June 6, 1908.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
899 
call a spear. It is a long pole through the end 
of which for a distance of probably five feet 
and at intervals of about an inch sharp wire 
nails protrude two inches. 
As the craft moves slowly over the schools 
the fish attempt to swim away, but only crowd 
closer together, giving the fishermen the oppor¬ 
tunity sought. He thrusts the spear deep into 
the water in front of him, and with a paddle 
stroke forces it through the school, impaling 
many of the fish on its tines, and as it is about 
to leave the water close to the boat’s side he 
gives it a quick flip and tosses the fish into the 
bottom of the craft. From two to ten fish may 
be captured at a single sweep of the spear, and 
at this rate the bottom of the boat or canoe is 
soon covered several inches deep with flopping 
fish. Not infrequently whales enter the bay 
to feed upon the fish, sometimes coming quite 
close in to the quays. 
Enormous though these schools of herring are, 
they do not equal the runs of candlefish that 
I saw while navigating the headwaters of Cook 
Inlet in June. So dense are these schools that 
a dash of a bucket into their midst will bring 
up half a pail of fish. In a short time one can 
fill a bucket with candlefish that have been 
washed upon the beach by the gentle surf. 
The candlefish is about the size of a smelt 
and so fat that when dried and lighted it throws 
off a blaze of sufficient power to be used for 
illuminating purposes. Before the advent of 
the white men and his candles these fish were 
used by the Alaskan natives for that purpose. 
The Indians claim that. candlefish possess 
valuable medicinal qualities, and candlefish oil 
is used by them as a universal cure for consump¬ 
tion. Hundreds of pounds of these fish are 
buried and left in the ground until they begin 
to decompose, then they are uncovered and 
dumped into a wooden receptacle, a hollowed- 
out log or more often a dugout canoe that has 
passed its usefulness as a craft. Water is then 
added and the putrid mass is brought to a boil¬ 
ing point and kept simmering by plunging into 
it boulders that have been heated. The oil is 
thus gradually tried out, and after it has gath¬ 
ered on the surface, thick and clear, it is drawn 
off and placed in large wooden receptacles. A 
consumptive patient is so liberally dosed with 
this oil that it is doubtful if he could absorb 
any more were he submerged in it. He drinks 
it by the pint and is bathed in it several times 
a day. To meet one of these dirty, sickly, 
greasy Indians is one of the most repulsive 
sights imaginable. Nevertheless persons in a 
position to know say that after several weeks 
of this treatment a native who once seemed to 
be in the last stages of the disease becomes as 
robust and looks as healthy as a perfectly strong 
man. 
The real fishing season in Alaska does not 
begin until the salmon commence their migra¬ 
tion from the sea to their spawning beds in the 
fresh water streams. Then it is that the inhabi¬ 
tants of the air and the earth seem to vie with 
each other in an effort to slaughter the most 
fish. While a few fish begin their mad rush 
to certain death—for it is said that having once 
ascended a stream they never live to return to 
the sea—in May and June, the migrations are 
not at their height until July. Then it is that 
the most prized of all the salmon, the king sal¬ 
mon, begin to run, and soon after come the red 
salmon, then the silver salmon in August, and 
with them large numbers of hump-backed and 
dog salmon, but the two last mentioned species 
are dry and coarse and will never be considered 
fit for food until the better grades of fish have 
been exterminated. 
To describe these salmon runs without seem¬ 
ing to stretch the truth is difficult; yet when I 
say that this subject is one that is practically 
impossible to exaggerate, the reader will be 
somewhat prepared for the coming story. 
Words can hardly express the wonderful scenes 
enacted at the mouth of a salmon stream dur¬ 
ing the height of the salmon season; one must 
be there to see for himself in order to appre¬ 
ciate them. 
Every stream is not a salmon stream, and why 
not is known only to the salmon themselves. 
When the tide is out the water at the mouths 
of some streams is often too shallow for the 
fish to ascend, so keeping well in shore the 
salmon work their way from the ocean, and con¬ 
gregating at the stream’s mouth await the rising 
of the water. Soon the pool swarms with huge 
salmon that chase each other hither and thither 
and poke their noses into the shallow rift in 
their anxiety to begin the fatal battle against 
man and beast, rapids and falls. Having 
watched the fish here, let us move on further 
up the stream and await their coming. 
