# All Over Oregon and Washington/Chapter 5

CHAPTER V.
AMONG THE FISHERIES.
Having satisfied ourselves that we have seen the principal points of interest about the oldest American settlement on the North-west Coast, we take passage, at an early hour of the morning, on board the Dixie Thompson, the elegant steamer which plies between Astoria and Portland.
Above Astoria, for some distance, there are no settlements on the river. But the grandeur of the wooded highlands, the frequently projecting cliffs covered with forest to their very edges, and embroidered and festooned with mosses, ferns, and vines, together with the far-stretching views of the broad Columbia, suffice to engage the admiring attention of the tourist. In consequence of fires, which every year spread through and destroy large tracts of timber, the mountains in many places present a desolated appearance, the naked trunks alone of the towering firs being left standing to decay. After a few years a new growth covers the ground, but the old trees remain unsightly objects still. It is true, however, in compensation for the ugliness of a burnt forest, that the shape of the country is thereby partially revealed, and that one discovers fine level benches of land fit for farming, in the openings thus made, where before no such variations from the general slope had been apparent.
The first point at which the river steamers touch in ​going up, is Cathlamet—a small trading post and salmon fishery, about twenty miles above Astoria, on the north side of the river. Ten miles farther up, on the south side, is Westport, situated upon one of the numerous sloughs which the river forms on the Oregon side. This site was taken up as early as 1851, by Captain John West, who, with his family, has continued to reside here, giving his name to the place. Almost by his individual enterprise he has built up a flourishing settlement, and now owns wharves, warehouses, a store of general merchandise, a lumber-mill, and a salmon fishery, besides a fine farm and dairy.
This slough, or bayou, of the Columbia is a pretty bit of quiet water, with a level, wooded island on one side, and the main-land backed by wooded hills on the other. It is no place for a large town, but an excellent one for what it is—a flourishing trading post. The valley of the Nehalem, a considerable stream that runs nearly parallel with the Columbia, emptying into the ocean near Tillamook Head, is rapidly being settled up, and adds to the importance of Westport, which is the only trading post within twelve miles of the new settlement.
The steamer being detained for half an hour at this place, gives us an opportunity to step ashore and take a look at the salmon fishery. We find it a busy place, the fishing season, which begins in May and ends in August, being at its height. The manner of taking salmon in the Columbia is usually by drift nets, from twenty to a hundred fathoms long. The boats used by the fishermen are similar to the Whitehall boat. According to laws of their own, the men engaged in taking the fish, where the drift is large, allow each boat a stated time to go back and forth along the drift ​to hook up the salmon. The meshes of the nets are just of a size to catch the fish by the gills, when attempting to pass through; and their misfortune is betrayed to the watchful eye of the fisherman, by the bobbing of the corks on the surface of the water.
When brought to the fishery, they are piled up on long tables which project out over the water. Here stand Chinamen, two at each table, armed with long, sharp knives, who, with great celerity and skill, disembowel and behead the fresh arrivals, pushing the offal over the brink into the river at the same time. After cleaning, the fish are thrown into brine vats, where they remain from one to two days to undergo the necessary shrinkage, which is nearly one-half. They are then taken out, washed thoroughly, and packed down in barrels, with the proper quantity of salt. That they may keep perfectly well, it is necessary to heap them up in the barrels, and force them down with a screw press.
A fishery proper is understood to mean, a barreling establishment; while a cannery, is one where the fish are preserved in cans, both fresh and spiced, or pickled. The establishment of Mr. West is both these in one. This establishment, also, has commenced the business of saving the oil, which, in barreling salmon, is pressed out, and is equal in quality to the best sperm-oil.
The method of canning salmon was kept secret for one or two seasons, and only a few of the fisheries practiced it. No effort is now made to conceal the processes. The result is the main thing in which the public are interested, and this is a delicious preparation of fresh, or spiced and vinegared fish, put up ready for the table. The market for canned salmon is rapidly increasing—the principal exports being, at present, ​to California, South America, China, and the Islands. It is expected to find a market for it in New York and London, as soon as the amount produced becomes large enough to supply those cities.
The whistle of the Dixie warns us to bring our observation to a close at this point. Turning back down the slough, we emerge once more into the Columbia, and soon arrive at a point in the river known as the "Narrows," but to which Lieutenant Wilkes gave the name of St. Helen's Reach, from the bold view of that mountain obtained here, at a distance of eighty miles. The Narrows is a famous fishing ground, and the largest drift is here. Traps, or weirs, were also in use about the Narrows, but the high water, this year (1871), destroyed most of them. There are no less than seven fisheries in a distance of three miles, two of them being large establishments. That of Hapgood & Hume put up, this year, 700,000 pounds of canned salmon; West & Co., 400,000 pounds. Hume & Co., another firm, have also a large cannery, and Reed & Trott, another large establishment opposite these last, on the Oregon side. In all, there are twenty-five of these fisheries, from Chinook up to a point just above the Narrows, employing, altogether, about three hundred men.
