hood canal - splendor at risk

HOOD CANALSplendor at Risk

Editor

JeffBrody

Writers

Christopher Dunaganand the Staff of The Sun

TheSunNewspaper, Bremerton, WashingtonA John P. Scripps NewspaperDivision of Scripps Howard

Production: Merle Dowd & Associates

Design:VictoriaLoe,Washington SeaGrant ProgramCover photograph: SteveZugschwerdtGraphics:John McCurdy and Theresa Aubin

Hood Canal:Splendor at Risk

Copyright © 1991 by The Sun Newspaper

All rights reserved. No part of this publicationmay be reproduced, stored in a retrievalsystem, or transmitted in any form or by anymeans, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

The Sun NewspaperPO Box 259

Bremerton, Washington 98310

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 91-66581

ISBN 0-9630365-0-5

Printed in the U.S.A. on recycled paper

Preface vi

Part I: Introduction 1

Chapter 1:A Place Too Wonderful to Spoil 3

Chapter 2:Taking a Look Around

Section 1: Give Yourself a Tour 8

Section 2: A Mysterious Waterway 12

Part II: The Ecosystem 15

Chapter 3: The Canal

Section 1:Fed ByGlaciers 17

Section 2: Carved from the Rock 20

Chapter 4:Water Resources

Section 1:A Precious Commodity 23

Section 2:Jockeying for the Resource 29

Section 3: Protecting the Rivers 33

Section 4: Growth Makes New Demands 37

Section 5: Preserving Water Quality 41

Chapter 5: Wetlands

Section 1: Food Store for the Web of Life 44

Section 2:Nature's Purification System 49Section 3:Trying to Save a Valuable Ecosystem 53

in •

Contents

Part III: Using the Resource 57

Chapter 6: Logging

Section 1:Risingfrom Toppled Trees 59Section 2: A Log's Long Journey 64

Section 3: The Economics of a Clearcut 69

Section 4: Who Owns the Watershed? 74

Section 5: Logging and the Owl: Three Perspectives 78Section 6: For Timber or for the Environment? 85

Section 7:Toward Keeping Timberlands Intact 89

Chapter 7:Fishing

Section1:Ripples from Boldt 91Section 2: Redaiming the Salmon Culture 94

Section3:Making a Livingfrom the Water 98Section 4: No Longer a Fishing Paradise 103

Section 5: Can the Wild Salmon Survive? 107

Section6:Preserving the Natural Salmon Runs 111

Chapter 8:Oysters

Section 1:To Protect the Canal... and Oysters 115

Section 2:Where Genetics and Technology Meet 120

Section 3:Tidelands Tug'o'war 122

Section 4: Toward Cleaner Beaches 126

Section 5: An Invisible Threat 129

Chapter 9: Bangor

Section1:Hood Canal Becomes the Navy's Choice 131

Section 2:The Canal's Largest Community 134

Section 3:400 Feet Below the Canal 145

Section 4:Mission: Keep it Clean 150

Chapter 10: Recreation

Section 1: When Beaches Host Millions 155

Section 2: A Long History as a Recreation Spot 158

Section 3: Business Follows the Mercury 160

Section 4: How Recreation Threatens the Canal 165

Section 5: Innocent Visits to a Pristine Lake 169

•IV •

Part IV: The People of Hood Canal 173

Chapter 11: Development

Section 1:The Canal Pays for Our Lifestyles 175

Section 2:Choosing Prudent Development 179

Section 3: Losses Come So Easily 181

Section 4: Planning for Growth 187

Chapter 12: The Canal's First Citizens

Section 1: When Indians Plied its Waters 190

Section 2:Tribes Seek their Spirit Song 193

Section 3: He Weaves Past and Present Together 195

Section 4:Teaching the Tribes' Lost Art 197

Section 5: Using the Classroom to Rekindle Tradition 199

Chapter 13:Lifeon the Canal

Section 1:Growing Pains in Belfair 202

Section 2: New Homes Jam the Backwaters 206

Section3: Plush Properties 209

Section 4: Waterfront Land Rush 212

Section 5: More than the Sum of its Human Parts 216

Section 6: A Haven for Artists 221

Part V: Conclusion 227

Chapter 14: The Future of the Canal

Section 1: Memories of the Canal 229

Section2:Preservation Through Action 233Section 3: An Uncertain Future 239

Section 4: A Vision for the Future 245

Chapter 15:What You Can Do 252

Appendix A:Suggested Readings 256

Appendix B:The Series 258

Index 259

• v •

Photo

CREDITS Theresa Aubin: pages 37,91,94,98,107,138,175,179,193,195,197,199

Amy Deputy: pages 229,239

Ed Pieratt: pages 234,235,236

Larry Steagall:pages 64,69,79,83,85,89,126,131,134,140-41,142,143,145,150,202,206,209,212,216

Steve Zugschwerdt: pages 6,8,12,17,20,23,29,41,44,49,52,103,115,120,129,137,138,139,144,155,160,165,169,181,187,190,221,252

Pope & Talbot Archives: page 59

•vi •

Hood Canal has changed me.Even though I've worked forThe Sun for 14 years, I am notthe same writer I was a year ago.Even though I've lived in theNorthwest for 21 years, I am not

the same person.It isn't so much the beauty of Hood

Canal that has me enchanted. At some point,it's best to get beyond the pure splendor ofthe place.

Call it an appreciation that the wild-ness of nature still exists, one small lifelinked to another, all struggling to survive,humans included.

I shouldn't downplay the importanceof natural beauty. As a child, I lived inWichita, Kansas. I recall the annual vacationtrek across dry, flat prairies toward thewonderland of the snow-covered RockyMountains in Colorado.

In our family, we all tried to be the firstto spot the mountains, which first appearedas a razor-thin line of dark blue at the

horizon,barely discernablefrom the sky.I learned to camp and fish in a pan

orama of towering mountains and clear bluelakes.To a boy who spent most of his time inflatland, it always seemed as if someone hadhung a grand painting on the sky.

When I came to Kitsap County in 1977,I was awestruck by the water, mountainsand wide-open spaces. And I was pleasedthe county commissioners were trying topreserve the "rural character" of the county.

Fourteen years later, much of the urbanarea between Bremerton and Silverdale still

has enough trees along the roadsides that it'seasy to forget that it was designed forhumans.

But most of the wildlife has been killed

or driven away. Wetlands have been filled.Streams have been silted. The soft forest

floor has been transformed into paved streetsor grassy lawns in many places.

It was not a mistake, at least not thedensity part. The goal was to put as manynew homes as possible around Bremertonand Silverdale, protecting the more ruralareas from growth pressures.

But trees can be a facade, hiding thebroken remnants of an ecosystem that nolonger exists, just as sparkling waters canhide chemicals and human waste that drain

down from the streams.

If we are to protect Hood Canal, wemust begin with the upland areas — thewatershed that drains down to the canal. We

must understand the plant and animalcommunities that dwell there and try to keepthem intact.

Streams and rivers are vital connec

tions. They should get the highest level ofprotection by keeping logging and development far back from the water. Wetlands,which clean the surface waters and providehomes for an abundance of wildlife, areworthy of protection.

I'm convinced we can find room for

human beings to live and work in the HoodCanal region,but I'm lesseager to stake outmy own chunk of Hood Canal as a homesitethan I was a year ago.

I live in Bremerton, and I like what acity provides: fire, medical and policeprotection just minutes away. It's nicehaving grocery stores and shopping mallswithin easy reach.

I also like boating and swimming andhiking and camping. I enjoy picking oysters

•vn •

Preface

and digging clams. These things I can donow, though I encourage the government toprovide more places to go.

I'm beginning to develop a personalethic about Hood Canal and other unspoiledplaces: I like the idea of leaving themunspoiled even more than I like the idea ofliving there.

Like the boy from Kansas who experienced wonder and fascination without livingin the mountains, I have learned a great dealabout Hood Canal without building adriveway or cutting down a single tree.

Those who live in the Hood Canal area

may well take the lead in protecting naturalsurroundings.

But the rest of us have a role, too,because Hood Canal is a national treasure.

It will require a huge vision to saveHood Canal as a whole, and it will require

When we started to research the seriesof articles that became "Hood Canal: Splendor at Risk," we knew that people living onthe canal would be interested. The challengewas to show others how Hood Canal was

important to them.Hood Canal is not well known outside

the Puget Sound region. Ifs not the area theenvironmental groups write about savingwhen they mail out a flood of membershipsolicitations. But it is a waterway of nationalsignificance.

When an ecosystem is pristine, relatively easy steps can be taken to preserve it.When an ecosystemis destroyed, the task ofbringing it back is often too complexand toocostly to be attempted.

But the real challenge is to save anecosystemthat is teeteringon the brink —one that's stillbasicallysound but faces athreat.

Thafs when we learn about how to fit

our human lifestyles into a natural system.What we learn is applicable not only inWestern Washington, but also for otherthreatened ecosystems across the countryand around the world.

And learning that lesson is the challenge of Hood Canal today.

After guiding this reporting projectfrom initial planning to conclusion, a processthat took more than 15 months, I am bothbetter informed about Hood Canal and more

individual action to protect the smaller areaspeople discover: wetlands, nesting areas,migration routes.

I have yet to see strong leadershipemerge, but the regional Hood CanalCoordinating Council provides the rightforum for discussion.

I know people's hearts are in the rightplace, but individuals need to transformtheir desires into action. Get involved in

watershed planning or join one of the WaterWatchers classes.

I may not choose to move into theHood Canal watershed, but I intend to keepan eye on its fragile ecosystem for the rest ofmy life. I hope that what we pass on to ourchildren and their children is somethingmore than just memories about the wildnessof nature.

Christopher Dunagan

concerned than ever about the myriad ofseemingly conflicting interests that stand inthe way of reaching a community consensuson how to save it.

It's not that the will isn't there —

nearly everyone who lives along the canal,and in the watershed, would agree that thecanal must be preserved. It's a question offinding a way that can unite rather thandivide the canal's constituents.

Some of the most vocal defenders of

canal waters are the property owners whoare first to bulkhead their shoreline. Some of

the most vocal critics of logging are amongthose willing to clear a view lot in thewatershed to build a home.

Hood Canal is challenging us to riseabove our special interests and to act in thegeneral interest of the watershed. It was, allalong,our hope that in telling this story we'dhelp our community face this challenge.

LikeAndy Rogers, who talks extensively in the conclusion of this book abouthis memories of the canal, I wish I could seewhat the canal will be like in 50 years. And Iwould hope to see something that indicatesthose of us who are the canal's neighborsrose to the challenge when the canal wasteetering on the brink, and helped pull itback into balance.

JeffBrody

August,1991

• vm •

Part

i

Introduction

A great blue heron, its broadwings spread to the wind, dipsout of an overcast sky andglides into the marsh. Extending its legs, the large bird landsgracefully among tall

reeds near the water. The tweet-tweet-

tweetering of songbirds creates an agreeablechorus, though each bird sings its owndistinct song.

Untold numbers of wild birds share

this place on Hood Canal, just outside ofBelfair on the North Shore. River otter slink

along the shore at sunset. Mink, beaver andmuskrat mind their own ways, thanks to

what remains of this ancient swamp.Human visitors may find themselves

refreshed by the wildness here, as in othernatural environs. Some people describe awarm feeling of enthrallment, a kind of mildhypnotic state.

It's as if the human heart yearns for amore primitive experience, away from thecluttered pattern of modern life,says CeliaParrot, caretaker of the property.

"The reason I go out two or three timesa day is not just to walk the dogs," she said."It's like a refueling. I go out to get anotherdose of that intimate feeling."

Thismoist land has seen the comingof

•3 •

Chapter

iA Place Too

Wonderful

to SporL

By ChristopherDunagan

Hood Canal

4 • Introduction

Hood Canal —

actually aglacier-carved

fjord—divides the

KitsapPeninsula,

with its rollinghills and

easyflowingstreams, from

the more

ruggedOlympic

Peninsula,with its craggy

peaks andrushing rivers.

farmers, their cows raised on "sea oats" ableto tolerate the brackish water of the marsh.

Now, the cattle are gone and native plantsslowly reclaim the land, under the protectionof the Hood Canal Land Trust.

The land trust, formed in 1986 by Celiaand her husband Gary Parrot, received theland as a precious gift from ElizabethKlingel,who wanted to see this placeprotected.Theirs is just one effortto preservethe natural values so obvious in the Hood

Canal region.Other organizations protect Hood

Canal by measuring pollution absorbed inthe tissues of clams at Port Gamble or in

oysters at Union, or by erecting fences tokeep cows from tainting the clear streamsflowing into QuilceneBay, or by teachingboaters not to dump human waste overboard while cruising the open waters of the61-mile-long canal.

The Legislaturehas recognized HoodCanal as a "shoreline of statewide significance." The list of preservation effortsisnearly as long as a listof placesworthy ofprotection.

Hood Canal — actually a glacier-carved fjord — divides the KitsapPeninsula,with its rolling hills and easy flowingstreams, from the more rugged OlympicPeninsula, with its craggy peaks and rushingrivers.

Hood Canal has been loved by settlersand summer residents for more than 100

years. It hasbeenhome to salmonbeyondabundance, to multitudes of clams, oystersand shrimp, and to a myriad of wildlife,from field mice to black bears.

As progresswould have it, many ofHood Canal's natural areas have alreadybeen spoiled. Bulkheadshave replacedwetlands; homesteads have replaced forests;and pollutionhas disrupted the web of life.

The canal has been exploitedfor its fishand shellfish resources, used and abused byhomeowners and boaters, and imposedupon by logging interests.

In a sense, people have loved the canaljust a little too much.

Yet, compared to many placestouchedby man, Hood Canal stands nearlyunblemished, like a sparkling gemstone, its

. destiny yet to be determined.Willtoday's press of human popula

tion destroy Hood Canal, the way advancinggrowth has spoiled waterways throughout

the United States? Or will we somehow find

room for people without disrupting theliving forces that make Hood Canal a uniqueplace?

Despite soaring real estate prices,people are swarming to buy the last vacantlands along the 242miles of Hood Canalshoreline and to purchase upland view lotsnearby.

A priceless recreation area, HoodCanal provides an outdoor showcase inwhich to enjoy the region's famous shrimp,salmon and oysters.

Some 94 percent of the state's prized"spot prawn" —known locallyas "HoodCanal shrimp" — are collected from thecanal. Once abundant, the average size ofthese giant prawns has declined, and thestate has been forced to strictly regulate theharvest.

Salmon are slowly returning to localstreams, but artificial growing efforts barelymake up for the damage caused by newhousing and commercial developments,biologistssay. Sediments wash into streams,smothering eggs and ruining nesting gravelused by the mystical fish.

Commercial, Indian and sport fishermen report declines in nearly all species,while political and legal battles do nothing toincrease the stocks.

For recreationaloyster gatherers, HoodCanal is a godsend, offeringpracticallytheonly inland waterway in the state whereoysterscan be found on publicbeaches. In anaverageyear,about 56,000 pounds of oystersare hauled off state beaches, according toestimatesby the Department of Fisheries.

Meanwhile, commercial oyster growers are especially proud of their sweet-tastingoysters,grown in crystalclear waters."What makes Quilcene Bay famous is ourmild-tasting oyster," said Gordon Hayes,generalmanager ofCoastOyster Co.ofQuilcene.

Hayes credits the taste to the canal'sgravelly bottom (as opposed to mud), alongwith a low concentration of algae, the mainstaple in the oyster's diet.The foodshortagemakes the oysters grow slower — andmilder, said Hayes.

What makes Hood Canal so clear —

the lackof algae and other plankton —results from a slow exchange of waterwashing in from the ocean.For Hood Canal

A Piacf. Too Wonderful to Spoil • 5

as a whole, a year may pass before thewaters are thoroughly "flushed." That'sabout twice as long as for Puget Sound.

The slow flushing action is the result ofseveral underwater "sills" that block the

circulation of deep waters. For example,while much of the main channel is more than

500feet deep, the water is only 150feet deepat one sill south of Hood

Canal Bridge.A number of Hood

Canal bays flush themselveseven slower than the main

channel. High levels ofhuman waste, primarily fromseptic tanks, have causedhealth officials to close

portions of Lynch Cove toshellfishharvesting. Otherclosures include the tip ofQuilcene Bay and areas nearUnion, Hoodsport andSeabeck.

At Belfair State Park,rangers once watched peoplegather their limits of succulent oysters.Two years ago,they were told to post signs,warning people about thedangers of earing pollutedshellfish.

Likewise, Hayes said itis disturbing to see pollutedoyster beds within two milesof his company's operation inQuilcene Bay.

"The oyster industry and the clamindustry are the first affectedby pollution,"said Hayes. "Weare the canary (in the coalmine). We mustn't let what happened inChesapeake Bay happen here. That would bea travesty."

In the1950s, on thenorthsideofBaltimore, Md., a young David Peters usedto walk through the woods. He huntedsalamanders and snakes that would hide

along the grassy banks of a stream."Today, that woods is gone," said

Peters, who at age 39 lives in Poulsbo. "Nowit's a housing development, and that streamwas channeled — filled with concrete — so it

would drain faster. Weed killers that peopleuse on their lawns now flow through it."

The little stream — now a concrete

culvert—stilldrains intoChesapeake Bay, a

body of water vast and beautiful, yet filledwith toxic chemicals and other wastes of

human endeavors, said Peters, who teachesecology part-time at Olympic College.

"Where I grew up, we always had aboat of some sort," he said. "We'd go fishing,crabbing, you name it. You could catch yourlimit quickly."

But intervening yearshave brought housingdevelopments, factories andpollution. Oysters becamesusceptible to a dangerousvirus.

"Pollution weakened

the oysters, and the viruspretty much decimated thepopulation," said Peters."Acid rain and phosphaterunoff from farms have

fertilized the bay to the pointyou have areas on the bottomthat are basically anoxic(without oxygen)."

Pockets of anoxic areas

grow and move, dependingon tides and currents.

"Fishermen pull up crabpots, and they're all dead," hesaid.

Peters recently purchased five acres of view

property near Hood Canal."The reason I'm here,"

he said, "is that (Hood Canal)is one of the prettiest places I've seen, and I'dlike to keep it that way."

He says he is pleasantly surprisedabout the local attitudes.

"People seem to be concerned about theenvironment, and with the advent of the '90s,I think that attitude will increase," he said.

Hood Canal is not just any body ofwater, said Peters.The geology,the waterquality, the beauty make it a special place.

"Youhave something that is probablyunique in the world."

bqueezed next tothe Naval SubmarineBase at Bangor is a little waterfront community known as Bangor. An elbow of land,known as King's Spit, juts out into the waterfrom the foot of the hill.

King's Spit, littered with oyster shells, isthe southernmost landmark of what oncewas called 'The Three Spits." The other two

Hood CanalLand Trust

Formed in 1986 byCelia and Gary

Parrot, itrepresents one

effort to preservethefragile wetlands

ofHood Canal.

"We have to

get to knowour forests andour marshes,so we know

what we

cannot do to

them."

— Celia Parrot,Hood Canal

Land Trust

6 • Introduction

spits were consumed by the massivenaval base constructed during WorldWar II.

"We're losing the point becausepeople have put in bulkheads down theline," says MaxStarcevich, who has livedon Hood Canal for years. His wife'sfamily resided there since 1907.

An old wooden boat rots on the

shore above the high tide mark, where itwashed up in a storm years ago.

Streams meander down to the shore,

bringing pollution from livestock waste,according to Starcevich. He worries aboutweed killers sprayed along the Bangor fence.

"This bay used to have a whole sea ofeel grass," he said, shuffling along the shoreat sunset and observing no signs of thesaltwater plant so important to sealife.

As a sea breeze chilled him, Starcevich

pulled his sweater tighter. He thought backto days when fish,birds and wildlife weremore abundant.

"We saw migrations of brant and even

Max Starcevich, a leading supporter of environmental protections for Hood Canal, died inAugust 1990, just two months after he was

featured in the opening story of The Sun's series,"Hood Canal: Splendor at Risk."

The following December,Max and his wifeEster, were recognized for their longtime effortsbythe Hood Canal Coordinating Council.

"Max was often a public spokesman forenvironmental and water quality issues, while Esterprovided support and organization," said LoisSherwood as she announced the award for the

coordinating council.Hood Canal Coordinating Council is a coop

erative forum for managing policy issues related toHood Canal. Voting members are representativesfrom Kitsap,Mason and Jefferson counties plus theSkokomish and S'Klallam tribes.

Starcevich and his wife lived at the old communityofBangor in Kitsap County, not far from the

tall fence that encloses the giant Navy submarinebase, which adopted the same name.

A longtime member of the Hood Canal Environmental Council, Starcevich was an early opponent ofthe Bangor base as well as numerous smaller projectshe felt would damage the Hood Canal ecosystem. Healso was active in Kitsap Audubon.

Max's wife Ester and son Al Starcevich con

tinue the family tradition of environmental activism,remaining major players in groups such as OlympicView Environmental Review Council (OVER-C),

which has assumed a citizen-based role in oversee

ing the cleanup of hazardous waste sites at the Navybase.

Max Starcevich also won another posthumoushonor in 1990. The former AU-American for the

University of Washington's football team wasinducted into the National Football Foundation's

College Hall of Fame.ByChristopher Dunagmi

A Place Too Wonderful to Spoil • 7

geese," he said. "Now, I can't remember thelast time I saw any. The fishing was gooduntil they opened it up to commercial boats.The purse seiners take everything, includinglingcod."

While some areas of Hood Canal areon a downward path, othersmount a recovery. The futureis by no means certain. Butnearly everywhere there's agrowing fear that this fragilebody of water is paying aprice as man taxes thebiological limits of theecosystem.

"We have to get toknow our forests and our

marshes, so we know whatwe cannot do to them," saysCeliaParrot, walking slowlythrough the moist grass atthe Klingel wetlands.

A flock of ducks takes

wing, soaring low over thewater, as if the birds weretied together with string. Ared-wing blackbird lands inthe twisted branches of an

aging snag. Parrot smiles,relishingits distinctivesong.

Bill Hunt, now servingas president of the HoodCanal Land Trust, has livedin the area 30 years.

"That's a lovelything," Hunt says ofthe bird's song.

As he talks, a pair of mallard duckswaddle through the grass at shore's edge.Theproud,colorful malestandsguard facingthe human visitors,his body erect.Thefemale scuttles over to a grassymound andsettles on her nest.

"He doesn't want us to get any closer,"Hunt said. "He'll probably fuss at us if weget any closer. We're not encouraging a lot ofvisiting here,such as building walking trailsand what have you."

Not far away liesanother marshy area,managed under a different philosophy.Under ownership of the Mary E.ThelerCommunity Centerin Belfair, thesemarshylands were to be filledby a bulldozer with

new ballfields taking their place.But experts pointed out the importance

of these fragile lands, and now the grassyswamp is the centerpiece of a future naturecenter, complete with carefully constructedtrails and boardwalks into the marsh.

Because so much of Hood Canal is

rocky, especially in the main channel,saltwater marshes are

precious islands of habitatbetween long stretches ofpebbly shore.

"Many people thinkthat if you disturb these areasthe wildlife will just gosomeplace else," said LindaKunze, a botanist with thestate's Natural HeritageProgram. "It's just not true. Inmost cases, if somethinghappens, the wildlife justdie."

Kunze splits her timebetween the human world at

her Olympia office, wherepolitics and economics rule,and the natural world in

which she immerses herself

into her work.

"When I'm out in the

field, I feel like a visitor," shesaid. "I need to put my valuesand understanding aside so Ican learn from the environ

ment. Being out in the field isa time of learning and a time of refreshment.It helps me to realize that the human-centered world is not all there is."

"As we build more and more cities, weneed to keep a natural connection, to see thechangingof the seasonsand weather patterns," Celia Parrot said. "You can live in anapartment and no matter what happensoutside,you can be comfortable. That's why Isee a danger as more and more of us live incities."

Placesthroughout the country —Chesapeake Bay,the Great Lakes, HudsonRiver, the Evergladesand even Puget Sound— have suffered greatly before humancaretakersdecided to change their ways.Hood Canal challenges us to find a betterway while there's still time.

Bangor

Nestled between theshores ofHoodCanal and the

boundary of theNaval SubmarineBase, Bangor is a

small community ofolder homes.

In a sense,people have

loved the canal

just a little toomuch. Yet,

compared tomany placestouched byman, Hood

Canal stands

nearlyunblemished,

like a

sparklinggemstone, itsdestiny yet tobe determined.

Chapter

2

Section 1

Give

Yourself

a Tour

ByDeborahWoolston

Taking a

Look

Around

Steady there, big fella. Park yourcompassand Lewis-and-Clarkfantasy because we're not goingoffthe map on our circle-tour of HoodCanal. We'll settle for the basic

West Puget Sound survivalpackage on thisone-day circuit: Parkandroad maps so we don't get lost,sweaters incase of cold, walking shoes for exploringbeach and trail, and rain gear just in case.

Great picnic places probably outnumber the restaurants, which are confined to the

Alderbrook Imi is the canal's mostdeveloped resort.

few commercial crossroads. There's even a

winery equipped with a tasting room inHoodsport. So let's wing food and drink.

The only good thing about thisSilverdale traffic snarl is that you appreciatethe instant countryside on the west side. Areyou readyforyour first scenic hitaround thenext bend of Anderson Hill Road? The worlddoesn't often serve up a mountain-watercombo like this, the jagged Olympic Mountains toweringabove the deep, shining canal.

This four-star scenery lasts until

Seabeck,which gives a good sneak previewof territory we'll cover today. Timber used tobe the main game in this little waterfrontvillage now populated by tourists and agrowing number of permanent locals.

First, a stop at Scenic BeachState Park,where we can stretch our legs along thebeach and the wide-open lawns. This is aprime spot for watching sunsets all year andrhododendrons in season.

From here we need a map to navigatethe road maze between Seabeck and Tahuya,our next waterfront stop. At the bottom ofElfendahl Pass Road, we'll hit the canalagain.

Bingo. Surprised at all wall-to-wallhouses along North Shore Road? They peterout to the west, but the road does too in anorthern jungle of massive trees carpetedwith moss and ferns. Ifs beautiful and

privately owned.So we'll turn east and drive along the

canal's most populated section — both sidesof the arm that juts into Mason County fromUnion to Belfair. The water sparkles behindthe almost unbroken row of waterfront

houses, but it's off-limits to the public exceptfor two popular state parks. Unlike most ofWashington's saltwater, this still, shallowstretch is warm enough to swim withoutgetting frostbite.

On summer weekends, Belfair StatePark and Twanoh State Park on the north

and south sides respectivelyare packed withfamilies.

"This is my favorite campground in thewhole wide world because you can do somuch with the kids," explains Carol Wardabout Twanoh. "And I've gotten to the stagewhere I want a little luxury with my camping," confesses the Pierce County womanwho likesthe campground showers as muchas the waterfront.

The park is so busy in the summer,says resident ranger Larry Otto, that thecampground fillsup by Wednesday for theweekend. Most campers are families,andthey come from everywhere.

Maybe we should have packed lunch.Forall the people livingand travelingdownthis busy stretch of Highway 106,there arefew feedingstations.Butnobody could missAlderbrook Inn.

Hang on. We're in for culture shock atthe resort.Big-screen TVbeside the big-window view in the lounge, covered walk

Taking a Look Around • 9

ways everywhere, and a glassed-in heatedpool. Those two yuppies wearing pressedblue jeans and sipping beer sure aren'tloggers.

This is the civilized side of canal life

down to the espresso coffee,quiche, fancycandles sold at restaurant/gift shop nextdoor. This commercial patch stretches for 10miles through Union, Hoodsport, andPotlatch, which are the canal's southernsupply stops. Here's where to pause for gas,beer, food, bait, souvenirs, and information.

A popular stop is Hunter Farm, whichhas been on the delta of Skokomish River

since 1843. The merchandise mix — fresh

produce, hay, top soil, calf and pig feed,geranium flats, seeds, potpourri packets,cards and cookbooks — give a good ideawho the customers are.

"It's pretty desolate in the winter," saidSteve Hunter, the fifth generation of HoodCanal Hunters. But all summer and most fall

and spring weekends, business is humming.And trafficwill pick up just down the

road when we hook up with U.S. 101.Itfunnels the north-south 1-5 traffic and the

east-west U.S. 12 traffic into the skinnycorridor between the mountains and the

water.

Hoodsport's short main street is almostthe last chance to spend money for miles —on ice cream, T-shirts, antiques, scubaequipment, or Hoodsport Winery wines.

From here the wilderness stretches

north and west for miles across forests and

mountains.

But it's silly to plunge into the woodswithout a good guide. The HoodsportRanger Station is a supermarket of freeinformation.

Joanne Conrad, crisp in her uniform, isfieldingthe questions from the steady streamof visitors. Whatabout wildlife? Bald eagles,kingfishers, and blue herons in the birdfamilyand deer, marmots, mountain goats,elk and backcountry black bear in themammal division.

Are you ready to tackle the wild side ofthe canal? The Lena Lake Trail up a pavedroad north of Eldon off the Hamma Hamma

Riversounds perfectfor a mini-hike— easy,pretty, and accessible. As Conrad said, ifs noa secret.There must be 20 cars parked at thetrailhead.

"It was lovely but pouring down rain,"says Muriel Bewickof Bainbridge Island as

The nine-mile

stretch fromHolly to

Dewatto is the

least

populated partof the fjord.

10 • Introduction

Hood Canal: The great circle route

t y

Quimper ;Peninsula

Highway 104

PugetSound

OlympicPeninsula

WglnvaijWl

Most of Hood Canal is accessible

by paved highways. Highway 101travels most of the western tlank

of the canal. Highways 106 and300 follow the south and northshores of the lower canal, respectively,and are commonly known by those names.Part of the road between Tahuyaand DeVVatto is unpaved but passable.

Hood Canal Bridge .

Quilcene aPort

(Gamble

Brinnon X

mBangor

mSubm Base

•fjm

Hood Canal

~5itverdale•

/Seabeck Hitfnomf Nciobeny Hill Road\ JSeabeck

/Seabeck-Holly Road I

Albert Pfundt Road

/

/DeWattv-HollyRmd

Brenierton

WybeWattoWf North Shore Road

Hocdspori// Highway 300

f Tahuya

fohacli

union

Highway 3

Belfair .-"-^

Highway 106, South Shore Road

she unlaces her muddy boots. "By the timewe came back, the sun was coming out."

Along the trail is a fragrant mix of fernand cedar and rain. And all those shades of

green — velvety chartreuse moss on therocks, deep green cedar branches, and palelittle maple leaves glowing in the gloom.

Backon the road, running north alongthe canal, the scenery is gorgeous. There'sanother oyster farm — the baby oystersattach themselves to those big bundles ofshells hanging in the water. There'sDosewallips StatePark just in time for a pitstop, and a stretch. If you look over themarsh grass and tangle of wild roses,you'llsee Seabeckand ScenicBeach,only five milesaway as the crow flies.

Up ahead in Brinnon is the WhitneyRhododendron Farms, which attractshundreds of visitorsduring the springblooming season. Also Seal Rock, wherepacksof harbor sealsare supposed to hangout, Mount Walker, a drive-up lookout witha 360-degree view from Seattle to the StraitofJuan de Fuca to the Olympic glaciers.

For more information on north end

attractions, the Quilcene Ranger Station isthe best bet.

Clearcutsare ugly, but they've openedup a stupendous view on the ToandosPeninsula, which juts 15 miles south into thecanal.Down below are water-access-onlypublic areas for a completely different viewof the canal.

Driving north to Highway 104,a rightturn leads to the Hood Canal Bridge—hopea sub isn't going through on the way to orfromNavalSubmarineBase Bangor.

There's time to pop north to PortGamble,the historiclumber villagemodeledaftera Mainetown, where there's a populargeneralstore,seashell museum, and loggingmuseum.

Now let's wrap up the exploration bywatching the sunset from Kitsap MemorialPark.The popular waterfront park has frontrow seats on the canal all year.

And you can put the map down. We'realmost home.

Taking a Look Around •!!

Off the Beaten Path

You don't need a boat to find the quiet parts of HoodCanal, but it certainly helps. While most of the trafficand most of the people can be found along the south

and west shores of the canal, you'll find most of the solitudeand least of the trafficalong the north and east shores.Boaterswill find beaches available only to them on thesequiet shores.

Ifyou've only got an auto, you still might find places toget away from most of the canal crowds.

Take a drive out to Holly, for example. Follow theSeabeck Highway past Crosby to Hintzville,and follow theAlbert Pfundt Road to Holly.

If s private property out here, where the OlympicMountains across the canal seem to lean out over the fjord tosee their reflections. The people are friendly, to be sure,mostlybecausethe visitorswho stop along the road respectprivate property.

There are state Department of Natural Resourcespublic tidelands just north of Holly and south ofTekiu Point.Theyare accessible only by boat, although both the TekiuRoadand a road west from NellitaRoaddrop all the way tothe canal.

The Tekiu Road ends just north of Tekiu Point; the roadwest fromNellitaRoad drops down to Frenchman'sCove.

One of the most delightful drives on the canal isfollowing the DewattoBayRoadfrom AndersonCove,justnorthofHolly, toTahuya. Thisis the wildest, quietestpart ofthe canal.

In the summer, cars traverse the road on bluffs 200 feetabovethe fjord onceevery15minutesor so during the day.In the winter,one car every hour is more likely.

Stopon any one of the high bluffsoverlookingthecanalfromDewattosouth toTahuya,and all you willbe ableto hearare the waveslapping theshore,and the whisperoftrafficon Highway 101 across the canal.

FromHollyto Dewatto,the road crosses the lonelycountry above the canal,cutting through private forest landwhere only a few gated logging roads lead west to the canal.This nine-mile stretchis the leastpopulatedpart of the fjord.

The fewwaterfront houses barged to this sectionof thecanalare without electricity.

Dewatto Bayis a quiet estuary and wetland. Cabinshuddle alongthe southern shore,alongwith commercialoyster shacks.

There'sa publicbeachat the southerlyend of the drivetoTahuya, justnorth ofRendslandCreekat MusquetiPoint.Here the visitorcan looksouth across the water to the busyside of the canal,or west, to the Olympics. For the remainderof the quiet spotsalong the canal,try a boat.Thereare threeDepartment of Natural Resources beaches between Dewattoand Chinom Point and — on the Toandos Peninsula — DNRand state park beaches at Fisherman Harbor, Tabook Pointand Brown Point.

By Seabury Blair Jr.

12 • Introduction

Section 2

A

Mysterious

Waterway

ByChristopherDunagan

A scuba diver visiting southernHood Canal in the fall mayenter the water only to findthat he can barely see his handin front of his face.

The view can change ratherdramatically, however, as the diver goesdeeper.Suddenly, without warning, he findshimself within a layer of crystalclear water.What had been 2 feet of visibility in onemoment can become, all at once, a sightrange of 50 feet.

It can be heart-stopping, according tothose who have experienced it.

The phenomenon iscaused by a layerof silty water from the SkokomishRiveroverlaying a layerof denser seawater,said

Union Marina on theSouth Shore of Hood Canal.

Barry Moore, a diving instructorat Washington State University who uses lower HoodCanal for field trips.

In addition to the layers of fresh andsalt water, other layers may contain amixture of each.

"It's almost like an atmosphericweather system," he said, "and it's something a lot of people don't expect, almost likegoing through cloud layers."

Layered waters.— accompanied byabrupt changes in temperature — are amongthe odd and curious things about HoodCanal, both above and below the surface.

Other mysteries include missinghordes of gold, long lost shipwrecks andeven sea creatures worth searching for.

About 3 miles north of Hoodsport liethe famous "octopus holes," which arelocated within an underwater cliff that dropsinto the depths of Hood Canal, according toShirley Smith, who runs Mike's Dive Shopwith her husband, Mike Smith.

A portion of the vertical wall contains aledge some 3-4feet wide. In that area, onemay find octopus, ranging from small onesyou can hold in one hand to some that are60-70pounds. Tentacles can stretch 6 feet ormore, said Mrs. Smith.

"Octopus are very shy, very intelligent," she said. "Divers have pretty wellprotected them in that area. It is an unwritten rule that you don't touch."

In that same rocky area, one may alsocome upon dangerous-looking wolf eelswith nasty, sharp teeth. The eels may dartout of their holes if threatened, though theyrarely bite, she said.

Hood Canal offers a variety of underwater experiences, but surface dwellers maybe happy to settle for watching the playfulharbor seals that inhabit most of Hood

Canal. One can spot their gray or blackheads bobbing on the water's surface justabout anywhere in the canal.

If you're extremely lucky, you mayspot a pod of killer whales. The large black-and-white mammals venture into Hood

Canal on occasion, usually in the late fall,according to local residents.

One of the great Hood Canal mysteriesis a low humming noise, so faint that onlyNavy officialsknow when it comes and goes.

The Navy uses highly sophisticatedlistening equipment along the bottom ofDabob Bayto track torpedoes along itstorpedo testing range. The acoustic equipment has picked up an intermittent droningnoise, which was traced to Quilcene BoatHaven.

Marjorie Belt,whose husband isharbormaster there, got to listen through aset of headphones several years ago.

"It sounded like a World War II movie

with a bunch of bombers going overhead,"she noted. "I was told it would get louder atnight, then die out toward morning."

There has been much speculationabout the cause, and the Navy even had the

Taking a Look Around • 13

high-voltage power lines de-energized onetime, but the noise was still there.

John Curtis, spokesman for the NavalUndersea Warfare Engineering Station atKeyport, said the noise hasn't been noticedlately, and some Navy officialssuspect itmay be associated with a breed of frogs.Anyway, it is so faint it causes no problem,he said.

On the opposite side of Hood Canal,near Seabeck, lies the sunken wreck of thePanama, a ship that had sailed around CapeHorn, serving first in the passenger tradeand later running cargo in the Puget Soundarea, according to local historian Fredi Perry.

The Panama was the sister ship to theOregon, the first steamship to scurry fromNew York to the West Coast at the start of

the California Gold Rush.

Anyway, the Panama had beenpurchased by owners of the Seabeck mill tocarry finished lumber to California, but theship collided with a German ship in theStrait of Juan de Fuca. Its cargo was offloaded in Port Townsend, and the damagedship was towed back to Seabeck, where itsank.

"At the turn of the century, the mastscould still be seen at low tide," said Mrs.Perry, who owns a copper nail from thewreck. The nail was picked up by a diverexploring the rotting remains, now sunkeninto the mud.

Another Seabeck mystery also datesback to the time of the mill. The story is thatof Ah Fong, a Chinese cook who worked forthe mill company. He must have saved upplenty of money, for if a ship didn't arrivefrom San Francisco to pay the mill workers,Ah Fong was ready with a loan.

Observers would see Ah Fong disappear into the woods and come back with theneeded number of $20 gold pieces. Duringone of these trips, however, he failed toreturn.

Was he killed by a wild animal? Did hefall into a hole? Or was he killed by someonewho wanted his money? Nobody knows, butmore than a few people have hiked thewoods around Seabeck searching for thetreasure.

About 3 miles

north ofHoodsport lie

the famous"octopus

holes/' in anunderwater

cliff that dropsinto the depths

of HoodCanal.

Part

n

The

Ecosystem

Mount Anderson cups theinfant Hood Canal between

her West and main peaks likea lumpy nursemaid, 7,300feet above sea level.

Up here, Olympic ravenscoast above ragged ridges of rock. The blackbird-gods of the Indians wheel east and,without a single wingbeat, glide 22 miles tothe mother fjord.

Up here, you can walk on the surfaceof Hood Canal. Up here, the canal is notdeep green water, but the 100-foot-thick blueice of the Eel Glacier, fed by 140 inches ofprecipitation every year.

Even in June, it is winter on the EelGlacier.

The glacier crawls two miles north,where Silt Creek tumbles from it and rips aRigged mile-long gash in the mountain.

17

Chapter

3••••••••••

The Canal

Section 1

Fed By

Glaciers


Visitors toOlympicNational Park find avantagepoint over thecascading DosewallipsRiver.

18 • The Ecosystem

The

DosewallipsRivergougesgorges sharpand steep. It

slams the

round river

rocks togetherso hard that at

night, in yourtent far abovethe river, you

hear them

cluckingtogether.

Then 6300-foot Olympic Mountain peaksturn the racing water to the northeast.

Here are high mountain meadowswhere Olympic marmots whistle and shriek,and cannot move across the snowfields

without waving their tails like starting flags.These marmots are unique to the Olympics.

SiltCreek rages through the springtimemeadows. It chatters down

an untrailed canyon into thevirgin forest of OlympicNational Park, past treesborn before Columbus. It

plows four miles and packsthe power of an express train.

Here the hiss and rush

of Silt Creek is shouted silent

by the rumble and roar of theDosewallips River. Now themilky glacial soup of SilkCreek sullies the crystalsnowmelt of the Dosewallipsat their junction, six milesand 3,800 feet below theglacier.

Now away from theawesome canyon, deep in theforest, you'll hear the singlenote of a thrush, as clear asthe dawn it greets. Columbiablacktail deer rustle throughthe salal of the dry east-facing slopes above the river.

They make a differentsound than the occasional black bear that

wanders these woods. Bears slap salal withtheir forepaws as they walk. It sounds as ifsomeone were shuffling cards. Deer daintilylift their feet and stamp a snare-drumcadence.

Now the Dosewallips gouges gorges tothe east, sharp and steep. It slams the roundriver rocks together so hard that at night, inyour tent far above the river,you hear themclucking together.

They call the noise "river voices."Here is a mineral spring, just above the

spot where the river crashes into the WestFork of the Dosewallips, where the smell ofsulphur wrinkles your nose. Elk—Roosevelt Elk so plentiful in these mountainsthey are more commonly referred to as"Olympic Elk" — come here to lick the rock.Their trails scribe the forest floor like intri

cate scrollwork.

Olympic Elk and deer graze aroundthe mineral lick so heavily that, even in the

summer, the absence of greenery is noticeable. It was not always so; this spot was oncea likely hunting ground for the Olympicwolf and cougar, which held the elk population in check.

But the watershed of the Hood Canal

has not heard the howl of a wild wolf since

1934.

The Dose, as locals callit, never slows. It races to thecanal, plunging an average of218feet every one of its 26miles. That drop is enoughthat water of the Dosewallipsbecomes a jackhammer thatrips at the pillow lava ofMount Constance as it

cascades towards the sunrise.

Mountain goats play4,000 feet above the river onthe same lava, frozen by anancient sea. They stray fromthe national park to thenational forest, and themigration may well savethem from park efforts tocontrol their population.

The Dosewallips — aTwana name for the legendary man who was transformed into Mount Ander

son — is not the wildest river

to feed the canal. That record

belongs to the HammaHamma River, which drops an average of339 feet in each of its 18 miles.

Unlike other rivers in the 550-square-mile Hood Canal watershed, however, theDosewallips carries fine glacial flour fromthe Eel. It adds unique water to a uniquebody of water.

Other snowfields dump millions ofgallons of water into the canal every day.Massive permanent snowfields and deadglaciers feed the headwaters of theSkokomish, Duckabush, Hamma Hammaand BigQuilcene Rivers. But the Dose is theonly Hood Canal river born of a living,grinding glacier.

More than 200 watercourses feed the

canal. About 48 are named. They range fromthe longest river — the Skokomish at about34 miles — to the tiny, quarter-mile creeks ofthe Bolton Peninsula or the bluffs south of

Holly.The fresh water pours itself into a nine-

foot-deep blanket over the fjord. Because

Eel Glacier

Glacial meltfromthe eastflank of the

Olympics is thesource of the

Dosewallips River,26 milesfrom Hood

Canal.

tidal mixing is slow in Hood Canal, this layerremains relatively free of salt.

It floats on a body of dense saltwaterlike a giant foam hot tub cover, and itaccounts in part for the reason you and yourchildren can swim in the canal during thesummer. The layer of less salty water warmsmore quickly, so could be as warm as 69degrees Fahrenheit atTwanoh State Park.

Two-hundred feet

below, however, the densesalty water could be close tofreezing. Salt water of thedeeps can actually dropbelow freezing temperaturewithout turning to ice, due tosalt content and pressure.

Since it rides on top ofthe saltier water, this blanketflushes from the canal faster

than the water underneath.

The layer could providecritical clues into understand

ing the ecology of HoodCanal.

or mountain beaver. This nocturnal rodent,as large as a house cat, can live for years indens dug along road embankments orunder tree roots without being seen.

One of the boldest of the watershed's

wildlife is the raccoon, which residentssometimes foolishly mistake as beingdomesticated. These wild animals raid

garbage cans and chickenjBVitlflOTt coops regularly. Besides

being nuisances, they posereal danger to pets and smallchildren.

In its last eight miles,the Dosewallips slithersthrough country populated— albeit sparsely — by man.As they do along most of thewatercourses that drain into

the canal, loggers clearcuthillsides above the rumblingriver. Cattle grazeunchecked along the Dose'sbanks.

As the river reaches

sea level at Brinnon, it flowsdeep and fast throughsummer home tracts, a statepark and finally, into thecanal.

Besides the glacier'sflour, the Dosewallips is filled with muchthe same micro- and macroscopic flotsamand jetsam all watercourses bring to thecanal.

There is the silt scraped from the sidesof mountains and washed into the river

from clearcuts. There are phosphates,nutrients and bacteria from cattle and

fertilizer, organic matter and mineralsripped from the earth by the water'spassage.

Yetstanding on the bridge whereHighway 101 crosses the Dosewallips atBrinnon, the visitor can look down to watchtrout and sea-run cutthroat play during thesummer. They often comment upon howclean the water looks.

1he rivers and creeksare lazier on the Kitsap sideof Hood Canal and along theNorth and South shores.

Even major tributaries suchas the Union River, Twanoh Creek, DewattoRiver,Mission Creek, Tahuya River and BigBeefCreek gurgle and coo.

They don't haul big loads of earth todump into Hood Canal, like their torturedbrothers to the west.

Wildlifeon this side is as quiet as thewaters. Wrens softly sing songs six timestheir size as summer dawns near. Deer and

bear wander the woods, although they arenot seen so often as their Olympic Peninsulacounterparts.

Smaller animals fill the woods on both

sides of Hood Canal. Here you will findspotted and striped skunk, coyote, fox,bobcat, beaver, muskrat.

One of the shyest creatures throughoutthe mother fjord's watershed is the sewellel,

By the time itreaches Brinnon on

Hood Canal, theDosewallips has

slowed to ameandering stream.

The Canal • 19

The watershed

ofHood Canalhas not heard

the howl of awild wolf since

1934.

20 • Ti ii: Ecosystem

Section 2

Carved

From the

Rock

By Travis Baker

Thegeologic forces that makeHood Canal what it is today —one of only two fjordlikebodiesof water in the continental U.S.,

its water flow limited by ashallow sill near its mouth —are

only partially understood.Much of what we know is only theory,

and some of that theory is in dispute. But itappears Hood Canal is the work of riversand a series of glaciers that exploited aweakness along the edge of the OlympicMountains, a weakness probably created bya geologic faultline.

For millions of years, the subterraneanocean plates have moved under NorthAmerica in the never-ending reshaping ofthe earth.

Two or three yards at a time every1,000years or so, volcanic rock created onthe Pacific ocean floor migrated to what hasbecome the west coast of America. Some was

thrust upward, building the Olympics. Butmost moved under the continental plateuntil it reach depths where temperaturesmelted it.

That molten rock sought escape in a

The Great Bend of Hood Canal, seen from thepeak ofMount Ellinor in the Olympics.

series of volcanoes that created the Cascades.

In between were the Puget Lowlands,and what would become Hood Canal, whichstretches 63 miles from its mouth to the tip ofLynch Cove at Belfair.

One might be mystified by the geologicforce that could turn a glacier more than 90degrees, as at the elbow of the canal wherethe Skokomish River enters. In fact, there isno such force.

Tom Walker, geology instructor atOlympic College, says what seems to be anabrupt turn in the canal was the result ofeast-west stream erosion meeting the north-south scouring done by at least four vastglaciers that entered the Puget Lowlands inthe most recent Ice Age.

Though the basic contour of thelowlands was established by the growth ofthe Olympics to the west and the creation ofthe Cascades to the east, the often mysteriousinterplay between glaciers, the immenselakes that sometimes formed ahead of them

and the rivers that drained those lakes

account for much of the smaller-scale

topography in the region.Walker says the common conception of

The Canai. •ll

Hood Canal topography

KEY

• 0-165feet

• 166-330feet

• 331-495feet

• 496-660feet

TJie lastglacial coveragehelpedform Hood Canal15,000yearsago

mbi

Hood Canal

Hamma Hamma River

Dosewallips River

Duckabush River

\

Foulweather Bluff

Squamish Harbor >^ '

ABolton Peninsula /: \Toandos Peninsula_/ /vinland

South Point ''

Dabob Bay\

<uPoint

Lillhvaup

"^

Hoodsport

Skokomish River

Holly

Dewatto

/ll>

Tahuya Lynch Cove

Belfair M Formation ofHood Canal began3 million yearsago.Today's shape was created by glaciers 15,000 years ago.

• The canal is 61 miles long, with 242 miles ofshoreline.

• The average width is 1.5 miles. Itis less than 1/2 mile wideatSisters Point and about 4 miles between Seabeck and Brinnon.

• Depths exceed600feetinDabob Bay, and average 500feetin the central channel between Seabeck and DeWatto.

• Tidelands andshallows between theGreat Bend and LynchCove fill the same lowland that contains Sinclair Inlet.The twowere connected before geologicuplifting separated them.

• Asill at theentrance ofthecanal slows flushing action anddeepwater circulation. Ittakes one year to thoroughlyflush the canal.

Source: U.S. Detpariment of the Interior: Fish and Wildlife Service and "The Shape and Form ofPuget Sound" by Robert Burns


At least fourtimes the ice

sheet came and

went from thePuget

Lowlands.

Boulders

trappedbeneath its

tremendous

weightexploited

weaknesses in

the land

surface togouge outvalleys.

a frozen landscape as glaciers advanced intothis area is erroneous.

