HEAT, green and purple rocked
G mountains; storm clouds pouring in
from the Pacific; rain! driving rain,
drenching the forests. forests ogmruce. of
cedar, of fir—thick as the hairbpthe'back
of a dog—n wind twisted. crashing inferno.
Hear'the thundering roar of the‘ Robinson,
liuicing down toward the sea. its rapids,’
milk white, foaming. swift as a hydrauii
jet.
“Hell!" said the hatchery man, “don’t
think we'll make it!"
I couldn’t talk. "Just one more stroke—~—
nnd then die!" I groancd to myself (said
the same thing once at Poughkeepsiei);
and, at last, we entered the read).
"McPherson," I said, when the spots had
cleared out of my vision, "the salmon aren't
worth it. Nothing is worth so much tor-
ture.”
hicPherson was lighting his pipe—~11pside
down~dcflan1 of rain. lle bobbgd his head
at the pool. ,, 1
I looked over the side and saw
the Rad Host! Great, red. pale eyed salmon
stared up from its depths: an army
passed, phantomiike, underneath. Weary.
covered with sores. they shot in from their
fight with the stream, rested, and then
slinntly- took up their march. Hundreds
and hundreds of salmon, up from the sea,
. K.
. to spawn and than die!"
“Ghosts?" .E
"Al'. " Bald \icPherson, “they're ghosts,
ri: ht enough Come three “'(‘oks every
. one will be dead. Look at that buck! he's
“"‘ halt dead already."
“ " I looked at the. fish, i1 diseased, dis—
torted, miserable thing. it seemed hard
to believe that only a month or so back he
had flashed through the salt water like
silver. Then had come the Urge: he had
turned his nose toward fresh. watch—the
stream he had been born in two years
before—the scales had dropped off his
back. to be replaced by soft, spongy flesh:
his jaws had become hooked, the teeth
emerging until, like some savage red dog,
he entegcd the Stxaits of Juan de Fuca.
Fasting, intent with his mission, he had
escaped the weirs, wheels and nets of the
canners. fought the swollen flood of the
.. river; leaped, twisted and mounted the
falls. won past the spears of the
Siwash
"I have seen them." McPherson broke in
on my thoughts, “a main and a female,
comln' upstream with a gang of Rainbows
trailing their wake like a wolf
puck hanging on to the flank. AV. and l've
seen the old buck turn and chase thorn
away from her "
"Guts!" Mi'l'hcrson grated the words.
"pound for pound, inch for inch, the
salmon's _the gamcst thing in this world.
An' y0u say they’re not worth it!"
Up to that moment saimori Io mo had
been something that came in a tin. A
hint to the grocer would land the thin:
on my table. But McPherson was telling
me things: ' _
“An' for what?
O'M: will be chad.
the land. Yc‘il sec thnm clocginr: the
this water will fail and ieuw
line; On the banks. Dunks will‘ come in
here in swarms and stuff 111..=mselves so
full of dead, rotten (fish (Fulfil-11‘ own
fleah‘ll taste worse til'tn poison' Ay, and
the bears make: a bloody mess on the
snows. Millions and millions: offeriimon
get snuffed 011i like a candle“. "
"Why?" I asked, 111cckly.
The ire of McPherson came forth in a
snort: "'VVhy‘! Now, ask inn another.
In a few wcfks every
They'll rzliso a stink in
bars;
1»
.n. I
Could I—or any other man—till 3011 why-
Nature is the damn fool that she is you
and I wouldn't be sitting out here in this
tut. in this damned awful weather."
Coming up lake in thu hatchery launch, 11
condemned Japanese fisherman: 'Myl’her-
son had talked of hiswork, explaining the
need for such effort. Between nature and
man. he contended, the salmon were on
the verge of extinction. Left an" orphan
at birth (could you call an egg;- that?) a.
salmon egg has just one clmnce in a thou~
sand of producing a fish that will even-
tually return to complete the tragic life
cycle of his existence. i. 0., to propagate
hips“ species. 1 to 1,000! Bad chances, in-
deed! Hence the hatchery! .
