"_Natu_ salmon," said Skookie one morning, poking his head in at the
door of the barabbara, where the others still sat, washing up the
breakfast dishes.
"What's that he says, John?" asked Rob, who seemed less ready than the
younger boy to pick up the native speech.
"_Natu_ means _nothing_ or _no_ or _not_," interpreted John. "What's the
matter with the salmon, Skookie?"
They all crawled out of the low-hung door and followed the Aleut to the
spot where they had left their fish concealed. They found nothing but
stripped bones. Around the spot hung a crowd of great ravens and crows,
protesting at being disturbed at this easy meal.
"We had six fine salmon there last night," grieved Jesse. "They're
awfully hard to catch now, too, because they've got shy in the shallow
water. They're all down in the big hole at the mouth of the creek, and
it's going to be harder and harder to get any. As for the whale meat
that the old chief left, I don't suppose it was salted enough, and it
probably won't keep."
"We'll have to build some sort of shelter for our fish and game," said
Rob, looking at the havoc which had been wrought by the birds. "It isn't
right to waste even salmon, abundant as they are--although they may not
be so abundant after this, as you say, Jesse."
"I'll tell you what," said John, after a moment's thought, "I've got an
idea!"
"Well, what is it?"
"You know, there was Uncle Dick's fishing-rod we brought with us in the
dory. I took it out and pushed it under a log at the top of the beach
wall. Now, I put that rod in the boat carefully myself, because I knew
how much Uncle Dick thought of it. I don't suppose he'll thank us for
bringing it away, because it's his best trout rod."
"I don't see what use it would be to us," said Jesse. "It's too light to
tie a grab hook to, and even if you hooked it into a salmon the rod
would break."
"Yes," said Rob, "a trout rod isn't meant in any case for fish as heavy
as this. Besides, you see, these salmon never take a fly; even if we had
any flies to go with the rod, or any line, or any reel, for that
matter."
"The reel is on the butt joint of the rod; I'm pretty sure I saw it
there. Come, let's find out! I tell you, I've got an idea," insisted
John.
They all repaired to the beach where, as promised, John produced the rod
from its hiding-place under the drift-wood log. True, the reel was there
in place. Without delay he put the joints of the rod together, finding
some difficulty in this, for the rain and salt air had not improved it
in the least. None the less they threaded the line through the guides
and found that everything was serviceable.
"Uncle Dick would not care," said John, "if he knew just how we are
situated."
"Still, I don't get your idea," began Rob.
"Well, I don't know whether or not it's a very good one," answered John;
"but who's got a few little hooks to lend me now?"
"Here are two or three," said Jesse, fishing in his pockets. "They're
about big enough for bait hooks for trout, but salmon won't take any
bait. I don't see what you mean."
John made no comment, but cut off two or three short pieces of the line
about a foot in length. To each of these he attached one of the
sharp-pointed little hooks and fastened them at intervals a couple of
feet apart on the line. One hook he tied at the end of the line itself.
"Oh, I see!" said Rob. "You mean to throw that outfit as though it were
a fly."
John nodded. "If you can cast as light a thing as a little trout fly
with this rod," he said, "you ought to be able to cast these
hooks--larger, not much heavier, and just about right to go straight.
Anyhow, let's go down and try."
"Good idea!" agreed Rob. And they all departed, the Aleut boy with them,
to the lower reaches of the stream, where, as has been said, the salmon
now more frequently resorted.
As they stood on the bank above the big pool they looked down into it,
and saw that the sea-tide run of the salmon had brought in the average
number of fish. The whole interior of the pool, which otherwise would
have had a dark-green appearance, seemed to be made up of melted silver
layers, all in motion. There were hundreds of fish moving about, up and
down, and round and round, hesitating about following up the thread of
the fresh water, and not wanting to go back to the salt water, which lay
behind them.
"My gracious, there's about a million in there!" exclaimed John, peering
over the edge.
