The Young Alaskans, Emerson Hough [the chimp paradox .txt] 📗

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.

XXIII AMONG THE EAGLES

The routine of camp life, where one is obliged to do all the cooking and other work, besides providing food, is ordinarily enough to keep the camper pretty busy. The boys usually found enough to do with their hunting, fishing, cooking, and other work, but sometimes in these long Alaska days, where for almost twenty-four hours the sun shone and the darkest night was scarcely more than an hour or so of twilight, they found time to wander around their island in exploring expeditions.

At times they climbed one peak or another almost to the top, but from the loftiest eminences they attained they could see nothing of the interior of the island except more and more sharp and rugged peaks thrusting themselves up—a mountain region which, indeed, is little known by any white man, or even by the natives, who rarely go far inland.

A customary journey for them was along one or the other of the river valleys which came down to their bay, the mouths of which they could reach in calm weather easily by a short journey in the dory. Their favorite valley was that running back from what they called “Gull Rocks.” It was traversed by a good salmon river and was much frequented by wild animals. As it chanced, they did not run across any more bear, although continually here and elsewhere they saw signs where these great animals had done their work in salmon-fishing—heaps of bones where scores of fish had been partially stripped of their flesh.

On one particular day, as the young adventurers passed up this valley on an all-day tramp, they found the salmon heaps especially abundant, and observed that the numbers of crows and eagles were more than usually great.

“I think it’s a new run of fish coming in,” said Rob. “Probably the ‘humpies’ are beginning to run. They’re bigger than the red salmon, which we’ve been having so far. They’re better to eat, too; even the bears know that. We’d better look out or we may run across more bear in here than we want. See here where this big fellow was eating last night. I suppose he has gone back into the mountains somewhere by now. And here is where some foxes have come down and eaten what the bears left; and the crows are waiting to eat what the foxes left. And look there, at that fish-eagle! Old Mr. Osprey is working for his breakfast now.”

He pointed to a large, grayish bird which was circling above them, its neck bent down as it peered intently at the surface of the stream below.

“Watch him!” said Jesse. “There!”

All at once the osprey, which had been uttering a low sort of whistle, folded its wings and darted down, swift as a flash, at an angle of about forty-five degrees. With a resounding smack, and in a cloud of white spray, it disappeared from view beneath the surface of the water; but instantly, with a vast flapping, it rose and fought to get wing-hold on the air. Taking flight only with the utmost effort, the boys saw that it held in its talons a big salmon whose weight was all it could manage to bear away.

“Well, what do you think of that?” said Jesse. “Didn’t he do it easy? I should think he would break his back, hitting the water that hard.”

“Yes,” commented John; “if a fellow dives from a place ten feet high it’s fall enough for him; but this fish-hawk came from two or three hundred feet up in the air. They must be put together pretty strong or they’d smash themselves. Look at him go!”

Uttering now its shrill whistle, the osprey rose higher and higher in a wide circle, endeavoring to carry off its prize. Something seemed to agitate the bird, and a moment later the boys saw what this was. High up above, in still larger circles, was a larger bird—a male bald eagle, which now drew into position directly above the osprey.

“Now watch, and you will see some fun,” said Rob. “No wonder Mr. Osprey is mad; he’s going to lose his fish—that’s what’s going to happen to him. Watch that eagle!”

The two birds kept their relative positions—the osprey, either angry or frightened, still struggling to get away with its prey; the eagle, easily circling above it, itself now and then uttering a shrill cry—a scream-like whistle that could be heard at a great distance.

At last the osprey gave up the struggle and attempted to escape. With difficulty it detached one foot from the fish, which now fell down at full length and disarranged the osprey’s flight. Finally it succeeded in shaking the talons of the other foot free. The osprey made a swift side dash and left the salmon to fall, at a height of, perhaps, one hundred and fifty feet or so.

The eagle, which seemed to be twice that high above the ground, now performed a feat which the boys could never understand. They did not see how he could fall much faster than the fish; yet before their eyes they saw the great bird half fold its wings and dart down swift as a flash. Before the salmon had struck the ground the eagle struck it, fair, with both feet, and, never touching the earth itself, swung in a wide, low circle, itself master by robbery of the prize which the labor of the fish-hawk had won.

“Look at that old thief!” said Rob. “It’s a funny thing to me that an eagle can’t very often catch fish for himself, plentiful as they are here. Yet you’ll notice that if an eagle is on a tree directly over the salmon he can’t start quick enough to catch a fish—it’ll always swim away from him. They catch some in shallow water, but they don’t seem to be very good fishermen after all. A bald-headed eagle would rather steal a fish from an osprey than to catch one for himself, and we’ve just seen how it’s done. Watch the old thief!”

The eagle, apparently contented with his morning’s work, leisurely rose and flapped on his way toward a clump of small cotton-woods. At the summit of a small tree he perched, holding the fish under his feet and uttering now some short, shrill cries, which the boys could hear answered from the heap of brush which they saw was the nest prepared by these birds. There were scores of these rude nests scattered along the timber flats.

“Let’s go and see what they do now,” suggested Rob.

As they approached they saw the male bird clumsily flap down to the nest, where it dropped the fish. The hen eagle fell upon it with short, savage screams and began to tear it apart. They also saw, now and again bobbing above the rim of the nest, the heads of two young eagles.

Rob cast a critical look at the trunk of the tree. “I can climb that tree,” said he, at last, “and I have a mind to turn the tables on that old thief up there.”

He pointed to the male eagle, which was now flapping in short circles above the top of the tree, uttering hoarse cries of anger.

“You’d better look out,” said John; “old Mother Eagle will pick your eyes out if you’re not careful.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Rob; “but