For the most part, Hore’s pleas had little effect on his meat-deprived crew, but unexpected relief was soon at hand in the form of a French fishing vessel, whose captain had made the grave error of dropping anchor in the vicinity of the famished Englishmen.
The French, unaware of the plight of the Hore party, were caught off guard and overwhelmed by the hungry Brits, who savagely stormed their ship and absconded with all the food they could carry off.
The French captain, his suspicions regarding English cooking confirmed, promptly hauled up anchor and headed back to Europe, where dining was still a more or less civilized activity.
The Hore party, now rejuvenated by fine French cuisine, was not long in hoisting sail and heading for home, where Hore dealt with a tangle of lawsuits before reinventing himself yet again as a kidnapper and extortionist.
Recreational fishing has come a long way since the days of Richard Hore, but before setting out on a fishing trip of any kind, modern anglers would still be well-advised to make sure all participants pack a lunch. There are worse fates than a rainy weekend.
