The Case of the Vanishing Alewife Run
Eat. Run. Spawn.
Sure as the dandelion, every spring the river herring return from the ocean to the freshwater streams to spawn. In these regions, river herring are life for both humans and animals alike. Whether used to fertilize crops, bait fish traps, or eaten smoked or salted, on historical Cape Cod river herring were a source of food, and in turn money. While their economic importance has wained, it has been replaced with a growing appreciation of their ecological importance.
River herring are made up two closely related species of migratory fish - blueback herring and the more common alewife. Both species spend their lives in the open ocean consumed with two tasks - the first to eat and grow, and the second to keep from being eaten. And there’s a whole host of animals up the food chain that would love to eat the nutritious river herring including birds, mammals and other fish. The annual arrival of the osprey and the striped bass to the Cape Cod coast are closely tied to the appearance of the river herring.
Come late winter and early spring, mature adults heed their calling and head to the estuaries and bays along the New England coast. Between the months of March and June, they will run by the thousands up their natal streams. There they will spawn a new generation of herring that will repeat the cycle. And so it goes, year after year, so long as there is free passage to their spawning grounds. Unlike the blueback herring which spawn in the rivers themselves and don’t ascend into the lakes and ponds, alewife need ponds. Without pond access, alewife can’t spawn and the run will perish.
In the shadow of ghosts
In the woods behind the house there is an old alewife run. The waters of the very upper reaches of the Childs River no longer flow, and the alewife don’t run. Today, this section of the river is little more than a dry ditch snaking through a cathedral-like white pine forest, though it once supported an active alewife fishery that harvested upwards of 150 barrels of fish per year. While not a large run by any means, a run is a run. The alewife run gradually succumbed to industry - first mill works and later cranberry harvesting.
John’s Pond, a 300-plus acre pond in Mashpee, once flowed due south through the wooded Childs River Valley before emptying into Waquoit Bay in Falmouth. In the early 19th century, a woolen mill was built where present day Carriage Shop Road crosses Childs River. A small impoundment was constructed to power the mill. Through the years the mill site would house blacksmiths, wood framers, and wheelwrights (maker of wooden wheels and carriages).
In 1866 the The Waquoit River Herring Company was formed to harvest the alewife that swam up the Childs River to their natal spawning grounds in John’s Pond. On the southeast side of the mill pond dam, the company constructed a fishway to allow passage around the dam. The company still operated the fish ladder as late as 1919, but by 1920 the river valley had given way to the cranberry industry:
“The stream, 3 to 4 miles long, is now used to flood cranberry bogs, and is obstructed by a number of dams. The outlet of John’s Pond is a boarded passageway controlled by flashboards. Below the pond the stream is little more than an artificial ditch lined with cranberry bogs. At the head of the Gona cranberry bog is an impassable fishway. Below this point there are nine cranberry bogs, and eight embankments, all but one of which are equipped with wooden flumes. A second fishway is situated at the last cranberry bog. Near Waquoit Village is the fish house and a third fishway. The alewife fishery in Childs River was started as a private enterprise by the Waquoit Herring River Company, and reached the maximum production of 180 barrels in 1872. The average catch is from 80 to 100 barrels. A larger fishery could have been maintained if it had not been for the cranberry bogs. Its future depends upon the maintenance of a suitable passage by the owners of the bogs from the salt water to John’s Pond.”
While the mill pond and cranberry industry certainly played large roles in the demise of the Childs River alewife run, an equally important factor was the diversion the outflow of John’s Pond into the neighboring Quashnet River. The natural headwaters of the Quashnet River actually lay in a swamp about an eighth of a mile east of John's Pond. In the late-19th century a ditch was dug from the swamp to John's Pond to provide more water for the Quashnet cranberry bogs downstream. It’s not known exactly when alewives first began to run the Quashnet, though it’s likely that the run was populated by the offspring of parents that had originally entered John's Pond through the Childs River. The diversion of John’s Pond into the Quashnet reduced the Childs River outflow, first to a stream, then a trickle, before eventually stopping all together. And without access to a pond, there are no Childs River alewives. The Quashnet stole the run.
But alewife runs can return. Throughout New England, river passage is being restored through the removal of damns and culverts, and the improvement of river channels. Thanks to these efforts, river herring - both blueback and alewives - are returning to native watersheds. Despite the successes elsewhere, the restoration of a Childs River alewife run is complicated.
A restored alewife run would require reconnecting the Childs River to John’s Pond. This would most certainly impact the flow of the Quashnet, which wouldn’t be good for Quashnet fish populations - including river herring. The Quashnet River herring run and sea-run brook trout fishery are big deals. People expect them, they celebrate them. It’s uncertain whether public opinion would support the restoration of a Childs River alewife run to the possible detriment of the Quashnet fish populations.
A reconnection with John’s Pond would also affect the river restoration project recently completed on the Upper Childs River. In an effort to restore native brook trout habitat the project removed the cranberry bogs and mill pond, and restored the river channel of the Upper Childs River. But it did not restore the connection with John’s Pond. Without the connection to John’s Pond, present day Childs River is entirely spring fed through freshwater seeps that trickle down from the leaf-littered slopes along the river valley and percolate out from the gravely sediment. These cold spring waters keep the river at temperatures suitable for brook trout. Introducing the relatively warm Johns Pond surface water into Childs River would be counter-productive to restoring brook trout habitat.
There’s both a transience and permanence to a river herring run that captivates the imagination. The herring ‘run’ for only a few weeks a year - a short window - but it’s an annual reminder of a natural cycle that’s been going on long before we walked these woods, and will likely persist long after we’re gone. Here’s the thing with river herring - never count them out. They’re a resilient and plucky bunch, and in rivers across the Commonwealth and beyond, they’re returning to waters once blocked and abandoned. I don’t know when the alewife last ran the Childs River, but don’t think that they won’t again some day.
References
Belding, DL. 1920. A Report upon the Alewife Fisheries of Massachusetts. Department of Conservation, Division of Fisheries and Game.
https://apcc.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/Childs-River-Site-History.pdf
