Mention Manhattan and sharks together, and high-priced lawyers might spring to mind. But for some time in 1800’s, large sharks were routinely caught in the waters surrounding the heart of New York City.
In fact, in 1880 there was a documented attack on a small boat by a group of sharks in the Verrazano Narrows, south of Manhattan Island. The captain fought then off with a wooden sear ripped from the vessel.
Sharks were actively sought by a few practitioners of chain and hook fishing off the piers that lined below Manhattan. By using a chunk of meat for bait on such a primitive tackle, large sharks were caught in surprisingly high numbers, as many as seven in one day.
At the foot of Vesey Street along the lower Hudson River is a woodcutting of a crowd watching a ten-foot shark being hauled onto a dock using a chain and a hook, while one man readies a pistol at the fish’s head. This dramatic scene captured an era when New Yorkers witnessed apex predators being dragged from their own harbor.
Historical accounts of chain and hook shark fishing show a craft born from necessity and brute strength rather than finesse. Tuna rods and monofilament simply couldn’t withstand the pull of a shark that could drag a pier into the water, so fishermen built heavy-duty rigs that relied on metal chain and oversized hooks to survive the fight.
The assemblies started with a length of galvanized chain several feet long, often linked in series of heavy-duty steel rings with multiple swivels to reduce torque. At the end of the chain, a three-foot leader of wire or smaller chain carried a large, custom-made hook, typically a 10/0 or 12/0 circle or J hook shaped from thick steel.
Chain replaced regular line because it wouldn’t snap under the teeth, weight, or abrasive skin of a shark. Steel could endure repeated strikes, toothy contact, and the occasional abrasive rub against pilings, making it a practical choice for targeting apex predators with aggressive feeding behaviors.
Piers gave anglers an elevated advantage: the long structure provided a sturdy platform and plenty of room to manage the line as a shark approached the docks. Fishermen used hefty two-speed reels and set the drag to what felt like a dented spanner – enough give to tire the shark after the initial charge while preventing catastrophic run-offs.
Landing large sharks meant riding a pulse of adrenaline: fishermen kept the rod tip low but not grounded, letting the chain stretch to absorb the animal’s first burst. When the shark tired, they worked the jigging motion, occasionally pressing the fish toward the pier so crew members could rig a gaff or rope snare to secure the catch.
The coordination between pier crew members was essential for success. One angler would manage the rod and chain while others stood ready with gaffs, ropes, and even firearms to subdue the dangerous catch.
Safety was always on their minds, yet the danger never truly left the pier: a shark’s thrashing tail could easily sweep a person off the boards, and the combination of chain and hook made the rig lethal in close quarters. People wore steel-toed boots and gloves, but even then, missteps with a gaff or a rolling wave could flip a fisherman backward into the surf.
The very premise of chain and hook sharking meant the danger was mutual—anglers were constantly aware that one wrong move could leave them face-to-face with a 400-pound predator. Pier crews often postured with loud voices and signal flags to keep the deck clear whenever a shark approached, because space was as valuable as calm seas.
Bait selection followed the mantra “the bigger, the bloodier.” Whole mackerel, bonito, or mullet were common attractants, while oily fish like bluefish provided the tantalizing scent sharks tracked down from a distance.
Some pier crews kept a “bait locker” full of salted fish and head cuts precisely for this purpose. Fresh bait was preferred, but salted options remained effective when fresh supplies ran low.
Chumming complemented the bait, using a bucket of chopped fish, blood-rich organs, and fish oil slowly poured into the water to create a scented slick trailing from the pier. A controlled chum line helped sharks find the vicinity of the bait before the hook appeared, making sure the first strike came with sufficient force to catch hold.
This phase in Manhattan’s history probably occurred because of a much greater number of sharks in the near shore coastal zone in those days, as well as the poor sanitation of that time, when meat scraps and other food wastes were dumped in the adjacent waters, forming an unintended shark-attracting chum slick. The harbor essentially became a feeding ground that drew sharks closer to populated areas than we see today.
The combination of abundant prey fish and constant food waste created ideal conditions for shark populations. This environmental factor, combined with less boat traffic and industrial pollution in the early 1800s, made Manhattan’s waters surprisingly hospitable for large predatory fish.
After a catch, sharks often went to commercial markets for their meat, hides, and oils. Pier fishermen sold everything from fin packs to livers; the latter provided valuable source material for liver oil, and hides supplied leather goods and ornamental items.
Shark cartilage and teeth became commodities too, driving additional income for local crews who sold those pieces to collectors and manufacturers. Every portion of the shark found a buyer, justifying the time, risk, and effort of hauling one in off a pier.
Shark liver oil was particularly valuable as a source of vitamin A before synthetic alternatives became available. The leather from shark hides proved durable for boots, belts, and other goods requiring tough material.
The decline of this method came from a mix of regulation, public perception, and overfishing. As shark populations became a conservation concern, governments restricted catching large specimens, especially from heavily trafficked piers where injury risks were high.
New certifications meant piers had to post warnings, and insurance costs for shark fishing programs skyrocketed with every reported incident. Public opinion shifted too: the dramatic scenes of a shark being pulled to the pier made headlines, and tourism boards worried that such spectacles undercut family-friendly reputations.
Environmental changes also played a role as water quality improvements and shifting food sources moved shark populations away from harbor areas. The practice that once defined Manhattan waterfront culture gradually faded into history.
Modern equivalents include heavy-live bait deep-sea rigs and syndicated tournaments that lean on advanced rods made from composites, braided lines, and hydraulic winches. These systems still aim to control toothy monsters, but with instruments that give better feedback and reduce the manual strain that once defined pier chain setups.
Some commercial vessels now pair steel cable leaders with high-tensile synthetic mainline, marrying the toughness of chain with the shock absorption of modern line. Offshore anglers who target marlin, tuna, and sharks often rely on similar lessons—heavy hooks, stout leaders, and an emphasis on controlled release to protect both species and crew.
The tradition of chain and hook pier shark fishing left behind a legacy of resilience and ingenuity. Even as the method faded, the stories of those intense battles on wooden piers continue to inspire anglers who still chase the thrill of the deep.
Nowadays in the Big Apple, these sharks are gone, but lawyers still flourish. Yet the history of chain and hook fishing remains a fascinating chapter in both New York City’s maritime heritage and the evolution of sport fishing techniques.
The primitive yet effective method demonstrated how anglers adapted to their environment and available technology. While modern fishing has moved toward more sophisticated equipment and conservation-minded practices, the courage and ingenuity of those early pier fishermen deserves recognition.
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