For much of the advance, the ice sheetwas "melting furiously" but advancingnonetheless, propelled by the huge accumulations of ice farther north. The melt water at

one point created what's called, in retrospect,Lake Russell, which filled the lowlands infront of the glacier to a depth 120feet abovetoday's Puget Sound, until the lake spilledout to the southwest along the course oftoday's Chehalis River.

At least four times the ice sheet came

and went from the Puget Lowlands. Boulders trapped beneath its tremendous weightexploited weaknesses in the land surface togouge out valleys. Many, including HoodCanal, filled with sea water when the icereceded and sea level rose from the melt.

Stands of trees fell before the advanc

ing ice and can be found buried in thelandscape to this day, said geologist BobCarson of Whitman College in Walla Walla.They usually don't have their bark, butthey're still wood. "You can put them inyour fireplace," he said.

between glaciers, tens of thousands ofyears of stream erosion created other valleys,one of which linked what is now the bottom

arm of Hood Canal to Sinclair Inlet via the

approximate route of the railroad tracksleading from Belfairto Bremerton.

Why a portion of that channel is nowKitsap and Mason county uplands whileanother part of it is now the floorof the canalremains a geologic mystery.

So are the sills left by the last glacierthat are now covered by the waters of HoodCanal.

The sill, at the opening of the canal, actsalmost like the lip of a sink, impeding thenatural flushing action of the canal andplacing its water quality in a fragilebalance.

"We're lucky we don't have as muchindustry along Hood Canal as along PugetSound," said Carson. "We hope for not toomany fish pens, that the Navy will be a goodneighbor and we get good sewage treatmentfrom the towns."

The sill is not bedrock, too hard to havebeen wiped away by the most recent glacier.Rather it's made of "unconsolidated sedi

ments" that accumulated over the past fewmillion years.

Why those sediments collected just afew miles northeast of Dabob Bay, where theCanal floor plunges to depths of 600feet or

more, is among the unanswered questions.But Hood Canal isn't a freak in that

regard. Many fjords have a sill, said Carson,who has studied the canal for years from asummer residence between Holly andDewatto. Between glaciers, nature works tofill valleys.

The Skokomish River has made a goodstart, depositing sediments at the bend.Given another 10,000years with no interference from man, Carson said, the river wouldseal off the tip of the canal, which wouldgradually be desalinated by fresh waterrunoff and rain.

Green and Gold mountains in KitsapCounty are the only formations of upthrustbedrock between the Olympics and Cascades. They were shaped but not eradicatedby the ice mass that covered this area to adepth of more than 3,000 feet, almost twicethe height of the two promontories. The restof Kitsap County was created by the leavingsof the retreating glaciers.

There was animal life in the path of theice, though apparently not human life. Birdsand land animals, including mammoths andmastodons, simply moved south, butsaltwater fish, trapped in the desalinated andincreasingly icy glacial lakes flooding theirhomes, ceased to exist over the thousands ofyears.

Ann Sleight, anthropology instructorat OC, said no one is sure whether the paleo-Indians that populated the Hood Canal areacame through the ice-freecorridor or downthe coast, but it's generally agreed theyarrived via the "land bridge" that linkedNorth America to Asia when ice sheets

consumed much of the earth's water and

dropped the sea level.The first arrivals, 10,000 years ago,

more or less, were hunters and gathererswith no special affinity to Hood Canal, shesaid. The marine Indian culture developedalong local shorelines between 5,000and3,000 years ago.

It was their descendants noted by Capt.George Vancouver and his crew when, in1792,he explored Puget Sound on a missionto learn whether the Strait of Juan de Fucamight reach all the way to Hudson Bay.Hegave many of the features names by whichthey are known today, including PugetSound, named after one of his lieutenants,Peter Puget, and Hood Canal, for the BritishLord Hood.

TheNorth Fork of the Skokomish

River begins its journey from amassive snowfield on the slopesof Mount Skokomish in OlympicNational Park. As surroundingforests surrender their store of

rain water — creek by creek, stream bystream — the North Fork becomes a surgingriver, a force to be reckoned with.

At Staircase Rapids, reached by hikersalong a picturesque trail above Lake

Cushman, the river rushes swiftly down ahillside of boulders.

In late May, the roaring waters are sofresh and clear that it is difficult to perceivethe swiftness of their flow. A ripple sparklesin the noonday sun, but is quickly gone,rushing downstream in the blink of an eye,following the water's course toward HoodCanal.

Experts measuring the flow in theNorth Fork say 7,000gallons pass this point

•23*

Chapter

4

Water

Resources

Section 1

A Precious

Commodity


Large pipes canyrushing -water from theimpounded SkokomishRiverto thepowerhousebelow Cushman Dam.


The roaringrivers are never

heard in the

city, whichmakes it easyfor people toignore subtleways that

humans can

tilt the balance

of nature.

in a single second. That's enough water toflush every toilet in Bremerton,then do soagain and again every 30seconds.

Water is so plentiful in this green landsurrounding Hood Canal that it seemsimpossibleto ever run out. The wild andfree-flowing rivers provide what seemslikean endless bounty of water as they flowoutof the snow-capped Olympic Mountains.

Duckabush, Hamma Hamma andSkokomish. Their Indian names suggest anancient history of never-ending flows.Dosewallipsand Quilcene, DewattoandTahuya.

You might think there would be plentyof water for all uses — for drinking and forflushing toilets, for generating electricity andfor diluting industrial pollution. And thereought to be water left over for fish,birds andall sorts of wildlife we treasure.

But as Will Rogers might say of water,as he once said of land: 'They ain't makin'any more of it."

In Bremerton and Port Townsend,when somebody turns on a water faucet, heexpects to get clean drinking water. A GigHarbor resident expects that his lights willgo on when he flips a switch.

These people who live miles fromHood Canal can be thankful for its mightyrivers.

Bremerton water customers can thank

the Union River.

Port Townsend residents and employees at the town's paper mill can thank theQuilcene.

Gig Harbor residents can thank theNorth Fork of the Skokomish (as well as a

power swap among electricutilities).The roaring rivers are never heard in

the city, which makes it easy for people toignoresubtle ways that humans can tilt thebalance of nature.

Even families on private wells cannotescape the water equation. They, too, aredependent on rainfall to replenish thegroundwater supply. Hydrologists sometimes worry that this hidden store of water ismore vulnerable to depletion because peoplecannot observe it.

Water is the common denominator

among all living things,but it is easilytakenfor granted — especially in the wetter yearswhen people jokeabout growing webbedfeet.

Despite heavy precipitation, despiteever-flowing streams, the amount ofwater isindeed limited. And people who understand

this indisputable fact have already begun toengage in a tug-of-war over its future use.

Downstream from Staircase Rapids, ashaft of sunlight breaks through a heavygrowth of fir and cedars. The sunbeamilluminates a deep pool of cold water, whichglows likea giant green emerald.

Nearby, in the shallows, water glidessmoothly over shaded gravel, an idealnesting spot for salmon and trout.

Somewhere in these waters, a uniquepopulation of juvenile salmon has begun aninstinctive journey downstream. Theseyoung chinooksalmon are the descendantsof an ancient race of salmon that grew toponderous size in the ocean.

But these juvenile fish will never seethe ocean.They remain trapped forever, liketheir parents, by Cushman Dam, a massiveconcrete structure that has blocked the

normal flow of the North Forth since 1926.

"I've always been intrigued by thosefish," said Frank Haw, a former Departmentof Fisheries expert and now a privateconsultant.

Haw first became aware of the land

locked salmon more than a quarter-centuryago when he saw the silhouetteof a bigsalmon painted on a board, which washanging in a bar near Cushman. Someonetold him the imprint was from a king salmontaken out of the lake.

"In 1967,1 caught one, a 12-pounder,"said Haw. 'That was the first one I'd actuallyseen in there."

Haw was fascinated by the realizationthat these salmon are being born in thestream above Lake Cushman, but they livemost of their lives in the lake, never able toget past the man-made structure.

Since then, fall chinook have beenplanted in Roosevelt Lake behind GrandCoulee Dam as well as in Lake Chelan, bothin Eastern Washington.

"But the interesting thing aboutCushman," said Haw, "is that it appears tohave gotten going without anybody's help."

The numbers of Cushman chinook are

never very high, and these fish grow moreslowly than they would in the ocean.Lakesare not the most suitable habitat for salmon.

But the mere survival of these fish, saysHaw, is a tribute to their adaptability.

While the unique land-locked chinookare at least a curiosity, another issue atCushman is brewing into a multimillion-dollar controversy.

The Cushman Project, built by the city

Water Resources • 25

of Tacoma,consistsof two dams and power-generating facilities, producing a total of 124megawatts of electricity,enough to power20,000average homes.

The project, which is due for a newfederal license, is being examined by Tacomaofficials, the Skokomish Tribe and variousresource agencies for its continuing impactson the environment.

The dam not onlyblocked migration of salmoninto the upper reaches of theNorth Fork, but it essentiallydried up four miles of primefish habitat downstream

from the dam.

Water from the North

Fork flows into Lake

Cushman, then through apower plant before returningto the stream channel. A mile

downstream, the waterenters a second manmade

lake, known as Lake Ko-kanee, a fraction of the size ofLake Cushman.

Tacoma City Lightoperates the two dams inconcert to produce far morepower than a single damcould alone.

As it leaves Lake

Kokanee, the water takes acontroversial left-hand turn.

Instead of returning to the stream channel,the flow is diverted through three 10-foot-tallpipes, which slope down the side of a hilloverlooking Hood Canal.

From a technical viewpoint, the projectis marvelous. The falling water producesmaximum output from a second powerplant constructed at the bottom of the hillnext to Highway 101.

The water gives up its energy to awhining turbine, which spins a generator,sending electriccurrent down a high-voltagepower line toward Tacoma. Its hydro-potential expended, the water is thendumped directly into Hood Canal.

Somehow forgotten in the design ofthis power project was the original streamchannel of the North Fork. Eight miles of theriver suffered massive depletion of water; atleast four of those miles became unsuitable

for spawning, a major blow to the salmonresource.

Today, the only flow in the North Forkbelow the two dams is that which Tacoma

officials agree to release,about 225gallonsper second. Original flows in that stretch ofriver ranged from 1,500 to 12,000 gallons persecond.

To compensate for lost fish habitat,Tacoma built a fish hatchery on PurdyCreek, a tributary to the Skokomish River.The George Adams Hatchery, now run by

the state, produces substantial numbers of coho and

chinook. But fishery expertssay it has contributed to thedepletion of wild salmonruns in the Skokomish River

system.The Skokomish Tribe,

which traditionally dependedon the Skokomish and its

tributaries, plans to seekincreased streamflows in the

North Fork as well as addi

tional compensation asTacoma City Light seeks itsnew operating license.

A similar licensingprogram on the Elwha Rivernear Port Angeles has led to awell-considered proposal toremove a pair of dams andattempt to restore one of themost productive salmon runsin the history of the OlympicPeninsula.

Nobody proposestearing out the Cushman dams, but TacomaCity Light acknowledges its responsibility tocare for the environment if the city is tocontinue enjoying power from the NorthFork.

A new way ofthinking about water isevident today, argues David Fluharty of theInstitute for Marine Studies at the Universityof Washington.

"Before,we thought only about howwater could be put to beneficial use," hesaid, "but now we realize that even in areasof abundance, water is already allocated tosomething."

State law is based on the notion that

the first person to remove the water and"use" it has first rights to own it, saidFluharty. But that way of thinking couldchange.

Under a pact signed at Lake Chelan inNovember 1990,every group interested inthe future of water resources agreed to a

Lake Cushman

The 4,000-acre lakefeeds a Tacoma

City Lighthydroelectric power

plantcapable ofpowering 20,000

typical homes.

7,000 gallonsof water pass a

point on theNorth Forkofthe Skokomish

River everysecond. That's

enough waterto flush every

toilet in

Bremerton,then do so

again andagain every 30

seconds.


The Cushman

Project, builtby the city of

Tacoma,consists of two

dams and

power-

generatingfacilities,

producingatotal of'124

megawatts ofelectricity,enough to

power 20,000average homes.

step-by-step process that could alter statewater law in new and interesting ways.

The first-use rule may have worked inthe Wild West, said Fluharty, but todaypeople are asking whether it serves the bestinterest of society as a whole. A new proposition is taking hold: That the ecosystemitself has water rights.

Meanwhile, small and large hydroprojects have been proposed on all the majorrivers of Hood Canal. In addition,Bremerton, Port Townsend and the KitsapCounty PublicUtilityDistricthave asked forthe right to remove drinking water from theHamma Hamma, Dosewallips andDuckabush rivers.

If any of these projects are pushedforward, they are likely to faceoppositionfrom people who believe the water is morevaluable left alone in the rivers.

Garth Jackson, a Tacoma official incharge of winning a new licenseforCushman, stood outside a concrete buildingand listened to a high-pitched whine comingfrom within: the sound of spinning turbinesat Cushman's upper power plant.

The amount of power you get from adam is governed by the volume of water aswell as the "head," or vertical distance thewater drops through a pipe and into aturbine, Jackson explained.

"That dam generates more power," hesaid, glancingin the directionof the lowerdam. "This one gives more regulation."

Lake Cushman covers 4,000 acres andcan hold 150billion gallons of water. Thedam controls flooding in the valley below,and virtually all of the water can be sentthrough both power plants to generate

Rivers of Hood Canal

The major rivers of Hood Canal stillbear their Indian names:

• Dewatto (De-WAH-toh): Fromdu-a-to, meaning "home of evil spiritswho make men crazy."

• Dosewallips (dohs-ee-WAH-lips):FromTwana Dos-wailopsh, a legendaryman who was turned into a mountain,

which is the river's source.

•Hamma Hamma (HAM-uh HAM-

uh): A phonetic corruption of Hab'hab,the name of a Twana villageat the mouthof Hood Canal.

electricity.The big lake provides recreation for

boaters and fishermen, a state park forcamping, not to mention 23 miles of shoreline property, now dotted with vacationhomes.

Nobody argues that fish and wildlifehabitat were destroyed when the dam wasbuilt, saysJackson, but the benefitsof thedam have stood the test of time. The projectcontinues to produce clean, non-pollutingpower when the alternatives are coal ornuclear generation.

"We are bringing a 1920s-vintageproject into the current world," he said. "Theprocess for relicensing is recognizing whatour responsibilitieswill be for the next 30years. We have significant proposals for fish,wildlife habitat and wetlands."

One of Tacoma's proposals is topurchase 3,000-4,000 acres to be protected aswildlife habitat, said Jackson. State agencieshave suggested that 15,000 acres would bemore appropriate.

The Federal Energy RegulatoryCommission is supposed to balance all theinterests in considering the license application.

Whatever costs are expended tomitigate damage from the dams will bepassed along to power customers as a rateincrease, Jackson noted, as he stood outsidethe upper power plant and watched a seriesof small whirlpools created by the turbulence of water rushing out of the turbines.He pondered the future of Cushman andhow much might be expected in the name ofthe environment.

• Quilcene (KWIL-seen):From quil-ceed-o-bish, meaning "salt water people."It was the name of a band of TwanaIndians who lived around Dabob Bay.

• Skokomish: From Skokomish

s'kaw, meaning "fresh water," and mish,meaning "people."

• Tahuya: From Twana ta and ho-i,meaning "that done" in referenceto somenotable occurrence long ago.

— Source: fanes Phillips,Washington State Place Names

Negotiating Water Rights

Tacoma's Cushman Project is about tobe thrust into a process that couldeither settle a number of environ

mental issues in southwest Hood Canal

— or else lead to a major court battle.Byfall of 1991, Tacoma officialswill

sit down with lawyers for the SkokomishTribe to work out a mitigation plan forrelicensing the two Cushman dams.

How much water should flow in the

North Fork of the Skokomish River?

Should a fish passage be built over thedams? What lands will Tacoma purchasefor wildlife? Will the North Fork be

restored? What can be done about cultural

and archaeological values lost when thedam was built 65 years ago?

Ultimately, the Federal EnergyRegulatory Commission (FERC) will issuethe license, but the tribe is an acknowledged player in the decision.

Today, the city and tribe seem milesapart on the issues — but thafs just thenature of negotiations, says Russ Busch,chief negotiator for the tribe.

"People always look far apart at thebeginning," said Busch, a lawyer withEvergreen Legal Services in Seattle."Sometimesthere is unrealistic thinking atthat point, but eventually you have realitychecks and say, 'We can get this, but wecan't get this.'"

One of the major differences is whatis called the "baseline issue."

"Our position," said Busch, "is thatTacoma must provide mitigation andcompensation as if it didn't have the damsthere."

Under that theory, all the lostresources — fish, wildlife, etc. — wouldbe measured and replaced in areas awayfrom the dam site.

Buteven Buschacknowledges thatFERC has taken a dim view of that

approach. The agency believes insteadthat relicensing provides an opportunityto improve environmental conditionswhere appropriate.

What people don't realize, saidBusch,is what the tribe gave up when thedam was built.

'The North Fork was the productiveportion of the Skokomish system, much

more than the South Fork or the main

stem," he said.Furthermore, the 4,000 acres now

occupied by Lake Cushman containedvast populations of elk that were huntedby the tribe. There were waterfalls withreligious significance that now lie underwater.

"It is just a vestige of what it oncewas," he said.

Non-Indians may not understandthe cultural significanceof hunting andfishing sites, of particular types of salmon,of special plants, of so many things, saidBusch.

'The European analysis has it allbroken down into fish, wildlife, etc.," hesaid. "But when you ask about it, yourealize it is just as complex as a city."

The difficult thing will be to articulate the Indian values, Busch said.

"We know by talking to the tribesthat a lot was lost by them," he said. "Wedon't want to miss something because wedon't know how to put it in the rightlanguage for some judge in San Francisco."

According to Busch, the tribe isseeking to increase production of salmonin what remains of the North Fork. That

means increasing flows from the dam andrestoring some segments of streamsuitable for spawning.

The dam currently is releasing 30cubic feet (about 225gallons) per second."They have agreed to up to 70," saidBusch,though the tribe is asking for more.

Restoring the stream may meanadding logs and other large woody debristo catch gravel to provide spawning areasand to create habitat for insects, which areeaten by the fish.

The tribe also wants to explorearchaeological sites that may lie underwater, he said.

"We have filed a motion to draw the

reservoir down and investigate what isdown there," he said. "The tribe isn'twilling to say, Thafs progress and wedon't want to bother anybody.' "

In the 1920s,land owned by individual Indians was condemned to build

portions of the dam project, which


"Weknow bytalking to thetribes that a

lot was lost bythem. We don't

want to miss

somethingbecause we

don't know

how to put itin the right

language forsome judge in

San

Francisco."

—Russ Busch,chief negotiator

for the Skokomish

tribe

28 • Tin: Ecosystem

"We recognizeour current

obligations assteivards of the

resource."

— Garth Jackson,Tacoma City

Light

reduced the size of tribal lands, accordingto Busch.

"From my point of view the tribehas been subsidizing nice, inexpensivepower for the city of Tacoma," he said.

Garth Jackson, who is handling therelicensing issue for Tacoma, says thetribe's perspective may be different fromthat of other interests involved in the

relicensing issue, including state agencies.Severalprojects, including a fish

hatchery, boat ramps and parks, havebeen constructed by Tacoma, he noted.

"We recognize our current obligations as stewards of the resource," he said.

Similar negotiations between SeattleCity Light and resource groups on the

Skagit River resulted in a settlementannounced just last week.

The agreement is expected to costSeattle's utility $55 million-$60million onmeasures to protect the environment,including the purchase of 4,000acres ofland to protect wildlife. In addition, theutility will forego $40 million-$45 millionin lost power revenues to increase streamflows to benefit fish.

Recreation projects, an educationcenter, landscaping and cultural protections are part of the settlement.

Cushman is a much smaller powerproject, but officialssay key issues aremuch the same.

ByChristopher Dunagan

Water is Diverted from Skokomish River to Generate Electric Power

Potlatch

Source: Tacoma City Light

Lake

South Fork '••' KokaneeSkokomish River

Highway 101

> Lake Cushman: About 4,000acres of water is held back byUpper Cushman Dam. PowerPlant 1 lies at the base of the dam.

> Lake Kokanee: About 150acres of water held back by lowerCushman Dam.

>* Diversion tunnel: Water from

Lake Kokanee is diverted 2 miles

to Cushman's lower power plant.

>~ Power plant 2: Located next toHighway 101 near Hood Canal,takes water from Lake Kokanee,

then dumps it directly into thecanal.

5s- North Fork: Water flowing inthis stem of the Skokomish River

is just a fraction of historical levelsbecause of the diversion of water

for power generation. As a consequence, fish habitat is greatlyreduced.

Atthe Quilcene National FishHatchery, Larry Telles openedthe gates of the fish racewayand said goodbye to 350,000little coho salmon.

The fingerlings, hatched here18months ago, splashed vigorously as theywere pushed unceremoniously toward thenext stage of their lives, a dangerous journeyto the wide open ocean. How many willsurvive is anybody's guess.


"They look like fancy herring to biggerfish," noted Telles, as the littlefish disappeared into the BigQuilcene River.

Successof the hatchery operation islargely dependent on the amount of waterflowing in the Big Quilcene Riverand nearbyPenny Creek. In a dry year, for example,more fish at the hatchery will share the samewater as it passes through the hatchery, saidTelles. The risk of disease becomes greater.

In a sense, these fish also share water

Section 2

Jockeyingfor the

Resource


A Quilcene NationalFish Hatchery workerpushes young salmonout of a rearing penandinto the Big QuilceneRiver.


Despite heavyprecipitation,despite ever-

flowingstreams, theamount of

water is indeed

limited. And

people whounderstand

this

indisputablefact have

already begunto engage in a

tug-of-warover its future

use.

with the residents of Port Townsend. The

city operates a dam on the BigQuilcene andcontrols the amount of water that flows

downstream to the hatchery.Usually, there is plenty of water for

both hatchery fish and Port Townsendresidents. But habitat for Quilcene's wildsalmon has been reduced, both by blockageof Penny Creekand by adjustments to theBigQuilcene flows.

In nature, all things are connected, andnothing connectseverything more closelythan water. In fact, water is so vital to alllivingcreatures that controlling the flowofwater often means controlling life itself.

1eople have been jockeying for apieceof the water resource since before the turn of

the century. (TheQuilcene Hatchery wasbuilt in 1911.)

So far, only an abundance of water inWestern Washington has prevented apoliticalexplosion, the likesof which couldmake the spotted owl debate seem like aneighborhood squabble.Buta day ofreckoning lies ahead.

In 1984, Washington residents weregiven a hint of things to come when politicalforces tore apart a plan for managing waterflows in rivers and streams on the western

side of Hood Canal between the Skokomish

and Dosewallips rivers.All at once, water took on a new

significance in Western Washington. TheHood Canal issue revealed various politicalpowers lining up to do battle, and it eventually forced them to negotiatea commonpathout of the political minefield.

At the time, Donna Simmons ofHoodsport had just been appointed to theWashingtonStateEcological Commission byGov.John Spellman.Simmons,a formerpresident of Hood Canal EnvironmentalCouncil, began asking some uncomfortablequestionsabout the water resource plan.

"Nobody was bringing up any problems," she said, "but I was looking at it andsomething wasn't quite right."

Simmons, a soft-spoken woman notused to making loud assertions, foundherself reviewing a plan that would haveestablished minimum flows for the most

pristine rivers in Hood Canal. It was all partof the Department of Ecology'seffort toestablishlegalwater rights for fishandwildlife — before all the water was taken for

man s purposes.

Similar plans already had beenadopted for the Kitsap Peninsula, LowerHood Canal and several other areas throughout the state.

But in talking to state and tribalfisheries experts, Simmons quickly learnedof serious concerns about the amount of

water being reserved for fish.'They did not feel the water levels

would be sufficient to support fish habitat,"said Simmons.

Her questions continued. Environmental groups began raising objections to theplan. When it came time for a vote, membersof the Ecological Commission rejected itunanimously.

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, waterutilities and other user groups were lobbyingthe new governor, Booth Gardner, and otherstate officials about their concerns.

As proposed, the plan would haveprevented the largest rivers — Dosewallips,Duckabush and Hamma Hamma — from

being used as a source of drinking water.All the while, Bremerton, Port

Townsend and Kitsap County had their eyeson those rivers for future water supplies.

"Water supply systems," said Ed Dee,a member of the legislative staff, "... felt thelevelof protection advocated for fisheriesresources was too great a price to pay."

The Ecologyplan suffered a quickdeath, but the dispute imprinted an image ofpossible battles yet to come. If interestgroups could not establishminimum flowswhile water supplies are abundant, whatwill happen when population growthintensifies the demand for additional water?

Even today, the danger remains thatminimum flows will not be established for

those important Hood Canal rivers."There were times when I despaired

over what I had done," said Simmons. "Butwe really needed to go back and look at thewhole water resource issue. I've always felt Idid the right thing."

Washington State has struggled withcomplicated water laws since 1917. As withmost Western states, the concept of priorappropriation ("first in time, first in right")has been the governing principal.

In 1967, the state entered the environmental era. Needs of fish and wildlife were

recognized,and the Legislaturegranted the

Department of Water Resources (nowDepartment of Ecology) the authority to setminimum stream flows.

But, if anything, the Legislature hasadded confusion to a difficult subject. In1971,lawmakers passed the Water ResourcesAct, which offered two guiding principals:Water should be used to promote the state'seconomy, and water should be used topreserve natural systems.

Steve Shupe, an expert in water law,was hired in 1988by a legislative committeeto sort through Washington's various lawsand to outline major issues for new legislation.

State laws clearly recognize a balancebetween water use and preservation, Shupeconcluded. "They apparently fail, however,to provide sufficient guidance for implementation of this policy."

Indian tribes have also become majorplayers in water issues. In 1982,FederalDistrict Judge William Orrick ruled thattreaties not only guaranteed tribes the rightto take fish but also to see that fish habitat is

not continuously destroyed."Were this (destructive) trend to

continue, the right to take fish wouldeventually be reduced to the right to dipone's net into the water... and bring it outempty," Orrick said.

Faced with growing conflicts over whocontrols water resources, the Legislature lastyear called for a cooperative planningprocess involving water users, local governments, tribes and interest groups.

In late 1990, more than 200 officials metat Lake Chelan and agreed to a processdesigned to settle differences over water usesin Washington state.

"It was a sight to behold," declaredTerry Williams, commissioner to the Northwest Indian Fisheries Commission. "More

than 200 people were there. Legislators,mayors, tribal chairmen, fishermen,recreationists, environmentalists, farmers,ranchers and business executives...

"These were people who have vastlydifferent uses for water. But by comingtogether in forging the Chelan Agreement,they have recognized that we must worktogether to protect our precious waterresource and all the living things thatdepend on it."

The Chelan agreement calls for two


pilot projects, one in Eastern Washingtonand one in Western Washington. Theprojects will bring various groups together toplan the future of specific rivers.

For a time, it looked as if the HoodCanal rivers that had so troubled Simmons

when she first joined the Ecological Commission were about to be selected for review

under the program. Planners would havefaced controversial questions about futurewater supplies for Kitsap and Jeffersoncounties.

In the end, however, the focus cameback to the region containing the BigQuilcene River, the Quilcene Fish Hatcheryand Port Townsend's existing water supplysystem.

Jefferson County CommissionerRichard Wojt says he looks forward to thepilot project. What is becoming the fundamental question — whether water should beused by people or saved for fish — willgenerate a good deal of discussion, hepredicted.

Port Townsend's complex watersupply system no doubt will be examinedover the next two years. Unlike Bremerton,which operates a single dam on the UnionRiver in Kitsap County, Port Townsendoperates interconnected dams on both theBigQuilcene and Little Quilcene rivers. Inaddition, a major portion of the water goes toPort Townsend Paper Mill, which helpsoperate the system.

The city has a legal right to 215gallonsper second out of the BigQuilcene. Butduring a period of drought, there is somequestion whether that much water would beavailable, said Bob Wheeler, director ofpublic works.

"Our water right is senior to anystreamflow rights," said Wheeler, "but if wehad a drought, would it be realistic to takeall the water?"

The Quilcene Fish Hatchery has rightsto nearly as much flow as Port Townsend,but the water is not always available. In fact,there are times when flows past the hatcherydrop below a critical level of 38 gallons persecond.

When the rivers gets that dry, hatcheryofficials ask the city to release water out of itsreservoir, Telles said.

"We're real dependent on rain as towhat the river will do," he said.

A hatchery is considered a"nonconsumptive" use because the water is

"Before, wethought onlyabout how

water could be

put tobeneficialuse,but now we

realize that

even in areas

of abundance,water is

alreadyallocated to

something."—David Huharty,

Institute for

Marine Studies at

the University ofWashington


"So far, whatwe have been

saying tofuture

generations isthat we don't

value our

natural

resources

enough to passthem on in anycondition that

we can be

proud of."—Mike Reed, abiologist for the

Port Gamble

S'Klallam Tribe

put back in the river. Nevertheless, theriver's flow is decreased for about a quartermile as it goes past the hatchery.

The Quilcene River is not known for itsnatural salmon production because it fallssosteeply out of the mountains. But waterwithdrawals have only made the problemworse for migrating salmon, which requireextra flows to bypass boulders and otherobstacles in the river.

Tradeoffs of one kind or another seem

to surround every water issue."What you see here is the classic

struggle in water use," said Telles. "Oneanswer would be to divert less water to Port

Townsend."

1heBig Quilcene River and PennyCreek might have produced giant-sizedsalmon before the hatchery was built, butthat was a long time ago, Tellessaid.

"Hatcheries themselves are not evil

things," he said. "We raise probably whatthe stream would raise in seven miles of

perfect spawning habitat — which neverexisted here."

But biologists worry that hatcheryproduction, paired with an intense rate ofcommercial and sport fishing, have depletednatural runs of wild salmon.

Native coho from Hood Canal have

declined to levels so low that biologists areworried that geneticallydistinct populations(stocks) may not survive.

"Stocks are the basic building blocks,"said Jim Lichatowich, a biologist with theLower Elwha Klallam Tribe and a nationallyrecognized expert on salmon populations."Whether management of our salmonresource succeeds or fails depends on howwell these building blocks are maintained."

Lichatowich is a member of the

American Fishery Society's EndangeredSpeciesCommittee. A recent report by thecommittee raised alarms about several

distinct Hood Canal stocks.

Spring chinook from the Skokomishand Dosewallips rivers may already beextinct, according to the report, and fallchinook from the Dosewallips andDuckabush are at "high risk" of extinction.

The report, based on available information, does not mention Hood Canal coho,mainly because so little information isavailable on individual coho stocks, saidLichatowich.

Hood Canal salmon are managed asone unit, which means coho from therushing rivers of the Olympic Peninsula arelumped together with those from themeandering rivers of the Kitsap Peninsula,even though the fish are adapted to differentstream environments.

A number of Hood Canal's wild

populations could be in danger withoutanyone realizing it, said Lichatowich.

Mike Reed, a biologist for the PortGamble S'Klallam Tribe, says wild stocks areuniquely suited to swim up a specificstreamwhile resisting diseases and eating insects ofthat particular stream. Alterations in thewater flow, temperatures and even insectproduction can affect the salmon run.

People must be cautious about howthey affect the water flow, said Reed. Thatgoes beyond the issue of dams to loggingand even to development.

"Hatcheries play a role, but theycannot replace the natural systems," saidReed.

Reed says he can see powerful politicalforces at work, both at the state and locallevels. But whether streams and rivers

ultimately survive depends on whetherpeople care enough to speak out aboutresource planning.

"So far," said Reed, "what we havebeen saying to future generations is that wedon't value our natural resources enough topass them on in any condition that we can beproud of."

Plans to generate electricalpowerfrom two Hood Canal rivers — the

Dosewallips and the HammaHamma — may have gained newlife following completion in 1991 ofa management plan for Olympic

National Forest.

Both proposals are for "run-of-the-river" projects, built with an inflatable dam,or weir, which diverts water through apower plant only when the river is runninghigh. During low flows, the weir is deflatedand has much less impact on the river.

The changing power supply situationin the Northwest is beginning to make smallhydro projects more attractive, said Kather-ine Leone of Tacoma City Light.

"Right now the region is in a load-resource balance," she said. "What wegenerate equates to just about what we use."

Even though the need for more powermay make the Dosewallips and HammaHamma projects more feasible, environmentalists promise that neither will be constructed without a fight.

The Dosewallips project, known asElkhornHydroelectricProject, was proposedin 1982 by Tacoma City Light and JeffersonCounty Public Utility District 1.

The Hamma Hamma HydroelectricProject is a jointeffortof MasonCounty PUD


1 and PUD 3. It was proposed in 1986afterPUD 1 abandoned plans for a much largerdam on the river.

The projects were both given a boostby the final plan for Olympic NationalForest, which suggests special protections forthe Duckabush River under the Wild and

Scenic RiversAct.The Duckabush is the onlyHood Canal river proposed for nominationunder the act.

Although many people argued thatboth the Dosewallips and Hamma Hammawould qualify for wild-and-scenic status,both would remain available for water

diversion and power production under theforest plan.

For the Elkhorn project, said CharlesBlack, another Tacoma City Light employee,"the punch line is the ForestServiceplanwould now designate the Dosewallipsasbeing compatible with this type of powerproject."

Studies to determine the environmen

tal consequencesof building the Dosewallipsprojectare to begin about the end of the year.

Meanwhile, Mason County PUD 1 andPUD 3 are getting ready to decide whether tomove ahead with the Hamma Hamma

project, said Pat McGary of the PUD 3 staff."It all depends on some decisions to

take place in the next month or two to

Section 3

Protecting

the Rivers



The Elkhorn

HydroelectricProject and the

Hamma

Hamma

HydroelectricProject were

given a boostby an Olympic

National

Forestplanthat seeks zvild

and scenic

protectionsonly for theDuckabush

River.

Hydroelectric proposals

Rubber weir Fish ladder Diversion pipeline

Weir cross sectionRubber weir inflated

Source: Jefferson Co.PUD., Tacoma CityLight

Dosewallips River

Hamma

Hamma

River

determine how much we will spend (on theproject) next year," he said.

A steering committee will be set up todiscuss the alternatives before the issue

comes up in a public meeting, he added.Both run-of-the-river projects would

work basically the same way. By using aninflatable weir, the dams can be operatedduring late winter and early spring whenriver flows are high. During other parts ofthe year, the weirs would be deflated,allowing the natural movement of rivergravel downstream.

Proponents of run-of-the-river projectsargue the environmental problems for fishand wildlife are minimal because the dams

are small and used only at particular times ofthe year.

Construction would begin with aconcrete foundation poured in the river bed,from one side to the other. A rubber weir,

something like an inflatable sausage, isattached tightly to the foundation.

When the weir is inflated, it impoundswater behind the dam. At one end of the

dam, an intake structure directs the impounded water through a "trash screen" andinto a diversion pipe.

The power plant is placed at theopposite end of the pipe, as far downstreamas feasible. The greater the drop in elevation,the greater the generating capacity.

Environmentalists generally concedethat run-of-the-river projects are much betterthan traditional impoundment dams thattrap the entire flow of a river. But they canstill create problems, especially for fish.

"A hydropower facility — on any river— should be constructed only if a real needfor such power exists," said Carol VolkofOlympic Rivers Council. "We are a spoiled,consumptive society. We must first look tomethods that conserve the tremendous

power resources we already have."Several state and federal agencies have

already recommended against theDosewallips project, largely because it woulddestroy fish habitat and increase sedimentproblems, which can kill fish eggs in thestreambed.

"The project would adversely impactthe existing steelhead trout stock and wouldlimit the potential for successful rebuildingof the spring chinook salmon run," wroteEinar Wold of the National Marine Fisheries

Service in a letter commenting on the plan.But Tacoma City Light officials argue

that they located the project above a series ofwaterfalls, which forms a natural barrier tofish. In a fishpopulation survey, only twosteelhead reached the site one year.

In a separate letter regarding theHamma Hamma project, Wold said the riversupports important runs of chinook, coho,pink and chum salmon, as well as summerand winter steelhead and rainbow trout.

He noted that two alternatives have

been proposed for the Hamma Hamma."However," he added, "we should

state at the outset that NMFS would not

support a license... under either configuration because of the project's potentialadverse impacts to anadromous fish resources."

John Kuntz, owner of Olympic Kayak

Wild and Scenic Designation

To preserve a river forever, to keep itflowing in its natural state forgenerations to come, involves a

momentous decision reserved for the U.S.

Congress or state Legislature.In Hood Canal, the Forest Service

studied the Olympic Peninsula rivers forinclusion in the National Wild and Scenic

Rivers System. The agency declared thatfour rivers — Dosewallips,Duckabush,Hamma Hamma and South Fork of the

Skokomish — all have unique qualitiesthat would make them suitable for specialdesignation.

But,in the ForestServiceview, onlythe Duckabush has enough "outstandingly remarkable" values to be named awild and scenic river.

The Dosewallipscame in nearly ashigh in the ForestServiceanalysis. And itmight have been nominated had theagency chosen to name more than oneHood Canal river.

Shawn Cantrell of the Northwest

RiversCouncil says all four rivers shouldhave been proposed to Congress,as wellas the upper portion of the BigQuilceneRiver. (TheForest Service found the BigQuilceneto have generally "average"conditions not even suitable for consideration.)

The first four rivers should certainlybe set aside for protection, said Cantrell.

"You look at what the Wild and


in Poulsbo, is the only outfitter licensed torun the Dosewallips River. While theproposed hydro project would not affect hisriver-rafting operation, which is downstreamfrom the proposed dam site, he says it wouldbe a crime to put any type of manmadestructure on the Dosewallips.

The dam would be built in a deepcanyon, one of the most remote and pristinespots along the beautiful river, he said.

"I don't see the reasons they want toput this structure up there and change thehabitat and environment for the small

amount of energy they will get," he said."If we allow this dam to go in there,

there will be nothing to keep from puttingone on the Hamma Hamma."

ScenicAct specifies, and those are allexcellent candidates and truly deserving,"he said. "From scenery to wildlife togeology to recreation, all those rivers aretruly extraordinary."

Cantrell says his group is preparinga petition for congressional considerationlater this summer that would protect anumber of Olympic Rivers in their naturalstate.

Among Washington's delegation toCongress, Reps. John Miller, R-Seattle,and Jim McDermott, D-Seattle, seemparticularly interested in pushing specialrivers legislation, according to Cantrell.

"The imperiled status of many of themajor fish runs has helped focus attentionon the need for river protections," headded.

For every river attaining Wild andScenicstatus, federal agencies mustdevelop a management plan outliningwhat changes will be allowed and whatwill be precluded in and along the river.

Jean Phillips of the Wild RiversConservancy, a group generally opposedto designating wild and scenic rivers, saysshe sees no need for special status sincetwo-thirds of most Olympic rivers passthrough federal land. Congress shouldnot cut off its future options, she added.

"Personally, I think we're going toneed electricity," she said. T am not infavor of nuclear power, and coal produces

"A hydro-powerfacility— on any river

— should be

constructed

only if a realneedfor suchpower exists.Wemust first

look to

methods that

conserve the

tremendous

power

resources we

alreadyhave."—Carol Volk,

Olympic RiversCouncil


dust and dirt in the air. The one thing theNorthwest has is plenty of water, especially in the winter."

As she talked, Phillips led the wayoutside her house, which lies a quarter-mile uphill from the Duckabush River.Her colorfulgarden, which offersa high-level view of Hood Canal,contains non-native

azaleas and rhododen

drons.

Phillips worries thatWild and Scenic River

legislationwould forceherto grow only plants thatare native to the region.

Cantrell argues thatPhillips' fears, and thoseof other private propertyowners, are groundless.The legislationwouldaffect private propertyonly if the federal government wishes to purchase aconservation easement

from property owners, hesaid.

'They can continueto use the land as it has

been used in the past," hesaid, "and they can passthe property on to theirchildren or sell it."

Vern and Ida Bailey have livedalong the Dosewallips River for 50 years.In 1941, at the age of 19, the Baileysbought 80acres of river bottomland for amere $700, and later increased theirholdings to 250acres. Until a few yearsago, they raised 50 head of cattle.

Bailey,with his longwhite sideburns and

black-framed glasses, talkssoftly and with an obviousknowledge of conservation techniques. Thoughhe appears to be a goodcaretaker of his waterfront

property, Baileyhasserious concerns about

federal protection for theDosewallips.

"When we first

heard it was beingconsidered," he said, "wewere really thrilledbecause we thought itwould stop development.But when you get the lawand read the fine print —having worked for thegovernment, I know aboutfine print — they couldtake a half mile on either

side and it would wipe usout."

Dosewallips

The DosewallipsRiver, which begins

high in theOlympics and

flows into HoodCanal, has been

declared suitablefor "wild and

scenic"designation.

I

Even/ home built in the Hood Canal-watershed places a newburden on

theregion's water supply.

1 4mm m mm e're in stuff now that's

M M A F silt-bound!" shouted™ M #M I Joel Purdy over the

• # ^kf deafening pulsation ofWt Wt metal slammingW W against metal.

Inch by inch, the 12-inchpipe slipped slowlyinto the ground under the rhythmic pounding of the drilling rig. Just a week earlier, thesame well casing had slid down easily, like ahot knife through butter.

"Clang...clang...clang..." The noiseechoed in the hills overlooking Hood Canalnear Seabeck as operator Todd Michelsen ofCharon Drilling gripped the controls.

Purdy, a hydrogeologist for the firm


Robinson & Noble, stood nearby observing.Numerous times over the past month ofdrilling, Purdy had halted the operation andgathered soil samples brought up out of thedeepening hole. Now, at 370 feet, progresswas slow.

This exploratory well was commissioned by Kitsap County Public UtilityDistrict. The district has been searching fornew pocketsof groundwater in hopes ofeasing the county's coining water shortage,perhaps 30 years away.

Over the past 40 years, surface waterdiverted from the Hood Canal region hassupplied a major portion of Kitsap County'spopulation. Even today, about a third of the

Section 4

Growth

Makes New

Demands



Surface waterdiverted from

the Hood

Canal regionhas supplied amajor portion

of KitsapCounty's

population.About a third

of the residentsget theirwater

fromBremerton's

Casad Dam on

the Union

River, whichfeeds the

southern tip ofHood Canal.

residents get their water from Bremerton'sCasad Dam on the Union River, which feedsthe southern tip of Hood Canal.

But the shift to groundwater supplieshas been rapid over the past decade or so asrural Kitsap's growth has exploded. Now,experts hope to discover a vast, but stilluncertain, water source that may lie hiddenunderground along Hood Canal's shores.

"With what we've gone through so far,it looks promising," said Purdy of the newwell, already deeper than a water-bearingzone discovered 318feet below ground. Atthat point, driving the well casingbecameeasy for 33 feet before it struck a more solidformation — a dense mixture of silt, sand

and gravel.Underground pockets of clean, loose

gravel, unencumbered by clay or silt, maynot seem like much of anything. But toPurdy and his boss CliffHanson, thesegravel formations raise expectationsoffinding fresh, clear water.

"Sand and gravel are like a bigsponge," said Purdy. "Precipitation issoaked right up."

Most of Kitsap County's soils were laiddown by glaciers during Puget Sound's iceage more than 14,000 years ago.

"You may think of glaciers as beingpristine," said Hanson, "but actually they'reawfully dirty animals. They carry an abundance of sand and all kinds of materials."

As the glaciers melted into water, theydropped their loads of silt, sand and gravelonto the Kitsap Peninsula. Sometimes themixed stuff was packed so tightly together— siltbound — that it could never absorb

much water. Drill bits and well casings makelittleprogress through such material.

But in other places the melt waterpicked up speed and washed away the silt,leaving a glacialdeposit in which water canflow easily through the spaces between sandand gravel particles.

After burial by successiveglaciers, theformation became an underground stream tobe tapped by advanced technology.

For well drillers today, finding a waterbearing zone in all this mess is a big gamble,said Hanson. "That's the joy and consternation of working in glacial terrains."

A basic choice for the Hood Canalregion is whether to build new homes closeto water supplies or to pipe water to population centers, wherever they may be.

Cities generally pipe their water. In itsearly years, for example, Bremerton chose totransport water from Gorst, 3 miles away;then later from Twin Lakes, 2.5 miles fartherout; then later still from McKenna Falls andCasad Dam, another 2 miles beyond.

Port Townsend gets its water from theQuilcene River, about 28 miles away.

David Fluharty of the Institute forMarine Studies at the University of Washington says the old way may still be the best.

"It makes sense from a growth-management standpoint to keep people in acentral area, where it is easier to provideneeded services, than to disperse the peopleand build multiple small water systems," hesaid.

Concentrating populations alsodecreases the "footprint of development,"said Fluharty.

Under state law, all three Hood Canalcounties are planning for future growth. Butdue to its large population, its rapid growthas well as its limited surface supply, KitsapCounty may run dry before either Mason orJefferson.

Before Kitsap as a whole suffers awater shortage, regional shortages are likelyto develop, according to David Siburg,manager of Kitsap County Public UtilityDistrict. Island Lake in Central Kitsap andparts of Bainbridge Island have been identified already as potential problem areas.

Siburg speaks fluently the language ofgrowth management, but a number of waterissues seem to trouble him. Urban centers, as

defined by Kitsap County, may not haveadequate water supplies for their projectedpopulations, he said.

"We have to make some tough choicesas a county," said Siburg. "Water may haveto be captured from areas where it is available and brought to areas of development."

This idea, certainly not new, mightmean a massive public works project, suchas piping water from the Olympic Peninsula.As an alternative, it might mean developinga series of public wells in undeveloped forestlands, such as those near Hood Canal in thesouthwest part of Kitsap County.

Either alternative would not be

without its effects on the natural environ

ment.

Determining how much water isactually out there in underground formations is the reason Purdy and Michelsen


Where the rains fall: How the canal fits in

90 GfiStrait of Juan de Fuca

Rainfall soaking into the ground in the Hood Canal watershed replenishes the underground rivers that feed area wells.

Source: National Weather Service

have been drilling near Seabeck. The newestwell is the second to be drilled in that area bythe PUD.

A large well nearby, developed by theUniversity of Washington for its Big BeefResearch Station, proved to be a big producer, said Purdy. That suggests a majorwater-bearing formation underground.

The water-bearing formation has beengiven the name "Big Beef Aquifer." It is justone of several possible sources of groundwater in that region, said Siburg.

"Estimates are, on gross magnitude,there may be enough water in Kitsap Countyto support growth until the year 2020," hesaid. "The trick comes in being able tocapture that water — groundwater —without affecting streams or other wells."

Hydraulic continuity — the hottestword in the parlance of water management— describes the much-misunderstood

relationship between surface water andgroundwater.

When surface water flows into the

ground, which it does continuously, it isknown as aquifer recharge. When groundwater escapes in a spring at the surface, it'sdischarge. The geology can be incrediblycomplex, but wells can and do affect streams,and vice versa.

The state Department of Ecology isbeginning to pay attention to this complexissue, said Siburg. In fact, in Clark County,the department refused to approve a wellthat might have reduced the flow of a nearbystream by just half of 1percent, he said.

As Kitsap, Mason and Jeffersoncounties develop growth managementstrategies, they will be required to identifyand protect important aquifer rechargeareas, to maintain adequate groundwatersupplies and to maintain a natural balance inthe system.

Development of roads and houses tiltsthe water balance toward surface flow bycovering up bare land, which can rechargethe underground streams. Furthermore,hard surfaces — roofs and driveways —speed up the surface water flow, pushing thewater off the face of the land and into sea

water.

In addition to growth management,Kitsap County has been studying groundwater management for several years under thedirection of Siburg and the PUD.

Conservation is one way of increasingwater supplies, said Siburg, and it will nodoubt become increasingly important in theHood Canal region.

If people can learn to be careful about

A basic choice

for theHoodCanal region is

whether to

build new

homes close to

water suppliesor to pipewater to

populationcenters,

wherever theymay be.


watering their lawns and use low-flowfixtures, it can extend the life of watersystems for years.Watersystems themselvescan save water by repairing leaks in theirtransmission lines.

But with so little agricultural irrigationin the area, huge water savingsmay be outof reach, said Siburg.

The Kitsap County GroundwaterManagement Plan, which willoutline thefuture options, should be completed in aboutsix months, he said.

"Some people would say 'stop everything;closethe door until we understand allof this,' " said Siburg. "But we can't standstill. We are charged by law with the responsibility to get the water to the people."

One of his biggest fears is that theHood Canal region in southwest KitsapCounty willbe developed beforeanybodyknows the value of the groundwater resource, he said.

"That may be a tremendous rechargearea," he said. "It would be nice to define theresource before we make substantial changesto that area. You don't want to close the barn

door after the horses get out."Water is the lifeblood of the Hood

Canal region and Puget Sound as a whole.The management of this priceless resource— both above ground and below — willdetermine the survival of fish and wildlife,as well as the quality of human lifestyles, foryears to come.

Whilemost water systems inthe Hood Canal region facequestions about futurewater supplies, many alsoare dealing with immediateconcerns related to federal

drinking water standards.


Port Townsend, for example, isconsidering the prospect of building a $10million filtration plant to make sure itssurface supply from the BigQuilcene andLittleQuilcene rivers remains of highquality.

To avoid filtration, surface waters must

Section 5

Preserving

Water

Quality


Despite theseeminglyendless supply ofwaterin thePacific North-west,population pressuresand pollutionarecausing newconcernsabout quality drinkingwater.


"So far, whatwe're saying to

futuregenerations isthat we don't

value our

natural

resources

enough to passthem on in anycondition that

we can be

proud of."— Mike Reed,

Port Gamble

S'Klallam tribe

meet stringent federal standards, includingextremely low levels of bacteria, turbidityand chemicals, as measured by a host ofexpensive tests.

"Frankly, in Port Townsend's case, wehave some real concerns about whether we

can meet all the criteria," said Public WorksDirector Bob Wheeler.