The hatchery bettcrs the odds, gets the
See him standing there on the rim of the
fish trap. He has a salmon clasped by the
tail. His right elbow pinicns its head to
his side. The trained fingers slide along
-"‘ the cohoe’s stomach toward the vent.
. A stream of carnelian globules
shoot into the pail. Beautiful things! about
the size of a‘current. “Ay.” Mcl‘herson
puffs on his pipe. "she’s a bonny i'ush!"
He speaks as if he Were milking a prize
Holstein!
fish out of the egg. past the try and well
into the fingeriing stage “and then
turn! him loose. He is a hit of a lad then,
able to take care of himself. and even a
cut throat trout will have. to move some
to catch him. Thus spoke McPherson:
"Eggs! Give me the eggs—and enough
retaining ponds—and I'll restock the
ocean!”
There are those who maintain that the
hatcheries have not proved their worth.
that all their work is but a drop in the
bucket. But I mentioned this not to Mc-
Pherson. A Scot on the make or in pur-
suit of his hobby. ! Besides he
had raised his work to an art.
"A mar-rvellous fushi Le's have an-
other”
1 dip the net into the box, formed by the
n’pfl‘ht wooden slats of the trap .
and chase 'round a fish until I catch it.
* ”Buck!" says McPherson, after the
. burst of glances. The mitted left hand
elem over the tall: the fifteen pound fish
m. and w“: a. quick flip of that well
Well elbow McPherson imprison. the
he“. A1111: the nubbly. intelligent linkers
M Ioociec of the Oscar
coon salmoncspnwn but one.
8 pgrin we
m
u . o
than
WI I
m
m0!“-
male“ of life; Cohan-hand
all some cases. one as
then also
El an r“: If.
.11.;
them in,
THE RED HOST OF P ‘ CI
A Blast on a Railway Tunnel, Being Bored Thrbhgh a Mountain Overlookmg the Frazer
Fishery, Knocked the Face of a Cliff into the River and Blocked
1C" Ci
Ehe Passage of
Millions and Millions of Salmon at the Bottom of a Steep Falls The Fish
Died With Their Eggs Still Inside Them and N umberless Cans of ‘
Salmon Will Be Lacking 1n the Markets of the World.
slide toward the vent. A stream—fluid,
this time, quite milkllke-shoots into tho
pail. ljle turns and directs it into another
pail of those amber red eggs. Then
Le. dings the fish back into the crystal
clear stream, where, as far as I can make
an.»
By NEGLEY FARSON
last: deposit the black painted buckets
safely on the floor boards of the boat.
But the danger is not yet behind .,-us;
there is the river! Great snags hurtlepast
us: gaunt, twisted branches. clawing arm-
nbout ninety days queer little things will
. .. E ’1- L-
launch drift on in the rain. He stuffed
some vile smelling shag into his pipe and
then using the thing as a pointer talked
emerge fish about the size of a. pin and figures
with an odd little sac fastened to each
Interesting? Rather!
(his meals for four weeks). When the one to believe them. F3116; the State of Wagh-
has disappeared the fiSh “111 be MW in ington alone, being forced to lose $10, 000, -
:2
4—-
.—
Pho-l-e 5’ Gillian; 3mm
A fleet of’ salmon fishers on the Columbia.
out. it swims oft feeling quite cheery and
bright.
Like some alchemist or old the Scot
peers into the bucket, and gently, oh! so
gently, he‘lets a soft flow of water seep
down over the brim and across the ter-
tilizaing eggs. “1.001.!"
1 see the m1racle take place in the
bucket! A gossnner mist floats over the
eggs, almost imperceptible, so fine is its
f~-.L»1'ic.lt is the changing of color. Now
each err; is distinct, wrapped in its own
little robe of Creation. A white spot on
(azh shows that Life is now there.