"Yes, but Skookie couldn't get any with the snag-pole now," said Rob.
"They're getting wise and stay too far out. I shouldn't wonder if your
idea was a good one, if only that rod were stronger."
Rob rubbed his chin meditatively. "You are welcome to try first. I don't
want to break that rod, and I know what will happen if you hook on to a
big fish with it."
John set his lips in determination, none the less, and stepped down to
the edge of the pool. Slowly the interior mass of silver seemed to grow
fainter. The fish saw him, and moved gently away to the opposite side of
the pool. Presently, however, they could see the shining mass edge back
again to the centre of the pool, where the deeper water was over the
gravel.
John began to cast the hooks back and forward above his head, as every
fisherman does in casting a fly. Little by little he lengthened the
line, still keeping it in the air, until he saw he had out enough to
reach well across the pool. Then, gently as he could, he dropped the
line and its gang of hooks on the surface of the water. The hooks, being
small, were not heavy enough to sink the line directly. John waited and
allowed it to settle until the hooks were flat on the bottom on the
farther side of the pool. He looked down on the water and saw the
silvery mass divided in two sections, as though the line had cut it. The
keen eyes of the fish, heedless as they usually are in the spring run,
had now grown more suspicious, and they settled apart as the line came
across them, visible against the sky as they looked up from below.
John made no motion for a time; but at last, as the fish began to settle
back, he gently raised the tip of the rod, and began to work the hooks
toward him across the pool in short, steady jerks. At first the line was
too low to pass near the main body of the fish, but as it shortened the
hooks began to travel up through the depth of the pool. Then, all at
once--he never knew how, exactly--something startling happened. There
was a sudden breaking of the surface of the pool into a shower of spray,
and with a mad rush a big salmon twelve or fifteen pounds in weight
nearly jumped into his face as he stood at the edge of the water.
Frightened, he dropped the tip of the rod, and every boy present gave an
exclamation of surprise. The words were not out of their mouths before,
suddenly, the water on the far side of the pool was broken and the spot
at John's feet was vacant. The fish, swift as lightning, had tumbled
back after its leap across the pool and gone up on the other side in an
attempt to escape the hooks, one of which, by chance, had fastened in
the lower jaw. Therefore, as the fish could keep its mouth closed, it
was ready for as fair a fight as though it had taken the fly, although
little can be said in praise of foul-hooking a fish under any
circumstances save those such as now existed, for these boys were in
need of food.
John had caught trout before, and had seen many a good fish handled on a
fly-rod. After the first rush or two of the fish he gathered in the line
rapidly with his left hand and put a strain on the rod. The salmon at
first did not attempt to repeat its earlier mad rushes, but in fright
began to circle the pool, scattering all the other fish into a series of
silver splashes as they spread this way and that.
Having got in touch with the fish, and finding that the hook still held,
John now reeled in all the slack and settled down to a workman-like
fighting of the fish, the others standing near him and volunteering
suggestions now and then, of course.
"The tide's coming in all the time," said John. "If this fish ever
leaves the pool and starts across on the flats, I don't see what I'm
going to do, because the creek's too deep to wade now."
The salmon, however, obligingly kept to the pool, once in a while making
a mad leap into the air and shaking himself. Skookie, without advice
from any one, stationed himself at the foot of the pool, and whenever
the fish headed that way, he tossed a stone in front, heading it back
and keeping it from running out toward the sea. Finally he motioned
Jesse to take up this work, and without removing any of his scanty
clothing, or asking advice from any one, walked up above the place where
John was standing and deliberately plunged into the creek and swam
across, taking up a position on the opposite side of the pool, where the
tide-water was beginning to spread out into the flats. Thus the boys had
the pool surrounded, and whenever the fish started one way in dangerous
fashion, a stone thrown in front of him would usually turn him. All John
had to do was to keep the strain of the rod on his fish and to see that
he had plenty of line on the reel.
