Salmo Gardneri, and
Salmo Purpuratus, or Clark’s trout.
The first named, called commonly by us the salmon trout, was abundant in all of the streams, from about middle of June until middle of September, evidently timing their arrival and departure by the movements of the salmon, upon whose eggs they live. I have noted, on June 1st, “No salmon trout yet in any of the streams. Several fine, large ones captured by the Indians in nets set in sea.” Ten days after, the streams were full of them, and in the earlier part of the interim many would run into the pools of the lower parts with the flooding tide, and out again on the ebb.
When they left us in September, it is probable that they migrated south, for in a letter to Forest and Stream, dated Portland, Oregon, September 28, a correspondent states that, in that month, “there begins to appear in the streams near the Columbia river, a trout,” whose description tallies exactly with that of the spec-tabilis, except that the correspondent speaks of their affording fine sport with the fly; this the trout while in Alaska fails to do. At first, the spectabilis affect the rapids, but after a few days seek the deep pools, where they gather in great numbers, and bite ravenously on hooks covered with spawn and sunk to the bottom. Occasionally, when spawn was out, we used a bit of fresh venison; but at the best they cared little for it, and when the blood became soaked out, the bait was useless. Although fairly gamey when hooked, fishing for these trout was but a poor substitute, for one who had felt and remembered the thrills caused by sudden strikes of our Adirondack fish. I have often when pool-fishing, seen them leisurely approach the bait, and nibble at it as a dainty, full-fed kitten will at a bit of meat, and when one did get the hook, we found it out only by a slight resistance to the series of light twitches which it was necessary to give it. They have evidently been taught by experience that salmon roe is not apt to attempt escape. The usual size of the fish ranged from six to twelve inches—now and then one larger. The largest taken by any of us, near Sitka, fell victim to my “salmon spawn fly,” and gave my little Orvis rod half an hour’s good work. It measured twenty-one inches, but was very light for the length, weighing but two and three-quarter pounds. At the Redoubt river, much larger ones were taken; and two which I shot in Beardslee river were over two feet in length; how much they weighed I never found out, for their surroundings of sick and dying salmon, upon whose eggs they were feeding, prejudiced me against them and I left them.
In shape and color the spectabilis vary greatly, both factors depending upon the length of time they have been in fresh water. When fresh run, they are long and lean, shaped somewhat like the lake trout of Adirondack lakes. The colors are dark lustrous olive-green back, growing lighter as the median line is approached, and blending into a silvery gray tint, which pales to a pure white on the belly; the green portion is sprinkled with golden specks; the flesh is hard, and very good for the table. After a very short sojourn in the creek, bright crimson specks appear among the golden, which, however, fade to a pale yellow; the lustre of the green disappears, they become heavier, but the flesh becomes soft and uneatable, and the skin is covered with slime. Salmon trout taken late in August and early in September, were full of ripe ova.
Professor Bean placed some fish, that had been taken in salt water, into a bucket of fresh, and the crimson spots made their appearance in less than a day.
When fully decked with these, and fattened, they resembled our fontanalis greatly—the head, however, being somewhat larger, and the tail less square.
Salmo Gardneri. My acquaintance with this species is very limited. The first one that I saw I took in Sawmill Creek, well up to the head, in September, 1879. Seeing that it differed greatly from the spectabilis, I preserved it in alcohol, and it was subsequently identified by Professor Bean. It measured a trifle over ten inches, and was very plump, weighing seven and a quarter ounces. In my notes, I describe it thus: “Body, dark green on back, but in general colors very much like a steel head or quinnat salmon; covered with round, black spots, from one-sixteenth to one-eighth inch in diameter; these extend considerably below the median line, and the tail and dorsal fins are covered with them; the second dorsal adipose, but less so than that of the fontanalis, having a slight show of membrane, on which there are four spots; ventral and anal fins, yellowish in centre, bordered with red; belly, dull white; tail, nearly square; scales, quite large, about the size of those of a fingerling chub; flesh, firm; and skin, not slimy. No signs of ova or milt.”
On the 28th of April, 1880, I made note: “The first salmon of the season made their début to-day—that is, if they are salmon, which I doubt.
“Five beauties, from thirty to forty inches long, were brought alongside, in a canoe paddled by a wild-looking and awe-struck Siwash, who, with his crouching Klootchman and papoose, gazed upon our ship, guns, and us with an expression that showed them to be unfamiliar sights. He was evidently a stranger, and was taken in, for he took willingly two bits (25 cents) each for the fish, and no Sitka Siwasli but would have charged treble the price. Through an interpreter, I learned that he had spent the last seven months in a shanty on the western side of Kruzoff Island, and that well up, among the foot-hills of Mount Edgecomb, there was a little lake, from which there flowed a small stream into the Pacific, and that in the headwaters of this stream he had speared these fish, which run up the stream in the fall, remain all winter in the lake, and in early spring spawn in the head of the outlet.”