M: gic‘
Scale haVe quil- {‘y turned a li;ht coral
in (020:. These \1cl‘hmsi rink! l3 thracts
and (‘21: is from him. The,» are alread)
(it-11d. lie rocs ovm his "labics"
iy now I am feeling his fatherly
toresl.
in-
! go after the last fish in the trap.
A quver pair. the two or us, the Scot and
i. in [11:11 mountain sin-am in British 'Co-
lunib‘a. And a queer fish. that in the trap.
A thumping big bui‘k, already far gone
toward spanning: the hcok nose~and do;
teeth showing pl.1i11ly. Some males are so
distorted this way, with the growth of
reproductive organs inside them, that the
jaws shut on each side of each other—like
shears! This fellow looks vicious. Also.
the fish trap is but a rickety contraption.
“'9 face each other. the pale yellow eyes
of the salmon cycin'; me malevoicnlly.
"Hoot!" the landing net is snatched from
my hands; with one deft, well practiced
dab McPherson has ended the bat lie. in
a trice the M1: fish is locked in the grip.
M -1’l1erson lc 1'15 0'. er a pail. .
I like to picture him them, nil-<1 wreaths
curling about l15m—sxnokelil;e~l1is red
board a flame. lic might be some high
p1icst, conductinga1iLe—a Siwash shaman
pe1haps; for the myths of the Haida are
peopled with salmon. High prowed canoes,
Siwash, McPherson, the salmon; they all
belong in this picture. The old Northwest
that is passing! And. McPherson—With
his pails of red eggs—fighting a rear guard
action. Against . . .?, Well.
against Time, perhaps: Time and the can-
here!
“A Godless lot," McPherson describes
them, "ulth thought for naught but them—
selves."
Their money has made them a power
in politics,.strong enough to defeat any
laws being madzzlmmat would place a ban
uron unlimited hing. ."Money!"'curses
McPherson, " 'tis they are after. Catch
all the fish that they can and to
hell with the future!" . 7
And the future is the particular concern
of MCPherson: "'rgke care of those “33-"
he regards me, appraisingiy. before letting
go of the buckets. .
I stand there in the stream. the water
pouring into my boots. “like card‘s! the
eggs!" I excisim. .“If you’re not jolly,
quick about pain: them over I‘ll pitch
the whcle lot in the drink!" -
For an instant n maniacal light flares in
the blue cm above nae—panther hunters
have seen it Wen insoluble of the cubs—-
add I m hurriedlfpff into the stream—
tho sacred buckets held high overhead.
31¢th with magnificent assurance,
o a o ,
1 run! m the 3:: Wall of the fish trap
'and‘ in get. to shore. We make our way
tax-ouch dank underzmwth. dripping ai-
MM'cclubthorn-mdaround the
m trunks of mus apnea and at
HAY,”
like at the air A merganser comes, like
a bullet up stream, making time, his recl
ickcd head stretched out like a spear
point. McPherson blasphemes:
"You bloody bird! Every time he sticks
his head under water he comes up with a
fish in his mouth. " He watches the saw-
biii shoot out from our sight round. the
bend. "The —— (too strong for this
paper)!‘ Ah. wcel.“ McPherson has ;a
booted leg thrown over the g‘unvrale. "here's
hoping we don't hit one of those snags”.
It was like shooting the chutei. ‘HOW
a fish exer got up that torrent was “
puzzle to me. McPherson declared a.
salmon could round a rock in 9- current
running six hundred feet to the minute
It takes a seven mile current. [running
steadily, to bar their continual progress
“They use their headgg’ youchsat’ed Mc-
Pherson: "strategy. They 'make use of
every obstruction. sneak up in the back-
waters‘imd eddies and then charge the
swift water. That! McPherson's
fist shot past my nose to show the speed
of their dash
It; stunned one; the thought of this
honiertc'struggle. with death as its final
reward.‘ Made one wonder if, after all.
there wasn't some mistake in the order
of things, some absurd cosmic blunder.
Fish...like‘ the Tyee, the Spring, a. bun-
dred pound salmon—blotted out in their
prime! Like killing a man when he's
forty!