Rivers flowing out ofthe Olympic Mountains areamong the purest in the state,but logging in the upperreaches and development inthe lower areas may suspenddirt particles in a stream.

Most of the Quilcenewatershed is on undevelopedland managed by the U.S.Forest Service, which hasbeen attempting to maintainthe lowest impact to waterquality, officialssay. But thefederal standards are tough.

It might be best tomove ahead with the expensive filtration plant instead ofgambling that the watersupply won't be shut downon short notice, said Wheeler.

Of the 15 million

gallons of water coming outof Port Townsend's reser

voirs, 80-90 percent goes tothe Port Townsend PaperMill, which doesn't needfiltered water for its indus

trial operations.The city's options include building a

new water main from the Quilcene watershed or else locating the filtration plantcloser to town to get by with a shorterpipeline.

Bremerton also faces the prospect offiltration, but has the advantage of owningalmost all the Union River watershed above

McKennaFalls. City officials intend to buythe remaining 160acres to keep the entirearea natural and free from human activities.

(The watershed contains an elaborate alarmsystem to help keep out trespassers.)

BillDuffy, director of Bremertonutilities, hopes that these actions, plus acontinuing battery of water tests,willprevent the cityfrombeingforced to build a$10-$15 million filtration plant.

Thecityhas altered its managementofCasad Dam on the Union River to keep

turbidity to a minimum. Duffy plans to hirespecial staff to keep their eyes on waterquality issues.

Casad Dam supplies more than half ofthe 8 million-10 million gallons a day usedby the city and outlying areas. Of thatamount, about a third goes to Navy operations at Puget Sound Naval Shipyard.

Just 20 years ago, CasadDam — along with an olderfacility in Gorst — was ableto supply virtually all of thecity's water. The dam canhold 1.35billion gallons.

The Gorst facility wastaken off-line due to water

quality problems. But Duffysaid the facility may beactivated again, possibly forirrigating Bremerton's GoldMountain Golf Course,which uses 50 million gallonsof water a year. Eventually, asmall filtration plant at Gorstwould bring 3 million gallonsa day back into the city'swater system.

"We feel pretty comfortable that over the next 10

years we will be OK in termsof water supply," said Duffy."It's a resource we took for

granted in the last decade,and it will be a much biggerissue in the next decade."

The city intends to hirea consultant to update its comprehensivewater plan over the next six months under a$160,000 contract.

Bigsystems have their unique problems, but federal requirements are costingsmall water systems more and more money,too, said Jerry Deeter, water quality specialistwith the Bremerton-Kitsap County HealthDepartment.

Some of the smaller systems, operatedby part-time managers, are having troublewith maintenance and operations, whichsometimes leads to health concerns, he said.Some managers fail to do all the testingrequired by the new regulations.

"As more and more testing comes on,cost for the testing is going to get reallyhigh," said Deeter. "Systemswith more than15 customers have to do monthly bacteriological testing."

A wide spectrum of chemical tests is

QuilceneRiver

Waters of theQuilcene River

system have beendammed to provide

water supplyforthe City ofPortTownsend, 28

miles to the north.

also required, depending on the size of thesystem.

The county is attempting to coordinatesmall water systems by requiring uniformdesign standards for expansions.Systemsmay be eventually tied together to helptransport water from areas of plentifulsupply to areas of short supply.

It would be beneficialto expandmedium and large systems,as opposed toincreasing the number of small systems, saidDeeter. But the opposite may be happening.

Large- and medium-sized systemsmust obtain water rights in advance, aprocess that now takes up to three years, henoted. The Department of Ecology, whichprocesses the applications,simply can't keepup with the growth.

"We haven't seen a lot of the largersystems going in," said Deeter.

On the other hand, small systems withsixor fewercustomerscan avoid the delaythrough assumed water rights. Some


developers have chosen to create two ormore small systems,as opposed to putting ina larger system, said Deeter.

"SinceApril 4 of last year, we've doneapproximately 91 new public supplies," hesaid. "Normally in a full year we do anaverage of about 50."

In 1991, nearly 1,000 water systemsnow exist in Kitsap County, compared to 450in 1978.

The number of small, individualsystems may set up a competition forexisting water and create problems in whoowns the rights to the water.

"I think groundwater is going tobecome a real important issue," said Deeter."More people are concerned about it thanever before because of the growth we areexperiencing."

One challenge will be to coordinate allthe big and little systems as groundwater inthe county grows scarce.

Chapter

5

Wetlands

Section 1

Food Store

for the

Web of Life


Atthe edge of the Theler Wetlands, a grove of skinny aldertrees stood dripping in the coldJanuary rain. The soft soundsof a million raindrops muffledother noises, such as the slosh

of footsteps through an inch of standingwater.

In the distance, out beyond acres ofbrown, dormant marsh grass, stood HoodCanal, shrouded in the misty rain. Its stonygray color matched the monochromesky,making it impossible to distinguish onefrom the other.

Protecting theTheler -wetlands,bequeathed to thecommunity of Belfair,is oneof themost significant wetlandsprojects in thestaleof Washington.

Within these shallows — somewhere

between the skinny alders and Lynch Cove— lies the innermost point of Hood Canal,some 63 miles from the entrance.

Hundreds of species, from ants tootters, from wild rose to willows, maketheir home in and around this place wherefreshwater flows into saltwater, forming themost productive type of ecosystem known tothe planet.

"When I first came down here, all I saw

was brown grass," said Jerry Walker,sloshing quickly away from the alder grove."It didn't mean a thing to me."

•44*

Walker, a volunteer for Theler Community Center, wanted to find some use forthe apparent wasteland. He sought the helpof biologists and wetlands experts.

"As I saw it through the eyes of otherpeople," said Walker, "I gained furtherinsight. It wasn't long before I realized wehad a real treasure."

Like other wetlands in

Hood Canal, Belfair'swetlands might have beenfilled and used for other

purposes. Not far from town,waterfront housing developments displaced saltwatermarshes adjacent to BigMission Creek and Little

Mission Creek, says localhistorian Irene Davis. Even

Belfair State Park was built

largely on fill,she said.Elsewhere in Puget

Sound and throughout thenation, wetlands have beenfilled,drained and pollutedas long as man has been onthe scene, said Brian Lynn ofthe state Department ofEcology.People simplybelieved they had no value intheir natural state.

A century ago, thedirector of the American

Health Association proposedeliminating all wetlandseverywhere. He claimed theywere a source of disease.

Until the 1970s, federalpolicy encouraged fillingwetlands for farming andother economic development.

It's no wonder that more than half the

nation's wetlands and more than a third of

the state's wetlands no longer exist, according to estimates by the U.S.Fish and WildlifeService.

Hood Canal may have fared somewhatbetter, experts say, though nobody hasestimated the exact loss.

From his vantage point in the marsh,Walker pointed toward the sky.

"Those are brant geese flying there," hesaid. 'They are making their home in thelittle slough (on the property)."

Walker learned to observe wildlife

from individuals he has brought to the

marsh. One day, a professor and a graduatestudent gave him a tip on bird watching.

"I had seen maybe three birds," saidWalker, "and I asked them how many theyhad seen. One had seen 19 and the other 17.1

said, 'How do you do that?' and they saidyou have to stand still and let the birds cometo you."

Naturalists coming toLynch Cove have listednearly 100species of birds inand around the marsh.

Walker's own time has

focused on attracting attention to this place, a place thatgoes unnoticed by hundredsof people driving throughBelfairevery day. The fewirregular trails are too fragilefor unlimited visitors, butWalker intends to changethat. Under his leadership,the community has receiveda series of state grants thatmay establish the community-owned site as one of theNorthwest's premier wetlandnature centers.

Plans call for combin

ing the community's 72 acresof wetlands with 63 acres of

state land along the UnionRiver. Together, the naturepreserve will represent threeof the five major wetlandtypes. It's as if NisquallyDelta and Padilla Bay, two ofWashington's best knownnature preserves, wereconcentrated in one small

spot, says Walker.In terms of wetland values, Hood

Canal is no longer pristine, but it has faredbetter than many places. Wetlands at themouth of Seattle's Duwamish River and

along Tacoma's Puyallup River are close to100percent destroyed, mainly due toindustrial development.

Early settlers often diked and drainedestuaries to provide flat, fertile ground forfarming. The Nisqually River near Olympialost about 28 percent of its function that way.In Hood Canal, about 33 percent of theSkokomish River wetlands were converted

for farming.Major deltas on the western shore of

Hood Canal — the Dosewallips, Quilcene

ThelerWetlands

The North MasonSchool District has

madeenvironmental

study in the ThelerWetlands, deeded

to the Belfaircommunity inthel960s by

Samuel Theler, anintegral part of its

curriculum.

Wetlands • 45

Experts say asalt marsh can

produce morebiomass (plantmaterial) peracre than a

tropical rainforest, twice as

much as an

upland forest.


Estuarine

wetlands are

the most oftenimpacted bydevelopment,but the least

often replaced.— Michael Rylko,

EPA

and Duckabush rivers, for example — werediked and drained to varying degrees.

The Lynch Cove estuary also wasdiked about 1890, but the longest dike wasnot maintained, and saltwater has returnedto much of the original estuarine wetland.

According to Walker, ongoing farmsprovide clues to the colorful history of the

region and he's not particularly eager to seethe existing dikes removed.

An operating farm next door to thecommunity's wetlands makes a pretty goodneighbor, said Walker. Some birds, such asCanada geese, even prefer the open fields tothe more natural wetlands.

For visitors, "the farm gives a contrast

Lynch Cove Wetlands to be Preserved

T^ elfair's soggy back yard, once six years to design and test its newW^ considered aworthless piece of real approach to education, but nearly everymJ estate, ishelping the community student already has visited the wetlandsforge a new identity around an environ at least once, said Pickel.mental ethic. Gary Seelig,a third-grade teacher at

"This has become the key wetlands BelfairElementary, says his studentsproject for the state," says Jerry Walker, focus on the subjectof salmon, amongwith no hint of overstatement. "Virtually other things. Sciencewill teach themall the natural resource agencies have about the biologyand ecologyof fish,hegotten involved." said. "Butwe're also writing about them

Walker is director of the Hood in English and learning about them inCanal Wetlands Project,an environmental social studies."

education program that promises to turn This integration of a topic throughthe Lynch Cove wetlands into a new all the subjects taught is a key concept innature center, complete with a trail North Mason's new curriculum.

system and classroom complex. BelfairElementary is privileged toBut the wetlands have taken on an have a stream running through its

even greater meaning as they become a schoolyard, a stream that eventually spillssymbol for environmental awareness in out into the wetlands. Seelig hopes one ofthe community, said Marie Pickel, his future classes can restore a salmon run

superintendent of the North Mason in the stream.

School District. Meanwhile, North Mason's SandIn 1990, the district was invited to Hill Elementary School already is raising

become part of an exclusive project chum salmon and was to begin releasesknown as Schools for the 21st Century. A into the Union River in 1991.

state grant of $600,000 will help the little At North Mason High School,district design a new curriculum that will students are advanced enough to do basicprepare students to live in the next research on plant and animal life in thecentury. wetlands, said biology teacher Karen

When North Mason first applied for Lippy.thegrant in i988, proposing some innova In addition to producing an inventive ideas for incorporation into the tory of the plants and animals in thedistrict curriculum, application was marsh — an important contribution to thedenied. The second time around, the future nature center — some students are

wetlands were brought into the picture. doing "four-season" studies of small areasThe district proposed incorporating the they picked out themselves, areas thatwetlands into studies at every grade level. may change dramatically when spring

"The environmental issue was the arrives, said Lippy.trigger that has gotten us going," said Thanks to a grant from the PugetPickel. "The other things we already Sound Water Quality Authority, the highknew and were incorporating them bit by school students have been working in thebit." marsh alongside students from The

The $600,000 grant gives the district EvergreenStateCollege, who are con-

to show that's the way we used to do it," henoted.

Ecologists say wetlands are a criticallink in the food chain for many fish andwildlife. State officials list more than 175

important wildlife species that use wetlandsfor primary feeding habitat and more than140species that use wetlands for primary

ducting formal inventories."It is really unusual that a school

district can own a piece of property sovaluable and so close," said Lippy.

North Mason School District has

agreed to share the use of its wetlandswith school districts in KitsapandJefferson counties. About 52,000 studentsare within a 40-minute bus ride of the

wetlands.

Walker, who moved to Hood Canalin his retirement, got involved in thewetlands project in 1988 when an openingwas announced for the board of directors

at Theler Community Center, whichoversees the wetlands. He soon found

himself involved in discussions about

what to do about the property deeded tothe community by Samuel Theler some 20years before.

In the late 1970s, the board hadproposed filling the wetlands to createballfields, but state and federal officialswere beginning to restrict wetland fill. ButWalker had a grander vision for whatcould be done, based on nature centerssuch as the Nisqually Delta near Olympia.Since1988, he has worked steadily andwithout pay to develop that vision intoreality. The success that Walker and hisfellow volunteers have experienced isnothing short of amazing.

The group commissioned development of a master plan with a grant fromthe Department of Ecology. The plan callsfor a series of trails throughout thewetlands. In more fragile areas, boardwalks and bridges will be used to avoidimpacts to the fragile wetland. Aneducation center with exhibit areas,classrooms and offices is also proposed.

The sudden recognition by numerous state officials has Walker, schoolpersonnel and many North Masonresidents riding a wave of enthusiasm as

breeding habitat.Waterfowlare dependent on wetlands

for nesting, food and cover. Many species offish spawn in freshwater wetlands. Juvenilemarine fish avoid predators by hiding inshallow saltwater marshes.

Experts say a salt marsh can producemore biomass (plant material) per acre than

they realize their wetlands are notwastelands at all, but rather wonderlandsof nature.

"There's a feeling of satisfaction, aswell as surprise," said Walker, "that somuch attention has been drawn to this."


Wetlands • 47

Theler Wetland Master Plan

1 he Theler Wetlands Master

Plan would give the publicextensive access to the mouth

of the Union River where it

empties into Hood Canal. Theplan features nature trails,interpretive displays andviewing platforms for thestudy supportedof estuarine life. trail

Boardwalk/wood chip trail

Highway3


a tropical rain forest, twice as much as anupland forest.

More than 150kinds of plants havebeen identified at the Theler wetlands next to

Belfair. Dozens of insect species feed on theplants and each other. The insects, in turn,become food for larger creatures.

"Some people say the plants in a saltmarsh are far more valuable after they aredead," said Lynn of Ecology.

Bacteriaand fungi go to work on thedead plants, turning them into material thatis consumed by worms, which are eatenbybirds and fish, for example. Decaying plantsalso provide nutrients for plankton,whichare consumed by fish, shrimp and oysters.

"Ifyou dig into the mud, you will findworms, shrimp, crabs...,"said Lynn. 'Thevalue of a salt marsh is buried in the stinkymud flats, and that is one reason nobody everthought much of them."

In addition to wildlife values, wetlandsmaintain water quality by trapping sediments and filteringout pollutants. Wide riverdeltas that have not been channeled for

agriculture, as wellas many upland marshes,can hold an incredible amount of stormwater,

thus reducing the level of flooding.Wetlands can reduce erosion from

waves, wind and river currents. Studies haveshown that coastal wetlands, such as thosearound Hood Canal, absorb the energy ofstorms and protect upland areas. Propertyowners who insist on replacing their wetland

beaches with concrete or wooden bulkheads

tend to transfer this violent energy toneighboring properties.

'The bottom line in ecosystems is thatnothing is isolated," says Linda Kunze, awetlands specialist with the state Department of Natural Resources. "We human

beings tend to think of ourselves as separatefrom the ecosystem. But what we do affectsthe entire ecosystem — including ourselves.

"It seems to me," she added, "that thepeople who live around Hood Canal arestarting to think that way, and I'm veryencouraged and excited by that."

Some wetlands around Hood Canal

remain largely untouched. An estuary atFoulweather Bluff near Hansville has been

protected by the Nature Conservancy as wellas private property owners. Some areas havesimply escaped development until recentyears when government began to play astronger role in protecting wetlands.

On the North Shore of Hood Canal, notfar from Belfair, the Hood Canal Land Trustis protectingother valuable wetlands undera philosophy of preservation, as opposed tothe goal of encouraging visitors.

Walker's footsteps squished over dampleaves as he entered a flat, grassy meadow.

"Some people tell us there was once afarm here," he said. No remnants of anybuildings remain, but the site has beenproposed for a future interpretive center,including officesand classrooms.

piky, wooden poles poke upthrough the shiny ice at Lilliwaupwetlands as if planted by somecrazed power company employee inthe middle of a pond in the middleof a marsh, miles from civilization.

This is not the work of a person at all,

but of another creature known for its

engineering ability. A huge mound of sticksnearby marked the home of Castor canadensis,the beaver.

On this frosty morning in January, nobeavers were in sight. But Jerry Gorsline, abiologist with Washington Environmental

Wetiands • 49

Section 2

Nature's

Purification

System


Freslrwater wetlands,

likethis beaver pondnear Lilliwaup, performimportant waterpurification, stream flowregulation and wildlifesanctuaryroles.


Beaver dams

are one ofnature'swaysof creatingawetland. It is

illegal todestroy a

beaver dam

without a

permit fromthe state

Department ofWildlife.

Council, stood upon their stout dam andexplained how beavers, like man, alter theirhabitat to suit their own needs.

Gorsline'swords were accented by a"hack,hack,hack..." sound comingout ofthe woods. A downy woodpecker's hammering echoed in the hills as the birdsearched for bugs in a dead tree.

Time and evolution have made the

beaver an integral part of the wetlandecosystem, creating habitat not only for itselfbut for birds, fish and other wildlife, saidGorsline.

The beaver had dammed this tinystream, a tributary to Lilliwaup Creek on theeastern side of Hood Canal. Water behind

the mud-packed beaver pond had drownedthe roots of the alders, but now some birdsand animals were finding the trees morevaluable dead than alive.

"People say that's terrible, beaverskilling trees," said Gorsline. "Beavers havetraditionally been regarded as enemies, butthat attitude is turning around."

Beaverponds provide wintering areasfor salmon and trout. In fact, more than halfof all fishsold commercially in the PugetSound region rely on wetlands for someportion of their life cycle.

The frozen beaver pond is one ofseveral such ponds around Saddle Mountain, north of LakeCushman. But it's not justthe beavers that make this place valuable.

Gorsline and his associate, CarolBernthal, have documented dozens ofunique plant and animal communitiesspread out over 6,000 acres around SaddleMountain. They are doing their best toconvince the state to protect the area as anatural preserve.

The area is home to migratory andresident elk herds, numerous waterfowl andseveral sensitive plant and animal species,they say.

"If you wander off," said Gorsline,"you will find yourself in a vast mosaic ofwetlands and forests, thousands of acres."

Gorsline and Bernthal have petitionedthe Department of Natural Resources, whichmanages the land, to avoid harvestingtimber in the wetlands and connectingforests and to limit logging activities in otherparts of the 6,000-acrearea.

'This type of wetland ecosystem isreally, really rare," said Bernthal. 'There isnot much left like this in the Puget Soundlowlands."

Before the arrival of civilization, anunlimited mosaic of wetlandswas spreadthroughout the Hood Canal watershed.Where the topography and soils wereright,fresh waterformed pondsnaturally. In otherplacesbeaver dams helped slow the movement of freshwater back to the ocean.

But that was another time, almostforgotten now.

To early trappers, beaver pelts weremore valuable than beavers.To earlyloggers,free-flowing streams were morevaluablethan beaverdams. To early farmers,dry land was more valuable than wildlifehabitat.

What remains of the wetland mosaic

today can be found in undeveloped regions,suchas theTahuya-Dewatto riverdrainagesin Southwest Kitsap County. But the land isfragmented by multipleownerships, andeach owner has plans for his own particularpiece of land. Freshwater wetlands still existthroughout the Hood Canal area, but it's as ifpiecesof the puzzle are missing.

Thafs why it is so important topreserve the largest areas still remaining,such as the proposed Lilliwaup Wetland/Wildlife Area, argue Gorsline and Bernthal.

Arden Olson,division manager forDNR's Land and Water Conservation

Division, said his agency is considering theWashington Environmental Council'snomination, submitted by the two biologists.

Some or all of the area could be taken

out of timber status and listed as a "natural

resource conservation area," he said. Sincethe land belongs to the state's school trustfund, the schoolswould have to be compensated with other land or money, he said.Somefunding sourcesexist,but they arevery limited.

"We have a real interest in not impacting the wetlands in that area," said Olson.But how much of the area might be preserved has not yet been determined.

In addition to unusual swamps, bogsand near-pristine lakes, the Lilliwaup areacontains a few scientific oddities.

"This area," said Gorsline, standingnext to a frozen, shallow pond, "is incrediblydry throughout most of the year."

In fact, he added, the area is so dry thatfew plants will grow, except Columbiasedge, a prairie-type plant rarely seen on thewest side of the Cascade Mountains.

At the water's edge, long strings oflichen hang from a tree like green spider

webs mussed by the wind. Mounds of crustyearth push up through the ice,probably asthey did a million years ago. To form thiswetland/prairie requires just the right soiland groundwater conditions, according toGorsline.

"A forester who doesn't relate to visual

clues such as this would take one look at this

place and say it isn't awetland at all because it is so

dry throughout much of theyear," he said.

Clarence Martin of Port

Orchard, a member of KitsapAudubon, spent much of lastsummer in the Lilliwaupwetland area. He and his

wife, Dorothy, recordedhundreds of species to assistwith the nomination.

"She (Dorothy) recorded everything, plants,insects, animals, birds," saidMartin. "We lived in the back

of a truck and moved around

a lot. A neighbor loaned us abrand new canoe and we

explored all over. It's abeautiful area."

Price Lake, five acres insize, is the largest lake in the6,000-acres of state land.Ducks fly into the lake allwinter.

At Melbourne Lake,several golden eyes —saltwater ducks — were

swimming in an unfrozenpart of the lake.

'They will breed andnest here," explainedGorsline.

At Osborne Lake, something triggeredGorsline's enthusiasm. He pointed first toone plant, a dryland species calledkinnikinnick, and then to a sedge at thelake's edge.

"This is the only place I can think ofwhere you have such a range of plantdiversity in a 10-foot distance," he said.

Nelsa Buckingham, a leading expert onOlympic Peninsula plantlife, says theLilliwaup area includes an array of "unusualhabitats," including some rare plants, but itis typical of wetlands before the arrival ofwhite man.

to Western Washington as well as some thathave been imported from other continents.Even an untrained eye notices that nativeplants seem to speak in softer, milder tones,as if an artist had painted the landscape withno dominant elements.

If people are careful — if they wash thebottom of their boats and keep their cars

back from the water's edge— this area may avoid aninvasion of loud, harsh,obtrusive plants such asscotchbroom, which can out-compete the natives forspace, said Gorsline.

"We should think

about directing recreationaluses so as not to introduce

exotic plants," he said.A dozen years ago,

when the Lilliwaup propertywas owned by SimpsonTimber Co., several dilapidated cabins were still

standing near Price Lake. Butthose cabins were removed

after the state traded forest

lands for the property, saidBernthal.

Still, lots of peoplecome to the area to camp inthe summer. In the winter

months, the gates are lockedto protect elk herds that mustconserve their energy tosurvive the colder weather.

Non-migrating elk aredependent on the area bothwinter and summer. Migratory elk move to the higheralpine areas in the summer.

"Forage and cover arethe primary factors that limit deer and elkpopulations, and the health of the herd isdependent on the availability and quality ofboth," said Bernthal.

Other animals known to use the

Lilliwaup area are bear, cougar, bobcat andnumerous small mammals as well as

amphibians and reptiles — the same animalsthat occupy other unpopulated regions ofHood Canal.

Red legged frogs, beavers and musk-rats are dependent on wetlands during allphases of their life cycle. Rough skinnednewt and many aquatic birds spend most of

LilliwaupWetlands

The extensivefreshwater

wetlands thatremain in the

Lilliwaup Riverbasin contain

unusual bogs andpristine lakes, andis homefor animals

rangingfromwinteringducks to

the endangeredfisher.

The area contains many plants native their lives in lakes or ponds but nest in the

Wetlands • 51

In addition to

unusual

swamps, bogsand near-

pristine lakes,the Lilliwaup

area contains a

few scientificoddities. One

is an area so

dry that fewplants will

grow, exceptColumbia

sedge,aprairie-typeplant rarelyseen on the

west side ofthe Cascade

Mountains.


cavities of trees, such as those created bywoodpeckers.

Lilliwaup is the last known location onthe Olympic Peninsula for the endangeredfisher, a little weasel-like creature nowbelieved to be extinct throughout much of itsoriginal territory. According to Martin,wildlife experts have talked about reintroducing the fisher to the area by takinganimals from BritishColumbia, where theyare more common.

The greatest concern Gorsline andBernthal have is that the area will be loggedoff to bring income to the state. The trees arenow 60-70years old, the ideal time forharvest. DNR has invested money in fertilizing and thinning the trees, said Gorsline.

'They (DNR officials) are pretty much

driven by the need to produce income for thetrust," said Gorsline. "It's just outrageous thelack of protection these wetland areas have."

It appears unlikely that DNR will allowlogging to the edge of a lake or wetland, "butif that's all you have, you are leaving outmajor components of the ecosystem," saidBernthal.

She would prefer protecting the entirearea from one ridgetop to the next, but sherealizes that isn't realistic. Her proposal topreserve 6,000 acres would permit carefullyplanned logging uphill from the low-lyingwetlands.

But without state money to offset theloss of timber potential, Olson said, thefuture of the property remains unclear.

Celia Parrot keeps -watch over a -wetlandarea owned by the Hood Canal Land

Trust near Lynch Cove.

Theturnaround in governmentalattitude toward wetlands is trulyamazing, says Bob Wiltermood, aprivate wetlands consultant andconservation chairman for KitsapAudubon.

Folks like Wiltermood have alwaysunderstood the importance of wetlands, butit has only been recently that government —federal, state and local — has begun to insistthat property owners preserve the wetportions of their land.

Today, sensitive developers hireWiltermood and other biologists to preventdestruction of fragile wetlands. At the sametime, state and local officials are growingever more vigilant in their role of protectingnatural resources.

"Two years ago," said Wiltermood,"we were slamming the county for what washappening to the wetlands in Silverdale.Now, I think the county is doing a damngood job— and without even a wetlandsordinance."

Wiltermood offered his opinion duringan unofficial visit to one of Kitsap County'smost prized wetlands, the Foulweather BluffWildlife Preserve near Hansville. He was

joined at the saltwater estuary by Ron Fox, ahabitat biologist for the state Department ofWildlife.

"This is a fantastic place," saidWiltermood, looking through his binocularsat a widgeon, one of many types of ducksfound at the wetland.

The estuary has been preserved, thanks

Wetiands • 53

Section 3

Trying to

Save a

Valuable

Ecosystem



In terms ofwetland

values, HoodCanal is no

longerpristine,but it has fared

better than

many places.About 33

percentof theSkokomish

River wetlands

were converted

for farming.

to effortsof the Nature Conservancy andprivate property owners in the area.

Fox explained that hundreds of smallwetlands have been destroyed becauselandowners were able to convince government officials that their little wetland was

unimportant in the overallschemeof things." 'Small, isolated wetlands.' You hear

that term over and over," said Fox. "Well,they may be small and isolated, but thatcreatesdiversity of habitat. In ecology,everything is connected."

"You can even ask," injectedWiltermood,"whether there is such a thingas an isolated wetland."

Wetlands oncewere strung likepearlsthrough the creeks, streams and rivers ofHood Canal. Now, the strings are brokenand fragmented by development.Buttheyremain important islands of habitat — foodand shelter for a large number of species,said Wiltermood.

The losses make the remaining wetlands even more valuable because the

houses, roads and shopping centersbeingdeveloped cause more and faster runoff,saysJoy Michaud in her book "At Home withWetlands."

With development, she said, "we notonly create the need for more of the environmental functions of wetlands, we alsodestroy or damage the resources thatprovide those functions."

In addition to wildlife habitat, wetlands offer water filtration and purification,flood protection, shoreline stabilization andgroundwater recharge.

But state wetlands specialist BrianLynn warns that "not all wetlands performall those functions equally well. Some maybe great for flood storage without providinga lot of habitat. It's important to look at eachone individually."

Just 20 years ago, the Department ofAgriculture encouraged farmers to fill theirwetlands and grow crops to feed the world.Today, as a result of the state's new GrowthManagement Act, many of Washington'scounties are rapidly coming to grips withtheir role in protecting natural resources.

Washington's fastest growing countiesare now required to identify their resourcesand approve protection standards, includingprotections for wetlands.

Of the three Hood Canal counties —

Kitsap, Mason and Jefferson — MasonCounty could have opted out of the state'sprogram. But the county commissioners

actively entered the struggle to managegrowth, especially in the North Mason areawhere homes are rapidly going up nearHood Canal.

MasonCounty, which had practicallyno controls on development in 1989, hasimplemented a grading ordinance, strengthened shorelineregulationsand tackledlong-range planning, said Erik Fairchild, thecounty's planning coordinator.

'The North Mason Water QualityProtectionPlan has been adopted as part ofthe comprehensive plan," he noted, addingthat wetlands still don't have the protectiontheydeserve.But the county is attempting todeal with the problem through the newgrowth management effort.

None of the three Hood Canal counties

had a wetlands ordinance in 1991, such asone proposed by the state Department ofEcology.The model ordinance definescategories of wetlands and establishes non-development buffer zones,depending onlocal conditions. When impacts to wetlandscannot be avoided, the ordinance providesfor mitigation, such as creatingor enhancingan area larger than the wetlands beingdamaged. All three counties have receivedstate funding to develop their own wetlandsordinance along similar lines.

"The problem we have," said CraigWard, wetlands specialist for JeffersonCounty, "is that we have no way of definingwhether something is a wetland. We have noconsistent procedure for dealing with them."

Jefferson officials review maps developed by the Fish and Wildlife Service fromaerial photos, said Ward. They try to identifyand protect wetlands on a case-by-casebasis,but the maps are not always accurate. "Weacknowledge that what we have is inadequate," he said, adding that the countyshould have a stronger program readybefore long.

Kitsap County follows a similarprocess, but may have more staff to examineproposed development sites.

"I think Kitsap County has been realaggressive on wetlands over the last coupleof years," said Larry Ward, a Poulsbohomebuilder who works on growth issuesfor the Building Industry Association ofWashington. "I think they have been fairlyeffective.They have thwarted a number ofdevelopments that would have degradedwetlands."

Developers want predictable regulations but also must face the fact that every

new rule puts the price of a new home out ofreach for a few more people, said Ward, whois not related to Craig Ward.

"Wetlands are absolutely vital to HoodCanal," he said. "I want to keep it as pristineas it was when I got here, and I will standwith everyone else when the canal is threatened."

A few developers intentionally destroywetlands to avoid tangling with the regulations, he acknowledged, "and I think thatgovernment can and should come downhard against them."

But that's easier said than done.

It's up to counties to enforce Gov.Booth Gardner's policy calling for "no netloss of wetlands," but there are only general

laws not specifically designed to protect thefunction of wetlands.

The federal Clean Water Act and state

Shorelines Management Act, for example,have numerous exemptions for small, inlandwetlands. Only about 10 percent of the 2,000acres of wetlands lost every year in Washington state are subject to federal regulations,according to Michael Rylko of the Environmental Protection Agency.

And state shoreline rules don't applyto most smaller streams. Clear Creek, which

is associated with wetlands in Silverdale's

urban area, is too small to fall under shorelines jurisdiction, said Renee Beam, KitsapCounty's shorelines manager. A shorelinespermit is required for developments within

Wetlands • 55

Wetlands of Hood CanalUnspoiled Wetlands Are A Key Component In The Survival Of Hood Canal

Key

Selected

Hood Canal

Wetlands

Hamma Hamma

River

Delta

LilliwaupSwamp

V

Skokomish River Delta

Source:

PugetSoundCooperativeRiver Basi/i Team

Squamish Harbor

LakeLeland//* Tarboo BayClu Thorndrt

Bay

Lower Hood Canal Watershed 1990

JLj achwetland has its

own plant andanimal community

uniquely suited to localconditions. Saltwater marshes are

formed at the mouths of most rivers and

streams. Fresh water marshes result from

particular soil and drainage patterns.


250 feet of Hood Canal's major rivers, butnot generally the creeks and streams, shesaid.

State fisheries and wildlife experts canhelp the counties identify wetlands thatweren't noticed before, but their role isstrictly to protect fish.

"We don't really stop anything," saidFox, who is in charge of the permits for theWildlife Department. "We just try to mitigate damage and prevent loss of fish habitat."

So it falls to the counties to imposerestrictions on specific developments,something not always easy to do, despite theno-net-loss mandate.

The situation should become more

predictable when the counties classify theirmost important wetlands and adopt newprotection rules, said Larry Ward.

The state also recognizes the importance of purchasing wetlands. Money hasbeen approved for purchasing and preserving valuable wetlands, and various taxincentives are available for individuals

willing to protect privately owned wetlands."One of the worst things we face," said

Fox, "is when you're called out to a site andthe place is stripped bare. Then someonesays, 'Oh, we have a wetlands?' That is mostdepressing."

Part

mUsing the

Resource

Hugelogs from theshores of blood Canaloncekept -workers scrambling at thePope

& Talbot sawmill at Port Gamble.

Majestic evergreens, towering250 feet into the sky, musthave provided an awe-inspiring greeting to earlyexplorers who entered HoodCanal in their sailing ships.

Some men dared to dream of houses and

villages, but years would pass before thehand of civilization would disfigure thenatural wonderland. Something capturedCapt. George Vancouver's imagination inMay of 1792 as he sailed past rugged, snow

capped peaks and approached the long,narrow channel he named Hood's Canal.

The English explorer had been senthere to solidify his country's claim on thelonely wilderness, known to contain vastriches in furs, timber and marine life.Spanish explorers had sailed inland, but notthis far. Only a very young nation — theUnited States — maintained a defendable

claim to the region.After sailing for more than a year —

with stops in Tahiti and Hawaii —

•59

Chapter

6

Logging

Section 1

Rising from

Toppled

Trees


60 • Using the Resource

"The timber

was so close to

the water's

edge thatnearly anyonewith a team ofoxen couldgetout a boom oflogs in a short

time."

—Eva Luella

Buchanan,Economic HistoryofKitsap County.

Vancouver was not disappointed with thesights and sounds of this untamed land. Yeton the morning of May 12,1792,the worldseemed to hold its breath as Vancouver's

ship followed the western shore of HoodCanal.

"Animated nature," Vancouver wrote,"seemed nearly exhausted, and her awfulsilence was only now and then interruptedby the croaking of a raven, the breathing of aseal or the scream of an eagle."

Vancouver sailed southward into

Hood Canal and met with a friendly band ofIndians near the Skokomish River, which hedescribed as "the finest stream of fresh water

we had yet seen.""Early on Sunday morning, May 13,

1792,we again embarked," Vancouverwrote, "directing our route down the inlet,which, after the Right Honorable Lord Hood,I called Hood's Channel."

There is some confusion about the

name, variously Hood's "channel" and"canal." As Edmond S.Meany explains inhis book Vancouver's Discovery ofPugetSound, "It is a curious fact that Vancouvernamed many places 'channels' in his journal,but wrote them down as 'canal' on his

excellent charts. This was the case with

Hood's Canal."

The name, formalized by the U.S.government, will forever remain linked toone Samuel Hood, an admiral in the BritishNavy who became famous for his victoriesagainst the United States during the Revolutionary War.

Fifty years after Vancouver namedHood Canal, the United States had strengthened its claim to the area. Still,only ahandful of white settlers could be counted.

Trappers and traders in sparse numbers mayhave visited the shores of the canal, yet itremained largely the domain of Indians.

To encourage settlement, the UnitedStates in 1844began offering homesteads ofup to 640acres. Homesteading had barelybegun by 1848,when gold was discovered inCalifornia.

Gold mines would need heavy timbers,and homes would need lumber. Ships wouldbe needed to maintain the flow of commerce.

Gold dust would power the Northwesteconomy for years.

Some folks came to Hood Canal

country just for the timber, homesteadinglong enough to claim the giant trees, notedEva Luella Buchanan in her Economic History

ofKitsap County. 'The timber was so close tothe water's edge that nearly anyone with ateam of oxen could get out a boom of logs ina short time."

Skippers would pay 8 cents a linealfoot for the huge logs, delivered alongsidetheir vessels.They would sell them to millsin San Francisco for $1 a foot, said Mrs.Buchanan.

It didn't take long for wealthy lumbermen to realize the potential of sawmillscloserto the woods. Andrew JacksonPopeand Frederic Talbot were sons of timber and

shipbuilding families. Together with Capt.J.P. Keller and shipbuilder Charles Foster,they started Puget Mill Company at PortGamble on Hood Canal, the heart of Indiancountry.

In September 1853,the Port Gamblemill — the first steam-powered mill inWashington territory — came on line.

Three years later, Marshall Blinn andWilliam J. Adams financed a new mill atSeabeck, a picturesque town on Hood Canalthat outgrew Seattle for a time.

By 1857,the Port Gamble mill was thegreatest lumber manufacturing plant onPuget Sound, and two or three schooners

xmight be seen in port at one time, theirlumber bound for San Francisco and the

Orient.

That same year, when Kitsap firstbecame a county, four major sawmills wereoperating in the area. Settlements werespringing up, and Kitsap County had thehighest assessed valuation of any county inthe territory.

In addition to mills at Port Gamble and

Seabeck, there were two on BainbridgeIsland. The world seemed hungry for timber,and the industry found new and faster waysof cutting trees and making lumber.

A new "circular mill," installed at PortGamble in 1858,was the biggest in the West.It could handle logs 9 feet thick and turn outplanks up to 60 feet long.

Bigaxes, used by early loggers, gaveway to felling saws, first used in the redwood forests of California. Oxen gave way tosteam donkeys and railroads.

There seemed to be no end to the

demand for lumber. Dozens of loggingcamps in the Hood Canal area sprang up tosupply the big mills, which grew and addedshipbuilding operations. Small, independentmill owners also carved out a niche amongthe trees.

Timber was king, and every community had ties to the forests, while agricultureand fishing helped feed the hungry loggersand maintain the local economy.

Seabeck and Port Gamble grew intobustling mill towns. In 1876, Seabeck,population 400,had a store, two hotels andfour saloons. One newspaperaccount called it the "liveli

est" place of its size on PugetSound.

Mill towns were the

most obvious stops for earlysteamships carrying passengers, supplies and mail. Withfew roads, the growing"mosquito fleet" of boatsbecame the principal linkbetween the communities of

Port Gamble, Bangor,Seabeck, Brinnon, Quilcene,Duckabush, Nellita, Holly,Dewatto, Hoodsport,Potlatch and Union City.

"Union City," wroteMurray Morgan in The LastWilderness,was the "Veniceof the Pacific, on the narrowstretch of land connecting theOlympic and Kitsap peninsulas..."

The town, which beganas a trading post on the southshore of Hood Canal in 1857,was platted in 1890amid aflourish of land sales.

Rumors were wild that the

town would become a

crossroads of several rail

roads. For a time, landspeculators were paying the whopping priceof $1,000for a single building lot.

Meanwhile, Quilcene, a single homestead in 1860, was even more blessed. PortTownsend was booming with internationaltrade, and local entrepreneurs were convinced that the world would beat a path totheir door if only they could obtain a railconnection to Portland, Ore.

With a local donation of $100,000, theOregon Improvement Company (a subsidiary of Union Pacific)agreed to begin thelong track. Some 1,500 workers laid the railsfrom Port Townsend to Quilcene, but that'sas far as they got.

The country's economic panic of 1893dashed the hopes of Quilcene and other

towns along the western shore of HoodCanal. The folks of Union City quicklydropped the "City."

Down toward the very tip of HoodCanal, the town of Clifton was growing. Oneof the early roads in KitsapCounty linkedSeabeck to the head of Hood Canal alongLynch Cove.

Later, Clifton wouldbecome a crossroads when a

new road to Sidney (nowPort Orchard) was built. Theroute is still referred to as the

Old Clifton Road. In 1925, thename "Clifton" was changedto "Belfair." Belfair has had

but moderate growth overthe years, but today it standsas one of the fastest growingcommunities around Hood

Canal.

Demand for Northwest

lumber continued to increase

as the 20th century drew to aclose, and Washington'smills were expanding. Thebillion board feet of production in 1888 had doubled to 2

billion by 1895and tripled to3 billion by 1902. By 1905,with 3.5 billion board feet a

year coming from its mills,Washington produced morelumber than any other statein the nation.

Unlike many sawmillcompanies, however, theowners of the Port Gamble

mill bought their own landand saved it for the future.

While others exhausted their timber supplies, the Puget Mill bought raw logs fromother people's land. Eventually, the dwindling supply forced Pope and Talbot to cutits own magnificent trees around HoodCanal.

Today, Pope Resources,a spinoff of thecompany, remains the largest privatetimberland owner in Kitsap County and hasfound success in developing lands forhousing.

Conservationists had been arguingabout protecting a portion of the ancientOlympic Peninsula forests ever sincenaturalist John Muir first visited the area in1889.

President Grover Cleveland, as one of

Seabeck

There1s not muchleft today, beyond aplaque, to indicate

that the tinycommunity of

Seabeck once washome to a bustlinglumber mill, one of

thefirst in thePuget Sound

region.

Logging • 61

Seabeck and

Port Gamble

grew intobustling mill

towns. In 1867,Seabeck,

population400, had astore, two

hotels and foursaloons. One

newspaper

account called

it the

"liveliesf'

place of its sizeon Puget

Sound.


Unlikemanysawmill

companies atthe turn of thecentury,Pope

& Talbot

bought theirown land and

saved it for thefuture. Today,

PopeResources, aspinoffof the

company,

remains the

largestprivatetimberland

owner in

Kitsap County.

his last official acts, created the 2.2-million-acre Olympic Forest Reserve in 1897.But thatonly intensified the debate. U.S. presidentswould push and pull public acreage in andout of protected status throughout this entirecentury. The question is always the same:how much acreage should be saved for"natural values" and how much acreageshould be used for "human values."

On June 29,1938, President FranklinRoosevelt signed a bill setting aside OlympicNational Park for future generations.

Today, as a century ago, Hood Canalreceives much of its water from high in theOlympic Mountains, now protected foreternity. Streams flow through wildernessareas, logged-off lands and even placeswhere timber refuses to grow. They flowthrough National Forest lands that timbercompanies have come to depend on for rawmaterials. But those forest lands are now

being set aside to protect the northernspotted owl, a species that depends onhealthy old-growth ecosystems for itssurvival.

And the tug of war between use of theresource and preservation continues; theclash of values, whether trees are worthmore standing or cut, remains unresolved.

"As long as the great trees remain inthe park," proclaims Murray Morgan, "therewill be men willing to cut them down, sawthem up and ship them away to all parts ofthe country. And there will be others — Isuspect a majority — who would rathercome to see them than have them sent."

A Company Town GrowsAround a Sawmill

More than a century ago, whenthe S'Klallams plied the watersof Hood Canal in canoes and

dense forestshugged its shores,greatlumbermen staked their claimat a spotcalled Teekalet.Mills sprouted alongthe canal like mushrooms but none

quite so fine as the Puget Mill Company, founded in the mid-1800s byAndrew Pope and Frederic Talbot inthe deep-water port later known asPort Gamble.

Over the years hundreds ofworkers flocked to the fledglingcommunity, challengedby Douglas firsso mighty they dwarfed husky lumberjacks eager to earn a living.

Among them was the father ofIda Faler and Chuck Hirschi of

Poulsbo, who came from Canadasearchingfor work to feed his family.

He tried Skid Road in Seattle, butwas told his best bet was the mill at

Port Gamble.

"He didn't know where Port

Gamble was," Hirschi said, "but heboarded a little boat and went there.

While he was gone, our house burnedand we lost everything. He had towork awhile before he had enoughmoney to send for us/'

It was 1917 when Ida, 7, and*Chuck, 9, stepped off the boat in PortGamble with their mother, foursiblings and all their worldly possessions. Little did they realize this tinycommunity would provide the framework for their adult lives.

Pope &Talbot, perhaps a bithomesick for their native East Machias,Maine, built a mill town that reflectedNew England tastes and rented thehomes to workers and their families.

"We paid $15 a month for thehouse in those days, including theelectricityfor lights," Hirschi said.

"We loved it," Faler said. "Mymother thought it was wonderful. Itwasn't too modern, but it was moremodern than what we had before."

The family settled in a house

behind the community's steepled church. Poulsbo, which was the nearest thing to aThey lived 42years in the same house, big city,was too far if you didn't have awhich still stands today. car.

Photos of the town's early years Hirschi, now 83, worked for the millshow muddy streets, wooden sidewalks 50years before retiring in 1973, the onlyand bleak, severe houses. There were Pope &Talbot employee to work 50 yearsvegetablegardens in abundance as thrifty in the same location. Brother Fred also

housewives raised produce for their spent 50years with the company, altables, augmenting the groceries pur though he relocated to the Oak Ridge,chased at the company store. Ore., plant.

But there wasn't much time for Faler retired in 1971 after 42 years.flowergardens or fancylandscaping, a "It was a wonderful place to work," shehallmark of the carefully restored town recalled. "I have never regretted it."today. The pigs running loose in the Many of the homes now are gone.community probably would have rooted The once-proud Puget Hotel fell victim toin the flowerbeds. the Columbus Day storm of 1962,and the

"Well, it was tough at first, not old schoolhouse was demolished after

speaking English, you know," Hirschi David Wolfle School was built. The

said, "but we got along and made friends. hospital,where generations of PortIt became our home." Their first language Gamble babies were born, also is ahad been Swiss. memory.

There were probably 600people But Port Gamble remains a com

livingin the town during those years, pany town. The 137-year-old sawmill, theHirschi said, all of them working for the oldest continuously operating one inmill. Workers poured into the logging North America, has undergone manycamps, and there were times when the renovations. It continues to operate, butwhiskey got the better of them. But,for has been buffeted by national recessionthe most part, Port Gamble was a family and the uncertainties caused by thetown. spotted owl.

"I went to work at the mill when I The once-bleak buildings have beenwas 16because we needed money," lovinglyrestored by the descendants ofHirschi said. "Two years later my father the originalfounders, and when the 4died of cancer and I helped support the o'clock whistle blows, many workers arefamily. I worked for 35 cents an hour, 10- just a few steps away from home. Thehour days, sometimes even longer. company store (next to the office) recentlySometimes those days stretched to 12 has been updated, but folks still stop byhours. But I was glad to have the work. I for bread and milk between trips tostarted by tying lumber bundles then kept Poulsbo, now just minutes away by car.changing jobs.Most of my life I graded Down the road a piece, near thelumber." picturesque church, sits the Thompson

The social life was simple, but busy. house, the oldest continuously occupied"The Thompsons ran the little home in the state of Washington. James

theater there, and there were matinees for Thompson came to Port Gamble on thethose who worked the night shift," Faler schooner Towana and his descendants

said. "There were dances and an outdoor lived in the house more than 99 years.pavilion outside the post office. At And on the hill, carefully tended andChristmas there was a big party and every enclosed with a fence, is the quiet gravechild in town received a present from the yard where generations of families aremill owners." buried.

"People knew everyone in town, These were the men and women

and there was a lot of visiting," Hirschi who toiled in the mills and helped build asaid. lumber empire that left an indelible mark

In those days travel was difficult. on Hood Canal.

Seattlewas some distance by boat, andByJoAnne Marez

Logging • 63

In 1857 the

Port Gamble

mill was the

greatestlumber

manufacturingplant on Puget

Sound, andtwo or three

schooners

might be seenin port at one

time, theirlumber bound

for SanFrancisco and

ports in theOrient.


Section 2

A Log's

Long

Journey


Logger Chuck Stewartfells a 75-year-old tree

that wasto become partoftoglotCU-25.

Sept. 24,1990: Deep in the woodsnear the tip of the ToandosPeninsula, a logging crew has beenfelling timber since daybreak.Damp winds have erased thewarm days of summer in forested

lands east of Dabob Bay. Although cloudsthreaten to turn the dry soil to mud, only afew drops have fallen so far this day.

10:11 a.m.: Chuck Stewart Jr., a skilledtimber cutter, sizes up one of the larger

Douglas firs on this 45-acre tract of statetimberland. Observing more limbs on oneside of the trunk, Stewart quickly calculatesthe face cut he'll need to make the tree fall

cleanly to the ground.He revs up his chain saw, a 36-inch

Husqvarna, and guides it carefully towardthe tree. The surging teeth slash throughbark and into the sapwood of this 75-year-old tree.

Stewart, who lives near Hadlock, and

hundreds of others who work the woods

around Hood Canal are members of an

ancient and proud profession. It was theirpredecessors who opened Hood Canal tocivilization even before the first mill was

built at Port Gamble in 1853.

Today's powerful saws complete thework faster and with fewer workers than

ever before. As they did 100years ago,logging tools help transform trees intohouses, bridges, ships, docks — even thebook you're reading.

Despite improvements in safety,logging remains the most dangerous job inthe state, according to the Department ofLabor and Industries. More than a few

loggers have been surprised by snappingtree trunks, falling limbs and whippingsaplings. Next to a towering fir tree, a humanbeing looks fragile.

The danger, says Stewart, is part of theexcitement: "You have to stay on your toes."

10:12 a.m.: Stewart completes the firstof two cuts that will form a notch. The notch

is critical in aiming the tree. A miscalculationcould leave the tree hung up in others orbroken, with little value.

The logger begins his second cut belowthe first, angling the blade upwards. Afterthe notch falls out, Stewart visualizes howthe tree will fall, then uses his saw to slice alittle more wood from one edge of the notch.

The saw still roaring, Stewart beginshis "back cut." Sawdust flies, and secondslater the wood begins to crackle loudly. Themassive tree leans, as if on a hinge. It falls,faster and faster. Then, with a thunderingcrunch, the tree crushes limbs and underbrush as it strikes the ground, dead ontarget.

