Important Link

Here is a post I strongly urge you to read.

The Stades Last Stand.

One of the forces affecting what gets written here is my sense of the need for something to be written. If something is not being said, then let me take a stab at it. But when others write eloquently on a topic of importance, well, then it’s time to give them our attention and not simply clog the works with more verbiage.

That’s how I feel about this piece by my friend, Christian Ford.

So, please read it.

He has laid out our physical predicament as clearly as anyone has to date. If we are to move on, we need to absorb these facts and follow their repercussions where they take us.

More on this soon, I hope.

Unfortunately Hogsalt does not accept comments. If you would like to respond, feel free to do so here. I’ll see that he reads it.






3 thoughts on “Important Link

  1. Excellent article. It does make me wonder if some of the classic fishing grounds will ever recover. If we have the discipline to leave them alone long enough, they may come back. I have my doubts that we can muster that kind of patience, though.

    I have seen fisheries depleted in my lifetime. I grew up in the San Juan Islands of Washington State (America’s Pacific Northwest). When I was in the primary school grades, there were still vibrant fisheries in operation among the islands. Most of the fishermen were locals, fishing off locally-built boats, built – for the most part – from locally harvested & milled lumber. In the Summers they fished & farmed & slept — when they could. Boats were pulled from the water on boat trailers made from truck axles and cedar logs and shedded for the Winter – often back at the skipper’s farm, where it would be convenient for him to do needed maintenance during the Winter months when things were slack on the farm. Come Spring, they’d hook the tractor to the trailer and off she’d go for the nearest launch point, so she could spend the couple weeks before the season opened “having a good soak.”

    These days, as I near retirement age, when I visit my home of long ago, I see what were once large docks with fishing boats rafted a half-dozen deep as vacant and decaying collections of pilings. Their plank decks and supporting timbers have all been stripped for other projects or for bonfires on the beach. There’s not a fishing boat or buyer to be seen in either McKay Harbor or Fisherman’s Bay. Most of the few boats that do work the remaining fishery all make the run from the mainland.

    My parents used to tell stories of their Dads bringing home fish by the wagon load, because the canneries only wanted King or Silver salmon. They would tell of the trap hands pitching out the Humpies and Dog salmon with fish picks until the bottoms of the bays shown silver in the sun from all the dead salmon that the buyers wouldn’t take.

    What happened? Over-fishing, for certain. Damming of the spawning streams and degradation of those not dammed just as certainly. For generations, it was a given that when a boy finished school he would go fishing and logging to make a stake, then settle down to farm, fish and raise a family. Of my generation, there were only a few who even tried to stay on the islands. The rest of us spread to the points of the compass, driven by the winds of change and the promise of “the good life” in towns across the country.

    Have I had a good life? Certainly. I’ll not complain — because it would do naught to change a thing — and I wouldn’t trade my wife, children, and the life we’ve made for anything.

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