When Locust Trees Bloom (The Salmon Are Running!)

By Eric Hanson

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781493182879

Eric Hanson

Eric has more than twenty years of professional experience as a wildlife biologist, who grew up alongside the Columbia River, and regularly caught salmons.

Book preview

Chapter 1

WHEN LOCUST TREES BLOOM

(THE SALMON ARE RUNNING!)

The first he knew about it was when his young grandson, Todd, sang out, Grampa! Grampa! You’ve got a bite! Quick! Come quick!

He yelled back, Well, Danny, grab the pole and set the hook. At fourteen, his son had caught several salmon before, and was big and strong enough to handle any of them on his own. Or at least that was what Bill initially thought.

Since he had just finished cutting the locust tree blossoms, he quickly stuffed them into the jar of water he had brought. Then he started to work his way back to where his wife, Odile, was. Since the dog was with the boys and he was alone in the tall bunchgrass and periodic shade of the trees, he actually moved relatively slowly, looking out for rattlesnakes and watching the kids whenever he could. It was soon obvious from the pole being bent double that they had a very big one on, so he sped up as much as he felt he safely could.

First things first, however, as he stopped off where Odile was putting the newly rinsed dishes back into the picnic basket. He sat down on the blanket, gave her the bouquet, and sneaked in a quick kiss while the boys’ attention was intent on the fish. Softly saying that he loved her, they shared a brief moment together.

Then he got up and went to where the kids were busy wrestling with the fish. Even with his son holding onto the pole and both of his grandsons, aged nine and eleven, helping, they were losing the battle. It apparently was a big one! While his original plan had been to have them catch any fish today, he thought that perhaps he’d better take over before someone got hurt.

As it was, the kids were floundering around on the slippery river rocks and needed him to take charge. There would be many more times when they were older that he would take them salmon fishing, and they could actually land the fish.

Bill first told his son to watch his grandsons, grab the dog, and stay with his wife. He was going to have enough to do fighting this fish, and didn’t want any of them to slip on the rocks, fall into the river, or meet up with a snake amid all the excitement. In the latter case, though, he knew from years of hunting with her that the dog had more sense than to charge in on a snake. He had trained her not to do so. Rather, she’d point it diligently, and was good company for them to have along as an early-warning system.

After taking the rod from his son, he jerked it hard a couple of times to make sure the hook was well set, with the barb driven in as far as it could go. In response, however, the fish took off in a flash. He cranked down as hard as he could on the reel’s drag, or the amount of resistance that was required for the fish to take out line, but it still rapidly spooled off the reel.

He had to move downstream with the fish, retrieving line as he went. He did this to gain some back on the reel so he would not run out of it entirely and the fish could then break it off. Rather than having to constantly be aware of where he put his feet, for fear of snakes, he mostly waded along where it was shallow enough, or cautiously walked downriver on the cobblestones, where there wouldn’t be any snakes in the full sun at this time. He was really glad there were mostly no trees to block his passage.

Man! He was sure he had never hooked a salmon this big before. It certainly seemed intent upon heading back to the Pacific. Only minutes had seemingly passed before he had stumbled nearly a quarter mile downstream and was finally gaining a significant amount of line on the reel. He had seen the fish on the surface once at a distance of about a hundred yards, but could only make out that it was indeed large, and nickel bright. Its color reminded him of fish he had caught in the ocean or the small coastal rivers of Washington and Oregon. Not dark like they often looked after being in the Columbia for a few weeks. It must have entered the river nearly 200 miles downstream and raced straight up here.

He was glad Zaccharias Owyhee had mentioned that this was the best time to be fishing for the big June hogs here below Celilo Falls. They were the fish that eventually would spawn far up north in the Okanogan, or had even originated in central Alberta before they closed off Grand Coulee Dam back in ’41.

He really liked Zack, and wished that he wouldn’t leave the Hanford Project. Zack was a good worker, and just a great guy, but Bill understood the need for him to go back to working on the reservation now that the war was over. Although he couldn’t serve in the armed forces because of that old rodeo injury, Zack had done his service to the country by working there at Hanford.

By helping build the Bomb, even if they all hadn’t known what they were working on until it was dropped, everyone was sure proud when it brought the war to a quick end. Terrible how killing and maiming hundreds of thousands of people was a positive thing during war. But right now getting this fish to the bank was the battle that needed to be won, and it was a closely fought thing that he knew could still go either way.

