My Uncle Eli, having been born in Stavanger, Norway, had fishing in his blood, so to speak, and for as long as I knew him, every Salmon fishing season, uncle would spend Saturday’s fishing alongside the banks of the Chehalis River in Centralia Washington, along with his fishing buddy, George, a native American Indian from the Chinook Tribe who worked in the lumber mill alongside uncle.
Known today as Chinook or King Salmon, found in the icy cold waters of the Pacific Northwest, these fish are prized for their size as being the largest of the salmon species and coveted for Japanese sushi.
And it was George who taught uncle the wily ways of the King of the Salmon, where they would travel in the river’s bed to feed, and once caught, how the fish was to be honored by not wasting one delicious morsel once it had been properly smoked over a bed of smoldering dried Alderwood with a handful of dried bay leaves tossed over the glowing coals.
Each Friday night during the season of the Haloke, aunt would pack uncle’s and George a peanut butter sandwich, a hard-boiled egg, a banana and a thermos of hot coffee in a black metal lunch pail, ready for them to leave the house at five o’clock the next morning, for his half-hour drive to the river.
Oh, how this little girl of 6 or 7 would beg to go with her uncle. But to no avail; this was “uncle’s time,” my aunt would say to me, explaining how hard uncle worked all week in the mill next door to our boarding house, and that uncle needs some time to enjoy what he loves best.
However, there did come a day when aunt announced that we, aunt and me, were going to go along with uncle and spend the morning fishing. Uncle’s fishing buddy George had passed away. The evening before our big trip, aunt packed the usual three peanut butter sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, a banana and enough coffee that I might have a little of as well. Oh, what joy for me!
I remember the “fresh” smell of that cold river’s water as we opened our car doors and the mist rising from the water as the first rays of that morning sun broke through the willow trees lining the riverbank.
I can’t remember for certain, just when that huge King of the Salmon attached itself to uncle’s line, but what a fight that fish put up. But one thing for certain I do remember, when uncle announced that the fish had to be released back into that cold river, my aunt put up almost as much a fight as did that fish. But uncle had a reason, and one that still today is the reason that I hold such admiration for my uncle.
George had schooled uncle in many of the Indian fishing beliefs, one being that of the “King of the Salmon” and the yearly ceremonies his tribe held to honor this fish.
Every year, when the Salmon season opened, the native Indians would allow the fish to pass through the rivers the first few days, uninterrupted, believing it was the Haloke, a Gift from the Creator, the King of the Salmon who would lead the salmon from the ocean back to the rivers to spawn. And if you caught and ate this “King” Haloke, bad luck would befall the tribe and all salmon would die off.
Yesterday, while I was purchasing this beautiful filet of sockeye salmon, I thought of my uncle Eli and of his admirable way of honoring his Native American fishing buddy, George.
“We will be known forever by the tracks we leave.” —A Native Indian quote.
Cold Poached Salmon with Dill Sauce
4-5 Servings
1 lb. Sockeye Filet, skin removed.
½ cup thinly sliced onion
1 bay leaf
½ cup dry white wine
1 tsp salt
Place filet in a pan. Add above ingredients.
Add enough water to pan to cover filet and cover with lid.
Bring to a boil and turn down to a slow simmer.
Simmer approx. 10 minutes. Remove filet from pan and cover with foil.
Refrigerate.
Dill Sauce
½ cup Best Foods Mayonnaise
1 tsp. Dijon Mustard
1 Tbsp. minced onion
1 Tbsp. dill relish
1 tsp. dry dill
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1 dash Tabasco sauce
S/P to taste
Chill.
Colly Gruczelak, a Ben Lomond resident, loves people and loves to cook. Contact her at cz****@co*****.net .
