Part 18 (1/2)

”Here,” the man said, after he had answered a dozen or more queries.

”I'll show you just how it's done and you'll learn more from watching than I could tell you in a week of talk.”

He led the way to a large pond not far from the hatchery, which was connected with a small stream, the water of which was almost entirely fresh.

”It's a little early yet for the autumn run,” the foreman said, ”but maybe there's some salmon ready for their eggs to be taken. We'll have a look, anyway.”

”Are there any chinook in there?” queried Colin, who was feeling a little proud of the knowledge he had acquired that morning as to the way of distinguis.h.i.+ng the varieties of salmon.

”Don't want chinook,” was the reply; ”they have got to go away up the river to sp.a.w.n and wouldn't be in shape if we tried to use them here. We only raise humpback and dog here, the hatcheries for chinook and silver salmon are away up the river.”

”Run by the State or the Government?” queried the boy.

”Both,” was the reply, ”and quite a few are managed by commercial fish companies who are as anxious as any one to see that the annual salmon run does not grow smaller. Their living depends upon it.”

At his request one of the men commenced scooping up some of the salmon in the pool to see if any of them were ripe, and meantime the foreman--who was still wearing his oilskins--picked up a tin pail, holding it between his knees. In a minute or two the man came in holding a ripe female salmon.

”Now watch,” the foreman said to Colin, ”and you can see the whole performance.”

He seized the salmon by the tail, and all the eggs ran down toward the head. Then, holding the fish head upward, he pressed it slightly, and the eggs ran out from the vent rapidly, striking the bottom of the pan with considerable force. The foreman had hardly got the eggs when his a.s.sistant came in with a male salmon, and the same plan was repeated, the milt falling upon the eggs. Both male and female salmon then were returned to the pool. The eggs and milt were shaken violently from side to side until thoroughly mixed, a little water being added to help the mixture. Then he took the pail to the faucet.

”But you're was.h.i.+ng the milt off again!” cried Colin, as the foreman filled the pail with water.

”It's had plenty of time to work,” was the answer, and the eggs were poured into a flat pan and washed several times.

”Now we'll put just a little water in the pan,” the foreman continued, ”and leave it here to swell.”

”Why should it swell?” asked Colin.

”The egg isn't really full when it comes from the mother fish,” the foreman answered, ”the yolk rattles around inside the sh.e.l.l, but after it has been mixed with the milt, it begins to suck up water, and in about half an hour it's full.”

”What happens next?” queried Colin.

”That's about all. We put the eggs in frames so that the water has a chance to circulate freely, and then we go over the frames once or twice a week to pick out any eggs that may happen to die or not to grow just right.”

”How long does it take before a fish comes out?” Colin asked interestedly. ”About a couple of weeks?”

”Weeks!” was the surprised answer; ”we look for hatching to begin in about five months, and during all that time every tray of eggs is picked over once or twice a week. That keeps dead eggs from infecting live ones.”

”You must keep them a long time, then?”

”Nearly a year altogether. Those in that trough right behind you are just hatching, they're from the first batch of sp.a.w.n in the early spring run. Most of them are hatched out now, for you see only a few eggs in the tray.”

Colin looked in and saw, as the foreman said, only half a dozen eggs left in the tray, while in the shallow water of the trough below were hundreds of tiny fish, like transparent tadpoles still fastened to the yolk of the egg. Some, which were just hatched, were less than three-quarters of an inch long, and scarcely able to move about in the water because of the great weight of the yolk about the center of their bodies. A few had consumed a large part of the sac.

”It'll take them about six weeks to get rid of the yolk,” the foreman said, antic.i.p.ating the boy's question, ”and if they were in a natural stream they would be able to look after themselves. We feed them tiny grubs and worms and small pieces of liver. From that time on it is merely a question of giving them the proper food and keeping the troughs clean. When they are five or six months old we set them free.”

”Do you do any work except salmon hatching here?” Colin asked, as, after a morning spent in the station, they walked toward the pier.

”No,” the foreman answered, ”we distribute a million and a half young fish every year and that keeps us busy enough.”