The Boy With the U. S. Fisheries Part 18

"Here," the man said, after he had answered a dozen or more queries.

"I'll show you just how it's done and you'll learn more from watching than I could tell you in a week of talk."

He led the way to a large pond not far from the hatchery, which was connected with a small stream, the water of which was almost entirely fresh.

"It's a little early yet for the autumn run," the foreman said, "but maybe there's some salmon ready for their eggs to be taken. We'll have a look, anyway."

"Are there any chinook in there?" queried Colin, who was feeling a little proud of the knowledge he had acquired that morning as to the way of distinguishing the varieties of salmon.

"Don't want chinook," was the reply; "they have got to go away up the river to sp.a.w.n and wouldn't be in shape if we tried to use them here. We only raise humpback and dog here, the hatcheries for chinook and silver salmon are away up the river."

"Run by the State or the Government?" queried the boy.

"Both," was the reply, "and quite a few are managed by commercial fish companies who are as anxious as any one to see that the annual salmon run does not grow smaller. Their living depends upon it."

At his request one of the men commenced scooping up some of the salmon in the pool to see if any of them were ripe, and meantime the foreman--who was still wearing his oilskins--picked up a tin pail, holding it between his knees. In a minute or two the man came in holding a ripe female salmon.

"Now watch," the foreman said to Colin, "and you can see the whole performance."

He seized the salmon by the tail, and all the eggs ran down toward the head. Then, holding the fish head upward, he pressed it slightly, and the eggs ran out from the vent rapidly, striking the bottom of the pan with considerable force. The foreman had hardly got the eggs when his a.s.sistant came in with a male salmon, and the same plan was repeated, the milt falling upon the eggs. Both male and female salmon then were returned to the pool. The eggs and milt were shaken violently from side to side until thoroughly mixed, a little water being added to help the mixture. Then he took the pail to the faucet.

"But you're washing the milt off again!" cried Colin, as the foreman filled the pail with water.

"It's had plenty of time to work," was the answer, and the eggs were poured into a flat pan and washed several times.

"Now we'll put just a little water in the pan," the foreman continued, "and leave it here to swell."

"Why should it swell?" asked Colin.

"The egg isn't really full when it comes from the mother fish," the foreman answered, "the yolk rattles around inside the sh.e.l.l, but after it has been mixed with the milt, it begins to suck up water, and in about half an hour it's full."

"What happens next?" queried Colin.

"That's about all. We put the eggs in frames so that the water has a chance to circulate freely, and then we go over the frames once or twice a week to pick out any eggs that may happen to die or not to grow just right."

"How long does it take before a fish comes out?" Colin asked interestedly. "About a couple of weeks?"

"Weeks!" was the surprised answer; "we look for hatching to begin in about five months, and during all that time every tray of eggs is picked over once or twice a week. That keeps dead eggs from infecting live ones."

"You must keep them a long time, then?"

"Nearly a year altogether. Those in that trough right behind you are just hatching, they're from the first batch of sp.a.w.n in the early spring run. Most of them are hatched out now, for you see only a few eggs in the tray."

Colin looked in and saw, as the foreman said, only half a dozen eggs left in the tray, while in the shallow water of the trough below were hundreds of tiny fish, like transparent tadpoles still fastened to the yolk of the egg. Some, which were just hatched, were less than three-quarters of an inch long, and scarcely able to move about in the water because of the great weight of the yolk about the center of their bodies. A few had consumed a large part of the sac.

"It'll take them about six weeks to get rid of the yolk," the foreman said, antic.i.p.ating the boy's question, "and if they were in a natural stream they would be able to look after themselves. We feed them tiny grubs and worms and small pieces of liver. From that time on it is merely a question of giving them the proper food and keeping the troughs clean. When they are five or six months old we set them free."

"Do you do any work except salmon hatching here?" Colin asked, as, after a morning spent in the station, they walked toward the pier.

"No," the foreman answered, "we distribute a million and a half young fish every year and that keeps us busy enough."

"Well," said Colin, shaking hands, "I'm ever so much obliged, and I really feel now as if I knew something about a hatchery. And I've had a share in one experiment, anyway!"

On his return to the cottage he found the professor getting out fishing-tackle.

"Going out again?" queried Colin.

"I thought you might like to try a little sport-fishing," was the answer; "you said you were going down to Santa Catalina, and you might as well get your hand in. You can stay over another day, can't you?"

"I suppose I could," Colin answered, "and I should like to catch a really big salmon with a rod and line, not only for the fun of it, but because I happen to know that Father's never caught one, and I'd like to beat him out on something. It's pretty difficult, though, to get ahead of Dad!"

The professor shook his head with mock gravity.

"That's not a particularly good motive," he said, "and I don't know that I ought to increase any boy's stock of conceit. It is usually quite big enough. But maybe you won't catch anything, and I'll chance it."

"Oh, but I will catch one," Colin declared confidently; "I'm going to try and get one of the hundred-pounders that I've read about."

"You'll have a long sail, then," his host replied, "because fish of that size don't come far south of Alaskan waters. Twenty-five or thirty pounds is as big as you can look for, and even those will give you all the sport you want."

"Very well," Colin responded, a little abashed, "I'll be satisfied."

"It's rather a pity," the professor said, when, after lunch, they had started for the fishing-grounds in a small catboat, "that you haven't had a chance to go up to The Dalles to see the salmon leaping up the falls and the rapids. I think it's one of the most wonderful sights in the world."

"I've seen the Atlantic salmon jump small falls," Colin said, "but I don't think I ever saw one larger than ten or twelve pounds."

"I have seen hundreds of them fifty to eighty pounds in weight leaping at falls in the smaller Alaskan rivers. I remember seeing twenty or thirty in the air at a time while the water below the falls was boiling with the thousands of fish threshing the water before their leap."

"How high can they jump?" asked Colin.

"About sixteen foot sheer stops even the best of them," the professor said, "but there are not many direct falls like that. Nearly all rapids and falls are in jumps of five or six feet, and salmon can take that easily. Still, there is a fall nearly twenty feet high that some salmon must have leaped, for a few have been found above it, and they must either have leaped up or walked round--there's no other way."

"How do you suppose they did it?"

"In a very high wind, probably," the professor answered; "a gale blowing up the canyon might just give the extra foot or two at the end of a high leap."

As soon as they were about four miles out, the sail was taken in and, following the professor's example, Colin dropped his line over the stern. The shining copper and nickel spoon sank slowly, and the boy paid out about a hundred feet of line. Taking up the oars and with the rod ready to hand, Colin rowed slowly, parallel with the sh.o.r.e. Two or three times the boy had a sensation that the boat was being followed by some mysterious denizen of the sea, but though in the distance there seemed a strange ripple on the water, nothing definite appeared, and he forgot it for the moment as the professor got the first strike.

With the characteristic scream, the reel shrilled out, and the fish took nearly a hundred feet of line, but the angler held the brake so hard that the strain rapidly exhausted the fish, and when it turned toward the boat, the professor's deft fingers reeled at such a speed that the line wound in almost as rapidly as the rush of the fish. As soon as the salmon saw the boat it tried to break away, but its captor had caught a glimpse of the fish, and seeing that it was not too large for speedy action, reeled in without loss of time, and gaffed him promptly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THIRTY-POUND ATLANTIC SALMON LEAPING FALLS AND RAPIDS IN A NEWFOUNDLAND RIVER.

_By permission of H. K. Burrison._]

[Ill.u.s.tration: EIGHTY-POUND PACIFIC SALMON LEAPING WATERFALL ON AN ALASKA RIVER.

_Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]

"Small chinook," he said, as he tossed him into the boat.