with salmon were a guarantee of sur- 
vival all through the year. But like 
all staple food sources, salmon had 
to be stored and preserved for the 
months when fresh salmon wasn’t 
available. Without refrigerator-freez- 
ers, Indians built large smokehouses 
and drying racks and perfected the 
arts of drying and smoking salmon 
to a high level. Some fish were half 
smoked, for immediate eating. That 
way the flesh was still soft. Other fish 
were fully dehydrated by longer smok- 
ing so that they would keep through 
the winter. 
On a recent visit to Lummi Island, 
a settlement in the north part of Puget 
Sound accessible by ferry, I bought 
some of this “hard-smoked” salmon, 
which had been prepared by Lummi 
Indians. It resembled beef jerky in 
its tough, brittle texture and salty 
taste. During the drive back south to 
Seattle, which was frequently whited 
out by a freak fall blizzard, I un- 
derstood graphically how earlier gen- 
erations of Lummis and their coastal 
neighbors had found this preserved 
fish a handsome and convenient pro- 
tein source in cold weather. 
Left: Split salmon, skewered on 
crossed sticks that hold them 
flat, are roasted over a wood fire. 
Below: Salmon are hung in a 
smokehouse to preserve them. 
Necessity taught the Indians to eat 
every part of the salmon — from cheeks 
to spine. Even salmon roe were hung 
in strips and dried or smoked. Some 
Indians put roe in bags made from 
deer stomachs and hung the bags in 
their smokehouses. Each day they 
would knead the bag until the mois- 
ture evaporated and the eggs turned 
into a kind of cheese. Another route 
to the same result involved burying 
the roe in a three-foot pit lined thickly 
with maple leaves. Holes poked in the 
leaves at the bottom of the pit allowed 
oil to drain away. After two months, 
the eggs turned to cheese and could 
be eaten plain or boiled with water 
for soup. Some Indians preserved 
salmon roe by leaving it to cure in 
saltwater. 
None of this salmon-based economy 
could have occurred without the seem- 
ingly supernatural, superabundant an- 
nual return of the fish from saltwater 
to freshwater. Each year, grateful and 
awe-struck Indians greeted the arrival 
of the first salmon with joyful cele- 
bration and a variety of ritual observ- 
ances. 
When a Kwakiutl troller caught his 
first nine salmon, he clubbed them 
only once, stunning but not killing 
them. Then he strung them on a 
twisted cedar withe, tied it in a hoop, 
put the hoop around his neck, and 
prayed: “I do not wish to club to death 
your souls so that you may go home 
to the place you came from, Super- 
natural Ones. . . 
After eating the first salmon of the 
2 . 
103 
