Not everyone loves fish on a board, but it's a tradition

Last week, Robert W. Bain stood beneath a long, narrow shelter in a stand of pine and oak and said, "There's nothing like having it on the board."

This week, the Wakefield Ruritan Club's "shad cooking committee" hauled dozens of red oak planks out of storage and set a power washer to them.

Today, if all goes as planned, Bain's club's "nailing and scaling committee" will get to work early, nailing hundreds of whole shad, split down the back, onto boards that bear singe and slash scars of shad plankings past.

By then, the shad cooking committee should have a line of flames flickering from one end of the shelter to the other, a distance that spans about half a football field. Then they'll lean the boards, fish side out, along metal rails flanking the flames.

They'll salt the fish and turn them and baste them three times, and late this afternoon, those flattened, fired fish will be ready to eat.

Bain is the lead organizer of the Wakefield Ruritan Club's 62nd annual Shad Planking, a rite of spring that mixes Virginia politics with the start of shad-eating season. On the third Wednesday in April, the planking and the politicking attract hundreds of citizens and a dash of high-level politicians to this Sussex County township.

Candidates, governors, congressmen and state officials come here. They wage sign warfare, a tradition that has hundreds of political placards blooming along the shoulders of all roads leading to the Wakefield Sportsmen's Club, home of the event.

Under the pine and oak, the politicians stump, shake hands and give speeches. Some offer draft beer, poured from tapped trucks, to anyone sporting the appropriate campaign sticker.

This year, the planking's main speaker is George F. Allen, former Virginia governor and former U.S. senator. It's the club's biggest fundraiser, and the proceeds, which total $25,000 in an election year and $15,000 in an off year, go to local community organizations.

It all got started in the 1930s, when a few fishermen convened to cook their catch of shad. But over the years, planked shad, like fruitcake at Christmas, has become an accessory to the main event.

Bain listed, in descending order, the draw for the planking:

Politics.

Socializing.

Planked shad.

Here's what Gene Brittle, the chairman of the club's kitchen committee and a 20-year veteran of the shad cooking committee, said about planked shad: "I don't like it."

Bain, speaking for the minority, countered: "I love it. I just love it."

On the one hand, the low draw for the fish seems reasonable. Shad is an oily and bony fish and is more prized around here for the roe, which people fry, broil and fashion into rings.

On the other hand, planked shad is a rare treat. Spring is when anglers start casting for these fat, silvery fish with pointy tail fins. The Ruritans cook them the same way the Indians did, the same way Civil War soldiers did - nailed to boards and cooked for eight hours over an open flame, salted at the halfway mark to remove the oil and then turned toward the flame. The Ruritans baste theirs thrice with a special sauce that Bain said is a "closely guarded secret" of the club.

Once the shad cooking committee deems the fish done - which members determine by poking the fish like a steak - it's chopped into thirds while still on the plank and then served in little paper trays.

Where else would you get that?

Since Southern hospitality dictates that no one goes home hungry, today the Ruritan's whiting committee will fry up a whole mess of fish, and the baked-bean committee will serve their specialty piping hot. There's no cornbread committee or slaw committee; the Virginia Diner donates all that.

Five years back, Bain said, the shad roe committee formed, and now the club serves what has come to be known as the caviar of the commonwealth, hot from the fryer.

"The way we fix it, it's delicious," Bain said.

Shad only lay their eggs in early spring. Getting fresh roe right now is harder each day, but the Ruritans will be frying up three cases of the stuff, which has a delicate flavor of fish and liver but none of that popping sensation that some people find troubling with caviar.

Last year, a gubernatorial election year in Virginia, "The Sean Hannity Show" covered the planking. Included in the footage is a man eating a hot dog.

We see no reason for that.

Lorraine Eaton, (757)446-2697, lorraine.eaton@pilotonline.com