The natural miracle of salmon is one of the things that make Whatcom County and the Northwest special.
The big silver fish were once the foundation of human existence on the shores of what is now Washington state, and the first human residents treated them with a reverence befitting their importance. Today, as the fish recover from decades of exploitation and environmental damage, most Whatcom County residents have rediscovered that original sense of reverence for salmon, and there's broad consensus that we must nurture the salmon that remain.
Even in diminished numbers, salmon still provide an income for hundreds of local residents, Indian and non-Indian alike. Bellingham, once a major fishing port, is still home to a sizeable fleet, and so is Blaine. The industry continues to support shore jobs in processing plants and boatyards.
Most of us experience the fish in the kitchen, to be sure, and a real Northwest cookout features salmon filets, not steak, as its centerpiece. But we also get to watch the fish thrashing up Padden Creek in Fairhaven Park, or leaping up the lower falls of Whatcom Creek, experiencing a sense of awe at a life force that overcomes so many natural and man-made obstacles.
BEGINNINGS
Abundant salmon provided sustenance for the first human settlements in Whatcom County, untold thousands of years ago. The Coast Salish people, the cultural group that includes today's Lummi Nation and Nooksack Indian Tribe, ate clams and other marine life, and gathered edible plants, but salmon was their life source, and they honored the fish with ceremonies that welcomed the fish back to their waters every year.
Some Salish communities relied on nets, traps or spears to take salmon from rivers and streams. The communities in what is now Whatcom County also developed reef nets, woven from plant fibers, to intercept a share of Fraser River fish along their saltwater migration route through the San Juan Islands. The nets were suspended between cedar dugout canoes.
CEREMONY
Today, Lummi Nation is one of several Coast Salish communities that host an annual first salmon ceremony. Lummis and guests, Indian and non-Indian, gather at Lummi Nation School for ritual and feasting.
The focal point of the May ceremony is the grand entrance of the first salmon, a big chinook netted in the Nooksack River. The roasted whole fish, adorned with fern and cedar fronds, is wheeled into the meeting room amid a procession of tribal drummers and costumed Lummi youngsters. Everyone in attendance gets a morsel of the fish.
Then, all of the bones and skin are gathered for a closing ceremony: After the feast, the remains of the first salmon are taken to the waters off of Lummi Peninsula and floated back out to sea on a wooden plank.
Once the ceremonial consumption of the first fish is complete, the tribe's cooks dish out an ample buffet that may feature crab, horse clam fritters and halibut, as well as salmon. Tribal elders are served first. While the atmosphere at the ceremony is festive, it's also tinged with sadness, as Lummi elders hark back to a time when salmon were plentiful enough to provide both sustenance and income for most tribal members.
CANNERIES
The growth of white settlements along Whatcom County's shoreline during the second half of the 19th century plugged this area into a global economy. Whatcom County had two things much in demand elsewhere: salmon and trees.
While ancient forests from the shoreline to the Cascade foothills were systematically turned into lumber, the canneries turned ancient fish runs into cheap protein for world markets.
Whatcom County was home to some of the largest canneries in the world. The Alaska Packers Association had a big plant on Semiahmoo Spit, where the Inn at Semiahmoo now stands. The old water tower still on the hotel property once served the cannery, and a small museum in the nearby county park explains the history.
In Fairhaven, Pacific American Fisheries maintained a cannery that employed 4,500 people at its peak, including a large contingent of Chinese laborers during its early heyday.
But cannery operators didn't worry much about managing the harvest to ensure the salmon would return in future years. The first canneries used massive floating traps to capture as many migrating fish as possible. In 1934, a citizen initiative outlawed traps in the state, but non-Indian net fisheries continued to supply the canneries and deplete the salmon runs, until canneries could no longer operate profitably. By the end of the 1960s, the big canneries were gone.
COMMERCIAL FISHING
As recently as the early 1980s, Whatcom County was home to thousands of people who made all or part of their living from commercial fishing. In addition to the Lummis and Nooksacks, the second- and third-generation descendents of Croatian fishers who settled here were prominent members of the fishing community. Some local teachers earned summer income netting salmon.
