VANCOUVER TO THE CAMPBELL RIVER
The morning of July 29th found me on board the _Queen City_, the small
but most comfortable steamer of the Canadian Pacific Railway running
north to the Campbell River and beyond.
The Captain was a delightful companion, patriotic to a degree, and
regretting what he considered the neglect shown by the Old Country to
the Dominion of Canada, when American and Canadian interests were at
issue.
The steamer was well found and well managed, while the Captain's skill
in approaching our various stopping-places, often dangerous coves with
no lights, at any time of the night and in any weather, was to me a
continual source of admiration. I travelled with him three times, and
never wish for a more charming host or a Captain that inspired more
confidence as a navigator.
We arrived at the Campbell River Pier at the unearthly hour of 1 a.m.
The proprietor, however, was on the pier waiting with lanterns to show
us the way up to the Willows Hotel, where I was to spend a happy month.
The Willows Hotel, beautifully situated on the Valdez Straits within
a few yards of the sea, is all that a sportsman could desire. Clean,
well-furnished bedrooms, a bathroom and quite a decent table, all for
the moderate sum of 2 dollars a day.
The proprietor did not quite realize the fact that the majority of the
guests came for the fishing, and not for the food.
The lady who directed the establishment seemed to think the latter the
more important.
The breakfast bell rang at 6 a.m., and breakfast was served from 6 to 8
a.m. Lunch or dinner from 12 to 2 p.m., and supper from 6 to 8 p.m.
Woe betide the guest who broke the rules of the house as regards the
hours, for he was expected to lose his meal.
In those glorious autumn evenings when it was light up to 10 o'clock,
the manageress forgot that a keen fisherman might stay out till 9 or
even 10, if the fish were taking.
Dinner he could not expect, but a cold supper, if ordered beforehand,
might have been laid out in the dining-room. Nor could attendance be
looked for; servants were few and overworked, and it was but natural
they should like to go to bed at 10 o'clock, or be free to wander in
the woods or along the foreshore with the special young man of the
moment.
By making love to the manageress and the Chinese cook, I generally
succeeded in finding something to eat if I was late, but I often had to
forage for myself in the kitchen, and on one occasion came back to find
a plate of very indifferent sandwiches laid out for supper.
Morning tea in one's bedroom was prohibited. I should therefore advise
any one addicted to the habit of early morning tea, to provide himself
with a "Thermos" bottle, and fill it overnight--besides which, if very
enthusiastic, a start might sometimes be made at 4 a.m., when a cup
of hot tea and a biscuit make all the difference to one's feelings of
comfort.
The hotel was a strange mixture of civilization and discomfort.
We had written menus of which I give a specimen below, but I had to
grease my own boots and wash my own clothes, until I found an Indian
squaw in the adjoining village who for an exorbitant charge relieved me
of my washing, though I greased my boots till the end of my stay.
THE WILLOWS HOTEL.
MENU. DINNER.
_Soup._
Purée of Split Pea.
_Fish._
Baked Salmon (Spanish).
Boiled Cod. Lobster Sauce.
_Entrées._
Beef Hot Pot.
Pig's Head à la Printanière.
Macaroni au Gratin.
_Boiled._
Boiled Ox Tongue. Kipper Sauce.
Boiled Ham.
_Roast._
Roast Beef. Horse-radish.
Roast Pork. Apple Sauce.
Roast Mutton. Jelly.
_Salad._
Sliced Beets.
Fish Salad.
_Vegetables._
Boiled Mashed Potatoes.
Green Peas.
_Dessert._
Snow Pudding. Peach Pie.
Apple Pie. Stewed Rhubarb.
The drawback to the hotel was the logging camp in the neighbourhood.
The bar of the hotel was about fifty yards from the hotel itself, in
a separate building, and on Saturday night many of the loggers came
dropping in to waste the earnings of the week. Drunkenness on these
occasions was far too common, and till the small hours of the morning
the sound of revelry from the bar was not conducive to a good night's
rest.
Some of the characters who frequented the bar were weird in the
extreme, and when fairly "full"--as the local expression was--the hotel
was not inviolate to them. One who particularly interested me might
have been taken out of one of Fenimore Cooper's novels. My acquaintance
with him was made on the hotel verandah. With a friendly feeling born
of much whisky, he placed his arm on my shoulder, and assured me that
although if he had his rights he would be a Lord, he did not disdain
the acquaintanceship of a commoner like myself; in fact, that he had
seldom seen a man to whom he had taken such a fancy, or with whom he
would more willingly tramp the woods, if I would only give him the
pleasure of my company in his trapper's hut some few miles inland. His
suggestion that our friendship should be cemented by an adjournment
to the bar did not meet with the ready acceptance he expected, which
evidently disappointed him, for he could not grasp the fact that any
one living could refuse a drink.
Poor "Lord B.," as he was called, was only his own enemy. As I always
addressed him "My Lord," which he took quite seriously, we became quite
pals.
A trapper and prospector by profession, he had a fair education, and
when sober was a shrewd man of the local world, which confined itself
to prospecting for minerals and cruising timber claims.
Persistently drunk for two or three days at a time, he would suddenly
sober down, put a pack on his back which few men could carry, and
disappear into the woods to his lonely log cabin, only to return in a
few days ready for a fresh spree. At least, this was his life while I
stayed at the hotel, for in one month he appeared three times.
No doubt during the winter, when occupied with his traps, he could
neither afford the time nor the money for an hotel visit.
He was wizened in appearance and lightly built, but as hard as nails.
Dishevelled to look at when on the spree, as soon as it was all over
he became a different character, appearing in neat, clean clothes, and
full of reminiscences of backwoods life. He was always a subject of
interest to me, and, poor fellow, like many others on the west coast,
only his own enemy.