Stewart quickly shears the limbs fromthe tree. Knowing the requirements of Pope&Talbot, he uses a steel tape measure tomark the fallen tree and bucks it into logs.One 36-footlog is 40 inches across at one end— the largest diameter that can go throughthe mill.

11:03 a.m.: Erick "Pete" Peterson steers

his John Deere skidder toward the hefty logcut by Stewart. The machine grabs the logand hoists one end off the ground. With aloud roar, the skidder rushes off,draggingthe log uphill and leaving a cloud of dust.

In days gone by, the primary concernwas to cut the logs and get them out of thewoods as cheaply as possible. Teams ofhorseswere used. Then came logging

railroads. When possible, rivers were used tomove logs to open water.

It didn't much matter whether streams

were filled with dirt, smothering salmonspawning areas, or if baby birds were left todie on the bare ground.

Personal accounts of those days arefilled with the romantic side of logging life— and death. Discussions about "the

environment" were left for future years.Today, more care is required to protect

the natural elements, even on private land. Agrowing awareness of natural systems hasbrought changes in logging practices andland management — and the change is farfrom over.

11:20 a.m.: Gary Hintz, 31, the owner ofthis logging company, pushes and pulls atcontrols that maneuver the powerful loaderunder him. The machine picks up logsbrought to the landing by skidders, thenspins around, loading the trimmed treesonto logging trucks.

Individual logs sometimes sit at thelanding for hours or even days, but today theautomatic de-limber, a relatively newmachine that strips the limbs from smallerlogs, is out of service. The log that Stewartcut and bucked earlier is picked up rightaway.

Hintz, a Seabeck resident, learned thelogging business from his father, Carl.Starting at age 15,Gary worked every job inthe woods before taking over the companyseven years ago.

His son Brandon, 7, sometimes sits atthe controls, moving the heavy machine asHintz watches closely. Brandon wants to bea logger, too, said Hintz.

"I tell him 'no, no — think banker,football player, anything...' But momentslater, while talking about this piece of stateland and how it will be replanted withseedlings, Hintz comments, "By the timeBrandon grows up, he will thin this."

11:29 a.m.: Truck driver BifCorey ofPoulsbo keeps his eye on the truck's weightscale(justinside the driver's door) as the logsare loaded. When the digital numbers tickoff 80,100pounds, he calls for Hintz to stoploading.

The load is 26 3A tons of raw timber.Corey grabs a hammer and climbs withinreach of the logs. He strikes the butt end ofeach one, leaving the brand "CU-25." Now,anyone can figure out where these logs camefrom.

Logging • 65

With modern

technology, ittakes a little

less than fiveminutes to fella 75-year-oldDouglas fir

with a trunk 40

inches across.


It takes one

100-foot-talltree to providethe wood and

paper productsused annuallyby the average

American.

Corey throws one end of a steel cable(a "wrapper") over the pile of logs andbrings it up tight. For a load this size, statelaw requires three wrappers.

11:32a.m.: Corey shifts his truck intogear and pulls out of the landing area. Heheads downhill toward Port Ludlow, 15miles away.

12:14p.m.: The truckpulls up next to a longwooden dock at the scalingstation in Port Ludlow. Scaler

Tom Kegley, 58, of Poulsbomeasures the width of each

log and figures the lengthfrom marks on the dock. He

keeps track of the volume oftimber with a handheld

computer. Then he marks thebundle with a yellow tagbearing the number 9395.

12:23 p.m.: The truckarrives at Pope & Talbot's logdump at Port Ludlow, wherethe load will become part of alog raft destined for PortGamble. Mel Morgenson, 39,and Don Tuson, 62, are incharge here. The two replacethe cable wrappers with steel"bands," designed to holdthe logs together throughouttheir voyage. Five minuteslater, a huge "log stacker" —larger than the logging truckitself—grabs the entirebundle of logs off the truckand heads toward the water.

At the controls is Morgenson,who has worked for Pope &Talbot 15 years.

This is a heavy load,weighing 40 percent more than most. Atwater's edge, Morgenson drops the bundleinto the water. Unexpectedly, the bandssnap, probably due to the weight and angleof fall. These logs will have to float free in thelog raft, formed by 60 truckloads of timbertransported out of the woods.

Uct 4, about 3p.m.: The log Stewartcut in the woods more than a week earlier is

still waiting to be towed to the Pope & Talbotsawmill. Resident manager Jerry Clarkstands before his mill crew in Port Gamble.

He has some particularly bad news. The millwill shut down for 30 days.

The housing market in SouthernCalifornia — where most of Pope & Talbot's"green" (not kiln-dried) lumber is sold —won't support the mill's output of 13 millionboard feet of lumber each month.

Forty-eight employees will remain invarious positions at the mill, while 125workers will have to do without a paycheck

for at least a month. Saw

motors are switched off, oneby one.

Oct 10,2 p.m.: No logshave moved from Port

Ludlow. The mill at Port

Gamble stands quiet exceptfor a low hum coming from asawdust blower at the

planing building. There, 15members of the planing creware still on the job, smoothingthe rough boards producedbefore the mill closed down.

Usually 25 people work inthat building.

Plant manager BradFountain stands near the

"head rig," looking out uponthe water. In normal times,he would see workers pushfloating logs toward thesawmill. And, normally, hisvoice couldn't be heard

above the noise of that first

big saw."Ifs an eerie silence,

almost a silence of suffering,"says Fountain. "This is one ofthe finest mills on the West

Coast and to see it sitting idleis pretty devastating."

The lumber industry isfamiliar with economic cycles

tied to housing construction, interest ratesand the national economy. This mill was lastshut down during the recession of 1982.Butthere's a different feeling this time. Peopleare thinking about issues such as the northern spotted owl, which has been declaredthreatened under the Endangered SpeciesAct. A shortage of timber on federal lands,competition from overseas markets andincreasing environmental regulations couldput a severe squeeze on mills like Pope &Talbot.

"We can't expect to have the kind ofindustry we've had for the past decade,"says Fountain.

ToandosPeninsula

With nationalforest land being

restricted tologging more and

more, timbercutters are being

forced to depend onsecond growth treeson state and private

lands in the HoodCanal watershed.

Oct. 25,2:45 p.m.: Bruce Bell, a39-year-old saw filer, removes a load of clothesfrom the washing machine at his home inPort Gamble. Bell has been out of work since

the mill shut down three weeks ago.Normally, he'd be at the mill, operating

equipment that sharpens the huge bandsaws, which now lie quietly on the woodenfloor of the filing room.

Since he has been out of work, Bell hasrepaired his pickup truck and looked forother jobs. He doesn't see much future in hiscareer.

"I enjoy it, but I don't see how it will

keep going," he explained.Congress recently approved, and the

president signed, a bill that would limitexports of raw logs from state lands. Theaction was designed to preserve Northwestsawmill jobs as the timber supply growstighter.

Competition may drive mills out ofbusiness, but Clark hopes the waterfrontlocation of the Pope & Talbot mill willprovide a competitive edge in transportationcosts.

Oct 29,7:03 a.m.: David Olson reaches

Pope Resources a Major Canal Player

The largest owner of private timber-land around Hood Canal didn't

exist five years ago.Pope Resources in Poulsbo was

created in December of 1985 to own and

manage the extensive land holdings ofPope & Talbot in western Puget Sound. Itbought the 80,000-plusacres under Pope& Talbofs control, most of it in the HoodCanal watershed.

Management of the 65,000 acres oftimberland hasn't much changed fromwhen Pope & Talbot owned them, saysGeorge Folquet, Pope Resources president. Pope Resources has stepped up thepace of development of properties closeenough to major population areas tobecome housing.

It has sold all but one small portionof the BucklinHill ridgetop overlookingSilverdale. Ifs winning awards for itsNew Port Ludlow development inJeffersonCounty, and hoping to create amajor housing development around anew golf course it plans to build nearKingston.

The logging of acreage near GigHarbor is being done selectively, leavingthose trees that will add value to the land

as housing. And a land trade withBremerton may enable Pope Resources tocreate the largest housing development inthe city's history in the Sinclair Heightsarea.

But little of the development hasbeen in the Hood Canal basin. PopeResources acreage along Paradise BayRoad from the Hood Canal FloatingBridge north has been sold in large lots.

And the company is trying to satisfy stateand county requirements to convert 185acres near Seabeck (a relatively smallparcel by Pope Resources standards) tohousing.

In 1985, the board of directors ofPope &Talbot was nervous about corporate raiders. So the company reorganized,creatinga limited partnership it calledPope Resources. In addition to making ahostile takeover more difficult, saidFolquet, it enabled the company to claimfull value of its land holdings. And itavoided the double taxationthat corporations and their stockholders then faced —

once when the corporation makes theprofit, and again when it distributesdividends.

Pope Resources has become aprofitable operation, but the realignmenthad its costs, said Folquet. Because PopeResources bought the land from Pope &Talbot, it paid a substantial real estatetransactions tax.

"It was always presumed that a millneeded its own land and timber base,"Folquet said. "But I think ifs quite thecontrary, the mill (at Port Gamble) hasoperated very satisfactorily."

Sawmill manger Jerry Clark said ofthe reorganization, "We had to become alot smarter about how we purchased logson the open market. From that standpoint,it has been a difficult transition, but Ithink we have the people here who arecapable of doing the job."

ByTravis Baker

Logging • 67

Theaveragenew single-

family homeuses about

13,000 boardfeet of

softwoodlumber and

9,500 squarefeet of wood

panels.


over the stern of tugboat P&TPioneer andshackles the boat to 11.2million pounds offloating cellulose — an estimated 8,400individual Douglas fir logs.

Among these logs is broken bundle9395, which contains the tree cut by Stewartmore than a month earlier.

At the wheel of the 60-foot Pioneer

stands Doug Vondersmith, 57,an employeeof Pope &Talbot for 22 years. The boat edgesforward, playing out 1,000 feet of tow cable.That's enough distance to reduce drag fromthe wash of the tug's propeller.

The boat emits a low, grumbling noise.The cable grows taut. The giant woodenrectangle begins to move.

Today's tow is four complete log rafts,840feet long and 140feet wide. That's nearlythe length of three football fields, though notquite the width of one.

11:55 a.m.: The log tow passes the maindock at the Port Gamble mill and proceedstoward the storage area beyond the mill.

Here it will stay until the saws are spinningagain.

JN ov. 1:Just three weeks beforeThanksgiving, mill manager Jerry Clark hasgood news and bad news for his crews. Themill will reopen Nov. 12,but with one shiftinstead of two. Sixty-eight hourly employeeswill not come back. In addition, 15supervisors will be removed from the payroll.

"I thought I had the toughest job of mylifewhen I faced those guys a month ago,"said Clark. "Now I have to do it over again,and there's some permanency this time."

A feeling of uncertainty has seepedinto the souls of the men and women who

depend on trees for a living.Times are changing. Nobody wants the

Hood Canal region to stop growing trees,but the issue is complicated. The region is nolonger dominated by a single-mindedindustry. In Hood Canal, the days of endlesstimber are coming to an end.

Steepgrades in the 'watershed makeclearcutting the most economical method for

commercial timber harvesting.

MikeHandly nudges thecontrol knob gently with hisright hand and 500 board feetof prime Douglas fir nestlesinto place on the back of thelogging truck below him.

Suddenly the big dieselengine powering hisloader begins to chortle and cough, thenchugs to a halt.

Cussing a blue streak, Handly swingsout of the big loader.

"Ran out of (expletive deleted) fuel,"he yells to the truck driver, asking him topull his rig forward. Then Handly sprints upthe road to a battered pickup carrying a tankof diesel fuel. Another vehicle is blocking theroad. Handly swears some more and sprints

off to find the driver and his keys."This is the way logging is," he yells

over his shoulder. "It's a full-bore-typeoccupation!"

The break in routine is rare for Handlyand his crew. They get no breaks. No lunchbreak, no potty break, no coffee break. Fromdawn to dusk, they don't stop unlesssomething forces them.

Handly has been a logger all of his life.So has his dad, Pat Handly, who also lives inQuilcene.

"I've been doing this since I was bigenough to go out and set chokers," he laughsin a deep whiskey baritone. He was 12 at thetime. At age 25, he got together enoughequipment and a crew to go into business for

Logging • 69

Section

3

The

Economics

of a

Clear Cut

Byjack Swanson


Handly andhis crew don't

have time to

stop anddebate the

wisdom ofclearcuts or

spotted owlhabitat. That's

something theland owner

has to worryabout.

himself. That was in 1983.

Handly is a barrel-chested 6-footerwith a grizzled beard. Two centuries ago, hewould have been a pirate. A century ago, atrapper, miner —or logger,probablyrighthere on the frontier. He is single. Loggingdoesn't leave a lot of time for long-termrelationships, he says.

Handly and his men are just finishing a90-acreclearcut high above Hood Canal.Theland is steep hillside overlooking theDosewallips Riverabout 2,000 feetabove sealevel.

Because the land is so steep,clearcutting is the only practical way to log.That was decided by the property owner, notHandly. If the land had been more level, itcould have been logged selectively,using atractor or other equipment to skid the logsout to where they could be loaded ontotrucks.

But in this case, Handly has to use adevice called a "yarder," a tall pole attachedto a truck bed, fastened to the ground withheavy cables.Atop the pole is a 2,000-foot-long loop of steel cable that stretchesdownthe hill and is attached to a pulley hooked toa tree.

One of Handly's crewmen operates theyarder from a cab at the base of the pole.Four 20-foot-longcables called "chokers"dangle from the middle of the long wire.Half a mile down the hillside where freshlycut logs lie like matchsticks, three chokermenwait for the dangling cables.

Tim Love, Handly's rigging slinger,presses a button on a radio-control deviceattached to his belt, which sets off a series ofblasts on an air horn atop the yarder. That'sthe signal for the cableoperator to send thechokers downhill to the men. They grab thechokers and wrap them round the butt endof the logs, then Lovesignalsagain and theyarder engineer winches them up the hill,depositing them in a pile besideHandly'sloader.

Another chokerman working next tothe loader releases the cables, then dances

nimbly along the logs, cutting them toproper length with a chainsaw.

Handly and his crew of seven havespent the last four months logging this pieceof land. They have a couple more weeks tofinishpulling the logsout and getting theland ready for replanting.

Then he will move his equipment out,

repair the roads and culverts behind himand move on to the next job — if there is one.

Handly has no job to move on to. Thebottom has dropped out of the lumbermarket because of the nationwide slowdown

in home construction. Mills are closing.Hundreds of independent loggers likeHandly are out of work, and the usedequipment market is flooded with loaders,tractors and other rigs.

It's not the spotted owl that's causingproblems for Handly. It's not the debate overcutting old-growth forests. Ifs the economy.People aren't buying houses anymore.

During a brief break, Handly chatswith two young hikers who ask how to getto a hiking trail above where his crew isworking. He explains they can't get past hisrig on the road right now and that heinformed the Forest Service he would be

working in the area.The hikers aren't very nice about it,

and one of them makes a snide remark about

how many spotted owls Mike and his crewkilled that day. Handly scowls but keeps hiscool, remarking that this isn't a very goodspot to pick a fight with a bunch of loggers.

He asks them what they do for a livingand they say they work at Puget SoundNaval Shipyard on nuclear weapon systems.After the hikers drive off in search of another

trail, he makes it clear how he feels aboutpeople who work on nuclear weapons thenclimbs back into his rig.

Any visitor to the area Handly isclearcutting would be struck by the beautyof it. The hills, covered by the patchwork ofother clearcuts, drop down to Hood Canal inthe distance, and on a clear day you can seeSeattle's skyscrapers. The air is clean andcarries the pungent aroma of diesel exhaustand crushed fir needles.

The visitor has time to take in the

scenery. Handly's crew seems oblivious to itall. They're too busy keeping alive.

Handly and his crew are typical.Theydon't have time to stop and debate thewisdom of clearcuts or spotted owl habitat.That's something the land owner has toworry about.

Handly has other things he has toworry about: keeping his equipment running, moving out 15to 20loads of logs a day,seeing that none of his men gets hurt andmaking sure everybody gets paid.

When Handly is finished, the 90 acresof 90-year-old trees will have provided 13

people with jobs for between two and fourmonths, depending on the work they weredoing. That crew consisted of two sawyers,four chokermen, a yarder engineer, fivetruck drivers and Handly, who operates thelog loader.

Only five of the men actually workdirectly for Handly on the site. The sawyersare independent contractors whose work isdone when the last tree hits the dirt. The

truck drivers work for the truck owners, whorent their rigs out to Handly by the load orby the day.

Each working day Handly and his menfill those five trucks three or four times with

between 50,000 and 75,000 pounds of wood— 20 to 25 logs containing about 5,000boardfeet of raw lumber.

In all, Handly expects the 90 acres toyield up about 3.7 million board feet oftimber. At a market price of between $450and $500 a thousand board feet, that timberis probably worth in the neighborhood of$1.5 million. Handly ends up only with asmall percentage of the total.

Ihe world oflogging economics ispretty complex. According to John Walter,timber lands vice president of Pope Resources, Pope bought the property severalyears ago as part of a 1,200-acrepurchase. Ithad previously been Crown Zellerbach land.

The parcel had been logged around theturn of the century but was not replanted.The natural regrowth was extremely denseand full of debris that needed to be cleaned

out, Walter said. About two years ago, Popesold the "stumpage" or the right to cut thetrees, to ITT-Rayonier.

Under the contract, Pope continued toown the logs until they were cut. Aftercutting ITT had to pay Pope a certain fixedprice for the timber. If the market price ishigher now than the price Pope sold it for,ITTmakes money. If it's lower than the fixedprice, Pope makes more than it would haveif it had harvested the trees itself.

'That's why, at times, timber sales likethese can be a very advantageous tool,"Walter said. "If the market is low, people arewilling to speculate that the market will goup later on. On the other hand, the marketcan work against you."

The contract specifies that the trees hadto be cut by March 1991 or ownership wouldreturn to Pope. ITTsold the Douglas fir logs

to Pope &Talbot (P&Tand Pope used to beone company) and decided to keep thehemlock taken from the property. ITT soldthe pulpwood to a Port Angeles firm.Handly was hired by ITTto do the logging.

When the trucks leave the mountain,Handly never sees the logs again. They aremeasured at a scaling yard, where a computer estimates the board feet contained ineach log. It spits out a ticket that shows thecredits that are added to ITT's account. The

trucker takes the logs to Pope & Talbot'sholding pond near Port Ludlow, where theyare dumped into the water and stored forlater processing.

Handly gets roughly one-third of theproceeds from each load. Figure a truckholds 5,000 board feet at $450per thousand,that's $2,250 per load. He has five trucks andeach makes three trips a day, so that's$33,750 and his one-third comes to $11,250per day.

But he has to pay the truck owner $130per load in rent and each of his men around$120per day plus benefits. And his fuel billcomes to around $3,500per day.

"I figure I've gotta have at least $2,300a day after expenses to pay for all of the menand the state industrial insurance," Handlysaid. "And diesel fuel just went up another30 cents a gallon. So that doesn't leavemuch."

Out of what's left over, Handly has topay for the equipment, repairs and maintenance. He figures he has more than $100,000invested in equipment. Add everything upand Handly figures his company will show agross income of more than $100,000 thisyear, but he personally will end up withabout the same amount his men make.

"It all depends on how good a loggeryou are," he says. "It's a matter of production. You gotta get the wood out."

There's one big difference, however,between Mike and his men. When they getlaid off, they can apply for unemploymentcompensation. If Handly can't come up withanother logging contract, he will have to goto work for somebody else — if he can findsomeone who is hiring. If he couldn't log,what would he do?

"What I really want to do is all I'veever done," he said. "I wish we could keeplogging. If I can't do that, I guess I'd want towork with equipment of some kind. But Ijust don't know what else I would do."

Logging • 71

Handly has toworry aboutkeepinghisequipmentrunning,

moving out 15to 20 loads of

logs a day,seeing thatnone of his

mengets hurtand making

sure everybodygets paid.


Each workingday Handlyand his men

fill five trucksthree orfour

times with 20

to 25 logscontainingabout 5,000boardfeet ofraw lumber.

Timber related jobsin Hood Canal counties

Mason

County

Population 36,800Total employment 12,130Timber-related 14.6%

Jefferson County

Population 18,600Total employment 7,600Timber-related 7.5 %

KitsapCounty

Population "" 177,300Total employment 71,500Timber-related 0.4%

4

Major firms

Simpson TimberHiawatha Inc.

Manke Lumber

Skookum Lumber

ITT RayonierOlympia Wood ProductsOther sawmills

Port Townsend PaperAllen LogGary Phillips LoggingHalco Fence

Pope and Talbot

Product Jobs

Timber 915

Wholesale evergreen 225Logging and hauling 120Lumber, siding 120Wood research 80

Lumber 55

Lumber (seasoned) 250

Paper, pulp 397Lumber, chips, logs 100Contract logging 54Lumber 16

Forest products 275

Source: Washington Department ofTrade and Economic Development,1988figures

Logging Is Region's Bread and Butter

Asa region, the area west of HoodCanal produces more timber thanany other similar-sized area in the

state except for Lewisand Cowlitzcounties to the south.

Mason and Jefferson counties ranksixthand eighth, respectively, among the19 counties west of the Cascades in

amount of timber harvested in 1989.

JeffersonCounty produced more timberfromstate-owned land lastyear than anyother county in the state.

Kitsap County, which forms thecanal's eastern border, is at the bottom ofthe list in timber production, however. Itranks 17thand produced less than 1percent of Western Washington's 1989harvest

Nevertheless, it is home to one ofHood Canal's oldest and most productivemills,Pope &Talbot in Port Gamble at thehead of the canal.

Pope Resources, a timber and landdevelopment company with headquartersin Poulsbo, is one of the major landowners on the canal.

Lookingat the three-county area asa whole, officials say one of every fourpersons owes his livelihood to the timberindustry. Dependence on timber isheaviest in Mason County where timber-related firms are seven of the top 10employers and provide more than 1,700

jobs.Nearly 15percent of those who holdjobs in Mason County work for timber-related firms.

In Jefferson County, nearly 8 percentof the work force is employed in timberproduction or processing.

No one tracks timber and jobs justfor the Hood Canal watershed, butofficials say they believethe dependenceon timber-relatedjobsis somewhat higherin the small towns that ring the canal thanoverall county figures suggest.

Towns like Hoodsport and Quilcenehave dozens — perhaps even hundreds— of small,independent "gypo" loggers.Many familiessubsist on the income of asingle logging truck or bulldozer. Countlessothers work sporadicallyas chokersetters and sawyers for independentloggers.

As a result, officials say the numberof persons around Hood Canal whodepend on the timber industry for jobscould be as high as 50 percent

For the Olympic Peninsula as awhole,more than 11,000 persons receivedmore than $305 million in direct wagesfrom the timber industry and more than46,000 persons benefitted indirectly. Totaldirect and indirect benefits to the region'seconomy amounted to more than $1.3billion,accordingto a recent studyconducted by industry and state agencies.

ByJack Swanson

Logging • 73

"It all dependson how good aloggeryou are.It's a matter of

production.Yougotta get

the wood out"—Mike Handly,

Quilcene


Section 4

Who Owns

the Canal

Watershed

ByTravis Baker

Timber is a game played withthousand-acre chips, and in theHood Canal basin, Pope Resources is the private operatorwith the biggest stack.

Its stack still is smaller than

that held by the federal government. Butamong private owners, no one rivals Pope'sapproximately 60,000 acres in the watershed.

That private ownership has been in fluxin Jefferson and Kitsap County, but relativelystable in Mason, where Simpson Timber Co.is king. While only 8,000 of Simpson's 170,000acres in Mason County are on the slopesdraining into the canal,Simpson is still thesecond largest private timberland owner inthe watershed.

Current Hood Canal timberland

ownership includes three companies withexperience in residential and commercialdevelopment, plus a major insurance company. But there appear to be no activeplansto convert any substantial amount of canalforestland to any other use.

Only one company, Christmas treegrower G.R.Kirk in Mason County, sees ashort-range likelihoodof conversion fromtimberland.

Jefferson County has seen the mostactive trading in timberland.

Pope is the big player there, but othersinclude a real estate arm of Traveler's

Insurance, with 4,600 acres in the watershed,and about 12,000 total in eastern Jefferson;PacificFunding Corp. of Lynnwood withabout 3,000acres; and ANE Forests of PugetSound, owned by a Dane, Sorn Nymark, andholder of 4,600 canal acres. Manke & Sons ofTacoma has only 660acres in Jefferson,butmore in Kitsap and Mason, and TrilliumCorp. of Bellingham has recently acquired630 acres of canal timberland.

Pope Resources,PacificFunding andTrillium are the three who have ties to

development. Pope has thousands of acresconverted to housing or about to be, butalmost none of it is in the canal watershed.

PacificFunding is owned by some of thesame people who own First Western Development, which builds and owns shoppingcenters. Mile Hill Plaza, Target Plaza andWinslow Village in Kitsap County are FirstWestern projects.Trillium is part owner ofthe Semiahmoo Resort in Whatcom County,and BellesFaire Mall in Bellingham is onland it put together.

Timberlands

ofHoodCanal

PopeResources mSimpson Timber *Publicly heldlands uOtherprivate lands

Others

Trillium Corp. (tc)Pacific Funding

®

Travelers Ins. (m)ANE Forests @)G.R. Kirk CiOOverton Family C5)Manke & Sons (m)/. Hofert Co. (IT)

Logging • 75

The timber lands

surrounding HoodCanal are controlled

bya diverse setofstewards. Largetimber companies likeSimpson and Pope andTalbot rub elbowswith smaller timber

companies. They allrub elbows with the

state andfederallycontrolled timber

lands.


No privatelandowner

rivals Pope'sapproximately60,000 acres in

the Hood

Canal

watershed.

The corporate raid of CrownZellerbachby BritisherSirJamesGoldsmithled to liquidation by his company,Cavenham, of its Jefferson County timberland, which has been bought by various newowners.

John Calhoun, the Olympic Regionmanagerfor the stateDepartment ofNaturalResources, called the buy-log-and-sellpractices ofCavenham"despicable forestry."But DNRwas unable to require any more ofCavenham than that it replant the loggedacreageas demanded by state law.Though ittook longer than DNR would have liked, ifsnow all replanted, said Calhoun.

Travelers, ANE and Pope Resourcesare among thosewho own someof the landnow.

Pacific Funding traded some of its landwith Pope Resources and acquiredmostofthe rest from a Taiwanese owner calledGolden Springs.LikeCavenham,GoldenSpringswas slow to replant afterloggingand paid littleattention to the long-termwelfare of the land, said Calhoun.

John Walter, vice president for timber-lands at Pope Resources, says up to 45percent of the young treeson a parcel itacquiredfromGoldenSpringswillhave tobe replaced.The replanting was done toolong after logging,he said.

Trillium picked up its Jefferson Countyland from Georgia Pacific.

In Mason County, the major canalowners other than Simpson are Los Angeles-based J. Hofert Co. and G.R. Kirk Co. ofTacoma. Both are Christmas tree growerswho have been in the county for decades.ScottScott, a Hofert vice president, estimatesit has 2,000 acres in the canal watershed. RickKirk of the Tacoma firm said 3,500 acres onthe Tahuya Peninsula are the bulk of itsholdings.

Pope far exceedsany other owner intimberland in KitsapCounty.Thereare fewother largeblocks ofownershipin thecanalwatershed. Manke & Sons of Tacoma

appears to be the only one with more than athousand acres. The Overton family ofOlympiaownsa lotof land westofBremerton National Airport, but only a fewhundred acres drain toward Hood Canal,said Peter Overton.

Policieson management of the landand its harvesting vary among the companies.SincePope and Simpsonhave the most

land, their policies have the most to sayabout the future of the canal.

Bothlog annually, aiming for what isessentially an industry standard of harvesting 1 V2 - 2 percent of their lands each year.That allows a 50-to-60-yearcycle in whichpart of their timberis reaching maturityallthe time. But both emphasize that marketfluctuations increase and decrease any year'sharvest as they try to get the best price forthe timber.

Both Pope and Simpson are trying to"block up" their holdings, consolidatingthem in a few areas through trades withother owners so they can avoid trying tomanage widely spread parcels.Pope surrendered 6,000 acres south of Hood Canal inMason County in a three-way trade underwhich it acquired timber on state land,Simpson blocked up its Mason Countyholdings and the state got some Simpsonland.

Aside from that trade, said GeorgeFolquet,president of Pope Resources, hiscompany is seeking to increaseits land base.

All timberland owners who log useclearcuttingin mature stands. Nearly all alsodo commercial thinning, in which selectedtrees are taken. That makes room for the

remaining trees to grow while generatingrevenue from sale of the trees taken.

Some are logging very little.BuyersofCavenham and Golden Springs land weren'tleftmuch to log. ANE Forests, for example,logged three of its JeffersonCounty acres in1990, PacificFunding an estimated 50acres,Trillium none and Travelers almost none. All

have larger holdings in other parts of thestate or nation they will log while waiting fortheir Jefferson trees to grow, they say.

Only Kirkforesees subdivision of itsproductive land in the near future. PresidentRick Kirk said the trend in Christmas trees is

toward sheared trees grown on fertile landsuch as the company owns in ThurstonCounty. That is making its 3,500acres inMason County more and more marginal. Itsrural location, however, would dictatesubdivision into only large lots if that is whatthe company decides to do with it in thefuture.

As poor as it is, the Tahuya Peninsulaland produced 120,000 cut trees last Christmas, about 10 percent of Kirk's production,he said.

Tax Structure Seeks Commitment to the Land

Taxation of timberland in Washington state has followed a basicpremisefor nearly two decades.Thepremise is that the owner,

governmentand publicbenefitwhentimber is taxed at cutting rather thanannually as it grows.

Prior to 1971, timberland was taxedas any other real property — each year,basedon the countyassessor'sestimateofits value with the timber included, saidBillDerkland, forest property tax program managerfor the state DepartmentofRevenue.

Annual taxation created an incen

tive to cut the timber,elirninatingforest-land, said Derkland. Byharvesting, theland owner reduced his property taxesand took the revenue represented by thetrees.

In 1971,the Legislature moved toreduce that incentive.The biggest tax bite,it decided, should come when the treesare cut.

Annual property taxeswere greatlyreduced. The state Department of Revenue establisheda 29-category ranking oftimber land, based on its productivity andthe ease of logging it

Each year since, the state hasestablisheda value per acre for each of the29 categories.

Those values are much lower than

under the "highest and best use" standardthat county assessors apply to other land.Kitsap County Assessor Carol Belasestimates them to be only 3 percent ofnormal value, on average. On an 885-acreparcelon BainbridgeIsland, it was closerto 1 percent

And no annual tax is paid on thetimber on the land.

Statewide,the designated values oftimberland range from $1 to $135per acrethis year. Most timberland in Mason,

Kitsap and Jefferson countiesis in amedium categoryvalued by the state atbetween $70 and $100 per acre.

In return for the niinimal valuations,

the state collectsa 5 percent excise tax onthe timber when ifs cut.

And, if the owner removes landfromthe forestryclassification, the statecharges a rollback tax that is greater thanthe owner would have paid over 10yearshad the land not been designated forforestry.

Four-fifths of the 5 percent tax fromlogging on privateland goesto thecounties. All5 percent from logging ongovernmentland goesto the state.

Thepayments are made to the statequarterly.Much like federal income tax,payments are on thehonorsystem, withpenaltiesof up to 50percent,plus interest,for inaccurate reporting, when it iscaught.

A 10-year rollback of taxeson landbeingwithdrawn fromtimberclassification can be a windfall for counties and

other localgovernmentsif the land is inan area with escalatingproperty values,said Derkland.

When land is withdrawn from

forestry taxation, the county assessorcalculates its current value, subtracts itsforest land value, and the county thenappliesthe current tax rate to that value.Tne result is multiplied times 10,and theland owner must pay that amount.

If land values in that area have, say,doubled in those 10years, the rollbackamount paid for each of the 10yearscould be as much as double what the

company actuallywould have paid hadthe land not been taxed as timberland.

There have been no recent conver

sionsof timberland in Kitsap's portion ofthe Hood Canal basin, Belas said.

ByTravis Baker

Logging • 77

Both Pope andSimpson log

annually,havesting

172-2

percent of theirlands each

year. Thatallows a 50-

to-60-yeargrowth cycle.


Section 5

Logging

andiheOwl:

Three

Perspectives

Cut Out of the Future?

Quilcene logger DickPederson has hisshare of bumps, bruises, cuts, andstitches to show for a steady 21 yearsof work in the woods.

"I cut it right down to the bone; theonly thing that stopped the bladewasmyknuckle," Pedersonsays,pointingto a scaron his hand. "And the time I had 37 stitchesin my neckwhen I fell down and the sharpteeth of the saw ripped into me."

Pederson's experiences would notdispute Department of Labor and Industriesstatistics that say logging is the mostdangerous occupation in the state. A total of 163loggers lost their lives in the woods between1980 and 1990.

It is a measure of the people who dothe work that they continue despite thesestatistics, and despite an increasingcrunchon the number of loggingjobsavailableinWashington generally, and in the HoodCanal watershed in particular.

It's not that there aren't rewards.

Pederson earns between $150 and $200a day cutting trees, and wonders where elsea 42-year-old with no high school diplomacan get a job with that kind of pay.

Logging is what he knows, what hefeels comfortable with.He can't picturehimself in an officejob. But he sees thatthere'slittle futurein logging and he hopeshe'll be able to stick with it for another fiveyears, long enough to pay for his new truck.

"If there is a normal job that someonewould train me for,... I'll takeit," he says.

After his current job,a clearcut onForestServiceland in the Dungenesswatershed, there isn't another one in theforeseeable future. The jobis supposed tokeep him busy for eight months, but thereare no more timber salespending. And thereis always the threat that the Forest Servicemight revoke the cutting permit if spottedowls are located in the area.

"I won't take my kids out in thewoods," Pederson says as he sights the leanof a second-growth Douglas fir he preparesto fellnear SlabCamp south of Sequim.Hedoesn't want them to get hooked on it like hedid as a kid. "There's not much of a future

left in this business," he sighs.The stocky Pederson is a proud man

who moved to Quilcene when he was 3. Hebegan working in the woods as a teenager,

joiningwith his father, Harold, who hadbeen logging for 37 years.

Pederson began first by running theheavy equipment cat, then moved up to theskidders, and on to cutting standing timber.

While he takes pride in his work, hiswife Celine hesitates to mention in publicwhat her husband does for a living. Somepeople have confronted them and called hima tree killer, Pederson says.

His typical day begins at 5 a.m. Hedresses in a worn plaid shirt and ankle-length logging jeans that are held up bytypical red suspenders. After grabbing aquick breakfast, he carpools with two fellowloggers to the logging site.

"It's dark when I leave in the morningand dark when I get home," he says.Twelve-hour days are not unusual for alogger.

As a light rain falls at the logging site,the three men part to go to their respectivejobs.Pederson heads to the woods, whileKen Akerman from Quilcene jumps into theskidder, and Bud Smith of Brinnon starts

bucking fallen timber.Pederson moves from tree to tree.

In each case, he first decides which

way he wants it to fall. He then yanks thestarter pull on his chainsaw and begins tofashion the notch that directs the tree's

descent.

With the wood from the notch re

moved, Pederson cuts from the opposite sideof the tree along the plane set by the top cutof the notch. Using a bright orange axe, hehammers in a plastic wedge that keeps theweight of the tree from binding the saw bar.

Before the backcut reaches the notch,

the tree begins to creak. The fall beginsslowly as the wood fibers that still hold thetrunk upright begin to crack, but thenaccelerates quickly as the weight of the treepulls it off the stump.

The cut continues as the tree begins itsdescent, one last opportunity to alter thedirection of the fall.

As soon as it's down, Pederson jumpsup on the tree in his cork boots, measuresand marks the tree for log lengths.

The process is repeated 39 times inPederson's typical day in the woods.

L-eline, Dick's wife ofoneyear, isbusyin the kitchen of their home on the bend of

the LittleQuilcene River just outside of

town. She knows her husband will be

hungry when he walks in the back door.About 5 p.m., Akerman drops

Pederson at the house. Dick ambushes

Celine with a kiss, then goes straight to theshower to wash off the accumulation of dirt,grease, sawdust, and sweat.

Cleaned, and in fresh clothes, he comesto the dinner table with Celine, son Justin, 12,and a friend of Justin's.

After dinner Pederson has but a short

time to play with his son before it's bed time.The two go out into the living room to shootducks on the Nintendo game.

Celine Pederson tries not to think too

much about the possibility that Dick will losehis job. An estimated 28,000 timber industryjobs in Washington, Oregon and northernCalifornia are expected to disappear in the

Logging • 79

Dick Pederson


"Ifthere is anormal job

that someone

would train me

for,... I'll takeit. I won't take

my kids out inthe woods.

There's not

muchof afuture left in

this business."— Dick Pederson

next decade because of the proposals to setold stands of timber aside for owl habitat

But many more jobs have been lost inrecent years as the industry has automated.These days, only seven loggers are employedin a crew that clearcuts 90 acres.

Celine instantly fell in love withQuilcene when she moved from Tenino in1988. Where else can you leave your doorsunlocked, plus hunt, fish, collectoysters, orgo crabbing right outside your door?

The Pedersons wish they could livethere forever.

But in a small timber town, there aren'tmany other kinds of jobs available andgrowth is slow. They admit they may haveto leave, but Pederson says he would gocrazy in a big town.

ByLarry Steagall

Nest Egg Soured by an Owl

About 50 years ago, Jim Goodpaster Sr.had a good idea. He was helping tolog a nice stand of timber above Lake

Cushman when it occurred to him that the

land might be worth something someday.It certainly wasn't then. After the

logging was done, the land was practicallyworthless. It would take another 50 to 90

years for a new crop to grow.Goodpaster bought the 80acresfor

$240 — $30 an acre. Oh, well. It was, hedecided, a good investment for his old age.

He was wrong.In July of 1990, Goodpaster, 84 and

dying, needed the return on that investment.Unable to care for himself, he was bedridden in a Shelton nursing home that wascosting his family $75a day. The timber onthat 80 acres up near Lake Cushman wasnow worth nearly half a million dollars.

The only thing standing in the waywas a spotted owl two milesaway on federalland.

The Goodpaster family's predicamentprovides a prime example of the legaltanglesprivate timber owners can findthemselves in as a result of efforts to save the

threatened spotted owl.Nationally, the controversy over the

owl has revolved around setting aside old-growth timber stands in national forestsinWashington, Oregon and California.Thoseregulations say nothing about protecting

them on private or state land.But in Washington, the state Depart

ment of Natural Resourceshas set upguidelines to protect the owls by prohibitingcutting trees on state and private land withinas little as two miles and as much as four

miles from where an owl is seen or known to

be nesting.There was never a suggestion that owls

might live on Goodpaster's land. It wassecond-growth forest, after all, and it is wellknown that spotted owls live in old-growthor virgin timber where decayed treesprovide lots of homesites for the owl'sfavorite food — flying squirrels.

But when Jim Goodpaster Jr. went tothe DNR to obtain a cutting permit for hisfather's land, he was told he couldn't get oneuntil someone from the state Department ofWildlife did an owl survey. The DNR toldhim a spotted owl had been seen on nationalforest land within 2 l/z miles of theGoodpaster property.

DNR officialsare quick to point outthat it was the timing more than anythingelse that caused the delays on Goodpaster'sapplication.

"Our agency was scrambling to figureout how to administer the new federal

regulations," said BenCleveland, regionalresource protection specialist in DNR'sEnumclaw office, which oversees theHoodsport area. "There was confusion overimplementation of the new regulations andthe effect on our regulations."

Jim Jr. was furious. "Here we haveprivate land that has been logged before andwe can't get permits to log our own land.Thafs not right," he said. "Our security wasthat land."

Jim Jr. is a huge, friendly bear of a manwho operates heavy equipment for a livingand lives in Hoodsport. He is one of threechildren in the Goodpaster family. Hismother also resides in Hoodsport.

He readily agreed to give us a tour ofthe property, talking a mile a minute anddriving two. When Goodpaster drives alogging road, you don't take notes. Youbrace your feet,grit your teeth and hang on.

Not only was the family having aproblem with Goodpaster Sr.'s medical bills,he explained, time was against them forgetting the land logged at all this year.Because the land is part of the LakeCushman drainage, logging would be

impossible after the fall rains began.Goodpaster Jr. would have to wait until nextspring — "and who knows what regulationswill be in effect then?" he said.

Another major concern was what thetimber market might do in the next severalmonths. The housing market already wascooling off nationally and prices were gettingsoft.JimJr. figured the property has about1.6 million board feet of timber on it that

would have sold in June 1990 for between$400,000 and $500,000.

"That's gross," he growled, shovingharder on the gas pedal of his four-wheel-drive pickup, sending dust flying on thenarrow road. "By the time we pay 30 percentlogging cost,a 5 percent timber tax, 1.3percent real estate tax, B&Otax, corporationtax and personal income tax, there's notgoing to be a lot left. We'll be damned luckyif we end up with a few thousand. Meanwhile, the property has been raped and thenwe're looking at another 50 years before itcan be logged again."

It isn't just the 80-acre piece the familyworries about. Goodpaster Sr., who spent 28years as a Mason County school superintendent, collected about 650 acres of land insmall parcels around the county. Severalyears ago, he underwent surgery to removea brain tumor, and afterward his healthbegan to decline.The familyset up a trust topay Jim Sr.'s medical expenses, and themoney from the timber sale was supposed togo into that.

His son worries about whether the

family will have the same problems loggingthe other parcels as they have with the 80-acre piece near Lake Cushman.

August went by, then September.Goodpaster Sr.'s condition grew worse. JimJr. finally was able to get someone to come inand look for owls. He smirks at the scientific

methodology used for the survey."You call this owl lady," he said. "She

comes and looks at the land. If she sees an

owl, she is supposed to give it a dead mouse.If the owl jumps up into a tree and eats themouse, it's just a transient owl that livessomeplace else.

"But if it flies off with the mouse to a

nest nearby, you're in trouble."In September, the DNR told the

Goodpasters their land was clear of owls and

wasn't considered suitable owl habitat. The

first week of October, Jim Jr. got the cuttingpermit.

On Oct. 8,1990, Jim Sr. died.

buddenly, the whole equationchanged.

"Dad's death has eased things," JimGoodpaster Jr. said in November 1990."Logging is no longer a necessity. It's now amatter of if we get the opportunity, shouldwe? Because if we don't do it now, we maynot get another one."

The rainy season has begun. Thebottom has dropped out of the timbermarket. Although the price for Douglas firremains fairly high, the price of alder andother timber on the property has declined at

Logging • 81

Jim Goodpaster Jr.


"Here we

have

privateland that

has been

loggedbeforeandwe can't

getpermits tolog. That'snot right.

Our

securitywas that

land."— Jim

GoodpasterJr.

least by half.If the Goodpastersgo ahead and cut

this fall, they probablywillend up with halfwhat they would have gotten last summer.What is the post-election climate goingtobelike?What kind of regulations will be ineffect nextyear?Will pricesgo up or down?

Goodpasterbringsthe pickuptoabouncinghalt on the edge ofhispropertyand climbsheavilyout of the cab.He pointsout the tracks of dirt bikers who havetrespassed on the land, chewing up themuddy trail.

"Simpsonhas quit buying altogetherand is talkingabout shuttingdown.Pope&Talbotshut down," he said. "Everything isup in the air right now. A lot of owners areconverting their property to 5-acretracts forrecreational homesites."

ButGoodpaster's property is landlocked with no access to the Forest Service

road a couple of miles away. He leans anelbow on the lip of the pickup bed and scansthe forestaround him."Eventually, we'll belikeEurope,"he said. "We'llbe picking upsticksin the forestand the government willbe telling everybody what they can and can'tcut."

ByJack Swanson

In Search of an Elusive Owl

The air is chilly and the Seven Sistersareso bright in the sky overhead theyalmost hurt your eyes. The small

pickup with government licenseplates pullsto the side of the narrow dirt road and stops.

When the door opens, the dome lightsilhouettes the face of a young, pretty, dark-haired woman.

It is 4 a.m., and she is 20 miles from thenearest civilization. Alone.

Shedoesn't waste time thinkingaboutthe surroundings. After locking the door, sheopens the rear canopy door and dons heavyhiking boots. She stuffs a plastic box full ofmice and a walkie-talkie into the back of a

combination rucksack-vest. Flashlight in onehand and surfing rod in the other, shetrudges into the thick forest, picking her waycarefully through boulders and rotting logs.There is no trail.

Deep inside the forest, she pauses,listens. Minutes go by.

"Oooh!" she cups her hands aroundher mouth and the sound comes out more

like a sharp bark than a hoot. "Oooh! Oooh!OoooHhh!"

The final note is louder and trails off

moreslowly. Shewaitsa minute and repeatstheseries. Thenshe moveson through theforest anotherquarterofa mileand beginscallingagain.

Finally, in the distance, her call isanswered. After a week of nights like this,thecallerhas found what she was lookingfor: a spotted owl. During the next fewminutes, ifall goeswell,the owl lady willcoaxthe owl from his tree to a spot whereshe can slip the nylon loop at the end of herfishingpole around its neck and placeaplasticband around its leg. Feathers anddignityslightly mussed,the owl willget anicefat mousefor its troubleand will flyaway, hopefully to a nest nearby.

And for her trouble, the owl lady willget to draw a circleon a map marking thehome of another spotted owl. At the end ofthe month, she will get a checkfor $9.68 foreachhour she spent out in the forest hootingin the dark.

Ivy Otto, 31, grew up in Newark, N.J.Sheis compact, sturdy and can walk the legsoff just about anybody. She wears red andgray tennis shoes, well worn, baggy blackLevis, a formless black sweatshirt withbrown logging shirt underneath and a bluenylon vest. Lots of layers for warmth.

She has been an owl lady since 1987."It goes back a long ways," she says,

explaining how she took up her unusualprofession. "My interest in biologygoes backto when I was a kid. I started working for theForest Service on the Hood Canal RangerDistrict,worked in fire suppression, fireguard, ended up going on a lot of forest firesfor two summer seasons. In 1987, theymerged the ranger districts and startedsurveying for spotted owls."

She got the job and later transferred tothe Forest Service's research laboratory inOlympia.

'The lab is trying to find out exactlyhow many owls there are in the forest andtrying to learn more about the mortality,population changes and fluctuations. It'sresearch-oriented, where the district ismanagement-oriented. The districfs task isto look at the effectsof their management onwildlife."

But with recent new federal regulations

designed to protect the spotted owl as anendangered species, Otto's job has taken onnew significance. The research she anddozens of others like her do not only willhelp determine whether spotted owlssurvive but how the entire forest industryconducts its business.

Thousands of jobs are at stake, not justamong loggers who have depended onfederal timber land for work.

Next March when the state Department of Natural Resources places its newregulations into effect, the existenceof onepair of nesting spotted owls near state orprivate land can prevent harvest of timberwithin a 4-mile circle of their nest.

Because the stakes are so high, it is easyto understand why the government hashired people like Otto. They search theforests alone, counting and banding theowls, checking what they eat, measuring thesize of the territory they claim for themselves.

In all of the Olympic Peninsula, thereare only six owl counters like Otto. As of1990, they have found 23 adult owls and 10babies.

In the forests surrounding Hood Canal,surveyors have found nine pairs of owls.Their presence will have a major impact onthe amount of logging that will be donearound the canal. There will be less loggingin the area than probably any time sincelogging began more than a century ago.

Una recent fall morning, Ottoleft herOlympia home at 2 a.m. and drove to HoodCanal to talk about her work and try to wooa spotted owl close enough for a photographer to take its picture.

Hormones and the time of the yeardoomed the venture to failure, however. Amorning of hooting brought Otto only a sorethroat and the faint, distant bleats of a

pygmy owl in response. Spotted owlsgenerally only answer intruders in theirterritory during spring mating season, sheexplained.

Do they actually expect to find everyowl on the Olympic Peninsula?

"Our goal is to find them all," she said."It's my understanding there's an intensivestudy area on the peninsula. They thinkthey're pretty close to having almost all thepair sites down."

When they are found, the owls get

brightly colored leg bands on either or bothlegs so trackers can tell them apart.

"When you go back to the site the nextyear, you don't have to catch the bird andread the band again," Otto said. "You canjust look at the color of the bands. You canusually get close enough or sometimes theywill come down to you or will preen themselves and lift their leg up. And if you don'tsee it you keep going back until you do, untilyou're sure they're either banded or they'renot. And if they're not, then you bandthem."

The job looks a lot easier on the printedpage than in practice. What it means inreality is that Otto sometimes has to spendnight after cold, lonely night out in tracklesswilderness. Owls, after all, are nocturnal.They hunt and feed at night.

Logging • 83

Ivy Otto


"I'm not

againstlogging. My

personalfeeling is thatthe old-growth

forest is aresource to our

society and ourcountry inother waysthan just for

wood

products.We're losing it

beforeweknow anything

about it in

detail"— Ivy Otto

Doesshe ever worry about getting lost?Shethinksabout it a minute. Nope. Breakinga leg?Getting hurt? Sometimes. That's whyshe always carries water, food and her two-way radio.

She doesn't even mind working in a"temporary" position without benefits.

"I really enjoy my job," she said. "It's alot of fun and I would probablykeepdoingthis for a long time,but just recentlymyhusband started graduate school in molecular biology at the University of WisconsininMadison and it makes it difficultto be apart.I'll probably do this for at least one morebreeding season but I'm going to try to getinto graduate school myself."

Otto earned an undergraduate degreefrom The EvergreenStateCollege, studyingnatural history, ornithology, agriculture andecology.

With that kind of background, Ottosaid it was only natural for her to becomeinterested in more than just counting owls.Lately, she has been collectingand analyzingthe lump of debris owls cough up afterfeeding. It usually contains the skulls andother bones of the animals they eat.

Spotted owls are so important becausethey are what scientists call an "indicatorspecies," a group of animals that shows theoverall health of an ecosystem's inhabitants.