Since then, the ranks of both Indian and non-Indian commercial fishers have been depleted, but the surviving fishing boat operators will tell you in no uncertain terms that reports of their demise are greatly exaggerated.
Take a stroll around the Port of Bellingham marinas at Squalicum Harbor and Blaine and you'll still see salmon gill-netters and purse seiners. Stop in for a burger and fries at the Web Locker Restaurant at Squalicum Harbor and your fellow diners are almost sure to include fishermen in greasy coveralls taking a break from the endless job of maintaining boats and gear.
Along the street that leads to Zuanich Point Park you can see fishers mending their long monofilament gill nets outside the web lockers where they store their gear. The park on Bellingham's waterfront is named after the late Pete Zuanich, longtime port commissioner and fisherman, and contains a monument to local fishers lost at sea.
Just across the street from the web lockers are moorage floats where you will find a gill-net boat named Desire, when owners Bob Gudmundson and Melinda Sweet are not away fishing in Southeast Alaska.
In 2003, Gudmundson and Sweet formed Desire Fish Co. to process and market their catch. It's a strategy adopted by a small number of fishers willing to do the extra work involved in getting premium-quality fish to finicky consumers at a premium price.
To accomplish that, they clean and bleed each fish aboard their boat, then take it to their own blast-freezing plant in Petersburg, Alaska. By handling the fish with care, Gudmundson and Sweet say they can deliver good-as-fresh fish with the convenience of frozen. When the Desire is in port, generally November through April, you can meet the couple and buy their salmon right on the dock.
On Lummi Island, fisherman Riley Starks offers his own catch at the nationally recognized Willows Inn. Starks and several other island fishers use a modern version of the ancient reef-net technique to catch salmon, updated with solar-powered electric motors to pull in the nets.
CUISINE
Salmon may be a lot more natural and healthful than a T-bone steak, but it's a lot harder to cook. And the quality of fish you buy in supermarkets or specialty shops is going to be a lot more varied.
Mataio Gillis, co-owner of Ciao Thyme catering and cooking school in Bellingham, offered some tips on both selection and cooking.
The color of raw salmon can vary from white (a rare variety) to almost red, depending on species and the diet of the fish. Gillis believes in red.
"I really do favor that cherry red color, fire engine red almost," he says. "It looks like it's glowing."
To the practiced eye, the fat content of a piece of fish is also apparent.
"I just love to see those ribbons of white fat between the layers," Gillis says.
Fat, in salmon as well as in steak, means a rich, juicy meal. But salmon fat, unlike beef fat, is good for you: omega-3 and all that.
Jeremy Brown is a Bellingham-based troll fisherman who also cleans and bleeds his fish onboard before freezing, to ensure quality. Fish processed that way won't show any blood clots inside the carcass, Brown says.
Most fish found in supermarkets has been caught and processed in mass quantity. That means a longer delay between catching and cleaning, and the blood left inside the fish causes some deterioration. The silver sides of the fish will likely show some bruising. But the fish still make good eating if you don't ruin them in the kitchen or on the grill.
A common mistake, Gillis says, is overcooking the fish: Too much time, too high a temperature.
When you cook salmon, do you see whitish globs forming on the outside of the fish?
"You're seeing the little white bubbles of fat and protein start pushing out," Gillis says. "It's not indicating that it's done. It's indicating that it's overdone."
But Gillis notes that salmon comes in irregular shapes and sizes, and getting perfect uniformity in cooking is near-impossible. He aims for a temperature of about 125 degrees at the thickest part of the fillet or steak.
Fresh fish is typically better than fish that has been frozen, but Gillis acknowledges that Brown's product is good enough to fool even him.
If you don't want to fuss with fish at home, dependable places for a good salmon dinner include:
• Anthony's at Squalicum Harbor, 25 Bellwether Way
• Willows Inn, 2579 W. Shore Drive, Lummi Island
• Pepper Sisters, 1055 N. State St. - Yes, it's a New Mexican restaurant, but they often feature salmon as a dinner special and it's delicious.