Another frequenter of the bar had been on the Variety stage in London,
and his step-dancing when fairly primed with whisky was something to
see and remember.
We were a pleasant party at the hotel. Some came only for the fishing,
some _en route_ for Alaska or elsewhere on the Mainland for the coming
shooting season, others returning from sporting expeditions in far
lands.
We had J. G. Millais, the well-known naturalist and author of the most
charming book ever written on Newfoundland, bound for Alaska in search
of record moose and caribou.
Colonel Atherton, who, starting from India, had recently crossed
Central Asia and obtained some splendid trophies, the photographs of
which made us all envious.
F. Grey Griswold from New York, of tarpon fame, come to try his luck
with the tyee salmon, and good luck it was, which such a good sportsman
deserved.
Mr. Daggett, an enthusiastic angler from Salt Lake City, who took
plaster casts of his fish, and was apparently an old habitué of the
hotel.
Powell and a young undergraduate friend Stern, also bound for
Alaska, just starting on the glorious life of sport, with little
experience--that was to come--but who with the tyee salmon were as good
as any of us, and whose keenness spoke well for the future.
It was curious that in such a small community three of us, the Colonel,
Millais and I, had fished in Iceland, and many interesting chats we had
about the sport in that fascinating island.
As the sun went down, the boats began to come in, and all interest was
concentrated on the beach, where the fish were brought to be weighed
on the very inaccurate steelyard set up on a shaky tripod by the hotel
proprietor.
Any one reading Sir Richard Musgrave's article in the _Field_, would be
led to believe that the fishing was in the Campbell River itself.
Whatever it may have been in his time, the river is now practically
useless from the fisherman's point of view. This is due to the logging
camp in the vicinity, for the river for about a mile from its mouth is
practically blocked with great rafts of enormous logs. The logs are
discharged into the river with a roar and a crash, enough to frighten
every fish out of the water; the rafts when formed are towed down to
Vancouver.
The river no doubt was a fine one till the logging business was
established, and it is possible that late in the autumn fish may run up
to spawn--but during the entire month of August, I personally never saw
a salmon of any kind in the river itself.
Flowing out of the Campbell lake a few miles away, its course is very
rapid, and it falls into the sea about one and a half miles north of
the hotel.
The falls, impassable for fish, can be visited in a long day's walk
from the hotel. The distance is not great, but the impenetrable
character of the Vancouver forest makes the walk a very fatiguing one.
It is most regrettable that no track has been cleared along the banks,
to enable the water to be fished and to give access to the falls, which
I am told are very beautiful.
I endeavoured to reach them by the river, but spent most of the day up
to my waist in water, hauling my boat through the rapids, and then only
got half-way and saw no fish.
Below the falls, there is a fine deep pool in which Mr. Layard, who
described his trip in the _Field_, states he saw the great tyee salmon
"in droves." He does not say at what time of the year he visited the
falls or whether the logging camp then existed. It must have been late
in the season, for he describes the swarms of duck and wild geese, the
seals that were a perfect plague, the sea-lions that were seen several
times, and the bear, panther (cougar), deer and willow grouse in the
immediate vicinity of the hotel.
I can only give my personal experiences during the month of August.
Forgetting that the shooting season did not begin till September 1st,
I took with me 300 cartridges and never fired a shot, nor did I see
anything to shoot at. A few duck were occasionally seen flying down the
Straits between Vancouver and Valdez Island, but the seals, sea-lions
and other game described by Mr. Layard were conspicuous by their
absence in the month of August. No doubt later on, in September and
October, different conditions may prevail, but August is the month _par
excellence_ for the fisherman and he may leave his gun behind.
The tide runs up the river for about 800 yards from the mouth, where
there was some water free from logs and rafts. Some good sport with the
cut-throat trout was to be had, more especially at spring tides.
My best catch was fourteen weighing 16½ lb.
The water was intensely clear; careful wading, long casting and very
fine tackle were necessary to obtain any sport.
The cut-throat trout appeared to me to resemble the sea trout in its
habits, hanging about the mouth of the river and running up with the
tide, many falling back on the turn of the tide, but a certain number
running up and remaining in the upper reaches.
The largest I killed, 5 lb., was immediately in front of the hotel,
in the sea itself, one and a half miles from the river, and he took a
spoon intended for a tyee salmon.
They were most sporting fish and were excellent eating, differing in
this respect from the salmon. I only regretted I did not give more time
to them, but we all suffered from the same disease, that desire to get
the 70 lb. fish, or at least something bigger than any yet brought to
the gaff.
I started with the best intentions, and talked over with Mr. Williams
at Vancouver the possibility of inducing the tyee salmon to take
the fly, denouncing, as all true fishermen must do, the monotony of
trolling for big fish with a colossal spoon and a six-ounce lead, which
takes away half the pleasure of the sport.
All the same I found myself sacrificing my principles to the hope of
the monster fish which never came, but was always a possibility.
The Straits between Vancouver Island and Valdez Island are about two
miles broad, and through them runs a tide against which it is almost
impossible to row a boat.
The favourite fishing-ground was about 300 yards north and south of the
mouth of the river, and tides had to be seriously considered in getting
on to the water.
Another good spot neglected by most of us, except the Salt Lake City
angler, was just opposite the Indian Cemetery about a mile from the
hotel.
Here, in one morning, I killed three large fish on my way back to the
hotel from the more favourite ground which I had fished all the morning
in vain.
South of the hotel and down to the Cape Mudge Lighthouse, about four
miles away, a few tyee salmon were to be met with, but in the water all
along Valdez Island and near the lighthouse, the cohoe salmon were in
abundance, and it was the favourite spot for the Indian fishermen who
were fishing for the salmon cannery at Quatiaski.
THE FISH AT THE CAMPBELL RIVER