Compared to most birds and otheranimals, spotted owls are relatively delicate.They generally have only one or two babieseach season, and the babies often do notsurvive.

Spotted owls thrive only in old-growthforests where there are lots of dead or

decayed trees that provide secure nestingplaces for themselves and their main foodsource — flying squirrels. Young trees don'thave decay pockets. Young forests don'thave thick shade canopies that keep animalscool on hot summer days. Flying squirrelslike to eat the fungi that grows on rottinglogs. That doesn't grow in clearcuts or newsecond-growth stands either. No food, noowl.

Dut for Otto, the spotted owl is morethan just an indicator species.

"To me, the owl is valuable aesthetically," she said. "It's beautiful. Ifs an animalthat is interesting. Ifs neat to learn something about their behavior and I think that'severy reason in the world to protect it"

Ask her opinion about the ruckus thespotted owl has created among lumbermenand she is careful to say that her opinions arehers and in no way that of the U.S. ForestService.

"I think we have to decide as a societywhat we value. I don't think it's necessarilyan owls vs. jobsissue. My personal opinionis that if jobs were the issue there would bemore effort by industry to retrain theloggers. All of the money that's put intomaintaining logging roads and buildinglogging roads and replanting harvested unitsand setting up units, which is paid for by thefederal government when their land islogged by private industry, should bechanneled into helping these folks adjust tosome changes that are inevitable down theroad, even if there were no spotted owls andit weren't an issue.

'To industry I think that's just a tool tostir people's emotions. They have a lot tolose. A lot of money."

The biologist is gone. In her placestands a natural philosopher in the mould ofHenry Thoreau or Edward Abbey.

"I'm not against logging. My personalfeeling is that the old-growth forest is aresource to our society and our country inother ways than just for wood products," shesaid. "I think that it's diminishing rapidly. Ifwe look at the time scale since people firstsettled in this area, we're losing it before weknow anything about it in detail.

"For example, people are looking at theyew tree as a possible cure for cancer. In thepast, we cut them all down and didn't thinktwice about it There's all kinds of plants outthere that grow in the forest that we don'tknow anything about. Most of our medicinescome from these plants. There are so manythings to learn, and it would be a realtragedy if the forest was cut down and goneforever and we couldn't learn anything fromit

ByJack Swanson

Froman airplane, the forests ofHood Canal seem to clothe the

bare earth with quilted fabric.Green patches vary in texture,revealing different ages of trees.Brown patches demarcate recent

clearcuts.

Toward the west, jagged mountainpeaks thrust upward to the sky. Below, aswath of blue water shines in the sunlight.

This is the Hood Canal watershed, afragile and interconnected ecosystem.

How people feel about this region —and the decisions they make — will determine what natural features remain for future

generations. In the intense debate over

forests, no two people see the value of treesin quite the same way.

To Gary Phillips, a logger fromQuilcene, a tree represents a way of lifepassed down from his father and grandfather. Cutting a tree means feeding his familyand providing raw material for someone'shouse.

To Aargon Steel, Adopt-A-Forestcoordinator for Washington Audubon, thetrees offer food and shelter for animals

ranging from cougars to elk, from eagles tosalmon, not to mention the tiniest organismsat the beginning of nature's food chain.

Still others see trees as part of thelandscape, an important element in the

Logging • 85

Section 6

For Timber

or for the

Environ

ment?



"The most

economicallydistressed

counties in the

Northwest are

those that

depend onloggingfor

their

livelihood. The

most

prosperous are

those that

have

unchained

themselves

from theirmills."

— Tim Egan,The Good Rain

beautythatdefines HoodCanal today.Both Phillips and Steel havestrong

feelings abouttrees andwildlife, but theyrealize the issuesare far toocomplex toresort to convenient slogans, such as "Save atree; eat an owl."

DonnaSimmonsofHoodsport,amemberof the state Ecological Commission,has worked intensivelyon timber issues.Needed more than anything, she says, arebridgesof understanding.

"The reason the timber industry is in acrisis today is not justbecause ofcrazyenvironmentalists trying to lockup everystick of timber," she says. "Thereare issuesofexport,automation—we canlog10timesfasterwith 10timesfewerpeople—as wellas the over-harvesting of the past."

It is wellunderstood that manyspeciesof wildlifewould disappear without trees.But if uncontrolled loggingthreatens thenatural system, total preservation threatensthe human system.

Already, the impacts are being felt inthe timber market as the federalgovernmentprotectstimberforwildlife habitat, saidJerryClark, resident manager of the Pope &Talbot sawmill at Port Gamble.

"We're going to pricea lot of peopleout of the housing market," said Clark. "We,as the public,have to make some toughdecisionsabout how we want to approachour lifestyle."

Despite their successes, environmentalists are not celebrating.Logginghas beenhalted in many critical areas ofOlympicNational Forest,but the northern spottedowl alone seems to be taking the heat.

Protecting the owl under the Endangered SpeciesAct has disrupted old-growthlogging, mobilized special owl biologistsandforced officials to look for other places to cuttimber.

But while everyone has his eye on thespotted owl, it has been too easy to forgetother animals also struggling to survive.These include the marbled murrelet, aseabird that nests in very old trees; the fisherand pine marten, weasel-likeanimals thatlive in hollow logs; and the Roosevelt elk, amajestic beast whose numbers have declineddrastically in some areas around HoodCanal.

Some environmentalists talk about

hitting the federal government with a

massive petition, asking that a host of otherforest species be considered for the endangered list.

"Whatwe reallyneed," says BobCrowleyof OlympicEnvironmental Council,"is an endangered ecosystem act"

Uld-growth" is one type of forestecosystem targeted for protection as a resultof spotted owl studies. Protection measuresmay wellsave otherspecies in the process.

ButCrowleyworriesthat the spottedowl issue has failed to force federal officialsto consider the biological limitsof humanactivities. The issue has simply shiftedattention to trees that can be marketed

without affecting the spotted owl itself."They are under a lotofpressureto get

the (timber)volume out again, but with amuch-reducedland base," said Crowley.

But some gains have been made.Crowley, a Port Townsend resident, isparticipating in a unique Forest Serviceexperiment in the Mount Walker area nearQuilcene. The concept is to evaluate thearea's resources — timber, wildlife, plants,deadmaterial, etc. —and decide howmanytrees can be harvested (and by what method)without destroying the ecological health ofthe area. No targets for timber were identified in advance, as would normallybe thecase.

"We give up some of our advocacy rolein going into this kind of process," saidCrowley."We have to recognizethere arevalid concernson the part of industry andthat some level of harvest is acceptable."

If successful, the program may encourage other efforts of its kind.

Related issues are boiling up on stateand private lands. A criticalwinter range forRoosevelt elk along the Dosewallips River ison land owned by Pope Resources. Thecompany had proposed logging about 2,000acres needed by the elk.

That logging could have destroyed thelast of the Dosewallips herd, according toGreg Schirato, regional biologist for the stateDepartment of Wildlife.

Elk are an important part of the HoodCanal ecosystem, said Schirato. They spendtheir summers in Olympic National Park,then wander down though the nationalforest and onto private lands as snows chasethem out of the high country.

The national park was first formed in

1909 as Mount Olympus National Monument,primarilyto protectthe elk herds thathad been decimated by settlers.Today, elk inthe Hood Canal area may again be indanger.

Schiratoguesses the combinedDosewallips and Duckabush herds may bedown to 80 animals from a 1984 estimate of

127.

Elkpopulations have been squeezed bydeclininghabitat as well as increasedhunting,saidSchirato. Elkneed a combinationof open range for grazing and protectivetrees for hiding and shelter. Clearcutsalreadyin the Dosewallips area have limitedforest habitat.

And, last year,37animals were killed,mostlyby members of area Indian tribes.(Tribes establish their own hunting seasonsin "usual and accustomed" areas.)

'That herd," said Schirato, "couldn'tsustain another four or five years of that kindof harvest."

Hunting by both state residents andtribal members has been limited to three-

point bulls or larger this year to help theherd recover, he said.

Pope Resourceshas been required todevelop a long-range strategy for protectingthe elk before the state will allow anyloggingon its private lands. How the issuewill be resolved is uncertain, said JohnWalter,vice president for timberlandmanagement.

"We are in this business as timberland

owners to operate on a profit level," saidWalter. "We're going to have to find abalance:what management is required fortimber, and what management is requiredfor wildlife?"

Some private landowners don'tacknowledge their responsibility to wildlifeor to the public. Landowners do have rights,but some hold to a frontier ethic that saysthey should be able to use their land as theywish.

Walter doesn't go that far. His company — the largest private timber owner inthe Hood Canal region — was among thefirst to buy timberland with the idea ofkeeping it forever. But Walter does worrythat the public expects too much.

'There seems to be a tendency to wantto make the timber companies pay theprice," he said. "My fear, as a professional inthis business, is that regulations are going toget so strict that it will discourage timber

1989 Timber Harvestin Western Washington

Jr Rank %oftotal

2uS» 1 Grays Harbor 14.4

+w+ 2 Lewis 13.8

tJB* 3 Cowltiz 9.5

"2L 4 Clallam 7.6

£uCc 5 Pacific 6.8

SkL i 6 Mason 6.3

Sbu 7KinR 6.2

•ES^ 1 8 Jefferson 5.2

^^b ^"^ 9 Skamania 5.0

Western ^ ^^f^»jL 10 Snohomish 4.9

Red ^y^&£*^ 11 Skagit 4.8

Cedar^^u •CSfiOWf 12 Peirce 4.1

|Hp* 13 Thurston 3.5

GSMf 14 Whatcom 2.5

KJ»|\ 15 Clark 2.2

M^P|P 16 Wahkiakum 2.0

^3"V» ^ Kitsap 0.8

1 5,434,879boardfeetharvested

Source: Dept.of NaturalResources

companiesfrom holding onto their land.'Then," he said, "you will have a lot of

short-term investors buying the land whodon't have much concern about steward

ship."Schirato says he recognizes Pope's

financial commitment, and he's trying towork out a plan that would allow somelogging over time.

Uut in the woods, itisnot always easyto see the impacts of logging. But a growingcadre of foresters, biologists and hydrolo-gists are studying old logging methods andcoming up with new approaches.

One afternoon in 1990, Robin Sanders,a technician with Olympic National Forest,slipped on a pair of hip boots and steppedinto the BigQuilcene River. Loose rockslittered the bottom of the swift stream. She

made her way quickly, but carefully, fromone side to the other, stopping several timesto take water samples.

Erosion from logging activities can bemeasured in the stream by testing the water

Logging • 87

"Forestryneeds to

expand itsfocus beyond

wood

production tothe

perpetuationof diverse

forestecosystems."— Jerry Franklin

• Using the Resource

"It took more

than 3,000years to make

some of thetrees in the

western

woods. God

has caredforthese trees,saved them

from drought,disease,

avalanches

and a

thousand

straining,leveling

tempests andfloods; but hecannot save

them fromfools."—JohnMuir

for suspended sediment. Some sedimentoccursnaturally, but history has proven thatloggingcan unleash huge quantitiesofsilt—enough to destroy salmon runs.

Sanders, who works out of theQuilcene Ranger District, hasbeensearchingfor sources of erosion all summer and fall.

Today, the water remains clean,but pressures to preserve older forests may increaselogging in this area.

KathySnow,district ranger atQuilcene, sayserosionin new areasbeinglogged is not the problem it was even 10years ago, though past problemsstillplaguethe Hood Canal watershed.

Roads cause the greatestproblembecause they concentrate and acceleratewater movement. Years ago, road bankswere routinely "cut and filled" as theysnaked along the edge of a mountain. Oftenmaterial cut from the cliff was used to fill

valleys crossed by the road. In time, waterfalling on the road would wash into thevalleyswith enough energy to erode thefilled material.

New roads must avoid fillaltogether ifthere is a high danger of erosion.

Still, large portions of the Quilcene andHood Canal ranger districts look like atangle of rope when viewed on a map.Closingsome roads —and possiblyrestoring the ground — have become major issues.

The ForestServicealso is experimenting with new techniques of logging, including combining traditional clearcuttingwiththinning.

Under a national program called "NewPerspectives in Forestry," timber salemanagers are attempting to preserve fishand wildlifehabitat as well as scenicqualities, while reducing water and air pollution.Every timber sale gets attention.

Along Townsend Creek (a tributary tothe BigQuilcene), loggers were directed toleave woody debris on the ground and not todisturb the forest floor,according to SteveRicketts, a forester in the Quilcene District. Inyears past, the entire area might have beenburned down to bare soil.

Rotting debris becomes the first habitatin the next forest. Bacteria and insects initiate

the foodchain,encouraging birds and largeranimals to move back over time.

Whenpossible, standing snagsordyingtrees are leftas homes forwoodpeckers and other critters that live within hol-

lowed-outareas of the decayingwood, saidRicketts.

Every snowflake is different, theysay,because of the many ways icecrystals canform.The same might be said of forests.

A 300-year-old tree growing in goodsoil near Hood Canal would stand taller thanthesametreegrownin poor soils in the highwilderness country. One ancient forest is notthe same as the next.

It's no wonder that there's confusion

over what forestsare needed to protect thespotted owl or that differentgroups havetheir own definitionof "old growth."

Justas important, nobody is keepingtrackof the overallHood Canal ecosystem.Private lands blend into state lands, whichblend into federal lands.

"The problem I have seen is that thereis not a lot of cooperativelong-range planning," said Simmonsof the EcologicalCommission. "I don't think anyone knowshow much of the whole Hood Canal drain

age can be harvested and converted to otheruses. Ifwe continue to chop it up into littlepieces and convert it to roads and houses, itis gone."

'The reason we have to protect soheavily on federal lands," added Snow, "isbecause the private lands were cut over somany years ago. Most forest lands have beenlost to urbanization."

Vitallinks among plant and animalspeciesare beginning to unravel in the HoodCanal area. Ifs up to humans to decide — intheir cumbersome political way — how farthe damage will go.

"Ifs like we've been on a feedingfrenzy and now the bill comes due," saidSteel of Washington Audubon. "I don't thinkwe have to throw everybody out of thewoods... but we have to wake up and realizeit's not morning in America anymore. Ifslate afternoon."

Critics question whether clearcuttingwhole hillsides can be considered

environmentally sound.

If the natural wonders of Hood Canal

are to survive, logging activities inprivately owned forests may be evenmore important than on state andfederal lands, observers say.Some of the most important fish and

wildlife habitat can be found among the treeson private land, according to Marcy Golde ofthe Washington Environmental Council.

"It's important that we start to look atthings as one forest," she said. "I thinkthere's a growing understanding that youprotect wildlife by protecting the habitat."

The state's Timber, Fish and Wildlife

(TFW)agreement, which has been in effectthree years, allowed scientists for the firsttime to scrutinize logging proposals onprivate land.

Biologists for the state Department ofFisheries and Department of Wildlife, as wellas for the Washington EnvironmentalCouncil and Indian tribes, are routinelymaking recommendations to protect naturalsystems.

"TFW has put a microscope on the

whole process of resource protection," saidMike Reed, who reviews proposals for theS'Klallam Tribe. "What we are seeing is not apretty picture."

The Department of Natural Resources,which has the final say on logging applications, does not always follow the recommendations. And biologists for every agency areoverburdened by the sheer number ofapplications.

"We're in decline for a large number ofwildlife populations," said Reed. "Ourpolicies ... are not meeting the true functionalneeds for fish and wildlife populations. Wemust allow the landscape to be left in anunmanaged state or walk lightly across itwithout disrupting the movements ofwildlife species."

In many places around Puget Sound, itis too late to preserve intact ecosystems, butthere may be hope for Hood Canal.

Kitsap, Mason and Jefferson countygovernments must take an active role toprotect forest lands from urban sprawl,according to Reed. Once a forested area is

Logging •

Section 7

Toward

Keeping

TlMBERLANDS

Intact



"The problemis that there is

not a lot ofcooperatiavelong-rangeplanning. Idon't think

anyone knowshow muchof

the whole

Hood Canal

drainage canbe harvested

and converted

to other uses."— Donna

Simmons, stateEcological

Commission

developed with houses, it is lostas wildlifehabitat.

On the other hand, logging activitiesneed not destroy fish and wildlifehabitat ifdone carefully, with an eye to resourceprotection, he added.

How to balance resource protectionwith the financial interests of timber owners

was the goal of the SustainableForestryRoundtable, which brought together landowners, state agencies, counties, environmental groups and Indian tribes.

Roundtable discussions continued for a

year before a settlement was proposed in1990. It would have, among other things,limited timber harvesting in a watershed andrequired major landowners to retain 10percent of their holdings as "late succes-sional" (eventual old-growth) habitat.

"For the first time," said Golde, intalking about the proposal, "we have aportion of private land devoted to theprotectionof wildlife."

For timberland owners, the 10-yearagreement offeredstabilityas the winds ofchange continue to blow, said BobGustavson, negotiator for the WashingtonForest Practices Association.

"SFR (Sustainable ForestryRoundtable) is part of a continuing reflectionof both knowledge of the resources we'redealing with and the changing valuesofsociety," he noted.

The proposal introduced concepts thatbiologistshave long desired.One is "thresholds," which trigger more and more scrutinyas the environment becomes more severelydamaged.

For example, one threshold focuses onstreams. Proposed logging in an area wouldbe subjectto restrictions ifsilt levelsin anearby stream exceed 10percent of thebottom gravel (as measured by establishedmethods.)A 25percent silt-to-gravel ratiowould trigger even stronger measures,suchas halting all loggingin the watershed.

A few streams in the Hood Canal area

already exceed 10 percent, said Reed, whosees the threshold provisions as a majorconcession by landowners.

Other thresholds would be established

for different types of wildlife.Another new concept is that of "perim

eter." The idea is to retain good-sized treesaround any new clearcuts. Logging wouldnot be allowed unless 90 percent of theperimeter (surrounding forests) containedtrees at least five years old, or 60 percentwere at least 15years old, or 30 percent wereat least 30 years old.

Furthermore, a team of scientistswould review the impacts, and possiblyprevent logging, when a landowner proposes to harvest 500acres or 4 percent of hisholdings (whichever is larger) in a watershedin one year.

Altogether, the proposal provided aframework for long-term timber management while protecting habitat, saidGustavson.

"You don't just paint the landscape tolook different overnight," he said. "Whenyou fly in an airplane, the pattern you see iswhat was happening 10,20,30,40,50 yearsago.

But the Sustainable ForestryRoundtable agreement broke down in 1991when environmental groups refused toendorse the proposal their representativeshelped negotiate. The groups complainedthat too many concessions had been made towin agreement from the timber owners.They were particularly concerned about the10-yearterm of the agreement, worried thatmuch could be lost in 10 years if the agreement contained unforeseen loopholes.

State lands commissioner Brian Boyletried to take the proposal to the state Legislature anyway, submitting it without theendorsement of the environmental groups.The proposal died for lack of support fromboth the environmental lobby and the timbergrowers. Boyleintends to try again to winapproval of the landmark proposal.

But the Sustainable ForestryRoundtable experience offers graphicevidence of just how difficult it is to forge anagreement that bridges the differing views ofa resource such as timber. Is it more valuable

as lumber or as a forest?

Bernard Tom patrols the waters ofHood Canal as an enforcementofficer fortheS'Klallam Tribe.

rm iltered sunlight painted the water a• deep, dark green as Bernard Tom

I guided his patrol craft between theconcrete piers of Hood CanalBridge.

A coolbreeze kicked up a slight chopon the surface, producing what sounded likea drumbeat as the hull contacted each

approaching wave.It was the last Wednesday in August,

and the earliest tinges of autumn were in theair.

Tom gazed out upon the water,searching for fishermen with nets in thewater or any boater signaling for help. HoodCanal looked especially empty this day andnot much in need of a fishery patrol officer.Northern Hood Canal would remain quietuntil the arrival of the coho and chum later

in the year.Tom, who grew up on the Little Boston

Reservation at Port Gamble, wore theuniform identifying him as an enforcementofficer for the S'Klallam Tribe, a job he hasheld for 13 vears.

Fifteen years ago, his job didn't exist.The state Department of Fisheries wrote themles and carried out the enforcement.

Fifteen years have brought dramaticchanges to Hood Canal and, in fact, all ofPuget Sound. Today, the local Indian tribes— Skokomishand S'Klallams— play anequal role in managing the complex fishery.

Scientists have learned much about

salmon in the past 15 years. They have abetter understanding of their migration,feeding patterns and habitat needs.

Harvest managers balance issues ofwild salmon versus hatchery stocks, of onesalmonspecies versusanother, and of sportfishing versus commercial fishing.

Habitat managers face the potentialextinction of wild salmon runs due to

logging practicesand commercial development — activities never given much consideration in the past.

Managing the resource means usingcomputers to keep track of five species ofmigratory salmon traveling in mysteriouspathways through state, national and

•91

Chapter

7

Fishing

Section 1

Ripples from

Boldt



"The right oftaking fish, atall the usual

and

accustomed

grounds andstations, is

furthersecuredto said Indians

in common

with the

citizens of theterritory."

—Point No Point

Treaty

international waters.

In the mid-'70s, everyone seemed to betalkingabout salmon.Commercial fishermenhad been catching the powerful fish from thePacific Ocean to the inland waters, whileIndian fishermen waited at the end of the

line for a declining number. Their catch:just5-10percent of the Puget Sound total.

The prized salmon, revered by theancient Indians, were pushed and pulledthrough court battlesand legislative scuffles.Even on quiet Hood Canal, gunshots couldbe heard in the turmoil that followed a

federal court ruling by an audacious judgenamed George Boldt.

Boldt The name still stirs strongfeelingsamong fishermen. His controversialdecision, later upheld by the U.S. SupremeCourt, assured Indians an equal role — nomore, no less than the white man's — indetermining the future of the salmonresource.

Even more controversial at the time

was Boldfs division of the resource. With the

judiciousnessof KingSolomon, Boldtruledthat century-old treaties ensured tribalfishermen an equal share of the allowablesalmon harvest.

Overnight, non-Indian fishermen werefaced with a 40 percent reduction in theirsupply of salmon.

The transition that followed Boldfs

dramatic decision has been less than smooth.

In the emotionallycharged atmosphereofthe time, both Indian and non-Indianfishermen complained that the other sidehad fired shots at them.

In one incident, a non-Indian gillnetterwas critically wounded by a Fisheries officerpatroling at the entrance to Hood Canal.Theofficer claimed his boat was about to be

rammed, though no charges were issued.Facinga $4millionlawsuit, the stateagreedto pay the paralyzed fisherman $250,000 indamages.

Many fishermenstillcan't swallowBoldf s ruling, but after years of negotiations,state and Indian authorities have reached a

working accommodation. Joint managementof the resource and coordinated enforcement

of the fishing industry are evident on HoodCanal.

State and Indian fisheries experts use acomplex system of calculatingreturningsalmon. They account for the Pacific Oceancatch as well as fish taken from the Strait ofJuan de Fuca. They provide for "escape

ment" — the number of fish necessary tosustain the natural runs. Then they dividewhat is left.

"We set up a fishing schedule to dealwith our share of the fish," said DennisAustin of the Department of Fisheries. 'Thetribes do the same, but they have to dealwith each other."

At first, Boldf s decision triggereddisagreementsbetween the tribes and state.Parties relied on the courts to settle disputesover the allocation of specific runs.

"We don't seek third-party resolutionas often as we used to," said Austin. "Werealize we can cut the baby in half as well asSolomon if thafs what it comes down to."

Nick Lampsakis, senior biologist forthe Point No Point Treaty Area, worked infisheries research at the University ofWashington and with the National MarineFisheries Service before coming to HoodCanal.

"A lot of professionals were hopingthings would end up as they have," he said.'The acrimony and the fighting have endedand the professionalism has increased."

Prior to Boldt, the Department ofFisheries had been a "closed book," saidLampsakis. Now, estimates of salmon runs— as well as the computer calculations onwhich they're based — are all subject tonegotiation.

"A feeling of goodwill kind of justcame along," said Lampsakis, "becausepeople on both sides realized that they couldsue each other forever or sit down and work

things out."The two sides don't always agree with

each other's numbers, officials say, buteverything is open to discussion.

Boldfs ruling overturned the state lawthat kept commercial fishermen out ofsouthern Puget Sound and eUminated whathad been known as a "salmon preserve" onHood Canal. Boldfs reasoning was thatallocationsamong tribes should be based ontraditional fishing areas, so managers mustdeal with the returns to streams and rivers

where salmon originate. That couldn't bedone if the fish were caught before reachingHood Canal.

Nevertheless, the Hood Canal SalmonManagement Plan (a negotiated agreementapproved by the courts) discusses the canalas a single management area.

Some folks, like state Sen. Brad Owen,D-Shelton, would like to reserve the non-

IndianshareofHoodCanalsalmonprimarilyforsport fishermen. He has pushed thatproposal in the Legislature since 1988.

The Boldtruling was like a declarationof independence for Hood Canal tribes. Itnot only boosted the struggling economiesofthe reservations, it also united tribal members behind a single issue.

"People used to leave the reservation,"said Lampsakis. "I have been around anumber of years and have seen familiesmoving back."

Thetribalharvest isn't makinganybody rich,he said, "but it givespeoplesomething to call their own."

Today, more than 300 fishermen areregistered with the Skokomish and PortGamble S'Klallam tribes alone. At the time of

the Boldt decision, the numbers of Indianfishermen could be counted on one hand.

Fishingmeant money to buy equipment as well, and today about 40 Indiangillnet boats operate in the Hood Canalregion. (Local tribes do not allow purse seineoperations.)

Hood Canal fish hatcheries — operatedseparately by federal, state and tribalgovernments — have greatly expanded thecommercial salmon harvest in the canal since

the mid-70s,yet sport fishermen have

noticed a severe decline in their catch.

Stateofficials blame the problem on thetype of fish being reared in the hatcheries,amongother things, and they've negotiateda partial solution.

Hatchery production has been shiftedto increase the catch of coho and chinook

salmon by non-Indian sport fishermenwithout reducing the tribal harvest; thesalmon were then held in net pens on thecanal over the winter to encourage them tostay in the canal. The first releases of thesalmon came in the spring of 1991. So far, theresults of the effort are inconclusive.

In the meantime, Bernard Tom, otherIndian enforcement officers and their

counterparts in the state department continue to patrol the canal, and work withincreasing harmony.

"Our working relationship seems to begetting better all the time," said Tom. "Ifstate officers see tribal members who are

violating(fishing regulations), they can turnthem over to us. We do the same for them.

Weweren't always confident with that typeof relationship.

"When I first came on, I noticed a lot ofpoaching activities, but it mellowed out," hesaid. "I'm not saying it stopped ..."

Fishing • 93


Section 2

Reclaiming

the Salmon

Culture

By JulieMcCormick

ill Smith makes his first set of the

night off Dewatto, eyes the sealwaiting to bite the belly out of hislivelihood and jokes about themoney he's losing."He's saying, 'Here's Bill, it must

be dinner time'," cracks the 45-year-old ex-college quarterback. Smith also is an ex-college administrator, the former chairmanof the Skokomish Tribe, founder and firstdirector of the Northwest Indian Fisheries

Commission and sometime househusband

— in the off-season — with a 17-month-old

baby girl.It costs $25 to fuel the twin 350s that

power Smith's 32-footgillnetter between itsmoorage at Union and the open fishing areaof the canal.

He is still making payments on thesleek, $60,000Cougar, trimmed in the gray-and-maroon of Washington State University

The controversial Boldt decision allowed

Skokomish tribal member Bill Smith to

make Hood Canal waters his office.

and named for his alma mater.

Between the July 8 opening and thismid-August evening in 1990, the 200 tribalmembers who fish the canal or the river

running through the reservation for whichtheir tribe is named have caught 400of theyear's 10,000 king (chinook) allocation. Thetribe's actual king catch was 2,000 fish in1990.

Smith fears the Skokomish may noteven have reason to bother going out for thenext run of 1990, the silvers (coho) are that

scarce. He blames it mostly on ocean factorydraggers. Their 30-mile-long death nets snageverything from sea birds to dolphins alongwith many of the millions of salmon headingback to spawning grounds in NorthAmerica.

The real living from fishing in the canaldepends on chum, a late salmon that sportsmen cannot attract in the saltwater canal.

The tribal half of the 1990 late fall run was

about 200,000."If you can't get 200 a day, you're just

not trying," Smith says. He "picks" thesecond water haul of the night for his 1,800-foot net. Slippery, orange jellyfish "marmalade" collects instep-deep on the Cougar'spointy deck, and Smith sloshes aroundcarefully in high rubber boots.

Ifs dark now and all hope for a catch atthe light change is gone. BillSmith radios hisbrother Dave, whose smaller gillnetter liesoff a point just south of Cougar. Lightchanges and point locations seem to promisemore fish — sometimes.

Dave has caught two 10-pound kings,and Billdecides to take up residence offanother point across the canal. He cranks thenet out at an angle. Phosphorous lights it likea star chart in the dark water.

"The best thing that ever happened toNorthwest fisheries was Boldt," he says ofthe 1974court decision that put his people inthe fishing business beyond subsistence forthe first time in 150years.

Early whites noted the rotund figurescommon among West Coast tribes. Salmon,their main food source, was so abundant thatthey turned to farming only when the whiteman's government forced it upon them.

Their hunting and gathering culturewas unique in its sophistication — rich in art,religion and organization. Their potlatchesparticularly galled whites, who were repulsed by and soon outlawed the achievement of social status through dispersal ofwealth, rather than the hoarding of it.

Boldt was good because the resourcewas declining and there were too manylicenses,Smith says of the pre-Boldt period.Fish greed drove the badly regulated, non-Indian commercial fleet to double between

1965 and 1974.

Pre-Boldt, the Skokomish had nogillnetters. They still have no purse seiners, adecision most tribes have made to spread theresource more evenly among tribal members, Smith says. A giant seiner or two couldtake the entire Skokomish allocation in a

season.

Smith believes all tribes should do

what the Skokomish have done from the

beginning — spread their allocation equallyamong tribal members, not allow those whoare economically better off to take the lion'sshare of the catch.

Tribal members once set nets across

their river — now known as a "termination

point" — and operated traps and weirs.Many still do, including younger brotherJake Smith, who's operating nets exactlywhere his grandfather's were.

Unlike many other coast tribes, whose"usual and accustomed" fishing groundsextended into the sound or the straits, wherethe Fraser River sockeye run at the sametime as king, Skokomish tribal members arerestricted to their river and Hood Canal.

BillSmith was moving up the administrative career ladder as financial aid director

for The Evergreen State College in 1974.Healso was tribal chairman and sitting in on thefishing rights trial.

When Judge Boldt surprised most ofthe state, including the tribes, by grantingthem half the salmon and steelhead catch,Smith quit his job, started the NorthwestIndian FisheriesCommission and plunkeddown his first payment on a $30,000 boat.

"Everybody was so afraid the redhorde was going to take all the fish," herecalls.

Instead, the Point No Point TreatyCouncil spends about $200,000 in federalmoney annually on salmon enhancement forthe canal.

Smith considers his decision to buy aboat "one of the pivotal points" in his life.The way he tells it, he believed in thedecision, believed in the tribal right, and wasa workaholic for Indians at the time. Some

one needed to get the ball rolling, take thefinancial risk and learn how to fish commer

cially."It was just by guess and by golly. See,

we didn't have any experience, we fished inthe river."

Smith organized the Skokomish, thePort Gamble S'Klallams, and the LowerElwha and Jamestown Klallams into a newversion of the old 1855Point No Point TreatyCouncil. The Chimacums had died off longago, of smallpox, historians say.

His attempts to reestablish the regionalcouncils that had bargained in 1855 and 1856with Washington Territorial Governor IsaacStevens failed beyond his own area.

Indian tribes differ as much between

themselves as nations do, he said, but towhite society "an Indian is an Indian is anIndian."

BillSmith's fishing earns about $20,000a year to support himself, his youngestdaughter and wife, who recently left her

Fishing • 95

"The best thingthat ever

happened toNorthwest

fisheries wasBoldt."

—Bill Smith


school administrator's job to stay home withtheir child. The couple decided to stick withit as long as they can, despite the fact theycould probably increase their income byreturning to the rat race.

"I'm not an idiot, I've been blessed,"Smith says. "Most of the people I know fishnot for the money but for the lifestyle... Aschool teacher or a nurse makes more than I

do. But how can you measure that where Iwork, people spend thousands of dollars tocome and vacation — right outside my officewindow."

The Boldt Decision

More than 100years of historyweighed upon Judge George Boldtas he sat down to write the federal

court order that changed salmon management throughout Puget Sound.

"This should have been brought 50years ago," the judge said in court, as anassistant attorney general took down hiswords in longhand. 'There has beenmuch damage, both physically andspiritually, for want of adjudication in acourt of law.

"Hopefully," said the judge, "wehave reached a turning point, and thisdecision will improve the situationbetween Indians and non-Indians, whoshould be acting like brothers."

Boldt was in his final years as hemade his historical decision, not onlydividing up the salmon resource in anumerical way but helping the Indianscontinue their culture.

Some say it cost him physically andemotionally. How did he feel about theangry fishermen who defied his order orthe bumper stickers that said, "Save OurSalmon — Can Judge Boldf?

While non-Indian fishermen were

immediate losers in his decision, manybiologists argue that Boldfs interferencehelped prevent the further demise of theresource.

But it was history, not protecting thesalmon, that shaped his opinion.

When white men first arrived in

Hood Canal, salmon were abundant.Hundreds of miles of streams on the

Kitsap and Olympic peninsulas providedspawning habitat for chinook, chum, cohoand pink salmon, as well as steelhead.

To the Indians, salmon were morethan just food. They embodied spiritualconnections. Since return of the mysticalfish must be voluntarily, Indians approached the relationship with care, evenhonoring the first salmon to be caughteach year.

In the 1850s, it must have seemedimpossible to deplete the salmon runs. Ina peaceful acquisition of millions of acresof land, Isaac Stevens, the first governor of

WashingtonTerritory,assured PugetSoundtribestheywould have the right tofish forever.

During the signing of the Point NoPointTreaty,which governs the HoodCanalarea,Stevens said, "Thispapersecures your fish."

Thetreaty includedthis language:"Theright of taking fish,at all usual andaccustomed grounds and stations, isfurther secured to said Indians in common with the citizensof the territory..."

Thistroublesome language,at thevery core of the Boldt decision, wasmaintained as federal law—but without

legal interpretation—for more than 100years.

Meanwhile,white settlers proceeded to burn the candle at both ends.Whiledisrupting salmon runs anddestroying streamhabitat with loggingoperations, non-Indians also caughtincreasing numbers of salmon on theirway to remaining spawning areas.

'Traditionally,the Indians stoppedfishing and removed theirgear from thestreams when they had caught theirwinter's supply," said Anthony Netboy inhis book Salmon: the World's Most HarassedFish. "In contrast, the white men... fishedas long as the runs continued unlessrestrained by law (which they oftendefied)."

In 1921, the Department of Fisherieswas created to halt the uncontrolledexploitation. In 1934, the state passedInitiative 77, whichbanned fixed fishinggear. It also moved net fishermen out ofHood Canaland southern PugetSound.But the number of fishermen continued toincrease, and fishingeffortsmoved fartherand farther away from salmon streams.

Itbecame a matterof toomanyfishermen chasing toofewfish, accordingto economistsstudying the Puget Soundfishing industry.As the fishdisappeared,theywerechasedevermorevigorouslyby modern equipment.

Tothe state,the treatylanguage"taking fish... in common with" meantthat allregulations appliedequally to

Indians and non-Indians. But Indians,who traditionally fished at the entrance tostreams,found the runs depleted by thetime the salmon reached them. Some

began to fishin defiance ofstate regulations.

After a violent confrontation in 1970

betweenIndiansfishing on the PuyallupRiverand state game wardens, U.S.Attorney Stan Pitkin challenged the state'sauthority on behalf of seven tribes. Othertribes later joined the suit

Judge Boldt decided the harvestablesalmon should be split 50-50 betweenIndian and non-Indian fishermen.

It wasn't an arbitrary division.Asearlyas 1899, the U.S. Supreme Courtruled that a treaty should be construed"notaccording to the technical meaningofits words to learned lawyers, but in thesensein which they would naturally beunderstood by the Indians."

Boldt studied the language in whichthe treaties were presented to the tribes inthe 1850s. He faced the factthat nobodyhad anticipated the future of the salmonresource. And he decided that Indians

and non-Indians, as two distinct groups,should be "sharingequallythe opportunity to take fish."

Steelhead, whichare strictlya gamefishin Washingtonstate, were notconsidered any different from salmon atthe timeofthetreaties, soBoldt ruled theyalso should be split 50-50.

Boldt determined that tribes should

be allowed to regulate their own fishermen, in keeping with the desires ofCongressto increasetribal self-government But first,he said, they must establishwell-organized governments, setupenforcement units, maintain accuratemembership rolls and be able to collectinformation about salmon harvest.

Boldtretained jurisdictionin thecase, and the federal court was soon calledupon to approve a number of earlymanagement plans. Issues still before thecourt include whether tribes can insistthat salmon be protected from man-caused damage to habitat in the streams.

By Christopher Dunagan

Fishing • 97

"Most of thepeople I knowfish not for themoney but forthe lifestyle....People spendthousands of

dollars to

come and

vacation —

right outsidemy officewindow."

—Bill Smith

• Using the Resource

Section 3

Making a

LlVNG FROM

the Water

ByJeffBrody

NickJerkovich of Gig Harbor isthe third generation in hisfamily to make his livinghauling fish from the sea, but hemay be the last. Not yet 40,Jerkovich believes he will see in

his lifetime a ban on commercial fishing inWashington waters.

The Gig Harbor native is a successfulpurseseine fisherman. He takes his58-footboat yearly to the herring fishery offSanFrancisco and to Alaska for salmon, beforereturning in the fall to fish for salmon inPuget Sound.

Likemost purse seiners with license tofish in Puget Sound,Jerkovich spends a fewdays eachyear fishing in Hood Canal.

He sees the political battle betweensport and commercial fishermen in HoodCanal specifically, and Washingtonstatemore generally, as one that commercialseventually will lose.

"I can sympathize with the loggers onthe Olympic Peninsula," he said. "I knowhow they feel. I don't think the fishery cansupport the number of fishermen who areout there."

LarryCharrier,a commercial fisherman for 20 years, chooses to be more opti

Nickjerkovich wonders whetheranother generation ofhisfamilycanmake a livingcatching fish.

mistic than Jerkovich."It goes against common sense and

good management for there not to be acommercial fishery," said Charrier, whoresists the suggestion that politicswill dictatea closure. "I don't want to give people theexcuse to just phase out the commercialfishery. There's no reason it can't be a viableindustry in Hood Canal and Puget Sound."

Jerkovichopened his boat last fall toobservers from sport fishing groups interested in closing Hood Canal to commercialfishing. He had what he considered a typicalday on the canal,catchingabout 800 chumsalmon.

The observers saw none of the viola

tions that sport fishermen suspect of thecommercials. Jerkovich thought they gainedan understanding that the commercialeffortdoesn't interfere with sport fishing opportunities,but was disappointed to hear later thatsomeof the people he had hosted were stillspeakingout strongly to keep commercialsout of the fishery.

"I have a hard time fathoming whypeople would beagainstcommercial seinersin Hood Canal," Jerkovich said.

The vast majority of the commercialcatch is chum salmon, not generally consid-

ered a sport fish because chum resist takingbait. Chinook and coho, which are targets ofsport fishermen, are caught by commercialfishermen in the canal,but not in greatnumbers.

And Jerkovich is willing to let thesportsmen have the coho.

"The silvers (coho) are so small, wedon't need to be there. It's not worth the

kind of hard feelings that are generated justso we can go after 4,000 fish," he said.

Charrier believes there is more opposition from waterfront and view propertyowners than from sport fishermen.

"A lot of pressure is coming fromproperty owners along the canal," he said."They resent commercial fishermen on thewater. They have the perception that whatwe're doing is something that should bedone where they can't see it."

When Jerkovichstarted fishing HoodCanal more than 10years ago, fewer than100purse seiners would participate in thefall Hood Canal chum run. The run was

smaller, and there were better fishingopportunities elsewhere.

But now, due to pressures in otherfisheries and more limited U.S. access to the

FraserRiversockeyesalmon run through theStrait of Juan de Fuca, commercials are"forced to fish all over," Jerkovich said.

"I wouldn't be surprised if there are200seiners out on the canal on peak fishingdays," he said.

In the same 10 years, enhancementefforts have boosted the number of chum in

the canal considerably.Robert Zuanich, executive director of

the Purse Seine Vessel Owners Association,says there are about 350state purse seinelicenses to fish the Puget Sound region,which includes Hood Canal. About 230 of

those licenses are active,he said, and nearlyevery active Puget Sound license holder willfish in Hood Canal during at least part of thechum run.

A purse seiner after chum salmonneeds to catch between 2,500 and 3,000 fishin the six days it is likely to be on HoodCanal to make the effort worthwhile. That

catch, worth about $30,000 at market, isabout a quarter of what the boat will earnfishingall Washington waters.

Most purse seiners also fish in Alaskaand off Oregon, and the canal hosts fishermen from Alaskaand Oregon on the dozen-or-so days ifs open, Zuanich said.

Purse seiners take about 80 percent ofthe commercial salmon catch on Hood

Canal. Gillnetters like Charrier are more

numerous —1,110 licenses and about 600active boats but take only about 20 percent ofthe Hood Canal catch.

Purse seiners, larger boats with muchmore expensive gear, catch fish in a net thatcloses at the bottom. Fish swim into the holes

in a gillnefs mesh and can't back out toescape. Fish so caught are subject to predators, and Charrier says seals in Hood Canal"patrol" his net and often get to his catchbefore he does.

Most of the Hood Canal catch is chum.

The value of the non-Indian Hood Canal

commercial chum fishery has ranged in thelast decade from a low of about $483,000 in1983to a high of almost $5 million in 1987.

In comparison, the canal has a verysmall commercial fishery for bottom fish.Only $4,900worth of bottom fish were takenin 1988, according to state Department ofFisheries records. The Legislature banned theuse of bottom trawling rigs on the canal in1989 because of the damage caused by thedrag nets.

As a result, dogfish, a type of shark, isthe only bottom fish now being takencommercially from the canal in any numbers, accordingto Greg Bargmann of theDepartment of Fisheries.

"It's insignificant as a commercialfishery from a bottom fish perspective,"Bargmann said of the canal.

There is a small commercial fishery forsurf perch in the late winter and early spring,and a more significant fishery for herring,mostly north of the Hood Canal Bridge, inthe summer.

Commercial fishing boomed in PugetSound in the early decades of the 20thCentury, and the resource started to decline.Despite increasing attempts to regulate thecatch,commercial fishingcontinued to growand salmon stocks continued to decline.

In the wake of the Boldt decision in

1974, which guaranteed tribes the right tohalf the salmon in Washington waters, thestate and the tribes began salmon enhancement efforts designed to offset the increasedcatch of the tribal fishermen.

Fish hatcheries in the canal watershed

boosted production, especially of chum."Boldt caused a lot of money to be

devoted to enhancement," said Zuanich,"and a lot of money went into hatchery

Fishing • 99

Hood Canal is

the third best

commercial

salmon fisheryin Puget

Sound, trailingthe Fraser

River sockeyerun in the San

Juans and thecoho and chum

runs in the

southern partof the sound.


"Wealwaysaccused the

Indians oftaking morethan their

catch. Nozv

sportsfishermen

accuse us ofthe same.

Overall, Ithink the

system ispretty clean."

—Robert

Zuanich,purse seiner

Hood Canal commercial fish catch

Non-Indian commercial salmon catch, in pounds

Chinook

Coho

Chum

Total

value

76 78 '80 '82 '84 '86

8 24,792 3,670 9,159 15,355 38,573 20,580

0 54,217 1,837 142,227 121,347 267,423 15,497

188,366 2,161,068 130,174 789,500 1,618,295 1,990,961 2,188,439

$108,151 $2,687,063 $582,100 $615,996 $1,339,485 $1,206,802 $781,024

'88

Indian salmon catch, in poundsChinook 269,105 141,772 71,227 76,311 97,854 172,288 193,282Coho 465,042 264,127 774,384 352,493 126,688 237,108 34,488Chum 136,206 2,222,671 753,347 1,041,899 1,679,443 1,816,456 1,946,614

Total

value $768,292 $2,327,975 $1,398,977 $880,756 $1,068,443 $932,111 $1,904,725

Commercial bottomfish catches, by pounds

•3;

"**!***&#

t'5?,--„

76 78 '82 '84

Flatfish 51,969 67,305 33,874 43,889 4,170 33,182 607

Dogfish 2,149,963 425,078 571,284 75,305123,072 11,47615,666

Rockfish 6,943 11,910 4,213 1,860 0 977 11

Pacific 75,075 64,301 19,796 279 5,443 9,167 24

Cod

Total

pounds 2,414,347 604,909 648,103 145,287143,893 58,78020,326

Source: Washington Department ofFisheries

The Economics of Fishing

Cana person make a living fishing inPuget Sound and Hood Canal?Not if you owe money on your boat,

say those familiar with the commercialfishery. And even if you're free and clear,ifs still a marginal proposition.

A typical purse seiner has about 25days to fish Puget Sound waters, whichinclude Hood Canal and the water

around the San Juans, according to RobertZuanich of the Purse Seine Vessel Owners

Association.

"It takes about $15,000 for insuranceand maintenance to start the season if the

boat is paid for," Zuanich said. "Thetypical boat might earn $65,000 from theFraser River sockeye run, about $30,000from the Hood Canal chum run, andbetween $15,000 and $20,000 in the southsound fishing coho and chum. Out of that,you have to pay for your crew of three orfour.',

Whafs left, in a typical year, would

production in Hood Canal. The chum runwas enhanced significantly."

State statistics show a general improvement in the non-Indian commercial catch on

Hood Canal since the Boldt decision. The

average annual Hood Canal non-Indiancommercial catch in the first four years afterBoldt was 876,750 pounds; the averageannual catch was 2.5 million pounds from1986-1989.

Despite that, Zuanich said, "I don'tthink you'd find any commercial fishermanwho would say that the fishery is betterbecause of Boldt."

There are more fishermen going afterthose salmon, and there are fewer fishavailable elsewhere in Washington waters.

State licensed commercial fishermen

once had a right to half the 12 million-15million Fraser River sockeye that runthrough the Strait of Juan de Fuca everyyear. But the most recent U.S.-Canadaagreement limited U.S. fishermen to 7million sockeye from that run during 1989-1992.

American fishermen were allocated

only 2.2 million of the record 21 million runof sockeye this year, and that was split 50-50

be $35,000-$40,000 for the boat andskipper, from which must come that$15,000 needed to start the next season.

With a $150,000 investment in boatand gear, most purse seiners are forced toseekadditional earnings from fisheriesoutside Puget Sound.

Even for gillnetters,with a muchsmaller investment, the economics are notfavorable.

Larry Charrier fishes exclusivelyinthe Puget Sound region and says he earnsa "modest" living.But he said he couldnot pay for his boat and gear on hisearnings.

Gillnetters tend to do better in other

parts of the sound than in Hood Canal,where the terminal type of fishery seemsto favor the purse seine method. Inaddition, Charrier said, the canal's largeseal population can raid fish from a gillnet much easier than from a purse seine.

ByJeffBrody

between the white and the tribal fishermen

under the terms of the Boldt decision.

Jerkovich questions the basic finding ofthe Boldt decision and believes originaltreaty language should be interpreted to givethe tribes equal opportunity to catch, not aguarantee of 50 percent of the fish.

But the Boldt decision is history now,and the real question is about the future. Theeconomic problems of commercial fishing inPuget Sound existed before the decision, andstill exist today.

"I think Hood Canal is probably one ofthe best places for enhancement," Jerkovichsaid. "I would say there are more fish now inthe canal than before. We're barely fishingnow and we're making money; we used tofish for days and get less. But the fisherydoesn't have stability. Enhancement shouldbe the No. 1 priority. We can raise enoughfish for sportsmen and Indians and thecommercials," Jerkovich said.

"I would like to see it where everysportsman could go out and catch a fish ortwo every week, and I see no reason whythat can't happen, and still have a commercial fishery."

Boosting hatchery production can't

Fishing •101

Four years ago,the non-Indian

commercial

season forFraser River

sockeye was117 hours; thisyear the seasonwas 28 hours.

Thatputs morepresure on theHood Canal

fishery.


"They couldsplit the

money theyspend on

Department ofFisheries

among thecommercial

fishermen andwe'd earn as

much without

going out inthe boat."

—Nick Jerkovich,Gig Harbor seiner

solve all the problems, however.Charrier sees sportsmen fail to land

hatchery raised chinook even when they arepresent in the canal.

"Hatchery fish don't feed when theyget down toward the rivers. Kings (chinook)from the natural runs do," he said. Commercials may catch them in nets, but fish thataren't feeding won't take a sportsfisherman's bait or lure.

"I fished in the canal when I was 8,"said Charrier, who was born in Shelton and

Bait Business a Family Affair

Ifyou've eaten salmon caught in PugetSound by a sport fisherman, quitelikely you've got BertNelson and his

family to thank for helping bring the mealto your table.

The Nelsons catch and package theherring many local salmon fishermen usefor bait. They've owned and operatedKitsap BaitSales for more than 25years.

Nelson, 68, a Bremerton native and1940graduate of Bremerton High School,has been fishing in Puget Sound since1936. He switched from salmon to herringin the late 1950s, when "politics squeezedthe little guy out — that was me."

Nelson's bait business began in theearly 1960s after cutting a deal with hisdaughter, Janet, who was in high school,and sons Malcom, Marvin and Orrin, injunior high.

"I told them that if they wanted topack our own herring, I'd pay them adollar an hour. But,I said I'd give themonly 10cents, that I'd keep the other 90cents to save for their schooling.Theyagreed, we tried it and it worked."