We were now on the Egray seagoing
launch and headed down lake... and for the
first time that day McPherson emitted the
sound, which the writer chaps term
“breathing easy. " We had “stripped" thir-
teen fish; three bucks and text females. ,At
2 000 eggs to the cohoe that meant we 111111
collected 20, 000 potential salmon. Twenty
fish would byuestimated average be all
that nature would have allowed to mature.
Twenty fish! But these eggs Em in the
hands of McPherson
watei' swept 11.1.1.1... it
fllll'im
i
it
E
E
.b.
E
4314’}; : arr;—
McPherson puffs in his pipe, "she’s a bonny fushl”.
retaining ponds and fed" with grated 0:
liver. They liVe high on this and wax fat
and strong. In about four months they
will be the size of one's finger-finger-
lings! Then
But this year McPherson has other
plans: "I‘m going to keep them as long as
1 can, say six months‘ or so. Every day,
I contend increases their chances; Then
when I .put them into the stream I can
any 'God be with you!’ and not feel Liz's a
joke."
Again the fatherly feeling! But to- day
McPherson is rather depressed. What’s
the use of it all? Everything in the 31.91-
vcrse Seems against him. (This last be-
cause the sportsmen have just attacked
the hatchery for selling dead salmon eggs
for bait to the "sports." The sportsmen
declare that the canners want all the trout
sent to_ Linibo—and that the hatcheries
are helping to do it!) "It's a. lie!" howls
McPherson. "I hatch thousands of trout
every your!" He falls to chewing his pipe:
"Ay.” he spaks half aloud. “man's the
worst of the boiling!"
“The canners. 21' ’
”Oh. ay, but it's not them I‘m thinkln'
about. It’s an engineer who forgot somc’
of his figures. "
Here's a queer shift in the wind. En-
ginger-EL What connection has such a man
with the salmon? ,
McPherson is still speaking in riddles:
"A few figures on. the. wrong side of the
decimal point. and ._ bang”! goes a
cliff. Ay, mutations! goes the world's best
run o’:salmon!"
He looked me over to be sure that I was
well prepared for the question: “‘What’d ye
say. lad; if I told yeti that one push of a,
man’s hand cost B. C. and the State of
Washingtoxi $27, 000, 000 2"
I told him. '
”'1.
Jam, making my remarks about the
o
000 a year because of the act of one man!
Impossible? So it would seem; but Mc-
Pherson was dealing with facts, and as he
rheld them'up to my view I began to see
numerous things which before I had found
hard to explain. A tin of salmon, for in-
stance, _I,had bought years beKjIe—out in
Egypt—now” I understood why it had cost
me so much! All the world must. forever
pay through the nose because that one
engineer was weak on his strength of ma.
terials!
“Man. I can tell you a tale of death and
destructiOn that will fairly break your
heart." And there, in the reek of oil and
burnt gases, 'neath a. hammer of rain on
the cabin, I heird the saga of the .Sockeye,
the “Big Run" in the Fraser, and its tragic
\ conclusion. 1%
"It was the most wonderfurrun in the
world," said McPherson. "Every four years
the fish ran so thick they had to fight to
get a place on the spawning beds. Birds
used to eat nothing but eyes! . (Think of
giutting on eyes!) Nearly all the.sock-
eye in 'the world were hatched out in
the watershed of that river. And it hap-
pened every four years. On the Frazer
we called them the “big years." The three
lean ones that followed. all lumped to-
gether, wouldn't make the half of that
big one—Eh?”
In answer to my question as to why this
phenomenon. he replied that scientists
could never determine; but this much they
knew—the his run was the result of the
abundant seeding of the spawning beds
four years previous (the preceding "big
year." when the fish had covered every
inch of the beds): that every four years
it occurred, and that. the intervening three
years were just as sure to be “lean."
These "lean years." perhaps, had been
caused by some landslide, lost in~the mists
of antiquity, blocking the fish for three
years, and thus causing the barren re-
turns from those spawnings.