Later on, Bill would take the family across the river and drive the few miles upstream above the Falls to meet Zack and his family. It sure would be nice to have something to show off, and would give Bill ample reason to thank him for the tip. Just the same, being out here for a picnic along the river was wonderful even if he didn’t catch anything.

When they went over to see Zack and his bunch, they’d hopefully be able to show the boys how the Indians fished with their dip nets. It was a vanishing way of life that would be lost forever if they built the dam they were talking about below here, because then the falls would be inundated. Even if the Army Corps of Engineers would build fish ladders to supposedly allow the salmon passage above the dam, there wouldn’t be a place that the Indians could dip-net for them like at Celilo Falls. But it was too late to worry about that now. What Bill had to focus his attention on at this point was landing this fish.

During each run when the salmon took line off of the reel, Bill would move downstream a little. He then would recover a bit more of the line on the reel when he had turned the fish and it was headed back toward shore. Each time he could feel the salmon giving up a little easier, yet then it would muster its strength and take off anew.

Bill would then follow it downstream, keeping his line to it always taut during the run, and pumping the rod when the fish tired and turned around, and he was able to collect a bit more line on his reel each time. That way he was gaining on it.

By this time its runs were almost non-existent. A few more minutes and he would probably have it. Even so, this was too nice a fish to do anything stupid with, just because he was over-anxious. When he finally got it within twenty-five or so yards, he could tell the fight was nearly done, because the fish was fairly easy for him to turn over in the water. He just needed to find a gently sloping cobble beach to land this beauty, and finally found a calm stretch of water and beach below a small point of land. Once there, he was able to coax the salmon into the shallows. When it was turned onto its side, he knew the fight was all over. A last gentle gliding onto the small rocks, and he had it!

Oh man! Oh joy! What a beauty! It had to be close to fifty pounds, if not more. He grabbed it through the gills, noticing the sea lice attached there. Those were small parasites that always fell off after just a few days in fresh water, confirming that the fish was newly in from the ocean.

Then he propped the fish right side up between a couple of large rocks, and thumped it once on the head with a heavy piece of driftwood, killing it. After removing the large spinning lure from its mouth, he pulled out his pocket watch and saw that it had all taken nearly an hour. He also realized that his hands were shaking slightly from the excitement.

After catching his breath for a moment, and relieving himself, he attached the lure to his reel and took up the slack in the line before picking up the fish and starting back toward his bunch. Then he hefted it, picked up his pole, carrying it facing backwards so in case he slipped on the rocks he wouldn’t jam the rod tip into the rocks and snap it, and then started the long haul back, necessarily going pretty slow because the round cobblestones made uncertain footing, especially packing the extra weight.

By the time he got within a hundred yards or so of the picnic spot, he was glad that his wife had let the kids and dog come running down to see the fish. He would be able to give the pole to his son, and free up another hand for carrying this load. Even if the snakes would normally be hidden under the large rocks or other shady spots at this time of day, he still hollered at the boys to watch where they were going.

The grandkids soon engulfed him with choruses of, Grampa! Grampa! Wow! That is the biggest salmon we’ve ever seen. Have you ever caught one that big before? Can we touch it? It’s almost as tall as we are. And as wide! How much do you figure it weighs? Wow!

They swarmed around him like bees. After giving his son the fishing rod to carry, he told his grandsons to slow down and be careful. They soon approached where Odile was on the blanket under the tarp they had strung up for shade.

Once there, he laid the fish down nearby in the shallow water, attached to a short rope he had brought just for this purpose. He had run the line through its gills and anchored it to a small willow that was growing there in the rocks. He also told Danny to get the burlap sacks from the car’s trunk to wet and put the fish in for the ride home. First things first, however, as his wife was now also exclaiming how gorgeous it was, and she readied the box camera to take some pictures. Now he had a chance to fully admire this beautiful, silvery creature.

He was happy to be sure, but also a tiny bit saddened. He wouldn’t mention that to anyone but his wife later when they were alone. This magnificent animal had survived hundreds of miles migration downstream as a juvenile, and had grown for five or more years in the open ocean before returning to the river. That was according to the scientists he had talked to while he had been working there at Hanford. You had to be somewhat in awe of those facts alone. Through the sense of pride and accomplishment he had in catching it, there was also a pang of remorse from having killed it. Kind of how he always felt when he shot a beautiful deer or elk.

Enough of that! Everyone was excited, and he should be too. He rinsed the few blades of grass that had adhered to the fish on the walk back off so that it would look its most beautiful for the pictures. Then he stood holding it in various poses with the kids there to add perspective. Rather than gut and clean it immediately, he would wait until getting it weighed. That way they would have an official figure.