The herring packing operation thatbegan as a family business still involvesmost of the family. Janet liveswith herhusband and still works sorting andpacking herring. Marvin, 40,spends most

now lives near Port Townsend. "I under

stand why the sportsmen are concerned.Sports fishing has really declined in thecanal. But, in general, it is difficult to understand why there's so much conflictbetweensports and commercial fishermen. We havethe same enhancement goals. I still think thatsport and commercial fishermen have morein common than they have at odds. It isimportant that we work together on enhancement."

of his time between April and October onthe family's herring boat. His wife, Marie,supervises crews at the bait packing table.Orrin, 35,manages the whole operationwhich also includes the 26-slip KitsapMarina and a boat and equipment salesoperation. His wife, Kristine, handles thefirm's books.

About half of Nelson's bait fish are

"toughened up" in net pens at SquamishHarbor, across Hood Canal from Lofall.Summer herring caught by Nelson's sonMarvin with the family boat in Skunk Bayon the north end of the Kitsap Peninsulaor Mutiny Bayon the west side ofWhidbey Island tend to be fat and "soft."Butafter spending a few weeks in theholding pens losing their fat, the heningare more suitable for salmon bait.

Nelson said fishing is good in HoodCanal, if you're looking for perch orsquid, "but there's no demand, no price,no money in those kinds of fish."

He feels the biggest threat to HoodCanal is not overfishing: 'Ifs pollution.I'm in favor of getting rid of all those(Department of) Fisheries biologists andhiring more (enforcement)patrol officers.We don't need to study it more. Theyneed to patrol it more."

By Gene Yoachum

Sports fishermen angle for chinook inthe -waters of the Skokomish River.

Thesalmon runs in Hood Canal

are the skiff of legend. An oldS'Klallam woman recalls the daysin the 1920s when the fish were

so thick "you could walk fromshore to shore on their backs

without getting your feet wet."Families caught so many they got sick

of smoking them.But man's intrusion on nature has

taken its toll. The salmon fishing isn't what itused to be. Some blame the commercial

fishermen. Others blame nature. Others

blame man.

"There was a time when this was a

paradise for salmon anglers, too," says BobMottram, a Tacoma newspaper columnistand author of one of the Northwest's most

popular fishing guidebooks, "SaltwaterSalmon Angling." "But the canal started

falling on hard times in the late 1970s,whensport catches dropped offdramatically."

The decline has been attributed to a

variety of factors, from an exploding population of fish-eating marine mammals, to thedestruction of stream habitat, to driftnetfishing on the high seas and increasedcompetition from Indian and non-Indiancommercial fishermen in Washingtonwaters.

Local fishermen don't think the reasons

are all that complex. Leroy Trammell ofBelfairfished in Hood Canal for 45 yearsuntil he gave it up in disappointment andfrustration a couple of years ago.

"When they brought the commercialfishermen in, within two years, you couldn'tbuy a bite out there," he says gruffly. "In the'50s, '60s and early '70s, I could go out anyday of the week before the kids went to

Fishing • 203

Section 4

No Longer

a Fishing

Paradise

Byjack Swanson


"Few places onearth are as

lovely as HoodCanal on a softsummer day."

—Bob Mottram,

Saltwater SalmonAngling

school and be back by breakfast with a limitof three steelhead.

"The fisheries people want to talkabout the Boldt decision, but the Boldtdecision didn't come in until after the fish

were gone."The Boldt decision, named after the

judge who rendered it, guarantees Indianfishermen half the salmon

and steelhead in Northwest

ern waters.

Trammell blames the

administration of former

Gov. Dan Evans in the early1970s for allowing commercial fishing to start up again.Commercial fishing had beenbanned in the canal since the

passage of Initiative 77by thevoters in 1934.

But here is where the

complexities that Mottramtalks about come into play.The number of fish in the

canal has actually increasedduring the last few years,according to FisheriesDepartment figures. The fishare there; people just aren'tcatching them.

More salmon are in

Hood Canal than at any timesince the 1970s, asserts areport released last Januaryby the Washington Department of Fisheries.

"Unfortunately,recreational catches have

been declining despite increasing runs ofchinook and coho," admit the authors of"Hood Canal Salmon — A ContemporaryManagement Issue in Puget Sound."

"Fishery managers at the (department)sought an explanation for this paradox ofincreasing run sizes and decliningsportharvests," the report says. "For chinooksalmon, the case seems to involve discontinuance of the spring chinook program atHoodsport Hatchery in the 1980sand lowsurvival of chinook released from Hood

Canal hatcheries."

Local fishermen have another theory.After commercial fishing began depletingnatural stocks in 1970s, Indian tribes and thestate began dumping millions of hatchery-raised fish into the canal.

Hatchery chinook and coho competewith the natural fish for food in the canal but

seem to have a poorer survival rate at sea. Incontrast, hatchery-raised chum salmon,whichdon't takebait, seem to survive verywell.

Trammeland others say the hatcheryfish have supplanted the natural salmonruns. And they say hatchery fish don't goafter fishermen's lures the way the natural

stock does.

Fish biologists tend topooh-pooh such theories andclaim that Hood Canal is one

of the best all-aroundfishingspots in the Northwest. It isone of the few areas where

fishermen can catch some

thing nearly any time of theyear. And fishermen can usejust about any method thereis, from wading in the riverto trolling from a boat tospin-casting from shore.

But Jim Talbot, whoruns the Seabeck Marina

when owner Dennis

McBreen is out campaigningfor improving the sportcatch, said 1990fishing in thecanal was "way off."

'There's just no harvestout there," Talbot said. "Theproblem is the purse seinerscome in here and there's

nothing left for the sportsmen."

Why not ban commercial fishing altogether? StateSen. Brad Owen, D-Shelton,

whose big orange and blackcampaign signadorns the side of a building on McBreen'sdock, has been unable to win passage of abill that would do just that.

The fisheries department has anambitious plan to improve sport fishing inthe canal,but results won't begin showingup for several years.

A progress report issued in 1990showed that several key parts of the planhad been delayed for at least a year. Thereport says the department has made"significant progress," however, in changingthe production schedule for hatchery raisedchinook salmon that could increase fish

catches in 1991.

The department has opposed anoutright ban on commercial fishing in thecanal.

Fisheries officialssay they can't

SkokomishRiver

Intensiveharvesting offishcoming back to the

George AdamsHatchery at PurdyCreek has depleted

natural salmonruns on theSkokomish.

Hooking Big Chinook on Light Tackle

The crystal waters of the SkokomishRiver swirl around Cleo Grigsby'ships as he flicksa big No. 1 hook and

a ball of orange fluffacross40feet of openwater.

With pinpoint accuracy, the hookplops just at the edge of a deep pool and asinker pulls it out of sight into the depthswhere king salmon like to rest on theirway upstream.

Grigsbylets the hook ride down thecurrent then gives it a yank, swearingunder his breath. Snag. He wraps the 15-pound-test line around his fist, turns hisback and walks away until the line snaps.He ties another hook and ball of colored

fuzz to his line and goes back to casting.It is noon on a warm, late-summer

day. Grigsby and half a dozen otherfishermen have contributed a dozen

hooks to the unseen hazards of the deephole across the river during the past twohours. And not a fish among them toshow for it.

"Beenfishing this hole for 20 years,"grouses one of Grigsby's companions,sitting on a rusted old lawn chair. "Neverbeen this bad. Ifs those damn nets."

He points downriver where justaround the bend is a row of white foam

balls supporting an Indian gillnet.

Earlier that morning on our way tothis fishingspot from Hoodsport, wepassed an Indian fisherman on thehighway, his pickup loaded with freshlycaught king salmon. A fish broker hadjustbought the lot for $2a pound.

"Tne Indians have to take the nets

down this evening.This weekend,fishermen will be out here shoulder-to-

shoulder," one of Grigsby's friendsobserves.

The men who fish the Skokomish

wear ancient coveralls with tatters and

patchesbut their fishinggear is spotlessand expensive.Grigsby, a retired militaryman, says he paid $125 for the slendercarbon fiber pole and another $75for thenew reel that adorns it. The other men

have similar rigs.Pat Kellyhas come all the way from

Aberdeen to fish in the Skokomish this

day, passing up other good salmonstreams closer to home because he heard

the kings are running on the canal.In 1989, Kellysaid, he hooked and

captured a 42-pounder using the samelight fishinggear as the others. He hasn'tcaught another fish since,but the memoryof that epic battle keeps him coming backevery weekend he can get away.

ByJack Swanson

prevent Indians from fishing commerciallyanyway. And because the salmon population is so large, sports fishermen couldn'tpossibly catch all of the fish that wouldotherwise spawn and die if they weren'tcaught.

The department has set up meetingswith sports fishing groups to try to get theircooperation and involvement in fish management programs, but the fishermenremain skeptical.

"Frankly, I think they're just goingaround in circles," said Duane Linkmeyer,president of the Kitsap Poggie Club. "Formonths one group from the department hasbeen going around to groups showing off anew device that is supposed to help increasethe salmon hatch in local streams. Now

another part of the department is telling usthey don't want us to fool around with thestreams because it might have an adverse

effect on wild salmon in the stream.

"Our response was, 'What wildsalmon?'"

Like many old-timers, Linkmeyer saidhe has given up fishing in Hood Canal.

"It's a waste of time and money," hesaid. "I'm not going to go out there andchase my shadow."

He, too, blames the commercialfishermen for the drop in salmon available tosport fishermen.

"You turn loose 400 gillnetters and 260purse seiners for two weeks and everythingis gone. Everything. The rockfish, baitfish.They tear up the kelp beds and the eel grass.Even the shellfish are affected. Also, the sealpopulation has grown. Andy Rogers, an old-timer around here, thinks the seals do moredamage than the commercial fishermen."

Linkmeyer and Trammell say they feelthe Fisheries Department favors the interests

Fishing • 205

"I've been

fishing theHood Canal

probably45years. Whenthey brought

back the

commercial

fishermen,within two

years, you

couldn'tbuyabite out there."

—LeroyTrammell


"It has been

established

that

commercial

overfishing isthe primary

cause ofdeclining sportfisheries in this

country."—Keith Herrell,

president, PacificSalmon

SportfishingCouncil

of commercial fishermen over sport fishermen.

"They can say what they want, butthey're 100percent commercial," Trammellsays angrily. "They're not doing a damnthing for the sportsmen."

Criticism of fisheries isn't limited to

those who fish in Hood Canal.

Sport fishermen throughout the stateclaim the state earns far more from them

than it does from commercial fishermen.

Anglers pay more than $30million annuallyin taxes, licenses and boat fees, whilecommercial fishermen only pay the statearound $5 million, asserts the Pacific SalmonSport Fishing Council.

The council also claims taxpayers payas much as $15 to produce a 7-pound cohosalmon that a gillnetter sells for $1.50 perpound.

Fisheries department officials heatedly

deny any bias against sportsmen and sayrecent changes in fish hatchery releases willenhance sport fishing in Hood Canal.Eventually, the state says its enhancementprogram will double the number of anglertrips to the canal each year to 40,000, anddouble the angler success to nearly one-halffish per trip.

Linkmeyer and others snicker at suchpredictions because they've heard thembefore.And they are tired of going tomeetings where they hear the same oldthing.

"I told them the first meeting we had:we're not going to be able to do anythingabout improving fishing in the canal until wedo somethingabout commercialfishing,"Linkmeyer said. "And we won't be able todo anything about that until the commercialfishermen and the Indians are sitting herewith us."

Finding Tranquility with Rod and Reel

k s he does just about every night evening ballet several days a week for twof\ after work, Al Bower squints years now. The point is one of my favorite

JLJL against the setting sun and cata writing spots. I have never seen him get apults the long silver spinner out into the bite. Other fishermen come and go. Theywater just north of the Hood Canal seldom speak.Bridge. "Ever caught one?" I ventured one

He pops the bale of the spinning reel night as he moved past my makeshiftback into place and reels line in rapidly, table.

tugging occasionally to give the spinner "Yup. Right... here."more action in the water. The silver spoon flumps dutifully

Three casts. Four casts. into the waves about 30 yards from shore.He picks his way carefullyamong Pull, reel. Pull, reel.

the boulders near the boat ramp at Hicks "A 35-pounder. Felt like a whale.County Park, finds solid footingand Took me an hour to bring him in."addresses the swift-running currents of Does the lack of fish bother him?

the full tide once again. He chews on the question a minute,Half a dozen casts and he is moving, working the line by long habit.

working the length of the shoreline.I have "No. I do it mainly for the exercise."been watching Bowerperform his ByJack Swanson

R young people and informs themthat they are the hope of the

future, that their generation is called upon tosave the environment.

Privately, Hirschi tells adults that thenatural wonders of Hood Canal — particularly the magnificent wild salmon — mightnot survive that long.

Hirschi grew up around Hood Canal,fishing many of the streams in his youth. Hewatched careless loggers and ruthlessdevelopers destroy natural runs of salmonand trout.

"I wish I could be more positive," hesaid, "but the rules aren't strong enough;they aren't enforced; and people are basicallyuncaring, I guess."

Fishermen are taking too manysalmon, from the ocean to the inland waterways, says Hirschi. Hatchery-produced fish

Wildlife biologist Ron Egan ofthe stateDepartment of Fisheries is countingfewer andfewer wild salmon in the

streams thatempty into HoodCanal.

on Hirschi, a local biologist andauthor of delightful children'sbooks, likes to visit local schools.

He looks into the smiling faces of

— introduced to help fishermen increasetheir catch — only compound the problemsfacing the wild salmon.

Hirschi's assessment is echoed by otherbiologists, but his voice is filled with emotionas he goes beyond the cold calculations of hisfellow scientists.

Consider Laudine DeCoteau Creek, a

small stream that flows into Port Gamble.

"When I was a kid, I went there," saidHirschi. "It was the first stream I saw fish

spawning in."To get to the stream, he would walk

through tall, aging stands of douglas fir andcedar. Gravelly stream beds were darkenedfrom the sun as vine maples and heavy logscast their shadows upon the cool water.

Hirschi observed sea-run cutthroat

trout making their way up and down thestream — that is until logging changedeverything five years ago.

"Clearcutting totally altered thecharacter of that stream," said Hirschi. "Then

2,4-D (herbicide) was sprayed on the maples

Fishing •107

Section 5

Can the

Wild Salmon

Survive?



"The PacificNorthwest is

simply this:wherever the

salmon cangetto. Rivers

without

salmon have

lost the lifesourceof the

area."

—Tim Egan,The Good Rain

adjacent to the creek. In the wetlands thatform the headwaters, wood waste andsludge from septic systems was dumped."

Dirt, eroding out of the clearcut area,covered spawning gravel with a layer of silt.Watercress plants took root in the muddybottom, forming dense vegetation that madepassage of salmon and trout more difficult.

"The end result," said Hirschi, "wasthat we couldn't find any more cutthroattrout. It will take a long time for that streamto recover."

Similar assaults on wild salmon have

been under way for years throughout HoodCanal, said Hirschi, who left a job as ahabitat biologist for the S'KlallamTribe in1990to work fulltime writing children'sbooks.

To be sure, Hood Canal remains inmuch better shape than most areas of PugetSound — not to mention Southern California

or the East Coast. Many Hood Canal streamsstill contain considerable spawning grounds,but they are disappearing.

As people become increasingly concerned about the environment, state andlocal regulations call for safer practices, saidHirschi. But, more often than not, the endresult is still less than adequate.

In the early 1800s, the state ofMainecontained nearly 31,000 square miles ofmajestic pine forests. Atlantic salmon wereplentiful in bubbling streams known byFrench and Indian names.

Laws, some adopted as early as 1741,presumed to protect the mighty salmon.Between 1820 and 1880,400 additionalfishery laws were passed. But enforcementwas uneven.

In California, commercial fishing forwild chinook, coho and steelhead beganwith the gold rush of 1849and peaked with acatch of 12 million pounds of fish in 1882.Logging, mining, road construction, gravelextraction,grazing practices,pollution anddams destroyed spawning areas. Of theoriginal 6,000miles of spawning grounds inthe mighty Sacramento-SanJoaquin watershed, only 510 miles remained in 1929.

Between 1926 and 1943, the commercial catch in California never reached 7

million pounds.Recently,and at great expense, Califor

nia residents have launched programs tobring back the salmon. Effortsincludeartificiallyreplacing lost spawning gravel,

but it is not easy.The same story repeats itself through

out Europe, Asia and the United States —everywhere man has disturbed the fragilestream habitat so vital to the roving salmon.

"Isn't it funny that you don't get anyaction until the habitat is so degraded thatpeople finally say something has to bedone," said Mike Reed, Hirschi's successorfor the S'Klallam Tribe.

When the insult to a stream is temporary and the salmon are not killed or theirpassage blocked, the natural runs tend torestore themselves. But man is often in a

hurry, and there's a tendency to depend onman-made hatcheries that pump out thousands of fish, all fed by hand.

It is a doubtful expenditure of funds inthe long run, claims Jim Lichatowich, habitatbiologist for the Jamestown Klallams andformer assistant fisheries director for the

state of Oregon."With all the money we're putting into

hatcheries," he said, "we are just keeping upwith the wild populations disappearingbecause of the habitat we are losing."

nirschi pulled on his wading bootsand led the way down into the dry streambed of Seabeck Creek. In winter, water flowsover the wide expanse of gravel, but inAugust the stream's dirt is dry.

Walking toward Hood Canal, but still amile or so away, Hirschi suddenly stopped.Last year at this time, he said, water wasflowing at this point in the stream bed.

"People can't get used to the fact thatthey really need to look at the same streamagain and again to understand it," he said.

Though dry at the surface, water maybe moving underground here, since upstream portions of the 3 '/2-mile streamremain flowing year-round. The creek is stilla fair producer of chum and coho salmon.

A little farther downstream, Hirschistopped in front of a tiny pool, the first signof water. Using a machine to shock organisms in the water, Hirschi spotted a babycoho, which he examined and then let go.

"This stream," he said, "is right on theedge of destruction. It could go either way."

He points toward a nearby hillside. Seethat scar. Imagine this area filled with old-growth timber. Now, take everything off it.There goes the sediment."

The young forest today doesn't havethe water-holding abilities it had before

Coho

Churn

'80

Salmon Chinook 8,800run

totalsCoho

Chum

243,700259,900

Commercialcatch

(non-Indian)

Chinook

Coho

Chum

882

3,75576,596

Indiancatch

Chinook

Coho

6,992109,068

Chum 79,865

Sportcatch

Chinook

Coho

8,0734,357

Chum 334

'82

11,300

144,300295,000

'84

17,200

124,600

453,500

'86 '88 '90*

22,900 29,600 25,600180,900 34,600 118,500

547,500 602,300 483,000

1,146

21,235

81,524

5,93148,180

107,574

1,70023,000

160,700

9,019

24,323169,681

2,700 1,400 1,600

47,200 1,600 4,300213,800 237,200 150,000

11,932 14,06739,696 6,182

198,899 212,734

4,410

4,208

54

3,802

1,176

1,087

2,015 1,4641,254 632

191 324

"1990 numbers are estimatesSource: Washington Department of Fisheries

logging, so winter rains drain quickly off theland. The stream goes dry in the summer.

An old railroad grade, once used tohaul big timber down to Hood Canal, wasconstructed through the middle of the creekin places. A big earthen berm today, itprovides an ongoing supply of deadlysediment to the stream.

Sediment fills the spaces betweenspawning gravel, making it impossible forsalmon to dig a nest in the stream bed. It alsodestroys the microscopic habitat forstoneflies, mayflies and caddisflies — allimportant food for growing salmon andtrout.

Despite these problems, Seabeck Creek

remains a good salmon producer comparedto many streams. Clear Creek, for example,is clogged with silt as it flows through theexpanding urban area of Silverdale.The Seabeck area is not yet severely affectedby housing or commercial development,though that may be its greatest threat today.

As a tribal biologist, Hirschi has dealtwith landowners who have lied to his face,he said. One developer listened as Hirschiexplained about the value of trees along astream.

The developer seemed to understandand promised to preserve a wide greenbelt,said Hirschi, but a short time later the manstood and watched his loggers cut to the

Fishing •109

Hatcheryraised chum

are very

productive.But hatchery

coho and

chinook have

high mortalityrates.


Every streamin Hood Canal

is unique.Some are swift

with greatwaterfalls.

Some are slow.

But for everystream in

Hood Canal,there exists —

or once existed

— a uniqueraceof salmon

adapted tothat stream.

edge of the stream."Landowners are saying, 'It's not our

responsibility to pay for the mistakes of thepast,'" said Hirschi.

He says individuals should visitstreams, observe them closelyand teach theirchildren to protect them.

"I think," he added, "that everyoneshould take a kid to see a stream at least once

a year."

llabitat biologists — those who wadearound in streams and complain aboutlogging and development —are a differentbreed from harvest managers — who countfish, divide them up between variousfishermen and hope enough adult fish makeit home to spawn.

One problem for Hood Canal is thatproductive streams are so numerous thatmanagers find it virtually impossible to keeptrack of all the wild runs that come back at

various times of the year.Consequently, Hood Canal runs are

managed on a regional or "aggregate" basis.Commercial fishing seasons are designed toprotect wild runs, while assuring fishermenthe greatest amount of fishfrom year to year,said Dennis Austin, assistant director forsalmon with the state Department of Fisheries.

But in net fishing, wild fish are caughtalong with hatchery fish — whether they'rein the ocean or the entrance to Hood Canal.

Whether enough wild salmon aregetting through to their home streams is asubjectof considerable debate, but there'slittle doubt that miscalculations can impactwild salmon populations, especially if a runis barely surviving.

"In most situations, the natural runsare better off now than they were 15 yearsago," said Nick Lampsakis, senior biologistfor the Point No Point Treaty area. "But onehas to be cognizant of all the pressures thatexist."

Managers must take a balancedapproach to the resource, he said.

"The extreme harvest perspective says,'Let's forget about these wild stocks. Peopleare going to be building houses and puttingup roads anyway,' " he explained. "Theextreme environmentalist will say, 'Don'ttouch any of those fish.' The best answer issomewhere in between."

Hirschi argues that one problem forHood Canal is that the harvest managersrarely, if ever, see the streams. Salmon, tothem, are simply numbers on a computerscreen, he says.

"Harvest managers believe in theirsystem," he said. "It gives them goodstatistics that they believe tells them whereeach of the stocks are coming from. Obviously, it is not working or there would bemore fish coming back..."

If salmon were caught closer to theirstreams of origin, he said, managers could becertain sufficient fish could get through. Butas long as there is stiff competition in theocean, the Strait of Juan de Fuca and northern Hood Canal, it just won't happen.

"In ancient times, the natural production was 100percent of the total production,"said Hirschi. "If you can believe just one ofthose old pictures that showed the salmonthat were here, you would know we areliving in an area that could truly be thesalmon capitol of the world."

Everystream in Hood Canal isunique. Some are swift with greatwaterfalls. Some are slow, with nonoticeable flow in summer months.

Some streams contain beaver dams.

Some are inhabited by unusualstrains of bacteria.

But for every stream in Hood Canal,there exists — or once existed — a uniquerace of salmon adapted to that stream.

From a genetic standpoint, the "wild"salmon of Hood Canal have the ability toovercome just about any obstacle put forthby nature. Protecting that "genetic diversity"is a great challenge for fisheries biologists;for state, local and tribal governments; andfor society as a whole.

"The genetic material contains all theinformation needed to solve the problems ofthat particular population," said JimLichatowich,habitat biologist for theJamestown Klallam Tribe and a leadingexpert on wild salmon.

As humans produce changes in thenatural world, survival of the species maywell depend on having the right combination of genes, he said.

"You can't hire an engineer to design anew fish able to cope with the greenhouseeffect or acid rain," said Lichatowich.

While it would be theoretically possibleto eliminate the natural runs and grow all ofHood Canal's fish in hatcheries,biologistsagree it would be a stupid mistake.

Wild fish are not only free in aneconomic sense, said Lichatowich, theyprovide the only gene bank available forhatchery fish. In-breeding in hatcheries tendsto reduce diversity and increase the salmon'ssusceptibility to disease, he said.

Scientists have learned a lot about

hatchery operations, and they're better

managed today than ever before. But there'sstill a lot nobody understands about theinteraction of hatchery fish with naturalsalmon, about their competition in the wild,and about the ultimate effectsof in-breeding.

"In the plant community, the UnitedStates is spending a lot of money protectingwild and domestic varieties of seeds," saidLichatowich.

Horticultural scientists know that if

they rely on only a few varieties of corn,beans or potatoes, that unknown diseasescould impact the world's food supply.

With salmon, he said, "you can't putthe stuff in an envelope, store it in thelaboratory and grow it out every few years.Wild fish are important."

Beyond the scientificarguments onbehalf of wild salmon are those that appealto a deeper sense of understanding man'splace in the environment — whatLichatowich calls "esthetics."

"Man, in this area, has had a relationship with salmon for 9,000years," he said."The last 150years has seen a shift from anatural economy to an industrial economy."

If Hood Canal's wild salmon become

extinct, it doesn't say much for our sense ofvalues, he said.

Concerned about declining runs ofwild coho salmon in Hood Canal, theSkokomish Indian Tribe in 1991 filed

documents in federal court protesting"unilateral" action by Washington stateofficials in setting fishing seasons that wouldnot allow the minimum number of natural

coho to return to spawning streams in thecanal watershed. Under the Boldt decision,the tribes and state had agreed to a management plan that calls for a return of 19,100coho salmon each year to Hood Canal. Boththe state and tribes conceded that the goal

Fishing •!!!

Section 6

Preserving

the Natural

Salmon

Runs



Hood Canal spawninggrounds

KEY

P=Pink

K = Qunook

C = Chum

S =Coho

T=Stedhcad and sea-run cutthroat

QuilceneRiver.In the BigQuilcene, coho andchinook runsaredominated byhalcliery releases. Chum spawn downstream.Both the BigandLittle Quiclene salmon production liave beendamaged bylogging, road construction and agricultural practices.

Little Quilcene RiverK,S,T

Doseivallivs River. Despitesteepness,chinook, colw and pinks manage tospawn 12 miles upstream. Chumspawnin thelower 4.5 miles.

Big Quilcene RiverP,K,C,S,T

Dosewallips River

P,K,C,S,T

Duckabush RiverP,K,CS,T

Duckabush River: Despite muchpristine habitat, the potential ofthis river is handicapped bypastlogging practices.

Hamma Hamma River QS,TP,K,C,S,T

Hamma Hamma River.A series offallsrestricts salmon migrationon the main slem, but thefirst two miles, plustioomilesof John Creeksupport chum andpinks.

CAT

CAT

Gamble CreekCAT

Gamble Creek:Vie largest producerofcoho in the NortiiKitsaparea.

Big BeefCreek: Vie 10-milestreamisthe largest drainingfrom theCentral Kitsaparea. Still anexcellent salmon producer, thoughdevelopment is beginning todeeraae the stream. Vie constructionofLake Symington destroyed cohorearing habitat, anddielake's elevated temperatures reducethe capacityfor downstream cohorearing.

Little Anderson CreekCAT

Little Anderson Creek:Excellentcohostreamfor oneonly twomiles long. Produceschumand steelhead. Impactsarefrom residential development.

Stavis Creek: Watershed is largelyundeveloped, goodliabitatfor cohoand chum. In 1989pinkswere foundin thesystem.

DeWatto River. This 30-mile1T . _. river is oneof the most pristineUnionRiver salmm habiint /e^ ,-„ tfw stakr

K,S/T Plannersfree amajor challengehere as Central Kitsap becomesdeveloped.

TahuyaRiver: Tiie largest river draining dieGreat Peninsula, it hasbeen affected bytlie incursionof residential development. It remains afine salmonstream; tike theDeWatto, it produces a triple-runchum.

Union River: Cohomigrationto tlteupperareasb prevented byBremerton's Casad Dam andMcKenna Falls.Habitat has been degraded by logging, residentialdevelopment andfarming.

Skokomish River

P,K,C,S,T

SkokomishRiver.Vie North andSouthforks andmajor tributaries comprise200 miles of riverl>ed. Much of the South Fork hasbeen heavily logged, causingproblems inrougliout the system. Intensive harvesting of salmon runs has depletednatural stock. The North Fork contains twodamsandLake Cusliman, all ofwhich damage the salmon habitat.

Source: U.S. Department of the Interior: Fish and Wildlife Service

could not reasonably be reached in 1991, butthe parties could not settle on an interimgoal.

State officials went ahead and set

fishing seasons expected to allow 16,000coho to return. The Skokomish sought areturn of 17,000. But to get that extra 1,000coho into Hood Canal would have requiredreducing the number of fish caught off theWashington coast by 120,000 — somethingstate officialsfound unacceptable.

Randy Harder, executive director ofthe Point No Point Treaty Council said thecourt filing called attention to the state'saction, which Northwest tribes maintain willresult in overfishing the coho stock, but didnot attempt to overturn the establishedfishing season. He said the state's decision toignore earlier agreements appears to bebased solely on economic considerations atthe expense of the fragile resource.

'This court action serves as a warningof the tribes' resolve to rebuild the Hood

Canal's wild coho salmon and to insure that

the state will honor the spirit of co-management in the future," said Harder. "It is clearthat the state has acted without regard forthe law or needs of the resource this year."

Joseph Pavel, president of theSkokomish Tribe's General Council and

chairman of the Point No Point TreatyCouncil, said tribal fishermen have beenwilling to make sacrifices to allow moresalmon to survive. The tribes canceled their

directed commercial coho fisheries in Hood

Canal, Admiralty Inlet, the Strait of Juan deFuca and the San Juan Islands.

The state, on the other hand, adoptedplans that reserve for itself more than twicethe number of wild fish than what the tribes

will harvest, said Pavel. The state's regulations will lead to a sport fishery catch in theStrait of Juan de Fuca and Admiralty Inlet ofmore than 150,000 coho salmon and 336,000to be caught in the ocean north of CapeFalcon, Ore.

"No group of fishermen will take thebrunt of conserving the depleted wild cohosalmon stock more severely than the HoodCanal tribal fishers who rely on these fish fortheir livelihoods," Pavel said. "But tribalfishersdo not want to be a co-conspirator inperpetuating the problem of devastated cohoreturns. That is why the tribe cannot acceptthe state package, which will result in lessfish than the establishedescapement goal."

The number of wild Hood Canal coho

returning to spawn has generally declinedfor the past several years. In 1989and 1990,when the tribes and state managed for thefull escapement of 19,100 wild coho, just15,300and 6,800wild coho, respectively,returned.

Scott Brewer, fisheries manager for theSkokomish Tribe, said the tribe is committedto rebuilding the wild coho runs.

"Despite claims by the state to thecontrary," he said, "we anticipate thesituation we are witnessing this year willcontinue or be more severe over the next

several years. How will the state respond in1992,1993and especially in 1994when theoffspring of this year's spawning fish return?

"They have demonstrated theirwillingness to gratify the immediate needs oftheir fishing constituents," he continued. "Itremains to be seen whether they have anequal concern for the long-term needs of theresource."

Salmon are much more than an

economic commodity, argues Tom Jay of thegroup Wild Olympic Salmon. "In a way,salmon are the crown jewels of the ecosystem. They are a very important symbolabout what this place is all about."

In ancient times, salmon survived insufficient quantities to feed the humanpopulation, plus a multitude of animals fromeagles to bears. As an essential link in thenutrient cycle, salmon also carried traceminerals from the sea into the highestelevations of the forest, replacing micronutri-ents leached out of the soil by Northwestrains.

"A curious thing," said Jay, "is thatEast Coast salmon don't die (after theyspawn). It may be a little romantic to thinkso, but maybe salmon here die because theforest needs them to."

To restore natural salmon runs to a

semblance of what they once were would bethe greatest contribution humans couldmake to Hood Canal, said Jay. The health ofthe salmon runs are a measure of the health

of the watershed.

Fish hatcheries, on the other hand, area measure of man's desperation in thecomplex issue of fishery management, hesaid.

"In the '30s and '40s, economic interests had trashed so much habitat that the

state stepped in and said, 'We have to dosomething.' But when you look at theinvestment, dollars spent on habitat protec-

Fishing *113

Hood Canal

remains in

much better

shape thanmost areas ofPuget Sound.Many Hood

Canal streams

still contain

considerable

spawninggrounds, but

they aredisappearing.


"In the

Northwest, ariver without

salmon is a

body without asoul. From the

Sacramento to

the Yukon,every

waterwaypulled by

gravity has, atone time, been

full of thesilver flash of

life."—Tim Egan,

The Good Rain

tion and restoration would go a lot furtherthan dollars spent on hatcheries," said Jay.

"There are millions of dollars on the

table here, and people aren't necessarilygoing to tell the truth. They're going to fightfor their own interests," he continued.

"But think about the long-term values.

A Sport Fishing PreserveWashington state Sen. Brad Owen,

D-Shelton, is convinced that HoodCanal would become the sport

fishing capital of the nation if the waterway were to be turned into a fishingpreserve.

Owen, who continues to push theidea in the Legislature, says the proposalwould not affect Indian fishermen, but itwould phase out non-Indian commercialfishing south of the Hood Canal Bridge.

Recreational fishing groups haveeagerly endorsed Owen's proposal, whichthey say would expand the number of fishto be caught with rod and reel as well asrestoring natural runs of wild salmon.

But the state Department of Fisheries opposes the plan, saying Owen's fishpreserve idea isn't necessary to improvesport fishing in Hood Canal. Furthermore,tribal officialsfear it will disrupt thecarefullybalanced management regimethey have worked out with the state.

On a sunny day in 1990, Oweninvited Jerry Pavletich, West Coastrepresentative for Trout Unlimited, to joinhim on his boat to catch coho salmon in

Hood Canal. Shortly after noon, Owenthreaded a piece of herring on his hookand cast his line over the side.

"Hood Canal," he said, "is a verydefined body of water. It is easy to get toand so easy to 'fish ouf with nets."

Rays of light-glistenedon the water.The sun was hot, but the fishing was poor.In fact,signs of salmon —such as birdsflocking over the water or schools ofherring — were practically nonexistent.

"No birds, no herring balls,"lamented Pavletich. "They've finallyraped and plundered Hood Canal untilthere's nothing left but dogfish."

Like many rod-and-reel fishermentesting their luck on Hood Canal thesedays, Owen and Pavletich pulled in half adozen little dogfish sharks, but not much

The gravel in those streams is probablyworth more than all the lumber and all the

development you could possibly get from(the area). When you're talking about truecommunity resources, the gravel in thosestreams is probably worth its weight ingold."

elsefor their day of fishing."We're not affectingthe Indians

(with the proposed legislation). We're justtrying to get a fair share of the non-Indianallocation," said Owen, speaking for sportfishermen. "And I want to emphasize thisisn't an issue of commercials versus

recreationists either. The objectiveis torestore the levels of the (salmon) runs towhat they used to be."

Dennis Austin of the Department ofFisheries calls Owen's plan "overkill andunnecessary," though he admits HoodCanal is in trouble.

"The state needs to look at our

fisheries," he said. "This one area hascollapsed. Ifs stinko. There's no questionabout that."

But a simpler answer, he said, is toincrease the number of "resident"

chinookand coho in Hood Canal, to givesportsmen more fish to catch. Thafsexactly what the state is doing with itsdelayed release program, which it hopeswill show results in 1991.

Nick Lampsakis of the Point NoPoint Treaty Council calls Owen's bill "agiant step backward."

Commercial fishing is carefullymanaged to protect the long-term viability of the runs, he argued. Seasons areopened and closed as the runs demand.

'There is no way to close a recreational fishery the way you can open andclosea commercial fishery at a moment'snotice," he said.

Owen's Hood Canal preserveproposal won Senate approval in 1990and 1991, but never made it out of aHouse committee that listens more closelyto commercial interests and the wishes of

the Department of Fisheries.But he plans to keep up the effort.

'It took me three years to get drag fishing(bottom trolling) out of Hood Canal," henoted.


Louis Martin's left hand gripped theoyster firmly, holding it against thestainless steel table. His right handquickly slipped the razor-sharpknife between the two shells.

"You have to be careful youdon't cut the oyster," said Martin, 70, ofBrinnon, "and you have to make sure youdon't cut your hands to pieces."

Martin quickly sliced the oystermuscles close to the shell, first one side, then

the other. He plopped the naked oyster intoa bucket.

Martin has worked for a lot of people.He's been an elementary school teacher, alogger, an equipment manufacturer. In 1980,at the age of 60, he took a job with HoodCanal Seafood, joining the ranks of morethan 2,000 people employed in Washington'sshellfish trade.

"I needed something to do," Martin

explained. "I would go crazy doing nothing."

Oysters make for a crazy business.Age-old techniques of knife-in-hand shucking form a partnership with ultra-modernprocedures, such as genetic engineering.

Statewide, it's a $25-million-a-yearbusiness, but oyster growers ally themselvesnot with industry, not with timber companies and certainly not with real estate firms.If anything, they're anti-growth.

Oyster farmers, in fact, have beencalled Washington's first environmentalists,advocating clean-water laws since the turn ofthe century.

Outside the building where Martin andtwo other shuckers were opening theiroysters, cold November rains ceased for thetime being. Martin's boss, Kirk Lakeness,prepared to transport a load of oysters to arestaurant in Port Townsend.

• 115 •

Chapter

8

Oysters

Section 1

To Protect

THE

Canal...and

Oysters


A Flood Canal oysterstartsthetriptomarket.


More than

2,000peopleare employed

in

Washington'sshellfish trade.

It's a $25-million-a-year

business.

"We sell to San Francisco — all over,"said Lakeness, whose father started HoodCanal Seafood on the shores of Dabob Bayin1958.

By most standards, the company is asmall operation. Three shuckers togetheropen an average of 20gallons of oysters eachday.

At that rate, noted Lakeness, it wouldtake his company 15years to equal a singlemonth's production by Coast Oyster Company, which manages oyster beds in HoodCanal, Puget Sound and Willapa Bayon thePacific Coast.

In terms of nationwide oyster production, Washington state recently moved up tosecond place behind Louisiana, due mainlyto declines on the East Coast, principallyChesapeake Bay,and the Gulf Coast. In bothcases, the biggest problems are pollution.

In the best years, Hood Canal contributes little more than 10percent of thestatewide production of oysters, but it isfamous for its sweet-tastingQuilcenevariety.

Even more important are the microscopic baby oysters produced naturally inQuilcene Bayand shipped to oyster growersthroughout the United States. In addition tonatural production, the bay is home to theworld's largest oyster hatchery.

An estimated 75certified oysterfarmers are located throughout Hood Canalif you include all the small growers. Manyare centered on the natural spawninggrounds of Quilcene and Dabobbays.

Oyster Harvestsfor Washington State

and Hood Canal

Year

1979

1980

1981

1982

1983

1984

19851986

1987

1989

1990

In pounds

State

6.1 million5.5 million5.6 million

6.0 million

6.1 million

7.1 million5.9 million8.7 million

9.4 million

8.8 million7.8 million

%ofCanal harvest

309,000163,000186,000305,000419,000758,000 10.7770,000 13.1360,000448,000267,000402,000

5.1

3.0

3.3

5.1

6.9

4.1

4.8

3.0

5.2

Although Hood Canal harvest rarelyexceeds 10 percentof the state total,the canal does producehalf thecommercial oyster seedfor the entirenation. Hood Canal seed also is usedextensively in Puget Sound andWillapa Bay, the state's major oystergrowing regions.

"^msm^s^smsiiB^^^mmmm^t^wmsimm

In 1988,PacificOyster GrowersAssociation hired a contract lobbyist — a"hired gun" in the slang of political powerbrokers. Tim Smith had worked for insur

ance companies, local governments and realestate brokers.

"I didn't know the (oyster) industry atall when I came down from Alaska two

years ago," said Smith. "I thought my jobwould be in marketing. I took a month andstudied the industry. It became prettyevident to me right away that the problemwas not in sellingoysters.We can't supplyeveryone as it is. The challenges are inkeeping the growing areas open."

By 1984,when pollution struck HoodCanal for the first time, a dozen importantshellfishgrowing areas had already beenrestricted in other parts of Puget Sound dueto extreme levels of bacteria. Then came the

1984 closureof a portion of Quilcene Bay,followed three years later by closures inLynch Cove near Belfairand DosewallipsState Park. In 1988, tidelands near theDuckabush River also were closed.

Statewide, the Department of Ecologyestimates dollar losses in excess of $3 milliona year due to the closures.

Smith had never before worked for a

seafood business or an environmental

organization. Now, he says, he heads agroup that is both.

'Thafs the main issue, protectingwater quality."

An ancient pile ofshells found buriedat Seal RockCampground north of Brinnonoffers testimony that Native Americansgathered oysters from Hood Canal beachesbefore white people arrived.

Early settlers to the Puget Sound regionfound an abundance of Washington's nativeoyster, the Olympia. It wasn't long before acommercial trade developed, starting withthe California gold rush in 1849.

When the burgeoning trade depletedthe natural stocks, a few pioneers beganculturing Olympia oysters in Southern PugetSound, using a system of dikes. The dikeskept the sensitive oysters submerged and ata more constant temperature during freezingwinters and hot summers. But expansion ofthe industry was stymied because oystergrowers didn't own the land, and theycouldn't be assured of control over their

expensive dikes.

In 1890, one of the first acts of theWashington Legislaturealtered the future ofthe state's shorelines. Those first legislatorsagreed to sell state-owned tidelands to oystergrowers as long as they would continuecultivation.

Thus the state lost ownership of manyvaluable shorelines, but it also created apowerful advocate for clean water, saidSmith. The complexion of the industrychanged immediately and became differentfrom that of many East Coast states, whereoyster harvesters continue to compete withone another for the same shellfish.

"In the wild harvest fishery, whenpollution has degraded the water quality inan area, the fishermen all pack up, and it's arace to the next fishing area," he said. "Youlose that built-in environmental protection —that of the grower out defending his livelihood."

Despite those early efforts, the nativeOlympia oyster has all but disappearedtoday. The little oyster with excellent flavorturned out to be sensitive to environmental

changes and too small to compete on themarket with larger oyster species.

Beginning in 1905,Japanese oysterswere shipped across the ocean as smalladults. They could be fattened for market inPuget Sound, but natural reproduction wasnot very successful.

In 1919, a curious thing happened thataltered the course of oyster production. Ashipment of adult oysters died, yet the babyoysters attached to their shells were able tosurvive.

In time, shipping cases of shells withthese pinhead-sized "seed" oysters attachedbecame the standard method of transport. By1935, annual shipments from Japan to theWest Coast exceeded 71,000 two-bushelcases of shells. The oyster was named thePacific oyster.

About that time, growers discoveredthat consistent natural reproduction could beexpected in Quilcene and Dabob bays,though the oysters grew more slowly there.

Normally, an adult female releases upto 10 million eggs a year into the water. Amale can release 1,000times that manysperm. When fertilized, the eggs becomesfree-swimming larvae, moving with thecurrents.

After several weeks, the oyster larvaewill attach to rocks, shells and other solidobjects.

In Quilcene and Dabob bays, this "set"is successful about seven out of 10years,compared to just less than once in 20 yearsfor many areas of Puget Sound, said AlScholz,a biologist with the Point WhitneyShellfishLaboratory on the canal at Brinnon.

An oyster set is considered successfulwhen at least 10 baby oysters attach to anaverage shell placed in the water. Not allsurvive, however. The summer of 1990proved to be one of the most successful yearsin history on the canal, with more than 1,000oysters per shell. Warm, stable temperaturesalong with clean, calm waters are importantfactors, said Scholz.

The only other natural spawning areason the West Coast are Pendrell Sound in

British Columbia and Willapa Bay onWashington's coast.

Natural production from Quilcene Baybegan to spread Pacificoysters throughoutHood Canal beginning in 1935. And whenWorld War II broke out and Japaneseimports were cut off, local productionbecame crucial.

In the 1950s, PacificCoast OysterGrowers Association became a major force inreducing the poisons pouring out of pulpmills around Puget Sound. Beginning in1954, the organization orchestrated a statewide educational campaign involving sportsand fishing groups, local granges, resortowners and parent-teacher associations.

Groups such as Citizens for CleanWater allied themselves with the oystergrowers, while the paper industry foughtback with its own public relations effort. Butby 1960, when the state's Pollution Commission had begun tightening controls onindustrial effluent, it was already too late formany areas.

Sources of pollution today are becoming more difficult to identify, let aloneeliminate. In Hood Canal, pollution seems tocome from all directions — houses, farms,timberlands, even pleasure boats — thus thename "non-point pollution."

"A lot of us have moved into what

were vacation homes and summer homes

and fishing homes," said Teresa Barron,water quality planner for Jefferson County."Our grandads built these homes, and septicstandards weren't what they are today."

Geological conditions only make theproblem worse, since people built theirhomes and farms in valleys, where theground is flat and close to Hood Canal.

Oysters »n7

WashingtonState ranks

second in the

nation in

oysterproduction,

behind

Louisiana.

Pollution in

ChesapeakeBay has closed

many oysterproducing

areas.


Hood Canal

contributes

little more

than 10 percentof the

statewide

production ofoysters. But

Quilcene Bayis home to the

world's largestoyster

hatchery.

In Quilcene Bay, studies have shownthat septic pollution and poor animal-keeping practices are major contributors tobacterial pollution.

Allowing cattle and horses to drinkdirectly from streams makes it possible fortheir waste to get into the water and createpollution problems miles away, she said.

Another serious problem is sedimentunleashed during logging activities. Highlevels of sediment can smother baby oysters,a problem sometimes noted in Quilcene Bay.

At Dosewallips, bacterial pollutionseems to come from another source alto

gether. Near the Dosewallips Delta, wherehuman activities are minimal, seals seem tobe leaving a trail of waste that has contaminated the oysters and clams.

Nobody knows if waste from seals canactually make humans sick, as is the casewith human and livestock waste, saidGretchen Steiger, a biologist with CascadiaResearch Cooperative. But the state'scertification procedure demands closureanytime fecalbacteria counts are high.

Oyster growers are increasinglyworried about the effect of seals on their

Hood Canal beaches, since seal populationsmay be growing quickly, according toresearch by Cascadia Research.

As commercial fishing and timberindustries go into a decline in Hood Canal,the shellfish industry seems to be comingalive.

Shellfish production ranks high inemployment in both Mason and Jeffersoncounties. The demand for clams and oysters— especially from restaurants — is growing,and the future seems limited only by cleanwater.

"Here on the Olympic Peninsula, wehave so few industries to sustain our

economy," said Barron, the water qualityplanner. "As we use up our natural resources, people tend to look around toexpand their economic base."

What kind of industry comes to theregion will determine whether Hood Canal'sclean water can survive, she added.

"Aquaculture is a clean industry, andyou'd think it would be welcomed withopen arms."

While there isn't much controversyabout oysters growing scattered on a beach,waterfrontproperty owners have begun toraise protests against more intensive shellfishculture, such as stringing shells on linessuspended from floats.

In August 1990,the Kitsap Countycommissioners turned down a mussel-

farming proposal offMiseryPoint nearSeabeck. Neighbors said their main objectionwas that the operation would spoil theirview of the Olympic Mountains.

The commissioners also imposed amoratorium on all aquaculture, pendingapproval of the county's updated shorelinesmanagement plan.

Ifwaterfront property owners worryabout the impacts of shellfish growers,shellfish growers are even more concernedabout the arrival of more property owners.

"One of the factors that degrades thewater quality is shoreline development,"said Smith. "Also, as more people move in,we're going to hear more about aesthetics.Those issues are going to impact theindustry's future."

Gordon Hayes of Coast Oyster Company says new housing developmentsaround Hood Canal should attempt to avoidpollution, and old developments must beginto clean up problems.

"All of us in the industry see whathappens with population expansion," saidHayes. "Our industry is the canary in thecoal mine, but we're not just a prophet. Weactually make our living from this resource.

"If we were not here," he added, "thewater would become more polluted beforean alarm is sounded."

Homely Bivalve Becomes a Restaurant Favorite

Head thrown back, mouth open, adiner at Ray's Boathouse on Seattle'sShilshole Bay slurps a raw oyster

directly from its shell.To an oyster lover, there's nothing

quite like the fresh taste of the bivalve inthe raw. Ifs as if you're ingesting a bit oflife's primal matter, tasting the oceanitself.

Wayne Ludvigsen, executivechefatRay's, says raw oysters have grown inpopularity over the past five years. Henow sells 200-250 dozen oysters eachweek. Fanciersgladly pay $5.95 or morefor a plate of sixof these briny gems.

Ray's serves the tiny, distinctiveOlympia oysters as well as Pacifies fromthree different parts of the state —Hamma Hamma on Hood Canal,Shoalwater Bay on the Southwest Coastand RaceLagoon offWhidbey Island.

Likewine grapes, oysters take onthe qualitiesof their growing conditions,as Fred Brackand Tina Bellpoint out intheir book, "The Tastes of Washington."Selecting them, particularly for eatingraw, is as much an individual preferenceas choosing a wine.

The Hood Canal bivalves are "yourclassicoyster," says Ludvigsen. "They'renot necessarilyvery sweet, and they don'thave a beautiful shell. But they're a good,

solid, healthy oyster with a strong oysterflavor."

Hood Canal oysters come back fromthe summer off-season earlier than the

other types, he adds.Although he'll pan fry oysters and

make the occasional oyster stew,Ludvigsensays he's a real proponent ofeating them raw. "We're purists," he says.

Tim Smith, executive director of thePacificCoast Oyster Growers Association,says half-shell consumption is on theincrease across the country.

"Oysterbars are popping upeverywhere," he says. "We've seen adramatic decrease in liquor consumptionover the past few years, and my owntheory is that bars and restaurants are outlooking for a high-margin item to compensate for lost liquor revenues."

Kim Baxter,manager of the HammaHamma Oyster Co., says he can't keep upwith the demand for oysters. He suppliesseveral posh Seattlerestaurants in addition to Ray's —Fullers in the SheratonHotel, Le Tastevin and Anthony'sHomeports.

"Our oysters are prized for theirclean, crisp flavor," he says. 'They'reslow-growingin clear water, so theynever have a muddy taste."