“And that‘s just the point," McPherson
continued, “the four year life cycle of the
sockeye. Keep that fact, in your mind.
for it holds the gist of what I‘m to tell you.
It‘s where the murder comes in.
“Nineteen thirteen was a big' year. The
biggest ‘big year‘ ever was! The sockeycs
came in in millions and mi'lions; 31, 000, out)
sockeye did the canners pack tl‘ .at year!
But that was all right; millions more
were headed up for the’ beds. They en-
tered the Frazer like sardines in a tin!
And had these fish'heen allowed to get
to their spawning bed," here BicPht‘rscn
3.1be at me‘ with his pipe, “the Frazer
would stil he the most valuable fishery
known. But here comes that engineer
. . with his figures' Because of him
1918 was the last ”‘ i: 30 11’0f the sock-
eye there Will never be another.
Because. the last blast on the Canadian
Northern Railway tunnel at Yale knocked
the face off the ‘cliff and tumbled the
lot into the Fraser. Hell Gate? Yes, and
the. Big Run was Stymiedi"
M'cPhcrson had now' finished with fig-
ures and was dealing with tragedy: “It
was a sight to make a' man scream! I
watched thousands and thousands of
salmon have a try at that jump. Men '
worked like devils to help 'cm get past:
fish ladders Were built on the sides, 'fiumes,E
rocks were hauled out by sheer sweat
alone. But all was too late. Millions and
millions of. fish died at the foot of those
fads. Nine feet: the fish‘ made‘the height,
but. a. stream like a. fire hose, shooting
over the top, flung them back. With their
eggs still inside them, they died
and the ‘big year’ died with them.”
111111 this is the satanic irony of it all:
had the cock slide occurred Ein any lean
year, say 1912 or 191-! little harm would
have been done, but in the “big year" such
a, thing meant calamity. and it is now
known as the greatest disaster in the his-
tory of fishes! 19177-which should have
been another “big year"—-showed an 81
per cent. decrease of catch! - -
The slide has been cleared, but the
trouble will carry on into posterity, and'
lWashington and the Province of British
Columbia are at loggerheads as to how to
co:rect- it. Be it known that the Ameri—
cans get the first whack at the run of
the Fraser, as all salmon returning from
the sea to spawn in its watershed must
first: pass through many miles of United
takes 66 per cent. of th catch—and the
Canadians say that the calipers down
there will not accept any closed season of
years (which. they correctly maintain, is
the only way to bring back even i part. of
the run). Be that as it may. one doubts,
in the face of their local endeavors to
maintain. unrestricted fishing. just "how
hEQDy the Canadian calipers would be
should the Athenians suddenly turn pious.
They seem too good to be true! At any
rate, a joint commission representing
British Columbia and the, State of Wash-
ington has just met at Wetland—and failed
a c -
to reach any agreement, though both par- C -'
ties 31:13qu maintained that the came to
_ establish the closed seasons'E The Shrub.
the
OE TO DIE
At first I refused'
, “But: warns the Hon. William 53%
Commissioner of Fisheries for the Home”?
of 'British Columbia, “unless some radical
steps are taken at once the salmon 30011
will be as extinct as the Dodo. "
1921—another “big year” —-was just nine.
rat-three per cent. less than that of 1.131
“We can't do anything." 919311 the 1003.1
authorities: “it is a. case for Ottawa, and
VVashlngton, D. G—an int6rnational 33
fair!”
But to me it seems more than ha:-
this is a. personal afiair~yours
5:1
mine. the man in the street—the 12:11
price of salmon. We eat it, {1:12.33
when we can dig up the price. Ar. = :31
our grocer will probably give us 5 me-
thing with the name “CHEM"
label. Whitish, queer looking 5'
at all like the pink, rich flesh c113,);
~so accustomed to seeing against *-
leaves and firm mayonnaise. I u:
but salmon, nevertheless. So .
jected by canners, danised. Or“
a. Siwash! Humpbacks are now
"Pinks". An acquiescent mark-v:
suaded to eat them. The:
but that‘s about the [1:053:22
for them.
