The Pacific Monthly/Volume 1/Salmon Fishing on the Lower Columbia
SALMON FISHING ON THE LOWER COLUMBIA.
By C. L. SIMPSON.
THE life of a fisherman on the Lower Columbia, particularly if he be a gillnetter, is full of interest and excitement, and not without an element of danger. And though the season is brief the harvest is sure, and more than ordinary wages can be made by the industrious laborer. It is true there are some- times heavy losses incurred. For instance, it is not infrequently necessary for a bar fisherman to cut away half or the whole of his net in order to save his boat or even his life.
Of the several methods of capturing fish on the Columbia, the gillnet is most in favor on the lower river. The large canneries situated at Astoria are supplied almost wholly with fish taken by this means. On the Washington side, from McGowan's cannery at Chinook beach to Seaborg's, at Ilwaco, the numerous traps are the dependency. The Fishermen's Union, with headquarters at Astoria, has a membership of about 5,000, all of whom are gillnetters. Their boats all bear, plainly stamped upon the bow in the form of a circle, the initial letters, C. R. F. P. U., and it is well for non-union men to re- spect this of the organization. The Co- lumbia River Fishermen's Protective Union is a power on the river, and bold indeed is he and reckless of consequences who dares to disregard or oppose it.
So necessary are the gillnet fishermen to the Astoria canneries that should they refuse to fish during the season the busi- ness of the packing houses would come to a standstill, as happened in the case of the great strike three years ago.
Of the 5,000 union men the majority are Russian Finns; Italians come next, and are increasing in numbers from year to year. Very few of either nationality are nat- uralized.
Most of the gillnet fishing is done be- low Astoria, the boats venturing to the very mouth of the river and even out upon the bar.
Down beneath the beetling brow of Cape Disappointment, stretching over a mile parallel to the "channel," is the dreaded and dangerous Peacock spit. When fair weather prevails there is at high tide scarcely a break in the gently undulating swells that heave in from the sea, and lazily wash the beach and the base of the precipitous Washington prom- ontory. An ordinary rowboat in the hands of a skillful oarsman might cross the treacherous shoals with perfect safety. How delusive is this seeming calm! Peacock spit is the terror of the fisherman, and woe to him who finds him- self in its immediate vicinity in time of storm! It is then, or when, on account of recent bad weather far off at sea, white- crested combers springing up suddenly from unknown depths unexpectedly rush in, perpendicular walls of water rise and burst in a thousand cataracts, and the roar of the angry surf is deafening. The "wild white horses" madly charge and trample to nothingness the unlucky mortal who is caught upon their middle ground. Opposite the westernmost point of Sand island Peacock spit gradually disappears, and a considerable reach of deeper water smothers the "break" for a time, or until the wreck of the "Great Republic" shows where the treacherous sands again seek the upper world. To the southward, across the ship channel, commencing some distance beyond the seaward end of the government breakwater, and extending nearly its entire length, a bar has formed since the construction of the jetty. At low tide all three of these spits are plainly visible. To them is due a yearly loss of life and property among the fishermen of the lower river. Owing to the un- common action of the tides, the first- named of these shoals is most to be feared and avoided. But it is just here in the narrow channel bounded by these three white squadrons that millions of salmon crowd in, athirst for the fresh waters of the Rockies and the Cascades, and eager to ascend to the spawning grounds, from whence, it is claimed, they never return. And who can blame the fisherman, if he takes his life in his hand and sails out to meet his fate upon the bar? Once inside the wide mouth of the river the fish scatter, and are not so easily taken in large numbers.
Another lure to danger in this connection is the fact that salmon delight to sport in the breakers. It is positively known that, if it were possible for a 300-fathom net to fish on Peacock spit at certain times when the tide is full, a boatload of salmon could be caught as rapidly as the net could be hauled in. Men with more daring than discretion have made the attempt and lost their lives in consequence.
Gillnet fishing is carried on by night as well as by day, but usually, when night work is profitable, it is not practicable to fish on the day tides. Generally speaking, the heaviest catches are made between sunrise and sunset from the opening of the season up to June or July; the remaining months the opposite is the case. The reason for this lies in the fact that salmon can only be caught in the meshes of a gillnet when the condition of the water conceals the snare. During the first months of the open season the river is always in flood and the muddy current obscures the net into which the fish in his eager progress bolts unaware. But when the current clears, as it does in July, or sometimes earlier, day-fishing is a profitless task. The stream has been known to be literally alive with salmon, and yet scarcely one could be taken while daylight lasted. By the time the night fishing begins, the warm summer season has arrived, and danger from storms is ordinarily past. If, however, the freshet is light, the day tides have to be abandoned much earlier, and the persistent intervals of bad weather peculiar to this region makes drifting about in the night anything but a pleasant occupation.
