without difficulty, and in crossing we killed a salmon weighing twenty-three pounds, one of our wagons running over it as it lay on the bottom of the pebbly stream.
The full-grown male and female salmon from the ocean enter the streams that flow into it and, guided by a wonderful instinct, ascend to the upper branches, where they can deposit their numerous spawn in a place secure from enemies. The waters of these mountain streams are so clear as to remind one of Dryden's description
"Of shallow brooks, that flow so clear,
The bottom did the top appear."
In the pebbly bottoms of these tributary streams the female salmon hollows out a cavity of sufficient depth to form an eddy, in which she can deposit her spawn without the danger of their being swept away by the current. The one we killed was doubtless in her nest which she refused to quit.
From all the information I was able to obtain while residing in Oregon, grown salmon which once leave the ocean never return. This was the opinion of Sir James Douglas, which was confirmed by my own observation. But there seems to be a difference of opinion on the question. I have lately conversed with B. B. Redding upon the subject, and it is his opinion that about ten per cent, return alive to the ocean, as about that proportion are caught in the Sacramento River on the upper side of the gill nets used by the fishermen. This may be the more correct opinion.
The male salmon is armed with strong, sharp teeth, and they fight and wound each other severely. While the female is making and guarding her nest, her mate remains close by, watching and waiting with the greatest fidelity and patience; and, when any other fish approaches too near, he darts at him with the utmost swiftness and ferocity. The spawn is always deposited in the pebbly bed of the stream where the water is swift and comparatively shallow, and where other fish are less likely to molest them. The eggs hatch in from forty to forty-five days.
For hours I have watched the efforts of salmon to pass over the Willamette Falls at Oregon City^For a space of one or two minutes I would not see a fish in the air. Then, all at once, I would see one leap out of the water, followed immediately by great numbers. Some would rise from ten to fifteen feet, while many would not ascend more than four or five; but all seemed equally determined to succeed. They had selected the most practicable point and approached very near the column of descending water, and rose from the eddy caused by the reflow. Occasionally one would go over, but the great majority pitched with their heads plump against the wall of rock behind the torrent, and fell back more or less wounded, to try again. There was a shelf in the rock three or four feet below the top, and
