A SALT WATER BREEZE. 



GEORGE G. CANTWELL. 



" How about that trip to the Nisqually 

 flats " — I looked around to see the famil- 

 iar figure of Chauncey Potter beaming over 

 the fence — " All right " I answered, " I'm 

 ready any time you are." 



So a day or 2 later we had all our traps 

 stowed away in his green boat and started 

 down the Puyallup river for the Sound, 

 then in and out among the pretty islands 

 for the tide flats of the Nisqually river. 



The Puyallup was low and rapid, the 

 12 mile ride to the mouth furnishing 

 plenty of unexpected pleasures and excite- 

 ment, now gliding rapidly along the smooth 

 places among the tall firs — to be suddenly 

 twisted into a strong eddy and stranded in 

 a mass of drift-wood. While afloat it was 

 one continual dodge to keep clear of the 

 ugly snags, just below the surface, but we 

 came out of it with a dry boat and no mis- 

 hap. 



We had some difficulty in passing a queer 

 lattice work of a fish trap the Siwashes had 

 built across the river, in direct violation of 

 the law. 



At the mouth of the river we came upon a 

 number of fishermen catching salmon, 

 with gill nets. 



We stopped at one camp to get a few 

 strings of salmon eggs, for trout bait, and 

 looked over the last catch — a boat load of 

 fine fish, principally silver salmon, a few 

 tyee salmon and a monster jack salmon, 

 as long as a man and as trim and graceful, 

 in outline, as any trout. 



Once on the salt water we made better 

 time, and settled down to our 22 mile row, 

 to be relieved by the sail when the wind 

 favored us. 



We camped for the night a few miles 

 around the bay from Tacoma. There is al- 

 ways a novelty about the first night's camp 

 of any trip, but our excitement finally died 

 out with the fire and folding the flaps of the 

 tent together we had but just quieted down 

 when a disturbance on the beach caused us 

 to investigate. The full moon showed a 

 party of fishermen drawing a seine. We 

 went out and watched them pull their net 

 into shallow water. The fish, for there were 

 thousands of herring in front of it. were 

 frantic in their efforts to escape, lashing the 

 water into a foam; but the fatal net had 

 crowded them and there they were laid, sev- 

 eral tons of them, on the sand. There were 

 among them about a dozen salmon, a few 

 dog fish, some of the curious little rat fish, 

 with mouths full of sharp teeth, and a big 

 sea' bullhead whose spread of fins, from all 

 sides, would eclipse the rig of a racing 

 yacht. 



Their catch was larger than the men could 



take care of and after their boat was loaded 

 the half still remained on the beach where 

 the receding tide had left them. 



We picked up what we could use and had 

 herring for the next few days, as well as a 

 hot skillet of them then and there that made 

 us a delightful midnight lunch. 



The dead herring soon attracted a swarm 

 of dog fish to the spot and the phosphores- 

 cent streaks that criss-crossed through the 

 water, in all directions, told the numbers of 

 the hungry creatures that were moving 

 about. What they left were devoured, in 

 the morning, by a flock of gulls and terns. 



The next 3 days were spent among the 

 different islands along the way. We took 

 our time and loafed along, shooting a few 

 ducks and ruffed grouse, and feasting on 

 huckleberries. Occasionally we made a 

 meal on clams or muscles. 



Salmon were continually jumping, some 

 making splendid leaps of 4 or 5 feet into the 

 air and often keeping it up for several ^ods, 

 leaving a long chain of glittering splashes 

 behind. Porpoises and seal often came in 

 view. We were unable to get a shot at a 

 porpoise but killed several seal, which sank 

 before they could be reached with the boat. 



One night we camped on the soft sand of 

 the beach, just beyond the high tide Jine, 

 and were no sooner comfortably settled 

 inside the tent, perusing " Huckleberry 

 Finn," than we noticed the sand was alive 

 with a queer little jumping insect. They 

 were all coming to the head of the tent, 

 where the lantern sat. They were more the 

 shape of a shrimp than anything else I can 

 recall; were about Yz inch long, with a 

 stubby sort of tail that they kept curled un- 

 derneath them. It only required a sudden 

 straightening out of this member to send 

 them a foot or more; and they were flip- 

 ping about all over the blankets and be- 

 tween them. Although they did not seem 

 inclined to taste of us they were a terrible 

 nuisance and the only wav we could get 

 any peace at all was to crawl under the 

 covers, kill what we could catch and let the 

 remainder roam about the tent at will. 



One morning, after an early start, the low 

 land of the Nisqually flats appeared, in a 

 break in the fog that the sun had not yet 

 melted away. With the sight of the flats 

 came the whistle and roar of the frightened 

 water fowl that drift about, in enormous 

 flocks, over the shallow waters. They rose 

 on all sides and wheeled by, well cut of 

 range, only to settle down again where they 

 might feed undisturbed. 



We decided to try the South side of the 

 flats first, so we were soon at the Mouth of 

 McAllister creek, up which we rowed a 



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