I'd rather have mtfish and waffie
On a Cloth-
mg Spree
By ELORIMER HAMMOND.
ANDING on foreign shores,
L tourist over fifty from the L'.
buys a cane before he buys a d:
noSlccts cocktails to try 011 cutaua} = p.113
more attention to high hats than to 1.. *h-
1.1.1 is worries over the tint. of his Spats
rather than the vintage of his wines and
mixes his socks and neckties with greater
care than his liquors.
Everywhere on the Continent Americans
are spotted by the recklessness of their re.—
cation gctups. _\Vhlle (arousing through
an inebriate season of stripes. checks and
fancy notions, excessive drinking is rare
among them.
That-this display is a natural reaction
against a series of prohibitions was re-
cently testified to by an‘ old gentleman
from Lima, Ohio, who walked the boule-
vards of Paris with a light brown derby
set at a debonalr angle over a axle of
such seraphic satisfaction that might
reasonably have been attributed to bottled
causes. He only took a small beer, how.
ever, while explaining,
“No, I'm not drunk—just nappy. Let me
tell you something. For more than forty
years I’ve been itching to wear a brown
derby, sport a. pair 0! tan Spats and carry
a shiny yellow cane. Ever since I was a.
senior in, high school I‘ve longed to walk
down the strc ct swinging my stick. smiling
at the gins and regarding my nifty re-
flection in the shop windows.
" You knew what naphtha to a man who
appcaxs out, of uniform in a middle sized
American city," he went on. "Back in
Lima if I came down town with this hat
on I‘d get put out of the Rotary Club, and
if my wife and children didn't advertise in
the papers ionising further responsibility
for my ccndu t 1' d be lucky. If I should
carry this came along State street little
boys would call me names and throw things
at me. A pair of Spats would ruin my
Wholesale grocery bus inc‘s in less than a.
month.
“But I’ve certainly had a swell time over
here," he continued with a sigh. “Up at
the hem) I've got four fancy vests, two
pairs J): striped pants and a regular after-
noon coat with gray build on it. a pair Of
be
A.
ink,
‘1-3
S.
Q?
{1
.patent leather shoes with cloth tops, an
opera hat that folds up like they do in the
,best detective stories, a black ribbon to
hang on my eyeglasses and a. complete set
of Spats in six shades I know I‘ve dissi-
pated. It has cost. me lot. of money, but
‘not one regret. Sailing day after to-mor—
row. I'll wear them all once more, then
give 'em (to the archduke who hands out
the keys at the hotel. on, well. we have
steam heat and Chautauqua out in Lima.
anyhow.”
According to Como Ham ilton, the
popular fiction writer. now in Paris. Amer-
ican women are throwing away their dress
individuality.
"Flapper-s," he remarked recently,-"were
as much alike as phonograph records of
the same tune." Mr. Hamilton claims that
the girl from the United States shows lessL
self-determination about what she wears
than does the Pix-infertile. “From Maine
to California she troficked about in the same
little round boy's hat. boxy, coatish affair
of tweed. an inch or so of‘skirt. also tweed.
tum Wool stockings and flapper Show.
,As'agirll thinksheisndarngood little-
sport, but I don't like her clothes at all."
As for the men, however, it is only the
older ones who seem anxious to break away
from the rules. Fifty years of having a
stop watch held on their straw hat season.
suppressing an aching desire 'for pink
shirts and living with a. selffnppointed
community censor bureau has perhaps
become a little tireéume. They see Europa
as a long sought chance to air their own
pet ideas just once at least. Hundreds of.
them have been taking, ’advantage of the
shbrtviacafion period by making the Old
World avenues sparkle with ardent hues
aidtricky patterns.
W. L Georze has'vithdrawn from the
Minutemen” on October 4 he deliv—
cred before the Em'er'u'm Club in London
What he declares tube hislast lecture.
In the tame, meantime ct “Ursula Trent.”
. d“fier Bum 3w will de‘
mmemmmeflo‘
Norwalk Chronicler