Gillnetters who sell their catches to the Astoria canneries do practically all their fishing on or near the bar, in close proximity to the jetty sands, Great Republic and Peacock spits. In the fore part of the season, hundreds of boats may be seen from the station at Fort Canby, rocking idly in the rolling swell, apparently in the very edge of the break. The object of the fisherman is to approach as near the outer break as possible, without actually getting into it. And right here is where nets are lost and lives are sacrificed.
The tide and tide-table often disagree. Local disturbances effect these changes. An apparently insignificant disparity of time and tide, the occasion of which is frequent and unavoidable, is to blame for many a fatality.
The two stages of tide known as "low-water slack" and "high-water slack" are most favorable for fishing. It is the fresh water of the Columbia that the Chinook salmon is seeking, and he is not to be turned from his quest. All other streams in that vicinity he ignores. Willapa harbor is not more than twenty-five miles from the mouth of the Columbia, and yet a genuine red-meated Chinook has never been caught in its waters. The same is true of Gray's harbor and Puget sound. The course of the vast schools on entering the river is directly against the current. When the tide ebbs the salmon all ascend, and with the flood, when the current sets in strongly from the sea, they turn about and swim back toward the harbor bar. There is always a period of from forty minutes to an hour at high and low-water slack, respectively, when the water is at a standstill, or nearly so, and what makes these stages best for fishing is that then, and only then, salmon dart about in every direction, searching persistently for the source of the fresh water. The absence of any current so bewilders them that a gillnet laid out in any position has the double chance of catching fish that happen to be on either side.
Gillnetters who fish on the bar, after delivering their catch at Astoria, calculate to leave port at a stage of tide that will enable them, when their nets are cast out anywhere below, to drift to the bar by low water. To accomplish this is simple enough, providing the net is laid out rightly, and the tide-table and your timepiece are correct. The tide-table is to the bar fisherman what the compass is to the mariner. A trustworthy timepiece he must have. It is customary to lay the net out at Astoria about half-tide, in order to make the drift so as to catch the bar at low slack. The nets are heavily leaded, usually 300 fathoms in length, and deep enough to drag on the bottom. This dragging retards the progress of the drift, but a shallower net would permit the salmon to pass underneath. The meshes are of two general sizes, 9% inches and 11 inches. The former are intended for the average fish, the latter for the large ones.
The nets are put out at right angles to the current, and as far apart as the limited space will permit. Frequently the boats are so numerous that they may be seen drifting not over 150 yards distant from each other.
A good fisherman figures on the position of the nets about him, and lays his own so that he will not be in the rear of any. The flood-tide drift is not considered as good, though it is utilized because it is on the way home.
Fishermen have no regular sleeping time. When two tides a day are worked, only three or four hours are left for sleep.
A ton of fish is not an infrequent result for one boat's work. Sixty or eighty dollars is a fair return for seven or eight hours of toil and exposure. The desire to be "high" boat is responsible for the pernicious habit of "corking," which is to deliberately steal another's legitimate position, thus shutting him out entirely. This is done stealthily at night time, and before day dawns the robber has taken in his net and moved away unobserved.
It is ordinarily safe to lie with a good portion of the net out close to Peacock spit, at slack water. The net is stationary, and in fair weather there is only a heavy swell from the breakers, probably not 300 feet away. Before the first of the flood, the net must be well into the boat. The moment the tide turns the "break" becomes heavier, and a strong current sets in directly over the spit. If the net is caught in the eddy, there is only one of two things to do — cut it loose and save yourself, or stay with it and take the breakers. Many have chosen the latter course and escaped with their lives after a terrible ordeal. The life-saving crews have rescued hundreds who had strength enough left to cling to some part of the boat, but countless others have been swept into eternity. An upturned boat when the morning breaks, or a twisted net cast ashore, tells the story of doom.
During an unexpected storm some ten years ago, it was estimated that over 300 lives were lost in a single night. The suddenness of the gale prevented the fishing fleet from escaping to shelter behind Sand island, the usual refuge of the bar fisherman in wild weather.
There are several things for a fisherman to take into consideration while plying his vocation. He must keep his gear in first-class order, know the exact stages of the tides, observing how they are affected by storms or heavy winds; must be perfectly familiar with the shoals and channels; and must have located each snag in order to avoid it; he must be enough of a weather prophet to ordinarily predict and so escape an approaching storm; know where the best fishing grounds are, and precisely when and in what manner to lay out his net; and understand the handling of a boat in rough weather. These are the necessary qualifications of a successful Columbia river fisherman. A lack in any of these things is likely to result in disaster.
The actual mortality attendant upon this work will probably never be disclosed. It is the policy of the Fishermen's Union to be non-communicative concerning any and all affairs relating to the organization. Whenever a body is recovered and identified, it is conveyed to Astoria and given a plain burial. When drowned fishermen are unidentified, the Union does not bury them. That act is performed in the county where the body is found, and, since there is no provision made for such burial by either state or county, these victims of the treacherous sea are laid to rest in the sands of the shore above the reach of the tide. Unwept and nameless, they sleep in unmarked graves, and the ceaseless moan of the waves is their requiem.