This is a story of when out of money; I befriended a mob of Indians in Canada who suggested that I could work for them, in return for food and tobacco.
When the salmon go on their annual migration and millions upon millions of them swim up the rivers in Canada the Indians are permitted to fish for them one weekend out of the month or so that they, the salmon, are in the rivers. This is a native rights thing only and no one else is permitted to net fish for these quite sought after creatures, unless licensed.
- It was a late Autumn afternoon, when, “you can sleep there” said the chief who's name was Fred as he nodded toward a dodge van up on blocks, “it has a mattress in it and will be more comfortable than your tent.” Then after a short conversation with Fred and a couple of other men who were there they left the things that I would need to poach the salmon and were gone. Suddenly I found myself alone way out in the bush on an Indian reservation along side the Frazer River, on the Western side of Canada in British Columbia, Thus I began to make plans as to how I was going to pull this off. Finally when I was happy with everything I clambered into the back of the van and had a sleep, so that I would be awake during that night. I woke at about ten PM, which was a good time, for I reckoned that a mid night start would be safer as I did not want to get caught! And so after reading a few pages of a book by candlelight and fiddling around with firewood for later it was soon midnight and I was set to go. Firstly, in the moonlight, I lashed the rope that was tied to one end of the twenty meter net to a rock at the waters edge and a rock to the rope that was at the other end of the net that would be in the water, then with the net In a plastic tub I started the motor and quickly reversed toward the middle of the river and when the last of the net had been fed out over the bow I killed the motor and threw the rock in the water, anchoring that end and things were on the move. Once I was happy with it I then pulled myself along the net, for I didn't want to make too much noise, until the dinghy nosed up to the rocks at the edge of the river, where I tied it up and waited twenty minutes before checking the net. This went on until four in the morning checking the net every twenty minutes, piling the fish in the plastic tub until the net was empty, pulling myself back to shore, clambering over the rocks at the rivers edge and carrying the heavy tub of salmon, which consisted of Sockeye, Coho, Steel head and hump back salmon or Humpies as they are better known, to a large ice box where I dumped the fish. When I had finished for the night I tied the dinghy to a rock, lit the fire to dry and warm myself then waited for the Indians to arrive. They soon came in a small truck and in the last of the night they quickly and skilfully gilled and gutted the catch while Fred's wife and I talked by the fire and in no time at all the ton or so of fish were whisked away and I rolled a smoke and sat by the fire until I was warm. I then had a wash using river water and went to sleep for part of the day. When I woke I cooked some of the food that the Indians had brought me, including a deer and bear meat sausage 4 inches in diameter which was and still is the best tasting meat I have ever eaten. Over the next three or so weeks I entertained myself with a good book, explored the surrounding mountains, played with a tomahawk and taught myself to throw it and stab it into a tree from one foot to about twenty five feet away, chainsawed and chopped some wood for my fire, when I needed drinking water I would take the dinghy to the other side of the river and fill a container from a fresh water stream over there. During most days I would sleep before getting up at around nine or ten at night and continuing to poach the salmon until a couple of weeks later they were too few to bother with. One night during the salmon season I witnessed an interesting event that both fascinated me and brought my attention to the dangers of the Canadian wilderness. As I lay sleeping around 8 PM one night I was awoken by an unfamiliar sound but I sort of recognized it right away, it was the howling of wolves? By this time I had a torch so I leaned out the back of the Van and shown the light in the direction of the howls, but I was wrong. In the torch light at the place where the fish were cleaned, lurked about twenty to thirty Coyotes, looking for something to eat. They appeared not to even notice the beam of light from my torch that shone squarely on them but rather they just continued hunting round for the dead fish that they could smell, but couldn't see. I watched these animals for a while until satisfied that there was nothing to eat, they blended back into the darkness and I went back to sleep until it was time to put the net out. I was sure that I had heard somewhere that a coyote won't bother a person however a pack of them would! Still regardless of what I had or hadn't heard, I was very careful from that time on. Once the salmon had dwindled out for that year I met a man named Cliff Davies whom was care taking the equipment on an abandoned gold mine in those same mountains which I think were named the Cascade and I moved into the vacant cabin on the defunct gold mine but that's another story.