ByAnn Strosnider

Oysters • 229

The demand

for clams andoysters —

especially fromrestaurants —

is growing, andthe future

seems limited

only by cleanwater.


Section 2

Where

Genetics

and Luck

Meet

By ChristopherDimngaii

Rowupon row of gleaming whitetanks, each containing 5,000gallons of greenish algae, mightmake one wonder what this

strange laboratory near Quilcenehas to do with raising oysters.

After all, tough-skinned oyster farmershave been putting shells out on their beachesfor centuries. Nobody's ever needed halogenlights or giant flasks of strange-lookingliquid with air bubbling through them.

But times have changed, and this iswhere the modern world of genetics blendswith the old-fashioned, keep-your-fingers-crossed world of oyster growing.

Coast Oyster Co., which owns this

Coast OysterCo.has madea scienceofraising youngoysters. They feed onalgaegrown in these jars.

hatchery on the shores of Quilcene Bay, leadsthe world in the production of oyster seed.The company ships 20 billion baby oysters togrowers throughout the nation in the form offree-swimming larvae.

"In fact," says president GordonHayes, "the second biggest hatchery is inOregon, and it produces just 10-20 percent ofours."

The key to the operation is the carefullyguarded brood stock, which produce thesperm and eggs for the big Pacificoysters,the tasty Kumomoto variety and the succulent Belon or European flat oyster.

The oysters eat an incredible amount ofalgae, which is grown under bright lights in

tanks, some of which are 10 feet tall.Temperatures in tanks containing the

brood stock are maintained to simulate ideal

spawning conditions. When the time is right,free-swimmingoyster larvae are filtered out,packed and quickly shipped out, or elsethey're allowed to set on oyster shells.

The oyster seed can be grown on justabout any beach where thetides won't carry the shellsaway.

Maintaining excellentbrood stock is one thing, buta true scientificbreakthroughcame five years ago whenCoast Oyster, in conjunctionwith University of Washington scientists, developed asexless oyster — the seedlessgrape of the oyster world.

Unlike most oysters,which become puny andwatery as they use theirenergy to create sperm andeggs, the trademark "Four-Season Oyster" skips thespawning season altogether.

Forget the old sayingabout not eating oystersduring months that lack an"R" in their name. These

oysters are firm at all times ofthe year, which gives thecompany a foot up on thesummer market, previouslydominated by frozen oysters.

The idea for a neutered

oyster came from Hayes'father, the late Vern Hayes, who got the ideafrom a magazine article about a neuteredsalmon that grows faster but never returnshome to spawn.

Hayes was a dominant force in theoyster industry beginning in 1947when hestarted Coast Oyster. In 1974, he built ahatchery at Willapa Bay, then moved theoperation to Quilcene in 1978.

To get a neutered oyster, the egg is"shocked" with a special chemical.Shockingprevents the egg from dividing just beforethe genetic material from the sperm combineswith the genetic materialfrom the egg.As a result, two sets of chromosomes fromthe female and one from the male result in a

sterile "triploid" oyster, normal in all otherways.

Kenneth Chew, a shellfish biologist atthe University of Washington, says thetriploid oyster has found a specific marketniche,but the growing demand for oysterson both East and West coasts creates an even

bigger challenge for the industry."We have to look at new and innova

tive methods of growing them," he says.According to Chew, at

least 90percent of the oysterstoday are grown right on thebeach, as they have been forthe past 100years. Butoysters also can be grown onstakes or on racks when

wave action or a muddybottom would threaten the

oysters' survival.A more intensive

method is to grow oysters onstrings hanging from racks orrafts.

These are not actuallynew methods, noted Chew,because they have been usedin Japan for decades, butresearchers are attempting todevelop even more advancedtechniques to grow moreoysters with limited space.As more areas are closed

because of pollution, oystergrowers are likely to investmore and more money inthese alternative methods.

Meanwhile, researchersare attempting to growstrains of oysters that are

resistant to temperature changes, that growfasterand are more uniformlyshaped andthat have good color,flavorand appearance.Hybrid oysters, which combine the characteristics of two or more varieties, also are onthe drawing boards.

Sincehatchery success depends somuch on what oysters are fed in the tanks,researchersare studying oyster nutrition anddeveloping new strains of algae as well.

And growers seem willing to meet thechallenge of a growing market. Despite tried-and-true methods of oyster farming, a 1984survey of the state's oyster growers revealedthat 40percent would try new techniquessuch as as artificialsetting tanks, moreintensive rearing methods and use of hybridstrains.

Quilcene Bay

Although closedbecause ofbacterial

pollution at thenorth end,

Quilcene Bay is thecenter ofHoodCanal's oyster

industry, includingCoast Oyster

Company's oysterhatchery.

Oysters *121

"Here on the

OlympicPeninsula, wehave so fewindustries to

sustain our

economy.

Aquaculture isa clean

industry, andyou'd think it

would be

welcomed with

open arms."— Teresa Barron


Section 3

TlDELANDS

Tug'o'War

By Jim Rothgeb

harlie Trevathan stands over his

set net just off the sandy beachnorth of Boston Spit andhunches his shoulders againstthe wind blowing off PortGamble Bay.

It's a cold wind, signaling the approaching winter and the end of anotherfishing season. On this day he hopes his netswill snag coho and chum but he knows thefish he catches now are mostly scraggly. Thesalmon harvest is nearly done.

It's time to think about securing hisboat and gathering his nets to preparehimself for the traditional shellfish season.

Winter tides on Hood Canal are more suited

for shellfish digging, and for most young

George Llsnick, who lives onMisery PointnearSeabeck, is a strong spokesman for therights ofprivate waterfront owners.

men in the S'Klallam Tribe of Little Boston

and Port Gamble Bay,shellfishing is a familytradition.

"My mom used to dig a lot," saidTrevathan. "I always knew it was one ofthose resources where a guy could go outand make money. I remember digging fromwhen I was a kid, and when I came backhere about eight years ago, I started doing itagain."

He's lived in Tennessee and California,but Trevathan's roots are with the

S'Klallams. He and his wife, Mary, bothharvest shellfish, selling them to wholesalebuyers, to help provide for care of the ninepeople living in their home.

"I think it's fun," said Trevathan. "You

can go out and spend three to four hoursdigging and be tired the next day. But youcan make enough for grocery money andyou eat well."

On Hood Canal, two tribes do themajority of shellfish harvesting. TheSkokomish mostly harvest oysters in thesouthern extremes of the canal while the

S'Klallams gather clams on the north end.Much of the time, they work in the

pitch black of nighttime low tides, sometimes to the backdrop of car headlights leftshining across the sand. They dress inwaders and carry buckets, shell sacks, anddigging forks. It's no wonder their backsoften ache after days of digging.

"That's the hardest part," said MaryTrevathan. "You bend over at all hours of the

day and you've got to pack what you dig.Our longest pack is probably a half-mile, andwe pack anywhere from 80- to 100-poundpacks. It's a lot easier if you've got a boat, buton a lot of beaches we can't get a boat."

The Trevathans both say thatshellfishing has become easier in the '90sbecause state-owned tidelands have been

opened to the tribes. But their access obviously is nothing compared to what WesternWashington Indians had on tidelands morethan 100years ago.

While the Trevathans scratch the sandsfor harvestable shellfish, the fate of theirtribal tradition and a source of livelihood

may soon be affectedat a negotiating table,or in a federal courtroom — far from the surf

that laps against the sandy beaches of HoodCanal.

On a map of Hood Canal, the landforming Misery Point juts into the water likethe head of an eagle.

Located between Seabeck and Scenic

Beach State Park, this lush, tree-coveredpoint is far from a source of misery forGeorge Usnick, a retired engineer whomoved here from Pittsburgh, Pa., in 1985. Afriend back East jokes that it's more likeHappiness Point.

From his home, Usnick sees a breathtaking panorama, bounded by The Brothersto the south and the Toandos Peninsula tothe north.

His beachfront home is perched on awooded cliffoverlooking the canal. From hispatio, he can see fishing boats dotting the

blue water with a backdrop of PleasantHarbor State Park and the Olympic Mountains.

"There is no place like this I've everseen in my whole life," said Usnick, whotraveled the world as part of his job with theContinental Oil Company. 'That's why I likeit here so much."

His property includes about 200 feet ofbeachfront, and he and Delores often takeleisurely walks along the sand.

Like flowers from a garden, occasionally the Usnicks will pick oysters from theirbeach. Usnick says he's always been a loverof shellfish,and his wife has developed ataste for them since they moved to MiseryPoint.

Several hundred feet south of the

Usnicks' property is a public boat launch,which attracts mostly pleasure boaters andrecreational fishers. Until a few years ago,when waterfront neighbors got together andposted "No Shellfishing" signs, Usnick saystrespassing was a big problem along thepoint.

"When we first came here, there were alot of people who decided to come up andpick oysters," said Usnick. "I kept arguingwith the state that they had to do something,put a sign up to stop them. We did that andnow I'd say 99 percent of the problem hasgone away."

Like many private landowners onHood Canal, Usnick prefers to keep hisbeach closed — to anyone. He has genuineconcerns about garbage spilling onto theshore and firmly believes in his constitutional right to privacy.

"People walk on the beach, but I wouldrather they don't," Usnick said. 'That reallydoesn't bother me. It's just when they comewith five-gallon buckets and they're onlysupposed to take 18 oysters. That's whatreally gets me upset.

"They'll get five gallons of shuckedoysters. Or they'll fill five-gallon buckets andthrow them in their truck. They break thelaws left and right. But all that's simmereddown now (with the placement of thesigns)."

Because he's so fiercely protective ofhis property, Usnickfeels threatened by alawsuit filed by 16Western WashingtonIndian tribes in May of 1989. To his knowledge, he's never seen Native Americanscollecting oysters on his beach. But if the

Oysters •12Z

Tribal

shellfishinghas become

easier because

state-owned

tidelands have

been opened toIndians, butthe access is

nothingcompared toopportunities

Western

WashingtonIndians had

more than 100

years ago.

124* Using the Resource

Many privatelandowners on

Hood Canal

preferto keeptheir beaches

closed — to

anyone.

courts rule in the Indians' favor, or if negotiations give the tribes certain entitlements toprivate beaches, that will all change.

1he twomen,Charlie Trevathan andGeorge Usnick, have never met. Butbecauseof a two-paragraph article scribbled on apiece of parchment 135years ago, they'vebecome unknowing opponents.

In 1855, Isaac Stevens was the territorial governor of Washington, and in negotiating with the Indians over land rights andsettlement of reservations, he granted theIndians permission to specificcustoms. The1855Point No Point treaty with the WesternWashington tribes states the following:

'The right of taking fish at usual andaccustomed grounds and stations is furthersecured to said Indians, in common with allcitizens of the United States;and of erectingtemporary houses for the purpose of curing;together with the privilege of hunting andgathering roots and berries on open andunclaimed lands. Provided, however, thatthey shall not take shell-fishfrom any bedsstaked or cultivated by citizens."

The Boldt decision in 1974recognizedthe Point No Point Treaty as the final law inmatters regarding the territorial rights ofNative Americans, but U.S.DistrictJudgeGeorge Boldtdidn't carry the lawsuitbeyond salmon and steelhead harvests andrule on the taking of shellfish.

A lawsuit filed by the tribes in 1989pursues a continuation of the entitlementissue. And unless it's negotiated outside thecourtroom, this one could be quite a fight,possibly more costly,drawn out and emotionally charged than the fight over thesalmon.

The federal government represents theIndians while the state currently representsthe rights of private landowners and commercial interests who own tideland property.

The Indians contend that under the

provisions of the treaty, all beaches,eitherpublic or private, should be open forshellfishing. They add that private access tothose beaches should be open to all tribalharvesters.

'The treaty language is real clear," saidTony Foreman,fisheries directorfor theSuquamish Tribe. "When the treaties weremade, there was no State of Washington andthere was no conceptof private ownership oftidelands, except for some commercial

development of shellfish that was providedfor in the treaty."

From 1859 to 1970, the Indians claimthat 80 percent of all Western Washingtontideland was sold to private landownerswho were not told of the Indian shellfishingrights. Thus, there currently is a standoff.

Landowners say they are protected bytheir fundamental right to privacy and planto argue over the legal definitions of cultivated tidelands.

In a letter to the Justice Department lastFebruary, Washington Attorney General KenEikenberry wrote: 'The shellfish claim istherefore a much greater direct challenge tothe traditional ownership prerogatives ofthousands of individuals than was the earlier

Phase I (original Boldt decision) allocation ofthe free swimming fish in public waters."

For Mary Trevathan, legal squabblingover shellfish rights seems pretty far removed from her day-to-day world. But she isaware that animosity exists between tribaland non-tribal interests. She also knows of a

group, the United Property Owners ofWashington,thafs consolidatingthe effortsof the landowners.

"They don't really know what's goingon," said Mary Trevathan. 'They think thatwe're out there to just dig every clam we canget. They're scared of what they call 'rapingthe beaches.'

"But we're taking just the harvestableclams, which have to be 1 'A inches orbigger. We can't take the smaller ones. We'retaking the bigger ones but leaving the littleones to grow. They don't realize that. Theyjust think we're taking everything."

Certain federal and state politicianswould prefer that this case never goes tocourt. They're pushing for a cooperativesettlement and the Indians say they want tocomply.

But the tribes also argue they are notgetting the necessarycooperationfromlandowners to reach that settlement. United

Property Owners of Washington officials saypublicly that they would rather litigate theissue than possibly give away their rights ina negotiated deal.

They are spurred by thoughts frompeople like George Usnick, who says asettlement is not acceptable.

"I'm protective of my beach," saidUsnick. "Number one, because ifs mine. Ipaid for it and I pay property taxeshere. Ijust don't want people on my property.

Would you walk up on somebody's yard? Ofcourse not."

Meanwhile, the environmental clock isticking.The state has apportioned certainlands — state parks and property controlledby the Department of Natural Resources —to be open to all shellfish harvesters. Of theapproximate 2,000miles of beach in WesternWashington, roughly 21milesare open totribal and non-tribal harvesters.

Recent studies show that up to 40percent of those public beaches are toopolluted to collectshellfish.Many HoodCanal tidelands fall into that category.

"I think it's obvious that we are all

rapidly running out of beaches to harvestshellfish," said Carson Boysen,spokesmanfor the Northwest Indian Fisheries Commis

sion.

The tribes say that through enhancement, they want to expand the shellfishpopulation. But far more cleaner beaches areneeded to do it.

Private landowners say they, too, areenvironmentally conscious.

But before both sides can make a

concerted effort to protect the shellfish, thereis a huge legal hurdle to cross.

Oysters • 125


Section 4

Toward

Cleaner

Beaches


Waterfront ownerscanhave thiskind of bountybecause of Hood Canal'sexcellent oystergrowing

opportunities.

Ifevery waterfront property ownerwould grow his own oysters, the rateat which beaches are being ruined bypollution would decline, according toJon and Loanna Day, who moved toMisery Point near Seabeck to take

advantage of the fine oyster-growingconditions there.

"When I'm down on the beach and

tending my oysters, I feel like I have it all,"said Day, a marine biology teacher atOlympic High School.

Day sells a few oysters on the side, sothe state Department of Health keeps aregular watch on the bacterial levels at hisbeachfront property.

"One of the nightmares always

nagging at the back of my mind," he said, "iswhether I'll be recertified. You hear of hot

spots where coliforms (bacteria) are increasing, such as the area near Seabeck Store andwhere BigBeefenters (Hood Canal)."

If everybody would grow oysters, Daysays, maybe the word would spread aboutthe importance of caring for septic systems,reducing lawn pesticides and cleaning upafter pets and livestock.

Growing your own oysters is notparticularly difficult, he maintains.

Added Mrs. Day, "You hear peoplesay, 'We used to have oysters here.' To me,that's like saying, 'Gosh, we used to havecarrots in our garden.' "

Many of Hood Canal's beaches are

KEY

•k State Park Beaches

a DNR Beaches

# Countyand other beaches

~\ Commercial areas| Approved areas| Prohibited areas

l.Wolfle Property2 NE ofShine

3. W. R Hicks Co. Park, Shine

4.GiseShoal

5.KitsapMemorialStatePark6. Bolton Peninsula

7. Brown Point

8.TabrookPoint

9. Fisherman Harbor

10.Whitney Point and NW11.Jackson Cove12 Dosewallips13. Pleasant Harbor

14.SealRockForestCamp15. North of Fulton Creek

16. N. of Anderson Cove

17.EagleCreek Rec.Tidelands18.Lilliwaup Rec. Tidelands19. West of DeWatto

20. South of Miller Creek

21.WDFFishHatchery22Potlatch

23.Potlatch

24. Rendsland Creek Rec. Area

25. Twanoh

26. Port ofAllyn27. Belfair

OlympicPeninsula

17

18.

For the shellfishlover, public access to Hood Canal is limited.Stateparks,Department of Natural Resources beachesand county and municipalparkscomprisethoseaccesses. Somestateparkssudi as Dosewallips havebeencloseddue topollution. Withfewexceptions, DNRbeadiesareaccessible bywateronly.Mostoftherestoftheshoreline isprivatelyowned. Donot trespass on privatepropertyinsearchofshellfish. At stateparkbeaches, check posted shellfish regulations before attempting toharvest shellfish.

Quilcene

Brinnon

13 Hood Canal*

Holly

Seabeck

Hood Point ..♦'*

Port

Gamble

/Watershedj boundary

Poulsbo

Bremerton

Port Orchard

A

19

DeWatto• Watershed

\ boundary

20<£

71 HoodsportZt 24

•.23*Potiatdi-

Belfair

26U'25

Source: Kitsap, Jefferson, Mason counties and Sun staff research

Oysters •127

If everybodywould growoysters, JonDay says,maybe the

word ivould

spread aboutthe importance

of caringforseptic systems,reducing lawnpesticides and

cleaning upafter pets and

livestock.


"You hear

people say,'We used to

have oystershere.' To me,

that's like

saying, 'Gosh,we used to

have carrots in

our garden.'"— Loanna Day

seeded naturally, thanks in large part to thetremendous amount of oyster larvae produced in Quilcene and Dabob bays. Larvaethat survive drift for two or three weeks

before setting on rocks or old oyster shell.One can enhance the amount of oyster

"set" by moving shell from the upper beachto the lower beach. Do not, however, moveuncertified shell from just anyone's beach,warns Day. It is illegal,and uncertifiedshellcarries the threat of spreading a dangerousparasite, the Japaneseoysterdrill, a snailwhich was introduced with early shipmentsof oyster seed.

One can also lay bags or strings of shellout on the beach to catch swimming larvae.The shell can be purchased from certifiedoyster growers, and the state Department ofFisheries keeps track of water conditions andannounces the best time to put them out.

Where oysters don't set naturally, onecan buy bags of oyster seed, or spat, whichare tiny oysters that have already beencaptured and grown for several months onshell.

Oysters grown in Dyes and Sinclairinlets cannot be certified for sale due to

pollution problems,but Day intends to havehis high school class plant some oyster seedthere anyway.

"We can see how fast the oysters grow,and it may be a good way of monitoringpollution levels," he said.

Day says he is disappointed that somewaterfront property owners object to anykind of commercial oyster or mussel farmingnear their homes. More than anything, heargues, such operations prove that thewaters are still clean.

"You will never see a mussel farm in

Commencement Bay," he added.Day worries about the upcoming

decision over whether tribes have a right totake shellfish from private beaches. But hisconcern doesn't slow him down.

'This entire shoreline is a very richresource," he noted. "I hope that people arenot so afraid that they stop cultivatingseafood or stop trying to protect the waterquality."

Increasing levels of nutrients in Hood Canal fromhuman waste andfertilizer runoff mayhelpfeed

plankton blooms that causered tide.

InJune 1991, the first major red tideoutbreak in the history of Hood Canalalarmed Puget Sound researchers, whowere the first to admit they don't knowexactly why it happened.But one researcher, Jack Rensel of the

Universityof Washington Fisheries Department, says further plankton blooms incentral Hood Canal could doom the south

ern part of the waterway, where conditionsappear to be more favorable to the one-celledorganisms.

The closure came after state health

officials noted that high levelsof paralyticshellfish poison had been found in musselsfrom SeabeckBay. The resulting closureaffected all of Hood Canal from Seabeck

north to Hood Canal Bridge,on both Kitsapand Jefferson county sides.

"Things are happening in that area,"said Kenneth Chew, a UW Fisheriesprofes

sor and longtime shellfish biologist. "Before1978,1 used to say that if you eat shellfishsouth of a line drawn even with Port

Townsend, you never have to worry."Since then, he noted, red tide blooms

have moved south into lower Puget Soundand now are threatening Hood Canal.

The cause is unknown, said Chew, but

he personally believes that plankton may befollowing the growth of human population.

"The more people living in these areas,we see an increase in phosphates andnitrates," said Chew. "That's what theorganism desires.

"We are holding our breath on this,"he said. "A massive outbreak in 1978sparedHood Canal, but I've always been wondering when it might poke through there."

Rensel, a graduate student who isdoing extensive studies on plankton, hasproposed a theory about why Hood Canal

Oysters • 129

Section 5

An Invisible

Threat



Since 1978,University ofWashington

shellfishbiologist

Kenneth Chew

has seen red

tide blooms

move south

into lower

Puget Sound,to the point

that they nowthreaten Hood

Canal.

has avoided red tides so far.Every spring, Hood Canal undergoes

blooms involving one-celled plankton calleddiatoms, he says. Stable weather, sunlightand high water temperatures are all factors.

After the spring bloom, central HoodCanal, which is fed by the clear watersflowing out of the Olympics, becomesdepleted of inorganicnitrogen, said Rensel.

Dinoflagellates, free-swimming plankton, areunable to move past the clearlayers of water in centralHood Canal and die, according to Rensel's theory.Gonyaulax catanella, the redtide organism, is one of thedinoflagellates.

So far, the clear watersof central Hood Canal have

saved lower Hood Canal

from serious red tide problems, he said. But conditionsin lower Hood Canal may bemore favorable to the red

tide organism due to the highlevel of nutrients that have

been measured there.

During winter months,most plankton drift to thebottom as cysts and liedormant.

"Once you get the cystsin the sediment," said Rensel,"there is the possibility that itmay be there from now on.The only thing keeping it outof South Hood Canal may bethat it hasn't been there in

such numbers before."

Don Miles of the

Bremerton-Kitsap CountyHealth Department said he has heardunconfirmed reports of a major red tidebloom during the 1940s, but he is not sure ofconditions present at that time. Old-timersrecall a reddish bloom of plankton, but thecolormay be due to another speciesofplankton unrelated to the red tide organism.

Rensel has proposed a study of Hood

plankton and conditions affecting it.The amount of toxin that led to the

closure was 226micrograms of toxin per 100grams of shellfish tissue. The level for closingthe beaches is 80.

Normally, plankton blooms "take twoor three weeks to develop, then can disappear almost overnight," said Louisa

Nishitani, who studied redtide for 20 years until herretirement as a University ofWashington researcher in1985.

The plankton weren'tknown in large numbers insouthern Puget Sound until1978,when a major bloomoccurred up north. After that,the organism has beengradually moving intosouthern waters.

"We knew it was in the

main basin of Puget Soundfor years before 1978," shesaid, "but the conditionsweren't right for it to bloombefore that — or it could

have bloomed in isolated

spots but just wasn't pickedup."

The same could be said

of Hood Canal today, shesaid.

Hood Canal beaches in

the affected area were

reopened two weeks afterclosure. During that period,Jon Day of Seabeck was theonly grower waiting toharvest oysters from hisbeach.

But the threat of red

tide extends to oystergrowers throughout central and southernHood Canal, especially when one realizesthat cysts of the organism can remaindormant, waiting like tiny time bombs forthe right conditions to return.

Increased population in the HoodCanal watershed may heighten the risk ofpoisonous plankton blooms and add to the

Red tideclosing

Hood Canalsuffered its

first-ever closure tored tide in 1991.

Now that theplankton is present

in the canal,shellfish growersare concerned the

blooms couldbecome morefrequent andwidespread.

Canal that would measure the dangerous threat already posed by growing pollution.

USS Florida returns from a shakedown cruisein thedepths of Dabob Bay on Hood Canal.

About midway along themeandering eastern flank ofHood Canal, the rocky beachis blocked by a fence thatextends from the wooded

bank all the way down into thewaters of the tidal zone.

On the fence is a prominently displayed sign. "Warning. Restricted area. KeepOut. Authorized Personnel Only."

This is where wild and natural Hood

Canal meets the orderly structure of theNavy.

What lies beyond the fence on the

shoreline is one of the most extraordinarymilitary installations in America — theNaval Submarine Base at Bangor.

It houses a support complex for aweapon system so incredibly powerful thatit could, in the space of less than an hour,turn the sprawling mass of the Soviet Unioninto a cratered, smoldering hulk.

It has never been used for this purpose.And it won't be as long as the Soviet Uniondoesn't attack America first, say those whorun the program. Its purpose is to deterwarfare, not cause it, they say.

The base does this by keeping the eight

•131 •

Chapter

9

Naval

Submarine

Base, Bangor

Section 1

Hood Canal

Becomes the

Navy's

Choice

ByLloyd Pritchett


Almost as

soon as theyleave Hood

Canal, Tridentsubmarines

based at

Bangor canreachmost oftheir Soviet

targets withtheir nuclear-

tippedmissiles.

nuclear missile submarines based there

ready and rotating constantly out to sea.But the 7,100-acre installation on Hood

Canal is more than just the physicalbase fora weapons program. It is part nature preserve, small city, industrial facilityand Navyhome port — all contained within a settingof breathtaking grandeur.

Where is the ideal home for a fleetofeight Trident nuclear missile-firingsubmarines?

Backin the early '70s, when the Tridentsystem was ready to move from the drawingboards to reality, the Navy asked itselfthatquestion.

The answer it came up with then, aftermuch searching, was a site along a vast,natural fjord sandwiched between the snow-laced Olympic Mountains and the undulating evergreen hills of Kitsap Peninsula inWestern Washington.

We, of course, know the waterway asHood Canal.

Now, 20 years later, there is wideconsensus among the submarine communityat Bangor that the choice not only wascorrect but also a stroke of genius.

But how can that be? How could a

remote waterway surrounded by vastbrooding forests, far from any industrialsupport facilities, be considered an idealplace for a strategic submarine missilebaseand the 10,000 sailors and workers who runit?

The reasons may be unclear to alandlubber, but to most submariners they areobvious.

"It's a deep body of water without a lotof navigational hazards," said Capt.MalcolmWright, commodore of the Tridentfleet, which first became operational in 1982.

That means the giant subs based onHood Canal can submerge almost as soon asthey pull away from their pier. It alsomeansthat very little dredging was required tobuild the base's waterfront facilities.

Another plus — the 7,100-acre sitechosen for the Trident support base alreadywas owned by the Navy.

Bangor had been a sleepy ammunitiondepot established in the final years of WorldWar II and named after a nearby tinycommunity on the shore of Hood Canal.

The area's relative remoteness from

urbanized industrial areas is a plus, too — to

the submarine Navy.Said Wright: "If you have to make a

choice between, say, Elliott Bay or a remotearea — especiallyone that you already own— then you pick the less populated area."

Not only does that increase the marginof safety,but it means less marine vesseltraffic to interfere with and observe subma

rine movements.

There are the characteristics of Hood

Canal itself.

One of the deepest inlets in WesternWashington, Dabob Bay,is 35 minutes fromthe Trident base as the submarine goes —offering a perfect test site for the giant subsbefore they leave on an operational patrol.

"Having Dabob Bay so near is great,"said Cmdr. Keith Arterburn, the base'spublic affairs officer. "We can come back tothe pier and fixany problems that arediscovered."

"It (the bay) serves the Navy a greatpurpose," added Cmdr. Henry Gonzales,executive officer aboard one of the Trident

subs. "It saves us a lot of hours. In a little less

than an hour (from home base), we candive."

Then there are the less tangible, but noless important factors.

Hood Canal country is a scenic,friendly place to live for the submariners andtheir families.

"Look at how many people stay here.(Navy) people do all they can not to leavehere," said Wright. "Why is that? Ifs thequality of life.The people are friendly. Thecrime rate is low. This is America at its best."

The Navy's top submariner, ViceAdm.Roger F. Bacon,and his wife Joan may live inWashington, D.C.,but they own property onHood Canal.

They're not the only ones."I asked specifically to come to Bangor,

and I got what I wanted," said Lt. Cmdr. JayPerkins, training officerfor Trident Submarine Group 9. "I plan to die here."

Chris Mygatt, wife of a Trident sailoraboard USS Florida, added: "People here arevery warm and welcoming. I've never livedin a community that had so much supportfor the Navy."

Despite all that, Hood Canal does haveits drawbacks.

For one, ifs a long way —155 miles —from the Bangor base to the open ocean.Submarines on patrol spend most of theirfirst and last days traversing that distance on

Naval Submarine Base, Bangor • 133

the surface at slow speeds.Another disadvantage is that the Hood

Canal area's distance from urban areas can

be trying for young single sailors stationedthere.

But these are minor problems whencompared with the tremendous advantages,including what may be the ultimate advantage. That is, Hood Canal'sstrategic geographic locationwithin the Trident missiles'

4,500-mile striking range ofthe Soviet Union.

Said Capt. Wright: "Ithink the real reason (theHood Canal area) was picked— and this is just MalcolmWright talking — is itsgeographical location. Ifyouwanted to hold at risk all the

targets in the Soviet Union,(they are) very close to beingin range as soon as you getout of the Strait of Juan deFuca."

"I think one reason for

having the base here is itsproximity to the mostdangerous scene of a conflict."

He said it may not bepossible to hit all potentialtargets in the Soviet Unionfrom just off the Washingtonstate coast — "but your steaming time ismuch shorter (to reaching those targets)" —especially if missiles are fired over the polarregion.

"It complicates (the Soviets') efforts tolocate us in the ocean (and gives us) morepre-launch survivability," said Wright.

And, he added: "Yes, we could hitsome targets from right inside Hood Canal."

1etty officer Mike Schriver rememberswell the first time he rode a submarine, USSBarb, into the crystalline waters of HoodCanal.

As the nuclear-powered sub docked atits berth in the Naval Submarine Base at

Bangor,Schriver looked down and wasastonished to see the submarine's black

shape under the water, in detail, as if hewere peering at it through glass.

"The water was so clear, you could see

the curvature of the sub's hull all the waydown as far as it went," he said.

In no other port in the world had heever seen what the sub looked like below the

water's murky surface.Then, looking up, he took in the vast

forests and mountains surrounding HoodCanal and he knew he had entered a special

place.It is a feeling shared by

many of the sailors andofficers stationed at the

sprawling base, the onlyindustrial facility anywhereon the canal's 242-mile

shoreline. It catches bysurprise many of those whoare stationed there for the

first time. It is like no other

military compound in theworld.

Envious sailors based at

other local facilities refer to

the Bangor Navy base as"that national park."

"You can go rightdown to the Service Pier on

base and go crabbing orclamming," says sailorShawn Steele of USS Ala

bama.

The park-like beauty ofthe area has led Navyofficials to exercise more than

usual care in protecting the environment atBangor.

The base's huge Delta Pier was specially constructed away from the shoreline tokeep from disrupting salmon runs. Thepilings supporting it are wrapped in aprotective, nonpolluting plastic.

A number of systems also are in placeto prevent oil, hazardous waste or radioactive material from spilling into the waterway. Spills of hazardous materials still occursometimes, but are quickly cleaned up.

So far, though, the Navy's painstakingand thorough precautions have prevented adevastating accident from destroying thecanal and its ecosystem.

The sailors and civilians stationed at

Bangor love Hood Canal as much as,perhaps more than, the rest of us. Theiractivities pollute the fjord and its watershedless than many of Hood Canal's less imposing neighbors.

Dabob Bay

The deep waters ofDabob Bay offer a

convenient place to"shakedown" aTrident sub after

refit at the Bangorbase across the

canal.

"Our interest

today is topreserve our

way of lifewithout being

undulythreatening."

— Capt. MalcolmWright,

Submarine

Squadron 17


Section 2

The Canal's

Largest

Community

ByLloyd Pritchett

Camie Carlson, director

of Bangor's ChildDevelopment Center, is

just oneof thepeoplewho make the nuclear

submarine base a true

community.

When a wicked wind and ice

storm came screaming outof the night, shutting downcivilization in Western

Washington for days inDecember, 1990,everything

fell apart for the young Navy wife living inrural western Kitsap County.

Her power went out, her driveway

piled with snow, her car would not start, shewas low on groceries, her two preschoolerswere hungry.

And her husband was hundreds of

miles out to sea, aboard a Trident submarine,somewhere in the North Pacific. He would

not be returning for weeks.Fortunately, her phone still worked. So

she made a call.

"Hello," said a familiar voice on theother end of the line.

"I need some help," said the Navywife.

Within a short time, another wifewhose husband was aboard the same

submarine drove up in a four-wheel-drivevehiclewith three bags of groceries.

The second wife helped out until thefirst couldget reorganized and backon herfeet.

This is the kind of drama that Chris

Mygatt —the familiar voice on the end ofthe line — is trained to deal with.

She is the "ombudsman" for the BlueCrew of the Trident submarine USS Florida,based on Hood Canal at the Naval Subma

rine Base at Bangor.One of her jobsduring the sub's patrols

is to find USSFlorida wives who can helpout others in need.

For wives and family members ofRorida crewmen, many of them new to thearea, she is the one person they can count on24hoursa day when the crewis at sea for2 l/z months at a stretch.

She knows all 114 wives with a hus

band on the Blue Crew (which alternatespatrols with the sub's Gold Crew).

"Ifs likea big family," she said. "I feellike I have 114 sisters."

Although extreme winter storms don'tcomealong every day, other types ofproblems crop up constantly while theFlorida is out at sea.

Mygattis therewhen there's an illnessin a USS Floridafamily, she's there whensomeonehas a question, she's there whensomeone needs a sympathetic shoulder tocry on.

She knows about every pregnancy thatis likely to terminate while the crew is away.And she makes sure a plan is worked out inadvance — with volunteers ready to escortthe mothers-to-be to the hospital and takecare of their homes during the husbands'absence.

She's also there to help in more seriouscases — when a wife is assaulted or when

there is a death in a family."I'm the captain's representative to the

families," said Mygatt. "Last patrol I tookover 700phone calls from family members.I'm on call 24 hours a day for the entiredeployment."

She is the only civilian adviser on thecaptain's small personal staff.


She said her role is to "help sailorskeeptheirmindson theirmission when theyare at sea for 75days and make themconfident there's somebody back home totake care of their families."

Everycrew of everyTrident submarineat Bangorhas an ombudsman like Mygattwho serves as a link to the families of

crewmen.

Mygatt saysshe understands what thefamilies go throughbecause her husband,Cliff, has been in the Navy for 13years andaboard the Rorida for two years. They havegonethrough10patrolsaboard differentsubs.Theyhavea daughter,Heather, 6 x/z,who she says is "very proud of her father."

Ihebase isthe equivalent ofasmallcity. It has itsown housing,supermarket,department store,child care center, restaurants, clubs,library,movie theater, recyclingcenter,swimming pool,bowling alley,gym,archery range, sports center, fishing lakes...The list is endless.

It is a community of 10,000 people, thelargeston the canal.

Mygattand the other submarineombudsmenare justpart ofa networkofpeople in place at Bangor to support thefamilies and crewmen who maintain theirconstantvigilout in the lonelydepths of theocean. Navy people,and the self-containedcommunity at Bangor, call the concept"taking care of our own."

"The submarine force does it better

than anybody else in the Navy," said basespokesman Cmdr. Keith Arterburn.

New Navy families arriving at Bangorfirst make contact with the extensive supportsystem through the base's FamilyServiceCenter, which offers a packet of informationabout the area — and that's just for starters.

The center, headed by Cmdr. MarieMcEUigott, alsooffers financial and personalcounseling, hosts100workshops and classesin everything from first aid to stress management and serves as a link between the Navycommunity and local school systems.

It helps Bangor families when theyarrive and when they have to leave, and theentire time between.

Here, too, is where the subs' ombudsmen get their training.

And the center recently put together anew program called "junior ambassadors"— in which youngsters who live at the base

The base is a

community of10,000people,the largest onthe canal. It

has its own

housing,supermarket,departmentstore, childcare center,

restaurants,

clubs, library,movie theater,

recyclingcenter,

swimmingpool... the list

is endless.


"Youcan goright down to

the Service Pier

on base andgocrabbingorclamming."

— Shawn Steele,USS Alabama

volunteer to befriend new Navy kidsarriving in the area and show them theropes.

The center offerssuch an array ofservicesthat "there's reallynothinglikeit inthe civilian world," said Arterburn.

Besides the Family ServiceCenter, theTridentbaseoffers a childcarecenter(openMonday through Saturday),housingreferraloffices, Navy Relief Society and chapel.

Altogether, these support servicesaregiven high marks by sailorswhen they aresurveyed to find out why they decideto stayin the Navy.

The support activities not only help thefamilies, but they help eachsubmariner atsea keep his mind on his job,securein theknowledge that there is a networkof peoplethere to help his own familywhile he's goneon patrol.

Nevertheless, despite the extensivesupport services, there come those timeswhen each submariner, his spouse andfamily must learn to rely on themselves.

"You have to be tough-skinned andindependent (to be a submariner's wife),"said McElligott. "You have to have confidence in yourself."

While the husband is away on patrol,the wife plays the role of mother and father.The kids,meanwhile, learn to get by with theattention of one parent.

Loneliness can be a big factorduring apatrol, too, McElligottsaid. "If you're a wife,you see your children doing new things andhe (the husband) is not there to watch."

To help bridge the communication gapbetween familiesand seafaring submariners,the Navy allowseach wife to send eightshort upbeat messages called "family-grams" to her husband during each Tridentpatrol.

But there is no cure for some of the

feelings that plague wives and familieswhena submarine is on patrol.

'There's a point with every wife,there's always that inkling of fear in the backof your mind (that the sub might not return)," said Mygatt. "You have to rememberthat the men... are highly trained, expertsin what they do.... Theycando their jobsintheir sleep."

"All these men are professionals, fromthe seamen recruits to the captain," sheadded.

Withso much of their timetakenupwith meeting the demands of the submarineservice, the wonder is that the Tridentcommunity at Bangor also has the time toextend a helping hand to the civilian community.

But it does.

Trident sailors volunteer at local

schools through the Personal Excellencethrough Cooperative Education (PECE)program.

The Trident Training Facility operates acommunity actionprogram, called "HelpingHands," that helps out civilianorganizationsand individualswith projects on Saturdaymornings.

And the base recently "adopted" atwo-milestretch of StateHighway 3 nearBangor, which it keeps clean through regularlitter-gathering patrols.

If all this creates the image that the baseis a good citizenmade up of regular Americans,well—it's no image,but the truth, saythe officialswho run the place.

'These are everyday American citizensaboard these ships," said Capt. MalcolmWright, commodore of the Trident squadronon Hood Canal.

A Canal Portfolio

Botanist Jerry Gorslineinspects a tiny sundew plant,

which catches insects withsticky secretions. Gorsline

has studied much of theHood Canal watershed in

detail, and he's found afewareas, like Devil's Lake, that

have withstood theencroachment offoreign

plant species. Gorsline hascalledfor state protection of

such ecosystems.

137

138

John and Iriss Blaine(right) escaped a hectic

urban setting to pursuetheir art on the shores of

Hood Canal. BradKauzlaric (below), a

Seabeck artist, workedfor months on a

painting thatrepresented his

perception of thewaterway.

• 139

Elders, like Joseph Andrews Sr. of theSkokomish (top), still remember when thebounty of the canal was the source of theirsustenance. Thecultureof theNorthwestCoastal Salish people, who originallyinhabited the Hood Canal watershed, wassystematically attacked by the whites whosettled there. Only recently has there beenan attempt to revive the oldways. PortGamble S'Klallam Jake Jones (left) learns tomake a bentwood box in the way ofhisancestors.

The canal's beauty is appreciated bymany people in many different ways. But the canal may beloved too much. People flock to the waterway, its beaches, and to developments nearby, placing

•140'

demands on the canal that its natural systems cannot meet. Only careful use ofthis marvelousresource can preserve itforfuture generations.

'141

142 •

The rich and the poor stake claimto the Hood Canal watershed.Chuck andJoAnne Haselwood(facing page) play on the golfcourse they built on the groundsoftheir home near Olympic View,farmer John Davis (below) foundit increasingly difficult to scratchouta livingfrom the soil aroundBelfair, sohe moved hisfamily toWisconsin in 1991. AlvinAckerman (left) moved toQuilcenefrom Montana as ateenager in the late 1930s andfound that the canal provided a"quiet life"for hiswife andfourchildren.

143

144 •

The waters ofHood Canalstill offer a bounty, but the

waterway's ability toprovide is being

challenged bypollutionand sedimentation from

human development,loggingandagriculturaluses. Harvesting oysters

(right) is possible onlybecause most of the canal'swaters remain clear. Tribal

fishermen on theSkokomish River (below)

seefewer andfewerreturning salmon, a result

of overfishing on theoceans and the destruction

ofspawning habitatupstream by dams and

development.

Petty Officer 2ndClass John Mosleyat thehelm of USS Florida beneath

the surface ofHood Canal.

In the control room of the Trident

submarine USS Florida, Petty Officer2nd Class John Mosley munchesrhythmically on a tasteless scrap ofgum and nudges the small ovalsteering wheel before him to the right."Right 15 degrees rudder, steady

course two-seven-eight," he says in a calmvoice from the swivel chair where he sits.

Mosley, considered the best helmsmanwith the Florida's blue crew, can't see wherehe is going.

Instead, he eyeballs a panel clusteredwith gauges and instruments and respondsto course headings ordered by the ship'sofficer of the deck.

For the moment, the 18,700-ton sub iscruising along the surface of Hood Canal.The officer of the deck, known as the"OOD," is perched at the top of thesubmarine's towering black sail, out in abrisk spring wind. He communicates to the


control room below via intercom.

Also atop the sail is the Florida'scommanding officer, Capt. Paul Sullivan. Hewatches wordlessly and stoically over theOOD's shoulder.

Today the crew is taking the billion-dollar strategic sub from its berth at theBangor naval base to 600-foot-deep DabobBayin Jefferson County for a test spin. It's ashort 35-minute cruise across Hood Canal.

The idea is to put the submarinethrough its paces one last time before itheads out on another 75-day patrol underthe unforgiving ocean after nearly a monthin port.

"If the ship gets out (on a patrol) andsomething doesn't work ... it can create a realdomino effect," said Cmdr. Henry Gonzales,the Florida's executive officer. "One reason

that doesn't happen much is because wehave Dabob Bay here to use for testing."

The crew also needs to know if all

Section 3

400 Feet

Below the

Canal

ByLloyd Pritchett


"The averageage of the crew

is only 21years old.A lotof timesa newcrew member

senses the

weight of thewhole world is

on his

shoulders. But

I remind him

that it's reallya teameffort...I call it 'Team

Florida'."— Capt. PaulSullivan, USS

Rorida

systems are working noiselessly, since a subthat makes noise is a sub that gets found.And Trident subs aren't in the business of

being found.Any noises detected by sensitive sound

detectors planted on Dabob Bay's bottommust be tracked down and silenced by repaircrews before the sub can head out to sea.

As the sub enters the bay, it begins along, looping racetrack circuit. It is nearlytime to dive.

The personnel on the sail — the OOD,the junior OOD, the captain and two lookouts — clamber down a long metal ladderthrough two hatches into the control roombelow. The last one down closes and seals

the hatches.

Now the officerof the deck will guidethe ship by periscope.

A command passes over the ship'sspeaker system: "Watchstanders, man yourphones in preparation for submerging theship."

At the helm, Mosley chews his gumfaster as the moment for diving approaches.His right leg moves up and down rapidly ina nervous rhythm.

Also at the ready is the ship'splanesman, to Mosley's left, who controls thesub's angle of descent, and the chiefof thewatch, who mans a panel showing whichvalves, hatches and openings on the ship'shull have been closed.

Beforethe sub can submerge, everyopening must be shut.

"We don't want water getting intowhat we call the people locker," explains thesubmarine group's training officer,Lt. Cmdr.Jay Perkins.

The OOD orders more course changesand the helmsman answers.

"Right full rudder, aye," says thehelmsman, just the slightest bit of tensionentering his voice. "All ahead one-third, aye....Passing course one-eight-zero to the right,sir.... Continue course two-zero-zero, helmaye. Officer of the deck, steady on coursetwo-zero-zero, sir."

"Very well, helm," answers the OOD.Then the planesman receives his

orders: "Submerge the ship, make depthseven-eight feet."

And just as it has been portrayed in athousand Hollywood movies, a voicecrackles over the ship's speaker system:

"Dive! Dive!" A horn alarm sounds

twice, and then the order is repeated: "Dive!Dive!"

"All vents open!" answers the chief ofthe watch, as he throws open switches.Thousands of gallons of Hood Canal waterbegin pouring noiselessly through valvesinto the sub's ballast tanks.

A rush of cool air passes through thecontrol room.

Immediately, the red digits on thesub's keel depth gauge begin increasing asthe sub starts on its way below Hood Canal'sgray waves. The planesman calls out theincreasing depths.

"Three-eight feet," he says. "Four-six....Four-eight.... Five-zero feet.... Five-two."

"Deck's awash," calls out the officer ofthe deck, signalling that the waves are nowcombing over the sub's outer deck.

When the keel depth reaches sixty-eight feet, the huge submarine is completelysubmerged.

Once it passes below 84 feet, it will betoo deep to use the periscope.

"Order depth one-nine-one," intonesthe OOD.

Shortly after, he lowers the periscope.The helmsman seems to relax. His leg

stops moving up and down. But he still giveshis gum a workout.

JNow isthe time when the ship's sonarroom takes over.

"We're the eyes and ears of the boatwhen we're not at periscope depth," explains Sonar Technician 1st Class MichaelGuinn.

What the sonar crew does is listen to

sounds in the water — very carefully —using a multimillion-dollar hightech electronic system called the AN/BQQ6 thatanalyzes sounds on a screen.

The system is so sophisticated that,with a crackerjackoperator, it can puttogether a three-dimensional acoustic"picture" of all sounds surrounding the ship,identify where they are coming from andwhat is causing them.

It can tell whether a nearby sound iscaused by a whale, a supertanker, an oceantug — or a Victor class Soviet submarine —and then allow the sub to avoid it.

"Just by listening, we can tell howmany screws (propellers) a contact has, andhow many blades are on each screw," saidGuinn.

Today, in Dabob Bay, the sonar systempicks up the tiny sounds of hundreds ofsnapping shrimp. The sound of a passing

patrol boat also leaves a thick acoustic wakedown the sonar system's screen.

But out in front of the sub, all is clear.Down below on the ship's lowest deck,

in the Rorida's torpedo room, another crewis getting ready for action.

Today the crew will test-launch a Mark48 torpedo — a million-dollar weapon sosmart that if it misses its target it is programmed to come back and try again.

The torpedo being shot today has nowarhead on it. After launching, it will beretrieved and put back into service.

No tense, sweaty-faced officer barks"Fire one!" into his headset as a torpedoroars from its tube. Instead, there is a calmcountdown, after which a technician pushesa button in the control room.

A loud hiss, lasting less than a second,is the only sign that the torpedo has beenpushed from its tube by pressurized water.

After the launch, a burly torpedomanopens the tube to check it. Inside he sees thesmashed remains of two Hood Canal shrimpsucked into the screens during the launch.

"It's the catch of the day," he says.

1he Trident submarines based atBangor spend more than twice as much timeout on patrol as they do in port.

For 75days at a time, 160crewmenstand ready at a moment's notice to launch24 missiles packing up to eight warheadsapiece toward targets in the Soviet Union, ifcalled on by the president to do so.

The chances of that call coming arealmost incalculably remote. Nevertheless,the crew must be ready to act.

They live inside their enormous steelvault on manufactured air, surrounded bypipes, cables, computers, machinery — andmissiles — never contacting the outsideworld, from an undersea world about asalien as any found on this planet.

A shakedown cruise in Dabob Bay ispart of the preparation for a cruise that startsabout three weeks before the sub actuallyleaves on patrol, a time called "refit."

"This is the most painful period in asubmariner's life," said Senior ChiefMachinist's Mate Greg Mercer of Bangor,who has served aboard Trident subs for

years.

Refitperiod means 18-hour work days,hard work, no sleep, inspections, extra dutyand very little time for anything else,including one's family. And it's all domi


nated by the certainty that it will be followedby about 75 days at sea.

It takes most of a day for a sub to getfrom Bangor to the sea. Once the Tridentreaches the western end of the Strait of Juande Fuca, "it's time to pull the plug," saidGonzales, executive officer of the Rorida'sblue crew.

After the sub dives, it needn't comeback to the surface until the patrol is over.Air is manufactured, water is purified fromthe sea and tons of food are stashed aboard.

During all this time, one thing is moreimportant than any other to the ship and itscrew: silence.

Aboard a Trident sub, any sound canjeopardize national security if a listeningSoviet sub is anywhere within miles. Therefore, silence is not just a virtue; it is a necessity, a habit, a way of living.

Machinists don't drop tools. Cooksdon't bang pots and pans. Doors and hatchesaren't slammed, they are closed with great,gentle care. Whenever possible, crewmembers climb into their bunks, or "racks,"to avoid making noise. Toilet lids aren't evenlifted for fear they will fall back down with abang.

"Something like that can be heardmiles through the water," said Senior ChiefMercer, who adds the crew goes "to anylength to eliminate" noise.

Meanwhile, the work load hardly letsup.

"The average officercan easily work 18hours a day," said Perkins.

Every crew member stands six-hourwatches, which are followed by 12 hours ofwork, training and drills. The remaining sixhours can be used for sleep if there are nomore drills during that time.

It's easy to forget whether it's day ornight, said Mercer, so most crew membersorient themselves by which meal they areeating — breakfast, lunch, dinner or midnight rations.

Under this kind of regimen, theexcitement of heading out to sea wears offafter about the first two weeks of the patrol.

