Jack the Young Canoeman: An Eastern Boy's Voyage in a Chinook Canoe

by George Bird Grinnell

After several hours' work the canoe reached a point in the river where there was a high jam of drift logs, which it was impossible to pass. The sticks of the jam were too large to be chopped through, and the canoe was far too large to be carried about the jam to a point farther up the river; besides, it was well on toward sundown. Camp was made therefore on a smooth sandbar just below the jam, and in a short while the spot had assumed a comfortable, home-like appearance. On the shore of the river was a rather neatly built shed, which had evidently been recently occupied by Indian fishermen. This served as a storehouse for provisions and the mess kit, and a sleeping place for Charlie and the Indians. A little farther up the stream was placed the white tent fly, closed at the back with an old sail and in front with a mosquito netting. Near the storehouse a cheery fire crackled against an old cedar log, and on the beach, farther down, drawn out of the water, was the canoe.

After dinner was over, and when they were sitting about the fire, Jack, whose mind was still full of the salmon he had seen, addressed Fannin. "Now, Mr. Fannin, what more can you tell me about the salmon not taking bait in the fresh water? I believe you spoke to me about it when we saw our first salmon, but I have forgotten what you said."

"Well," said Fannin, "I can't tell you why they do not feed in fresh water, but all fishermen say that they do not, and it is certain that none of them are caught on a hook after they begin to run up a stream. Down in California, where the rivers are all muddy, people explain their refusal to feed by saying that in those waters the fish cannot see the fly or bait, and so do not take it; but such an explanation will not answer for a clear-water stream such as the one we are on. You must have noticed that the water here to-day was as pure and clear as in any trout stream you ever fished."

"Yes," said Jack, "I don't see how anything could be clearer than this water; and I am sure the fish could see the bait or a fly."

"Yes," said Fannin, "they certainly could; and if they wanted a fly they would rise to it. There's a man down here at Moody's Mills who is a great fisherman, and he has fished in these streams for trout and salmon for fourteen years. He says that in all that time he has hooked a salmon only twice, and he believes in each of these cases the fish accidentally fouled the hook. No; when the fish get into the fresh water, they seem to forget everything except their desire to get up to the head of the water and spawn."

"Well," said Jack, "Eastern salmon come into the stream to spawn just as these fish do. They also try to get to the heads of the rivers for this one purpose; yet we all know that the fishermen go salmon fishing, and expect to catch salmon on the Atlantic coast just at the time that the fish are running up the river, and we know that they do catch them, big ones, running, I believe, up to thirty-five or forty pounds."

"Well," said Fannin, "I know that is true, and I don't know just why there should be such a difference in the fish of the two coasts; but I believe that it exists. Some day, very likely, we will be able to explain it; but I can't do it now, and I don't believe I know anybody who can."

The next morning Jack and Hugh were up long before breakfast, and were talking about the difference between the surroundings of this camp and those to which they had been accustomed for the last few weeks. Ever since their departure from Nanaimo they had spent practically all their time on the water or on the seashore; and, except in a few cases, had hardly been a hundred yards from the beach. The present camp, therefore, had about it something that was new. They could not hear the soft ripple of the beach or the roar of the great waves pounding unceasingly against the unyielding cliff. The water which hurried by the camp was sweet and fresh. All about them were green forests, whose pale gray tree trunks shone like spectres among the dark leaves. The birds of the woods moved here and there among the branches or came down to the water's edge to drink or bathe. Except for the canoe, and but for the character of the rocks, they might have imagined themselves on some mountain stream, a thousand miles from the seacoast.

Said Jack to his companion: "We have had lots of surprises on this trip, Hugh, and this camp is one of the greatest of them."

"Yes," said Hugh, "I know just what you mean. It seems mighty pleasant here to be in the timber with that creek running by; and yet I don't know but I like the open sea better, where a man has a chance to look about and see what is near him."