Chap­ter XI – The Com­pleat Angler intro­duces the Tench, a fish regard­ed not for its fla­vor but for its long-stand­ing rep­u­ta­tion as a nat­ur­al heal­er. Pis­ca­tor observes that Tench thrive in calm, still waters such as ponds and qui­et ditch­es, rather than fast-flow­ing rivers. Though some excep­tions exist—like cer­tain parts of Dorset­shire where Tench are found in streams—this pref­er­ence for still­ness aligns with their heal­ing sym­bol­ism. The fish is described with care: smooth, soft scales, red-ringed gold­en eyes, and a pair of whisker-like appendages hang­ing from its mouth. These fea­tures, Pis­ca­tor notes, mark the Tench as both dis­tinct and gen­tle in nature. Its pres­ence in such peace­ful waters adds to the belief that it has cura­tive abil­i­ties. This con­nec­tion between the fish’s envi­ron­ment and its sup­posed heal­ing pow­er pro­vides a rich metaphor for seren­i­ty aid­ing in recov­ery, an idea deeply appre­ci­at­ed by nat­u­ral­ists of the time.

The lore sur­round­ing the Tench reach­es fur­ther into the realm of med­i­c­i­nal won­der. Accord­ing to for­eign physi­cians, two small stones found with­in the Tench’s head are believed to car­ry ther­a­peu­tic val­ue, though this claim remains large­ly unproven by empir­i­cal study. Ron­deletius, a respect­ed fig­ure in nat­ur­al his­to­ry, report­ed­ly wit­nessed a Tench applied to the soles of a sick man’s feet, result­ing in a notice­able recov­ery. Pis­ca­tor attrib­ut­es this prac­tice to the Jews of Rome, whose med­ical wis­dom, he sug­gests, may trace back to King Solomon’s era. Such anec­dotes blend super­sti­tion and folk med­i­cine, paint­ing the Tench not just as a fish but as a crea­ture revered for its sym­bol­ic and heal­ing pres­ence. The pow­er of obser­va­tion, passed through gen­er­a­tions, has helped sus­tain these beliefs, even in the absence of mod­ern sci­en­tif­ic back­ing. For anglers and thinkers alike, this adds a lay­er of fas­ci­na­tion beyond the usu­al pur­suit of sport or food.

Though intrigued, Pis­ca­tor quick­ly dis­tances him­self from mak­ing bold claims about the med­i­c­i­nal uses of the Tench or any oth­er fish. He humbly states that his knowl­edge is ground­ed in angling rather than apothe­cary prac­tice, mak­ing it clear he prefers to stay with­in the bound­aries of what he knows best. This restraint con­trasts with those who bold­ly ven­ture into dis­ci­plines with­out suf­fi­cient under­stand­ing, a behav­ior he gen­tly cri­tiques. The tale thus serves as a sub­tle lesson—not only in the pecu­liar virtues of the Tench but in the wis­dom of intel­lec­tu­al humil­i­ty. Piscator’s approach invites the read­er to appre­ci­ate both the lore and lim­its of what nature may offer. The empha­sis is less on proof and more on the preser­va­tion of tra­di­tion, remind­ing read­ers that mys­tery can coex­ist with rev­er­ence in the angling life.

Still, the Tench’s role in both pond and tale is worth pre­serv­ing. While it may not be the first fish sought for sup­per, its silent rep­u­ta­tion as the “physi­cian of fishes”—a nick­name based on its sup­posed abil­i­ty to heal oth­er aquat­ic creatures—adds dig­ni­ty to its exis­tence. Even its mucus was once thought to car­ry anti­sep­tic prop­er­ties, espe­cial­ly valu­able in shared waters where wounds and ill­ness could eas­i­ly spread. Anglers in Piscator’s time may have rarely tast­ed Tench, but they respect­ed its calm pres­ence and its myth­i­cal sta­tus as nature’s under­wa­ter doc­tor. The idea that oth­er fish might seek it out instinc­tive­ly for heal­ing, though unver­i­fied, reveals a kind of eco­log­i­cal intu­ition deeply root­ed in human obser­va­tion. Such beliefs, how­ev­er quaint, con­tributed to ear­ly under­stand­ings of ecosys­tems and the roles cer­tain crea­tures play beyond direct con­sump­tion. This blend of fact, folk­lore, and reflec­tion enrich­es the angler’s expe­ri­ence and rein­forces nature’s lay­ered com­plex­i­ty.

As the chap­ter nears its close, Pis­ca­tor leaves the med­i­c­i­nal debate behind and returns to his pre­ferred subject—technique. The Tench, though slow and often elu­sive, can be caught with patience and the right bait. Its feed­ing habits require the angler to approach with care, using light tack­le and sub­tle move­ments, espe­cial­ly in qui­et waters where every rip­ple mat­ters. Despite its under­stat­ed rep­u­ta­tion, the Tench chal­lenges even skilled anglers to fine-tune their craft. As with much in nature, sim­plic­i­ty is decep­tive, and the rewards lie not only in the catch but in the under­stand­ing gained through try­ing. Piscator’s respect for this hum­ble fish is root­ed not in its size or fight, but in the thought­ful atten­tion it demands—a reminder that in angling, as in life, val­ue often lies beneath the sur­face.