After the photos, he had his son open first one, and then a second, burlap bag to place the fish in before laying it in the shallow water to soak, again tethered to a small willow. Finally, he washed his hands, arms, and face with the soap his wife had laid out for him. Then he toweled off and sat down on the blanket they had laid down. He often said that he’d married the best cook in Benton County, and this picnic of fried chicken, potato salad, home-canned peaches, beets, string beans, and pickles from last year’s garden just affirmed it. Now Odile was busy cutting big pieces of the apple pie she had made for the trip. What a fabulous day!

After eating until he could barely move, it was time to go. He had promised to meet Zaccharias at that service station on the Oregon side of the river in about two hours. Even though it was only about twenty-five miles away, he didn’t want to be late. He prided himself on being punctual, and knew that about Zack too.

They still had to dust off and fold the picnic blanket, take down the tarp they had rigged to have some shade, and load everything into the car. The last thing to do was to put the fish in the trunk, wrapped in the wet burlap bags.

As they finally drove up the dirt road past the abandoned farmhouse where the locust trees grew, he wondered what made this bunch of folks fail? Probably a dry-land wheat farmer that couldn’t make a go of it during the Depression. So many people had their dreams shattered then. He was glad those days appeared to have passed. He even had a brief thought about how different the locust trees looked all in bloom. What was it he had heard—the original seeds for them had been brought out by one of the early missionaries? Spalding, he thought, but it might have been Whitman. Whatever, they sure looked and smelled nice, and his dad had been right about them indicating when to go fishing for the salmon.

When they got up to the paved road, he knew that there’d easily be enough time to make it. A few miles downriver to the bridge where they could cross, and then upstream on the Oregon side to the little store/service station. Gas up while they were there, meet Zack and his family, maybe go watch the Indians dip-netting at Celilo Falls for a bit, and then drive on home. Be there around dark, since these June days were light until nearly nine.

An hour and forty-five minutes after they first started gathering things together at the picnic spot, they were pulling into the agreed-upon meeting spot of the service station. As his wife and the kids went to the restrooms, he talked to the station owner while the gas tank filled. Off to the side of the gravel parking lot, next to a now-dry stream bed, and under the only trees anywhere, the Indians were selling fresh salmon to tourists. Just when he finished gassing up, Zack and his wife and kids turned into the station. Good timing!

Zack waved and pulled over to the parking area. Just then all of Bill’s crew emerged from the store, and he paid the owner for his gas. His bunch briefly piled into the car, and then he drove it over beside Zack’s. Bill got out first to shake hands and say Howdy to everyone. He had never met any of Zack’s family, nor them his. As everyone congregated in the gravel there, introductions were made all around. He was impressed with how strikingly pretty Zack’s young wife, Jeanette, was. Their son, Charles, looked to be somewhere around his grandsons’ ages, and their daughter, Patricia, was just a few years old.

Zack asked if he had any luck fishing, and he just smiled. It wasn’t his style to ever brag. He let his wife and kids do all the exclamations, and they did not disappoint. Then he walked back and opened the trunk of the car to take the salmon out of the burlap bags.

Zack and Jeanette were duly impressed, as everyone commented on what a nice fish it was. Zack asked what the weight of it was, but Bill said he didn’t know for certain. Well, let’s find out right now, Zack said, indicating they ought to put it on the scales the other Indians had hanging from one of the largest tree limbs there. Bill said, That’d be good, if they wouldn’t mind. Zack walked over to the men standing a few feet away and said something, then nodded to indicate Bill should bring it over.

As he lifted the fish onto the scales, he could hear everyone quietly commenting on how big it was, and making guesses about how much it would weigh. Then everyone watched in anticipation as the scales edged past fifty pounds, finally stopping at fifty-two. A crowd of nearly twenty had gathered by that time, and almost universally it was acknowledged to be a dandy.

There was one old Indian guy who said something in his native language to Zack, however, and just shook his head and walked away. That confused Bill, but amid all the uproar and accolades, he would forget about it for now. He’d ask Zack later.

After everyone had sung their praises, he had Danny hold the burlap sacks open so he could put the fish back into them. He then poured the little water they had over it to re-wet the bags, and replaced it all in the trunk of his car. The fish could wait until he got back home to clean. At that point Zack asked if they all wanted to watch his fellow tribal members’ dip-netting