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Out on the river on Wednesday, Mr. McCrabb pointed out various species of dead fish: bony herring, gold perch, endangered silver perch, some invasive species.

And across the room on a little silver perch was a mechanical bird.

Upon the imperilled line, suspended high, A silver perch!

Sometimes, on bright mornings, Mr. Bill would stroll over with his rod upon his shoulder and a string of silver perch in his hand.

Placid, wide-girthed, dull-faced, innocent as a child, he sat in the midst of war dangling his line above the silver perch.