The profits of the fishing business may be roughly computed by estimating the value of a case of canned salmon. An average salmon fills ten cans. These are put into cases containing forty-eight pounds each, and worth $9. Hapgood & Hume must then have put up, this year, over 14,583 cases, amounting to $131,247. About twenty men are employed about such an establishment during the fishing season, and eight or ten during the winter months. The winter's work consists in making barrels and cans. The cost of the labor of ​twenty men during four months, and of half that number during the remainder of the year, with the first cost of material, must be deducted from the total results, the remainder showing a handsome balance. And this is for only one cannery. Besides the two or three others, the different fisheries put up, this year, 2,000 barrels of fish.
The first drift for salmon catching was cleared in 1851, by Messrs. Hodgkins and Sanders—afterward continued by Hodgkins & Reed, now Reed & Trott—and the first canning establishment started, in 1867, by Hapgood & Hume. The buildings, erected at any of the fisheries, are of a rude character, being constructed of unplaned fir lumber. The largest are built about one hundred feet long, by twenty-five feet front, with a deep shod projecting over the river, for convenience in cleaning the fish as well as to shelter them from the sun. From the platform, extending along the side of the building, stairs run down to the water, where the boats are moored. In the lower story of this building are the vats, or "striking tubs," arranged around the sides. A commodious wharf, at which steamers and sailing vessels may receive freight, is also a necessary appendage.
There is no part of the Pacific Coast so well adapted to fish-curing as Oregon and Washington. The climate, either north or south of their latitude, is either too moist or too dry. Wood for barrels is close at hand; and, not yet utilized, close at hand, too, is the best salt in the world for curing meats of any kind. Seeing to what an immense business salmon fishing is growing, one can not help wishing that Nathaniel Wyeth, who tried so hard, in 1832, to establish a fishery on the Columbia, and failed through a combination of ​causes, could see his dream fulfilled, of making the Columbia famous for its fisheries and its lumber trade. But he, like most enthusiasts, was born too soon to behold the realization of the truths he felt convinced of.
There are several species of salmon and salmon-trout which are found in the Columbia. Of these, three species of the silvery spring salmon, known to naturalists as Salmo quinnat, S. gairdneri, and S. paucidens, are those used for commercial purposes, and known as the "square-tailed" and "white salmon"—the third species being considered as smaller individuals of the same kinds, though really distinct in kind.
When they enter the river, near its mouth, they may be caught by hook and bait. The Indians use small herring for bait, sinking it with a stone, and trolling, by paddling silently and occasionally jerking the line. Near the mouth of the Columbia they can be taken with the fly; but, as salmon do not feed, on their annual journey up the river to spawn, it is useless to offer them bait. They can only be caught at a distance from the ocean by nets and seines, or by spearing. The natives usually take them by using scoop-nets, which they dip into the water, at random, near the falls and rapids, where large numbers of salmon are collected to jump the falls. As these falls are all at a considerable distance from the sea, by the time they arrive at them the fish are more or less emaciated, from fasting and the exertion of stemming currents and climbing rapids, and, consequently, not in so good a condition as when caught near the sea. Hence, the superior quality of Chinook salmon.
The immense numbers of all kinds of salmon which ascend the Columbia annually, is something wonderful. They seem to be seeking quiet and safe places in ​which to deposit their spawn, and thousands of thorn Clever stop until they reach the great falls of the Snake River, more than six hundred miles from the sea; or, those of Clarke's Fork, a still greater distance. All the small tributaries of the Snake, Boise, Powder, Burnt, and Payette rivers swarm with them, in the months of September and October.
Great numbers of salmon die on having discharged their instinctive duty: some of them, evidently, because exhausted by their long journey, and others, apparently, because their term of life ends with arrival and spawning. Their six hundred miles of travel against the current, and exertion in overcoming rapids, or jumping falls, often deprives them of sight, and wears off their noses. Of course, all these mutilated individuals perish, besides very many others; so that the shores of the small lakes and tributaries of both branches of the Columbia are lined, in autumn, with dead and dying fish. But they leave their roe in the beds of these interior rivers, to replace them in their return to the sea by still greater numbers.
Besides the salmon of commerce, the Columbia furnishes a great many other species of edible fish, including salmon-trout, sturgeon, tom-cod, flounder, and smelt—all of which are excellent table-fish, in their proper seasons.