While working our way through the tall, 
luxuriant grass and weeds that usually cover 
the flat about the mouth of a salmon stream, we 
cross or follow numerous paths beaten deep 
into the mossy ground. These trails were made 
by the brown bears and black bears as they 
journeyed to and from their mountain homes 
and the creeks where they fish. Practically every 
bear that lives near a salmon stream becomes a 
fish-eating bear at this season, and the trails 
from the timber intersect and cross each other 
like cow paths in a pasture. Along the edge of 
the stream the grass is matted, and lying here 
and there in all stages of decay are quantities 
of salmon with only their bellies eaten, these 
fish having been tossed up on the bank by a 
quick flip of bruin’s paw. About a hundred 
yards from the stream’s mouth a cluster of tall 
spruce trees grows close to the bank, the high 
branches of which make a capital lookout from 
which to study the salmon. 
From our elevated position the mouth of the 
stream can be plainly seen, and as the tide rises 
the rift that has held the salmon in check grad¬ 
ually disappears, at first liberating the small fish, 
which flounder over the barrier, soon followed 
by the giants of the school. On they come like 
a herd of stampeding cattle, pushing, crowding 
and throwing the water in every direction. Now 
they sink into deep water, now they reappear on 
another shoal, and as they draw near us the 
noise made by their floundering and fighting 
sounds like the splashing of some gigantic sea 
monster. By the time the advance guard has 
reached us the entire length of the stream as 
far as we can see is one mass of writhing, floun¬ 
dering fish. On the rifts their backs protrude 
several inches above the water and the big fel¬ 
lows turn upon their sides and scoot over, some¬ 
times running high and dry upon the bank where 
they flop about until they gain deep water or 
die from exhaustion. The fights between the 
jealous males are in their way as desperate as 
the battles between more ferocious animals, for 
they often result in the death of one of the 
combatants. In their frenzied charge one will 
sometimes drive his opponent through the water 
at such a rate that he will shoot high up on the 
shore and there die. In streams where the runs 
are not so large as the one you are now watch¬ 
ing the fish seem to travel in pairs, and after 
a fight, momentarily shrouded in a curtain of 
spray, you see the victorious fish return to his 
mate. 
As the fish reach a cascade the basin under 
it congests with them, and soon the scene is one 
of leaping and falling salmon. Some of them 
mount the falls at the first attempt; others fail 
and drop back only to try and try again; still 
others gain the apron, but in spite of their strug¬ 
gles the current gradually carries them back 
over the brink, or, catching on the apex, they 
manage to overcome the point of resistance and 
continue their journey to the next fall. In this 
manner some of the salmon manage to work 
their way hundreds of miles up the streams. 
On descending from our outlook to study the 
fish at close range our wonder gives way to 
pity. The salmon that have just left the sea 
are fine specimens of health, vigor and beauty, 
but those that for weeks have been battling with 
each other, and the boulder-strewn creek bed and 
the jagged edges.of falls, are indeed objects of 
compassion. With bodies a mass of bleeding 
sores, noses skinned to the bone and fins so 
nearly gone as to be useless, we see them feebly 
attempting to resist the current and the on¬ 
slaughts of their stronger kin. In the quiet 
pools near the banks we find hundreds of these 
poor creatures too weak to move out of the way. 
Frequently the body of a once fine fellow, who 
died while stubbornly resisting the elements in 
an attempt to obey the command of nature, 
floats seaward to feed the gulls and the eagles. 
It is interesting to watch the actions of a 
tourist party that sees such sights for the first 
time. While every one has heard these wonder¬ 
ful fish stories ever since the trip began, still it 
is evident as they stroll along the beach toward 
the stream that few of them are prepared for 
the sight awaiting them. Suddenly the stream 
is reached and what a spectacle presents itself! 
Salmon, salmon, salmon! The water is whipped 
into foam by the thousands of frightened, flee¬ 
ing fish, and instantly the excitement of the 
party becomes as great as that of the salmon. 
The natural instinct to kill instantly asserts it¬ 
self, and men and boys with stones and clubs 
try their best to kill the fish. I have seen boys 
—without waiting to take off their shoes and 
stockings—leap into the ice cold stream and 
thrust their clothed arms shoulder deep into the 
water in an effort to capture a fish. When fish 
are so abundant it can be imagined how easily 
they can be slaughtered. 
J. Alden Loring. 
[to be concluded.] 
Adirondack Notes. 
Blue Mountain Lake, N. Y., May 23 .—Editor 
Forest and Stream: The season has been late. 
Hardwood leaves are only beginning to show on 
the mountain sides, and many trees show only 
buds. Rain has been abundant and the streams 
high. Brook trout are not much in evidence as 
yet. Occasionally one is caught in the lakes. 
Juvenal. 