They fought the old fellow in this way for more than half an hour, until
John's arms fairly ached from the strain of the rod--a sturdy split
bamboo of the best American make, which well withstood the skilful use
it now was receiving. There is no need to break a fly-rod when the reel
is full of line, and the strain can be eased to suit the rushes of the
fish.
"Well, I don't see that we are much closer to our salmon than we were
when we began," said Rob, at last. "It's good fun, but a slow way of
getting salmon. Can't you pull him in on the line?"
John shook his head. "I'm afraid it would break," said he. "Never you
mind. We'll get Mr. Salmon before we're through. I can handle him all
right, I'm pretty sure."
He came near speaking too early, however, for now, with some impulse of
its own nature, the salmon concluded it had had enough of this sort of
thing and decided to go back to sea. With a long, straight rush it
headed for the bottom of the pool. Rob and Jesse began to cast in rocks,
but in spite of all their splashing the fish kept on taking out yard
after yard of John's line. At last John, still using all the strain the
rod would stand, was obliged to follow on shore. The fish turned the
corner of the pool and entered the narrow gut in the rocks which led out
to the sea, where the creek entered it over a wide flat of shingle. John
was able to keep his feet in the hurried rush along shore, and he kept
touch with the fish all through the narrows and until it had reached the
shallows, where the flats were now covered two or three feet deep with
the advancing tide. Here the last inch of his line was exhausted, and he
himself, desperate in his anxiety to keep his fish and to save his rod,
followed until he was waist deep in the sea. The salmon did not swerve,
but headed straight for some distant haunt which perhaps it remembered
as existing out there in the ocean.
At length John could go no farther with safety, and in desperation gave
the fish the butt, as an angler says. The rod bent up into a splendid
arch, all its strength being now pitted against the power of the
swimming fish.
The latter, somewhat tired by its long flight, felt this added
resistance of the rod, and unable to gain any more line, since there was
no more to gain, and to ease itself of the strain, flung itself high
into the air just as the last limit of the rod was reached. Down it came
with a splash, but this time apparently confused; for as it fell on the
water and chanced to head up-stream, it started directly back over the
course it had come. The long slack of the line could not be recovered
fast enough to follow it, but the hook held. A moment later the fish
was back in the pool, the line back on the reel, and John, perspiring
and flushed, was still master of the situation.
After that matters were simpler. The fish was more tired, and its leaps
into the air were shorter and more feeble.
Without advice from any one, Skookie now ran out into the grass and
found his long salmon gaff. Wading at the edge of the pool, he made one
or two ineffectual attempts to gaff the salmon; then flinging the pole
across the creek to the others, again he plunged in, swam across, and
took up his stand near John, who by this time had shortened the line and
was fighting the fish close in.
"Now we'll get him!" cried Rob. "Go slow there, John. Don't let him
break away. He's headed in now. Just lead him in. There!"
With a swift, sure movement the Aleut boy had gaffed the salmon, and an
instant later it was flapping high and dry at the top of the bank. It
seemed to them this was a better fish than any they had taken directly
with the snagging-pole, although, as a matter of fact, it was the latter
implement, after all, which had landed the fish.
John sat down on the shingle, tired after the long fight. He patted the
rod affectionately.
"Talk about fun!" said he; "this is the _only_ way to catch fish."
Indeed, this proved much to be the truth within the next few days, for
the salmon became so wary as to make it hard to reach them by anything
but a long line. Sometimes it would be an hour before they could
foul-hook a fish, but in this way they got a number of salmon--some of
them fastened around the head, one or two, strangely enough, directly in
the mouth, and several directly under the back fin. Again a fish might
be hooked close to the end of the tail, and in such cases it was almost
impossible to land it for a long time. But with skill and care the
fly-rod, devoted to this somewhat crude form of sport, held its own, and
much more than paid for itself in actual food, not to mention the added
sport.