The sameness gets to some people. It'salways the same shipmates, with the samemannerisms, telling the same sea stories inthe same way.

And there are the worries of isolation.

"I'm confident in my wife's abilities; she canhandle anything," said Mercer. "But you stillworry. You worry about your family. Youworry about the unknown."

The sonar

system picksup the tinysounds of

hundreds ofsnapping

shrimp. Aftertest firing atorpedo, a

torpedomanremoves the

smashed

remains of twoHood Canal

shrimp suckedinto the tube.


"Ifthe shipgets out (on a

patrol) andsomething

doesn't work...

it can create a

real domino

effect. Onereason that

doesn'thappenmuch is

because we

have Dabob

Bay here to usefor testing."— Cmdr. Henry

Gonzales, USSRorida

By the midway point of the patrol, thecrew is ready for some diversion. So,bytradition, there is mid-patrol night — anevening of skits, auctions and other hilaritythat crew members don't talk about to

outsiders.

After that, the world begins to lookbrighter as crew members start counting offthe time until the end of the deployment —four weeks, three weeks, two, one...

And then comes that magic day whenthe submarine returns to the Strait of Juan deFuca, rises up from the ocean depths andsurfaces.

The hatch is opened and for the firsttime, the smells of the world above comepouring down into the filtered atmosphereaboard the submarine. So strong is it thatsome crew members with sensitive nostrils

nearly swoon.Hours later, the Trident berths at its

Bangor pier and the crew filesoff,eyesblinking in the harsh, unfamiliar sunlightand straining to focus on distances fartheraway than the end of the missile deck.

Microbes in the air — absent in the

submarine's manufactured atmosphere —give everyone in the crew a cold.

But the hardest thing to get used to isthe excess of noise — horns honking, peoplejabbering, dogs barking, television, radios,car engines...

It can all be overwhelming to a submariner not yet weaned from the culture ofsilence.

About three days later, the sub'salternate crew takes over and the just-returned sailors get some well-deserved timeoff.

1he Rorida's BlueCrew has all this tolook forward to as they spend the rest of themorning and afternoon steering their hugesub around the underwater Dabob Baycourse. They change depths, submerging asdeep as 400feet.They test equipment, theymonitor everything. Then it is time for thefinal test.

"Emergency surface the ship!" ordersthe officer of the deck in the control room.

The diving alarm sounds three times.The chief of the watch reaches over and

throws open the emergency blow actuators,forcing tons of water from the ship's tanks.The sub angles upward and the red digitsof

the keel depth gauge race from 400 to 350 to300 to 250...

As the sub breaks the surface, there is amomentary surge of weightlessness. Thenthe sub goes level.

A sailor scrambles up the ladder to thetop of the sail, opening the hatches on hisway.

The outside air floods into the control

room, bringing with it the scents of theoutdoors that have been missing all day inthe sub's sterile, manufactured atmosphere— the salt air, trees, flowers....

The OOD orders a course heading backtoward home at the Bangor base.

The helmsman tosses his gum into thetrash.

The Concept of Deterrence

Along shadow is cast on the goldenglitter of sunrise on Hood Canal bythe tall sail of a Trident nuclear

missilesubmarine pulling away from theenormous Navy pier complex at Bangor.

The giant billion-dollar submarine,the most fearsome weapons platform inthe U.S.arsenal, is about to disappearbeneath the sea for 2 xli months with itscrew and 24 nuclear-tipped missiles.

The sub's mission while there is to

act as a well-hidden persuader — toconvince the Soviet Union that America is

ready and able to respond with megatonsof nuclear fury to a Soviet attack against it.

This is what the Navy calls "strategic deterrence."

At any given time, there are five ormore of the huge Trident subs patrollingthe waters of the Pacific off the Soviet

Union.

But the subs can't carry out theirmission without a home base to keepthem supplied and working. And this is it— the 7,100-acre Naval Submarine Base inKitsap County, with its high-tech facilities, equipment and thousands of skilledworkers.

And the base can't operate withoutthe Hood Canal itself. This is the subs'

conduit to the sea, 155miles away.Together, the waterway, the subs

and the base offer a very persuasiveargument against starting a nuclear warwith the United States. And thafs the


whole idea. County, is where the ships' missiles are"The worst thing you can have in loaded and unloaded.

deterrence is uncertainty," explained Using all these facilities, a TridentCapt. MalcolmWright, commodore of submarine returning from patrol can bethe eight-submarine Trident fleet based repaired, loaded and readied for anotheron Hood Canal. "That lets (the enemy) patrol in 25days. Then ifs back out to seathink, 'Maybe we can get away with (a for another 75days with a new, refreshednuclear strike).' You don't want him crew.

thinking that." "Deterrence is a funny concept,"In fact, everything at the Navy's said Commodore Wright. "We have to

Bangorbase on Hood Canal is designed have the ability to do something thatto keep the Soviets from thinking that. nobody wants to do — and do it so well

First, there is the Strategic Weapons that we never have to do it."

FacilityPacific,or SWFPAC(pronounced To keep its edge, the crew con"swiffpack"). This is where the subma stantly practicesmissilelaunches — goingrines' missiles and warheads are stored, through the procedures without actuallymaintained and serviced. It is guarded by launching missiles or, less often, launcha company of Marines authorized to use ing missiles armed with dummy wardeadly force against intruders. heads.

There is the Trident Refit Facility, in Eventually, the procedure becomesessence a small shipyard that keeps the so ingrained in each crew member's mindsubmarines operating flawlessly and that he can do it without thinking.silently. But could the average middle

The base's Trident Training Facility, Americans who man the launcher and fire

with simulators that replicate all the controlconsoles— guys raised on mom,equipment on a Trident sub, is used for baseball and apple pie—be able to fireteaching and re-teaching crew members weapons knowing they would destroyhow to operate their ship before they much of the world and the people in it?ever go to sea. "I don't think they (crew members)

On the waterfront is a huge off could do it. I know they could," Capt.shore pier complex, complete with Paul Sullivan, commanding officer of thedrydock, that can accommodate several Trident sub Rorida, said. 'The (nuclear)submarines at once and provide support threat has to be a viable deterrent. I have

for the nuclear reactors that power them. no doubt that the crew could perform itsA covered explosives handling mission."

wharf, the tallest structure in Kitsap ByLloyd Pritchett

The Trident

submarines

based at

Bangor spendmore than

twice as much

time out on

patrol as theydo in port.

Duringall thistime, one thing

is more

importantthan any otherto the ship and

its crews:

silence.


Section 4

Mission:

Keep It

Clean

ByLloyd Pritchett

Thetwo Canada geese werewinging northward, high over thetreetops of Western Washington,when they spotted a small pondbelow in the midst of an enor

mous grassy field, near HoodCanal.

The pair descended and landed on thepond's glassy surface.

The large birds immediately liked whatthey found. No humans or dogs intruded onthe pond's solitude. Plenty of wild food wasavailable in the immediate vicinity.Thewaters of the pond were clean and ample.

So they stayed. And in the followingmonths, they hatched and reared a brood ofgoslings there.

Bangor is where Hood Canal nature coexists with theawesomefirepower ofthe nuclear weapons age.

Little did the geese know or care thatthe little pond they had chosen for their nestwas in the midst of the largest concentrationof nuclear weapons in the region.

Surrounded by a double row ofbarbed-wire-topped chain link fence, thecleared grassy field with its small seasonalpond is home to the Strategic WeaponsFacility Pacific, inside the Naval SubmarineBaseat Bangor.

Sitting at the top of a bluff overlookingHood Canal, it is the storage and maintenance area for hundreds of nuclear missiles

and warheads carried on undersea patrolsby the giant Trident subs homeported at thebase.

Any unauthorized humans who might

try to enter the area could be shot by Marinesentriesconstantlyon guard. But the Canadageesewere welcomed.

As the pair raised their young familythere, they often took the goslings for walksbetween the earth-topped concretebunkerswhere the weapons are stored, oblivious tothe megatonnage around them.

The geese aren't the only creaturesperfectly happy to live inside a militaryinstallation known more for its powerfulweapons than for its plentiful wildlife.

Some 5,000 acres of the 7,100-acresubmarine base are wooded, and it also ishome to lakes, wetlands, fields, small

Preserving the Environment

Here is a sampling of specificthingsthe Naval Submarine Base at

Bangoris doing to preserve andenhance the environment at the installa

tion on Hood Canal:

• A coho salmon hatchery has beenestablished and salmon runs restored on

streams feeding Devil'sHole, a naturalwetland on base. So far, 500,000 salmonhave been released.

• Old hazardous waste sites on the

Bangor base,createdyearsago beforemodern disposal methods were available,are being investigated for possiblecleanup.Two are on the shore of HoodCanal. Crews tentatively are scheduled tobeginan interimcleanup of the worst site,known as "Site F," in the near future.

• All waste discharges from the baseare being pumped away from HoodCanal. Hazardous industrial wastes are

trucked by licensedhaulers to a federallyapproved site off-base. Waste oil isprocessedat a recyclingplant. Sewagedischargesare pumped off-base to theBrownsvilletreatment plant, operated byKitsap County.

•The amount of hazardous waste

generated by the base has been slashed inhalf in the past few years. The facility nowis embarking on a program to cut theamount of ozone-depleting chemicals ituses.

• The base's forests are logged on a100-yearcycle,or about 30 to 40 acres per


estuaries, a dozen streams, and otherhabitats, including four miles of shorelinealong Hood Canal.

All this diversity supports a teemingpopulation of wildlife.

Here are great blue herons and greathorned owls, osprey, kingfishers, mountainquail,ducks,widgeons,mergansers,cohosalmon, rainbow and cutthroat trout, red fox,bobcats, river otter, beavers, coyotes, raccoons and more than 150 blacktail deer.

And Tom James, the base's fish andwildlifebiologist,said even cougars havebeensightedinsidethe compound,attractedby the deer.

year,providingincometo support thebase's forestry program and some extrafunding for area schools.

• Contract loggershired to log onthe base are required to leave 10largetrees per acre, leavinga diverse environment behind instead of a clearcut. "If youleave large trees,you attract hawks andeaglesthat eat the volesthat might chewdown little trees," said base foresterArthur K. Schick.

• Natural areas of the Trident base,including all wetlandsand lakes,are off-limits to construction and development.

• Cattail Lake, at the base's northend, is stocked with rainbow trout.Cutthroat spawn naturally in the lake,and an 11-pounderwas recentlycaught.

• Submarinepier facilities on HoodCanal were built far off-shore to allow

room for migrating salmon to pass.• The base is cooperating with

researchers to find white pine trees onbase that are resistant to blister rust — a

killer disease that is wiping out wholestands of the tree across the West.

• Eachwinter, the local chapter ofthe Audubon Societyis admitted to thebase to conduct a bird species count.

• Wildlife is monitored across the

base, leading to interesting discoveriesabout habits of different species. A recentstudy found that each blacktail deer onthe base ranges over an area of only aboutone-third square mile.

ByLloyd Pritchett

TheBangorbasegoes to

extraordinarylengths to

preventoil orwaste fromgetting intoHood Canal.

"I've never

seen a militarybase where the

water is so

pristine,"saysLt. Robert

Rothwell, baseoperations

officer.


A policy ofenvironmental

protectionalong with a

strict,centralized

authority overoperationsmeans the

submarine

base, with10,000

residents,pollutes the

canal

watershed less

than manycommunities

with just ahandful of

homes.

On the shoreline, there are mussels,geoducks,butter clams,oystersand crabsinabundance.

And, of course, everywhere there arehundreds of smaller animals — from voles tosalamanders to severalspeciesof frogs.

As the rest of Kitsap County hasbecomeincreasingly urbanized, the Bangorbase, protected behind its fence,has becomea defacto nature preserve — with wildanimals sometimes spilling into the human-occupied areas of the compound.

"I couldn't get into my parking placethe otherday because a deer wasblockingthe way," the base's operations officer, Lt.

A Legacyof ToxicDumping

Like other militarybases around thenation, the Naval Submarine Base atBangor faces serious environmental

problemsrelated to historical disposaland spills of hazardous waste on the base.

The Bangorbase, formerlyanammunition depot, includes 22scatteredsites,ranging from placeswhere explosivematerials were burned or buried to placesused for general waste and chemicaldisposal.

The cost of cleaning up all the siteshas been estimatedat $24 million by Navyofficials, but authorities at the federalEnvironmentalProtectionAgencysaycosts could rimconsiderably higher. Atmost of the sites,studies are under way todeterminethe bestmethodofdealingwith the pollution.

The following is a summary of thesites listed on the federal "Superfund" listof hazardous waste sites:

• Operable Unit 1 — SiteA:The firstBangorsite placed on the Superfund listwas used from 1962 to 1977 for ordnance

(explosives) disposal.Ordnance includedTNT, flares, fuses, primers, smokelesspowder and black powder. The site islocated at the north end of the base. Toxic

soils,runoff and contaminated groundwater have been found, but no drinkingwells are threatened so far.

• Operable Unit 2 — SiteF:Awastewater lagoon in the south-centralpart of the base is now considered one of

Robert Rothwell, recently said in a mock-serious complaint.

1he miracle is that the habitatremainsso pristine despite the base's industrialmission— which includes repairing andmaintaining eight Trident missile submarines based there and the nuclear weaponsthey carry.

The presenceof 15,000 people who liveand workon the basealsohas not frightenedaway the wildlife or tainted the waters ofHood Canal.

But Marvin Frye, the base's environ-

Bangor's most significant hazardouswaste sites. The lagoon was used fordumping variousmilitarycompoundsfrom 1957 to 1972. Tests find toxicsmoving slowly through the water tabletoward homes a mile away.

• Operable Unit 3 — Site 24:Atorpedo fuel incineratorwas operated inthe southeast corner of the base from

1973 to 1983 before removal. Tests

uncovered heavy metals, ordnance andPCBs in the soil.

— Site 16:Adjacent to Site 24, thespot was the storagearea for the torpedofuel incinerator. Drums of wastewaterand contaminatedrags,along withwaste solvents, were stored there. Smallspills also were reported.

— Site 25 is made up of a numberof stormwater drainage ponds whichaccepted runoff from industrial activitiesat Bangor.

• Operable Unit 4—Site C WestFill material was removed from this sitelocatedunder Building7700, an areaused for the disposal of picricacid andtorpedo fuel from 1946until 1973.Thematerial was moved from Site C East.

An investigation will determine if all thematerial was removed.

• Operable Unit 5 — Site E:Thiswas a dump area for electroplatingwastes from 1960 until 1973. Tests found

low levelsof metals in groundwater.— Site 5: A metallurgy test build-


mental program director, says ifs really nomiracle. Rather, ifs all the result of carefulplanning and follow-through, he says.

"We operate a full-scopeintegratedenvironmental management program. Wetake a holistic approach, if you will... abalanced approach," said Frye, who has runthe program since its beginnings in the1970s, when the Navy compound wasconverted from an ammunition depot to asubmarine base.

The environmental program "emphasizes man and nature living together inharmony," he added.

Its three "overriding goals" are to

preserve and enhance the environment, tocomply with all environmental laws —including state and local laws — and tocooperate with all environmental regulatoryofficials, Frye said.

Ifsabig order, considering the environmental damage the base could do. It is,after all, an industrial facility larger thanmost private businesses.

Even more important, the base handlessome of the deadliest materials known to

man.

Take nearly 200 nuclear warheads

ing located here was torn down about Lake. The material was removed in 1981.

1973. Experts suspect the site may be — Site 10:Buildings 1676and 1677contaminated with mercury. in the southeast corner of the base were

— Site 11: Close to Site E, this area used for herbicide storage from the latewas used for the disposal of barrels and 1950sto 1979. Some containers apparentlycans of pesticides.Consultants have leaked through wooden floors. The twobegun removal of the material. buildings were demolished in 1983and a

• Operable Unit 6 — Site C East: new building was constructed with aFrom 1946 to 1973, unknown amounts of paved parking lot.torpedo fuel wastewater, explosive — Site18:Between 5 and 10 gallonsmaterial and solvents were disposed of in of PCB fluid were spilled at Building1016a gravel pit. in the southeast corner of the base. The

— Site D: Explosive compounds area has since been covered with asphalt.were burned on the ground here from —Site27:A pit in the southeast1946 to 1965. corner of the base was used to steam-

• Operable Unit 7 — Site 26: clean locomotives. When the pit was full,Discharges from various industrial and the grease and residue were hauled away.disposal operations may have contami The pit was filled during the 1970s.nated sediments along the shore. — Site 28:A ditch adjacent to

— Site B: Roral Point at the north Building 1032in the southeast corner ofend of the base was a testing area for the base was used for paint waste andpyrotechnics from 1950until the early solvents.

1960s and became a burn/disposal area — Site29:Empty pesticide/herbifor garbage,explosiveswaste and scrap cide tanks were rinsed with water that

metal until 1972. flowed onto the ground in the main— Site2:A dump site along Nauti garage and public works area in the

lus Avenue, across from the Reet De southeast corner of the base.

ployed Parking Lot,contains scrap metal — Site 30: From 1977 to 1985,and inert explosive material. neutralized pesticide and herbicide rinse

— Site 4: Carlson Spit may have water was disposed of on the ground nearbeen used to dispose of ignition devices. a stretch of railroad tracks near the Reet

Further site inspections are planned. Deployed Parking Lot.— Site 7:One-gallon paint cans and

55-gallon drums were dumped over a ByChristopher Dunagan

hillsidenear a creekfeeding into Cattail

Some 5,000acres of the7,100-acresubmarine

base are

wooded, and italso is home to

lakes,wetlands,

fields, smallestuaries, a

dozen streams,and other

habitats,includingfour

miles ofshoreline along

Hood Canal.


The miracle is

that the

habitat

remains so

pristine despitethe base's

industrial

mission.

Marvin Frye,the base's

environmental

program

director, saysit's the result

of carefulplanning and

follow-%through.

packing 2.3 megatons of explosive power,stack them on 24 rockets filled with 25 tons

of high-explosive propellant apiece, then linethem up inside a steel submarine housing afueled-up 90,000-horsepower nuclearreactor.

What do you get? An extreme case ofsafety-consciousness, say personnel at thebase who work with this high-power techno-wizardry every day.

They say the Navy goes to such lengthsto minimize the hazards of its nuclear

submarine operations on Hood Canal thatthere is really nothing for people in thevicinity to worry about.

With the pervasive culture of safety inthe submarine service, the risk level isreduced to as near zero as possible, they say.

'To the Trident sailor, safety is paramount. We breathe safety, we train safetyand we live safety," said Lt. Cmdr. JayPerkins, training officerfor the Tridentsubmarine group at Bangor.

"The emphasis on safety really precludes any major catastrophes."

Officialswon't discuss the specificsoftheir safety precautions, but they are willingto discuss them generally.

Nuclear warheads are designed withmultiple safety features, then are subjected torigorous analyses and testing to ensureweapon integrity even in the event of ahandling accident, said Cmdr. KeithArterburn, spokesman for the base. Thatmeans a weapon won't explode unless it isactivated, prepped and launched thousandsof miles away during an actual nuclear war.

The missiles that propel the warheadson their way are touchier. Loaded with tonsof solid rocket fuel, they are listed as a "ClassA" explosive — the most sensitive type.

To prevent an accidental ignition of thefuel by lightning, buildings where themissiles are maintained are outfitted with

enormous 50-foot lightning rods.To keep the fuel from degrading, it is

kept at a constant temperature and humidity. Safety procedures guard it against beingbumped or jolted during handling.

When missiles are loaded aboard

submarines at the base, they are movedinside containers carried aboard specialvehicles that transport them at extremelyslow speeds.

A half-hour before the missiles are

transported from their bunkers to the base'sexplosive handling wharf, the entire roadsurface and roadbed is inspected visually,electronically and with guard dogs.

During the loading procedure, blastshields are in place.

In case the worst happens and a missileaccidentally ignites, they are only stored ormoved in areas of the base away fromcommunity facilities, public highways andprivate property that could be damaged.

The subs' nuclear reactors are built to

exacting standards. All radioactive fissionproducts are contained within high-integrityfuel modules that can withstand battle

shock.

No radioactivity is released to theenvironment, and tests are conductedannually in the air and water at Bangor toconfirm this.

A few environmental problems havecropped up from time to time — includingchemical and oil spills.

But Frye said all spills are immediatelycleaned up, no matter how minor.

Old hazardous waste sites on the base,created back when it was an ammunition

depot, also are being readied for cleanup, hesaid.

And all waste from the base is pumpedaway from Hood Canal, he explained, toprevent contamination of the water. Smallresidential areas outside the installation putmore pollution into Hood Canal, throughtheir septic systems, than the entire Bangorbase.

The fact that so many wild creaturesare thriving and that the waters of HoodCanal remain unpolluted is a signal thatenvironmental programs and safeguardsestablished by the base are working.

"Hood Canal is a tremendous asset to

the United States Navy and to nationalsecurity and we're doing all we can to makeour presence as neutral environmentally aswe can," said Capt. Malcolm Wright,commodore of the Trident submarine

squadron.Added Capt. Lawrence J. Kramer,

commanding officerof the submarine base:"It really is a beautiful place. I hope it willalways be that way."

A stateparks ranger patrols thecrowded beach at Twanoh State Park.

Nearly half a million people visit thepark near Union each year.

Thesun tints the beach as it rises

red from an August haze atTwanoh State Park. A lone man

and his leashed dog leave tracksin the rough gravel just below thehigh tide line. Soon, others amble

down to the beach to stretch and watch the

midweek morning paint pockets of snowpink on the Olympic Mountains to the west.Most people visiting Twanoh's beach at thishour come from the park's tiny campgroundacross Highway 106.

Forty-seven camp spots are available atTwanoh, Hood Canal's finest public beach. Itis a rare August day that the campgroundisn't full, even if it rains.

But campers won't erase the earlytracks from the beach. By day's end, as manyas 4,000 people will visit Twanoh to splashor swim or sunburn. Their tracks will

obliterate those of the dawn visitors.

A city larger than Seattle settles on the

public beaches around Hood Canal everyyear. In July 1990alone, more than 130,000people enjoyed Twanoh's beach. Only aboutone in every 36 of those people camps at thepark.

Visitors to the seven state parks aroundthe canal bring their boats and fishing poles,their water skis and water wings. They bringvacation cheer and the emerald water works

its magic upon them.When many of these nearly two

million people go home at the end of thesummer, they may think they leave HoodCanal just as they found it. Their tons oftrash have been properly disposed, theirsewage treated. They are conscientiousvisitors, for the most part.

But heavy recreational use takes its tollon these glorious waters. Some bays in thecanal record huge increases in bacterialcontamination during weeks of heavyrecreational use.

•155*

Chapter

10

Recreation

Section 1

When

Beaches Host

Millions



It is a rare

August daythat the 47

camp spotsavailable at

Twanoh State

Park, HoodCanal's finestpublic beach,

aren'tfull, evenif it rains.

Nobody is certain how many morepeople can enjoy the canal without killingit.What is certain: those who enjoy the canaltoday are eager to preserve it for theirchildren tomorrow.

"I'm not an ecology nut, but I dobelieve in keeping things for future generations. I believe we need to take the stepsnecessary now to keep thisplace for the people whofollow," says Chuck Stuart, a72-year-old Bremertonresident who has been

visiting Twanoh for morethan a half century.

Stuart and his wife,Marie, sat by their campfireat Twanoh as three generations of the family stopped totalk. The afternoon sun

burned through clouds andbegan warming the beachacross the road. Children's

shouts drifted from the beach

to the quieter campground."I think it's the old-

timers who want to see this

place preserved," said MarieStuart.

Stuarfs sons, Jim andJohn, and daughter, BethSchmidt, recall visitingTwanoh every year whenthey were growing up inBremerton. Now they gatherevery August for a familycamp-out. They stay in thesame spot every year.

"If there's somebodyhere," jokes Jim Stuart, "we throw 'em out."

The Stuarts agree that public beacheslike Twanoh are vital to building a consensusof canal savers. They fall in love with theplace; they want to keep it lovely.

"This is our only shot," says Jim Stuart,indicating the green campground with itswhispering creek. "People like us will neverbe able to afford waterfront along the canal."

'Thafs why we have to preserve this,"says his father.

Families like the Stuarts can be found

camping every year at all of the canal's stateparks: Shine Tidelands, Dosewallips,Potlatch, Belfair,Scenic Beach and KitsapMemorial. Children grow up there and bringtheir children to grow up there.

Al Giersch, who served 10years as

manager at Dosewallips State Park and nowworks at Fort Ragler State Park, says mostcampers at Dosewallips came there to stay.

"We had to be one of the busiest

campgrounds in the state. Senior citizenswould come to stay in the winter and wehad massiveattendance around May, whenpeople came to shrimp."

Jerry Rice,manager atKitsap Memorial State Park,says most of the camperswho stop there are probablyon their way to the OlympicPeninsula. "But we're

becoming more of a destination camp," he said.

At Twanoh, however,what is happening across theroad from the campgroundmay be more important tothe canal's future. The beach

draws scores of canal savers.

Last year, 1.98 millionpeople visited state parks onthe canal, according to theWashington State Parks andRecreation Commission's

annual report. Only 135,236stayed overnight.

Perhaps 100 sunbathersare on the beach by 2 p.m. asTwanoh Park Ranger LarryOtto makes a sweep throughthe main parking lot. Compared to a weekend crowd,he says, the park is empty.

"I've seen good yearsand bad years, as far ascrowds go," says Otto, a

Bremerton native. "I know that the last three

weekends, the whole park has been close tototal gridlock."

He posted "LOT FULL" signs at allthree entrances, and cars lined up along thehighway. As soon as one day visitor pulledout, it seemed, three cars pulled in.

The incoming tide warms itself on thegravel, so that by 5 p.m., perhaps 400swimmers at Twanoh splash in the warmestwater of the day. On the weekend, Otto says,easily 10 times that number might enjoy theday-use area.

Nearly a half-million people — 469,431— stayed a day at Twanoh in 1989. Almostall visited between April 15 and Sept. 30. The180-acre park sustains greater day use thanany other public area on Hood Canal.

Twanoh StatePark

There are times inthe sunny summer

months whenTwanoh State Park

beach iswall-to-wall people

and thecampground is

filledWednesdayfor the next

weekend.

Almost 20,000 more visitors stopped atTwanoh than at Potlatch, the second mostpopular of the canal parks for day visitors.

In fact,Twanoh ranked 20th among thestate's 144parks in daytime attendance in1989. Otto is pleased that his park's bigcrowds don't bring big problems.

"When I first came here (12years ago),we seemed to have a lot of younger kids, andthey created some problems. But we are afamily-oriented park, and we don't have alot of problems. There just isn't muchvandalism at all.

"We had a couple of professors fromCalifornia last week. They came specificallyto this park so they could play on their

A Community of Familiar Faces

George and Maryjane Beckerstartedcamping at Twanoh State Park in atent 40 years ago. Today Becker is

Twanoh's volunteer "campground host."He registers campers and helps the

ranger and manager around the campground.

Beckersays Twanoh has changedsince he first visited. "When I first campedin here, there were stumps everywhere.And the road was dirt. The roads weren't

paved until '74 or '75. Of course, ifsgotten a whole lot more crowded, too."

"It seems like most campers herecome from Seattle,Tacoma or Olympia,"he says of the people who come to thisunique fjord to play. "We get groups fromOregon and Idaho who come over in thespring for shrimp season."

Families choose Twanoh as a

destination, says Becker. They aren'tcampers who stop there on the way to theOlympic Peninsula.

'The kids are well-entertained here.There's a lot for them to do. Thafs whyfamilies come here. Ifs pretty safe here,normally."

Not unlike the salmon that annuallyreturn to spawn in Twanoh's tiny creek,familiesannually return to the park tocamp. "You meet a lot of people and some

sailboards on Hood Canal. They've comehere for years and years," he said.

'To me, that says something. You seethe same people every year. It's like gettingto be a family. And they take this park on astheir own personal area, and they don't wantto mess it up."

Sunset is as spectacular as sunrise atTwanoh. The Olympics turn purple whilethe sky burns. The day area closes at dusk, socampers are often the only witnesses tonature's finest fireworks.

The camper and his dog return for anevening walk. The dawn tide will erase theirtracks, but visitors will make more tomorrow.

of them get to be good friends," says thecampground host.

While weekends are still busiest,Beckersays the pace of the campground ispicking up during the week.

"A lot of times, it can be raining, andI'll still have campers corning in. Ifscrowded all the time, but pretty nearevery weekend, you're going to have toturn people away. There's always somethat don't believe the 'Campground Full'sign."

When the campground is full,Beckersays he sends campers to BelfairorPotlatch state parks, the closest publiccampground alternatives on Hood Canal.

"We'll try to send them to Manchester, but they don't want to leave the canal.They'll go there if ifs the only place togo-"

When the campground and mostother activities at Twanoh closes for

winter, Becker moves to Belfair State Parkon the other side of the canal to serve as

the host there. But he tries to find time in

the winter to take the 12-mile drive from

Beifair to Twanoh.

"We come out to watch the salmon

run. Thafs all us old folks have to do in

the winter."

BySeabury Blair Jr.

Recreation *157

A city largerthan Seattle

settles on the

public beachesaround Hood

Canal everyyear. InJuly1990 alone,more than

130,000peopleenjoyed

Twanoh's

beach.


Section 2

A Long

History

ASA

Recreation

Spot


It |h^^ oc" Eddy's Rose Pointm I ^^ Resort is gone from* I • Hood Canal, but the

I • spirit ofthe place livesI M on at motels and resorts^m^^ from Quilcene toBelfair.

"It was mostly loggers and trappers,"says Virginia Trammell, the late Doc Eddy's65-year-old daughter. "They came out tohave fun, and that's why people come out tothe canal today."

Sixty years ago, Trammell moved outto the resort and 400acres of prime HoodCanal real estate her father purchased for$25,000. Remnants of a once-grand lodge,above Lynch Cove three miles west of Belfairon the South Shore, is all that is left.

But in 1929, Rose Point Resort was ahot spot for residents from Bremerton,Seattle and Tacoma.

"In those early days," she said, "loggers from nearby camps on the canal wouldget down here any way they could to let offsteam."

Timber that will never again grow astall was falling everywhere along the canal.The men who were cutting and moving thetrees to mills were a rugged breed.

"I remember stories Dad told that were

told to him:Therewere wild and woollyfights and war-whooping on those weekends. It was about the only outlet for thepeople who worked in the woods.

"I remember one year, a loggerbrought in a bear cub. Everybody fed it andit grew up pretty fast. It got out of its cageand here was this lady getting a bathing suiton in her room and in walks this youngbear."

The bear was invited to leave shortlythereafter.

Early photos show a resort signadvertising "fine fishing, sandy bathingbeach,cabins, tents, boats, catering to familypicnics and outings."

"There were so few people out herethen," says Trammell, who resides in Belfairbut owns a lot at the resort site. The countrywas in the midst of the Great Depression;resort rent took different forms. Tents rented

for 50cents a night. But Dad would let a lotof the loggers and trappers pay with venisonor ducks instead of rent." .

The resort operated until 1941,whenWorld War II brought gas rationing and thecountry was in no mood for recreation. In1943, several feet of snow collapsed the roofof the lodge.

That was the beginning of the end forthe Rose Point Resort. But now, as then, themyriad of recreational opportunities alongthe canal attract growing numbers of people.Trammell believes they will be either thesalvation or the death of the spectacularfjord.

She is sorry to see Hood Canal socrowded, but happy so many can enjoy itsbeauty.

"When I grew up, the nearest neighborwas more than a mile away. Now thepopulation is so wall-to-wall. My dad alwaysused to say 25 years from now, it would be

like this. Boy,was he right. It's changed.There are so many more people here, bless'em. They love it and we do, too. But it reallydoes affect everything."

She talks of a day in the not-too-distantfuture, a day when sewers will be necessaryalong the canal. She thinks people will bemore than willing to pay for it.

"If we don't pay for it, it will kill thecanal. If we don't look at the big picture,we'll just be down the tube. People whodon't think about it aren't looking beyondtoday. We have to think about it. I hope toheaven it's not too late now."

Recreation • 159

"In those earlydays, loggersfrom nearbycamps on thecanal would

get down hereany way theycould to let off

steam."

—VirginiaTrammell


Section 3

Business

Follows the

Mercury

By Travis Baker

ForBob and Anne Hart at the

Hoodsport Grocery, septic tanksare good omen. "Whenever yousee a septic tank go by and up thathill," said Hart, "that's newbusiness."

Up that hill is Lake Cushman, a 3,000-lot recreational development that is thelifeblood of the Hoodsport business community in Mr. Hart's view. He estimates thattwo-thirds of his increased business in the

summer is from summer residents. The rest

is from tourists passing through.And a septic tank bound for Cushman

means another lot owner has decided to

invest money in a residence there — andprobably time and shopping dollars in thefuture.

Like nearly everyone on the canal, the

Small, independent retailers are therulearound HoodCanal, and many depend on thesummer tourist season forthehulkof theirannual sales.

Harts see business swell in the summer,tripling that of winter. "It's not unusual to doas much on a three-day weekend as thewhole month of January," he said.

The end of the hot selling season variesfrom business to business, but for Hart, it'sLabor Day. "It chops in half the day after andgoes downhill from there."

In this statistics-laden society, there isremarkably little hard data on the economicimpact of tourism and recreation alongHood Canal.

There is a widespread assumption thatpopulation along the canal triples during thesummer, but proof of that figure is hard tocome by. Public Utility District No. 1 inMason County, which provides electricityfrom near Alderbrook Inn at Union to the

Jefferson County line, provides as firm an

indication of the impact of summer residentson the area's population as exists.

Debbie Knipshield, manager of thePUD,said 41 percent of its 3,864customersare seasonal or recreational, denotingresidence there 180days or less per year. ThePUD gets about four new customers a monthin the winter, twice that in the summer, shesaid. Alderbrook Inn is its

biggest customer.Pat McGary with PUD

No. 3, whose coverage areaincludes Lake Cushman and

the canal's South Shore from

near Alderbrook to Belfair,said about 30 percent of itscustomers are sent bills at

addresses away from HoodCanal. A greater percentageused to be seasonal, he said.

The Mason CountyTourist Center near Shelton

keeps careful track of wherethe tourists and information

seekers who stop there havecome from. June's total of1,982 was five timesJanuary's number of stops,which totaled 390.

The state's traffic

counts at the Hood Canal

floating bridge and whereHighway 101 intersectsHighway 20 near DiscoveryBayprovide an indication of what tourismand summer residents mean on the roads.

Trafficat both places doubles in warmweather.

Ron Bergt of the state Department ofTransportation says there were 7,505crossings of the bridge in January 1989comparedto 14,148 in August. The counter at Discovery Bay recorded 5,522vehicles in January,and 11,564 in August.

When the motor-homing tourists andbackcountry campers —hundreds of thousands in the Olympic Peninsula and HoodCanal area each year — return home, peoplelike the Jay and Dick Johnsons of Glen AyrRV Park, Bob Koeppen at Snooze Junctionon the North Shore, BillCampbell at Rest-A-While north of Lilliwaup and John and DeeWilcoxen at the Trails End Tavern at South

Point depend on the camping clubs togenerate business.

Those clubs have helped make asuccessof the Johnsons' decision to go year-

round when they bought a fishing campnamed Glen Ayr north of Hoodsport fiveyears ago.

Closing in the winter was the norm onthe canal then, Jay Johnson said, and "webucked big odds" in challenging that trend.

But "the clubs come out in the winter,from all over within two hours of Hood

Canal — Eagles, Elks, Mooselodges, the VFW, they allseem to have large travelclubs and they like to gettogether."

Campbell at Rest-A-While, north of Hoodsport,said they often have twoclubs per weekend helpingfill their 97 RV spaces in thewinter.

The Wilcoxens do a

fairly good business at theirtavern, considering it lies atthe dead end of a rural road,on the tarmac of a defunct

ferry landing. But that tarmachas become a sub rosa

campground for RVers,andwhen a camping club rolls in,such as the Port AngelesEagles on Memorial Day,things are really hopping atTrails End, said fill-inbartender Dawnie Davis.

Hoodsport

Home of theHoodsport Winery

and gateway toLake Cushman and

Staircase inOlympic National

Park.

L-hris Gunter learned a lesson whenshrimp season opened in 1990. It was thefirst shrimp season since he bought theSunset BeachGrocery in 1989and he had thewrong cat food on his shelves.

"Shrimpers use only one kind of catfood," said Gunter, who lives in Seabeck andcommutes each day to the South Shore store."Puss'n BootsSupreme Seafood Platter."Once his distributor straightened him out, hesold cases of the stuff.

Gunter figures his business quintuplesin the summer over the off-season, when hekeeps his store open but closes the hamburger stand next to it.

Labor Day was his high point last year,he said, with $570in burger sales in one day,and 28 people waiting for burgers at onetime.

His merchandise includes the $40-to-

$400wildlife paintings he does, on canvasand on fungus "conks" he takes off trees

Recreation • 161

"It's not

unusual to do

as much on a

three-dayweekend as the

whole month

of January."— Bob Hart


There is a

widespreadassumption

that

populationalong the canaltriplesduringthe summer,butproof ofthatfigure ishard to come

by.

when deer-hunting in the fall. "People tendto buy that stuff out here," he said of hisartwork.

As one goes north along Highway 101up the west side of Hood Canal, there is asubtle shift in the tourist draws. Scott Hatch,working behind the counter at the rebuiltEldon Store owned by his brother, Craig,said campers in the Olympic National Forestcontribute greatly to the store's fair weatherbusiness.

Backpackersand campers arriving andleaving, or getting provisions if they outstaythe supplies they brought with them, aregood customers. But weather is crucial, saidHatch, remembering one rainy July 4thwhen no one stopped in the store.

Overnighters at campgrounds operated by and in the Olympic National Forestbrought 265,000 people into the forest in1989,said Ken Eldredge, assistant recreationstaff officerfor the forest. But they are justthe tip of a very large iceberg.

Day use, mostly one-day car tours, isthe largest part of what forest officialscalculate to have been 4.6 million visitors to

the forest last year. Another 3.5 million were

counted within Olympic National Park,though most of those went to attractionsreached from the western side of the park.

"We have wilderness,hunting, fishing,auto touring. A lot of people just like to drivethe backroads," said Eldredge. 'Thafs one ofour biggest uses."

He figures 60-65percent of thosepeople use facilitiesin the part of the forestbordering Hood Canal "simply because it'sclose; it's a tank of gas from Seattle and themetropolitan areas." And he figures only 5percent of the forest's visitors come in thewinter.

Mike's BeachResort north of Lilliwaupwas named after Boband Trudy Schultz'sson Mike shortly after his birth 39 years agoand has been run by the family ever since.

"That's the way of the canal, family-owned," said Trudy, who has run the resortwith her son since her husband passed away."The season's so short you can't afford anemployee."

And, in fact, there is scant corporate orout-of-county ownership along the canal.Minerva Beach RV park at Hoodsport,owned by a Seattle limited partnership, is a

She Finds'Tushing" the Canal an Easy Job

wit hen a group of Sheltonbusiness manager.

l/mi people formed the Mason County She retired in 1979and stayedF w Tourism Council in 1989, they retired (but did a lot of volunteer work)

chose 75-year-old Mary Helen Anderson until agreeing to head up the touristto run it. A fourth-generation Mason center.

County resident, she decided to end 10 The center handled inquiries fromyears of retirement to begin her fourth nearly 6,000travelers in the first sixcareer. months of 1990, she said.

T think we live in the most beautiful Mary Helen was born in Aberdeenpart of the United States,and I like to on Christmas Day, as her parents werepush it." returning from visiting family in

In her younger years, she did leave Hoquiam.the area and wound up in Washington, "My dad was a captain on a four-D.C.,a single girl during World War II, master schooner sailing out of Porthelping print money with the Bureau of Townsend, Port Ludlow and PortEngraving and Printing. But she returned Gamble," she said, "back in the dayshere in 1944. The war was winding down when they sailed out of those places"and I was homesick," she said. instead of Tacoma and Seattle. My family

She married George "Andy" on weekends would go on little trips"Anderson, a Montanan, in Seattle, and she along Hood Canal, she recalled, establishbrought him to Hood Canal country. ing her love for the area that remains to

While he worked at Simpson this day.Timber, she ran the Holiday House floral ByTravis Bakershop in Shelton, then was a nursery

rareexception. There are few businesses ofanysize. Alderbrook Innhasno rival alongthe length of the canal.

The 100-unit inn, Hood Canal's mostsumptuous hostelry, depends lessonsunshine, tides, and drive-by traffic than .most of the canal's tourist

businesses. Alderbrook's

Wes Johnson, who seemsalways to have the inn up forsale but somehow never sells

it, has carved out a niche inthe conference and meetingsarea.

Operations managerBeverly Scherer saysAlderbrook does more and

better business in the sum

mer than the winter, butconferences are the heart of

that business, whatever the

season.

They regularly haveno-vacancy nights, winterand summer, she said, andhave had single conferencesthat fill the inn's 80 rooms

and 20 cottage units. Forsome of the biggest, they'vehad to farm out the overflow

to motels in Shelton and

Belfair, or to some cabinsnearby.

Though the inn getsindividual customers from all over, it doesn'tdo much marketing out of state and overseas, she said. Despite such robust business,there is no talk of expanding.

As with just about everyone elsecatering to tourists and summer residentsalong the canal, shrimp season meansbusiness — non-conference business — for

Alderbook Inn, said Mrs. Scherer. Shrimpersrent many of the rooms during the season.The inn's dock, where spaces are rented, isfilled with boats at that time of year. Innoperators don't make any special effort toavoid conference business at that time of

year. Butshrimpers have their own means ofmaking sure there's room. "Shrimpingcustomers normally will book for the nextyear when they check out," she said.

Hunting season contributes little to theinn's business, but holidays do, even winter

ones. "New Year'sEvewe're always full,"said Mrs.Scherer, though Christmas isn'tthat good.

WhenJohnson bought Alderbrook Inn35years ago(ifs existed for75 years), it wasstrictly a summerresort, saidMrs. Scherer,and all that was there were the cottages anda restaurant and lounge where the pool is

now?Now there's a golfcourse and 36 motel units

that were added around

1980.

AlderbrookInn

Alderbrook Inn, themost completeresort on Hood

Canal, defeats theseasonal doldrums

byhostingconferences and

meetings.

Helen Nickels sweptthe sidewalk in front of the

True Value Hardware she

and her husband owned forthe last time one sunny Julymorning in 1990. Thatafternoon, they were scheduled to sign papers sellingthe Hoodsport business theyhad for 20 years. They wereretiring.

It took three months to

sell the business, but only 14days to sell their double-widemobile home on the canal.

"Everyone seems to want toget a house on the water allof a sudden," she said.

And where does one

retire to after living in atourist mecca like Hood

Canal? Moses Lake, saidHelen. "They have more fishing lakes therethan anywhere else."

John Skelton, owner of the HungryBear restaurant in Eldon for seven years,says his business still is increasingbut hewonders if everyone's is.

"The big drawing cards aren't here anymore," he said. Fishing is a shadow of whatit used to be; shrimping is limited to a coupleof weeks in May before school is out; andclamming and oystering is shut down at theDosewallips, because of seal feces.

"It seemed like before the parks wererunning full most of the summer months,"he said. "Now you can get into most any ofthem most of the time.

"We're still increasing (at the HungryBear). There's still plenty of people comingthrough, but I don't think there's as manypeople staying here anymore," he said.

Recreation »163

"Ifwe don'tpay for

(sewers), itwill kill the

canal. Peoplewho don't

think about it

aren't lookingbeyond today.

I hope toheaven it's not

too late now."— Virginia

Trammell


IhePort of Seattle regularly bringstravel writers fromJapan, GermanyandBritainhere to tour Washington state.Onesuch tour, 11 journalists fromGermany,made a rare stop along Hood Canal on theKitsapside in June,gladdening hearts at theVisitors and Convention Bureau in

Bremerton.

'They did a seven-day trip of theOlympic Peninsula, and Hood Canal wastheir favoriteplaceof the whole trip," saidMim Heuss, head of the bureau. "Weputthem up in four different bed and breakfastsalong the canal,and they willbe goingbackto Germany fired up about tellingpeopleabout the canal."

B.J. Stokey, tourism manager for thePort of Seattle, acknowledged that it was arare stop along the canal for their mediatours, and her staff who accompanied the

Germansreported that they were highlyimpressed.

"We hope to do it more often," she saidof the canalstops.

Heuss also tellsof a Californiacouplewho,afterseeing HoodCanal, asked "Whyhasn't someonedeveloped this for tourism?"

Somevery likelywill try, and soon,observesJayJohnsonofGlen Ayr.

Family-owned tourist and recreationbusinessare "the usual thing at this time," hesaid. "Butwe see land values growing and itwill forcesome big changes out here. Thesemom-and-pop operations may go by thewayside because of the value of the land.Youmay have to either get big or get out.

"On this side of the canal, there'snothing like Alderbrook Inn and ifs close todemanding that kind of place.Once someone whacks out something like that, it will bea lot tougher for the smaller ones."

Boaters enjoy Hood Canal waters and helpdetermine whether theystay clean.

Pleasant Harbor is a snug, teardrop-shaped bay along the westernshore of Hood Canal. Evergreensgrow to the water's edge, andeagles soar over the bright water.Even at the marina, where boaters

pull in for food and gasoline, one can discernrocksand pebbles in water up to 10 feetdeep.

Pleasant Harbor is the last place youwould expect people to be dumping rawsewage from their toilets. Yetduring theopening days of boating season in 1988, theharbor was suddenly hit by bacterial pollution, according to researchers taking samplesthere at the time.

In the quiet, undeveloped bay, boatswere the only logical source of pollution on

thatbusyMemorial Dayweekend, saidresearchers from the state Department ofHealth. Two months before, bacteria were

practically nonexistent, they noted."Shellfish tissue was clearly adversely

affected by the presenceof boats," the reportstates, "in that 91 percent of the samplesfrom within the harbor exceeded the com

mercial shellfish meat standard."

That's not to say boats are the principalsource of pollution for Hood Canal as awhole. Other studies point to failing septicsystems, livestock and even harbor seals asmain sources of bacterial contamination in

other areas of Hood Canal.

But even occasional visitors can

damage water quality, said John Heal,administrative director of the Hood Canal

Recreation *165

Section 4

How

Recreation

Threatens

the Canal



"Boaters like

to say, 'It's notus'—like

farmers andloggers andseptic tankowners. But

there's no

question it'shappening, andthe impacts are

noticeable."—John Heal,Hood Canal

CoordinatingCouncil

Coordinating Council."Boaterslike to say, 'It's not us' —like

farmers and loggers and septic tankowners,"saidHeal. "Butthere's noquestion it'shappening, and the impacts are noticeable incertainsmallembaymentson busy weekends."

Such impacts are believed to be theresult of pleasure boaters and commercialfishermen who pump theirmarine toiletsoverboard in violation of federal law. Theincreased pollution can be measured,especially in shellfish that concentrateorganismsin their meat,and posesa threatto human health,officials say.

Jay Wilkens of Fresno, Calif., marveledat the clear waters of Pleasant Harbor, wherehe moored his boat "Good Times" while ona trip to Canada. 'The delta at Antioch (nearStockton, Calif.) is like a sewer. You cancatch fish, but they'renot fittoeat. Peoplethere just dump the stuff overboard."

It's important, said Wilkens, thatboatersunderstand what theyhavein HoodCanal and do whatever theycantoprotect it.

"When you can see the bottom in 8 or10 feet of water, that is wonderful."

Boaters alsomay spillsmallquantitiesof oil and gasoline into the water, threatening thehealthofmarineorganisms, particularlyat marinas. Oilforms a toxic layer onthewater's surface, where many microscopicplantsand animals spend a critical part oftheir lives.

Non-boaters alsoneed to pay attentionto theirimpacts on HoodCanal, officials say.Forexample, summervisitors may overtaxinadequatesepticsystems alongthe waterfront, and litterbugscan turn the canal into agarbagecan—with dangerousimpacts onwildlife.

Some boaters become defensive whenpeople talk about sewage.Certainlynot allboaters are to blame, said Heal, but smallbays are especiallyvulnerable.

'There are enough studies that I'mconvinced bacterial contamination is aproblem, and a good portion of it comesfrom boats," said Heal.

In a 1988survey of more than 3,000boatersaround Puget Sound,nearlyoneoutof five readily admitted their boats had atoilet with direct discharge into the water.Coast Guard regulations require that suchboats have at least a holding tank to containthe wastes.

Of boaters whose vessels had a "Y-

valve" — which directs the waste either to aholding tank or into the water — some 14percent said they always leave the valveopen to the outside waters. Another 38percent saidthey discharge sewage onlyinthe main channels ofPugetSound.

Federal law prohibits dischargeswithin three miles ofshore —thatis,anywhere in Puget Sound or Hood Canal.

A shortage of shoreside facilities is thereason cited most often forillegal discharges.InHoodCanalthe onlypump-out stationinoperation in 1990 was at Port LudlowMarina.

The state Department of Parks andRecreation and the Hood Canal CoordinatingCouncil bothlaunched programs to teachpeopleabout the impacts ofboating, andboaters maybe listening.

Lance Willmon, assistant manageratPort Ludlow, said the number of boatersusing the marina's pump-out systemhaveincreasedfrom just a few over the course of ayear to as many as 20 on a typical weekend.

Pleasant HarborMarinamanagerWayne Harris said so few boaters used themarina's pump-outstation that it washardlyworth the constant repairs.

'The pump itselfwas not designedfora saltwater environment," said Harris. 'Thepump froze up, and Iended up justthrowing it away."

But more and more boaters startedasking about the facilities.

"I've turned down tenfold the numberofinquiries thisyearthanwe pumped outlastyear," saidHarrisin 1990. "People arebecoming aware. I thinktheadvertising isgetting out to people."

Harris wanted to get the facility backinoperation, but a replacement pump iscostly,$3,000-$4,000. It was runningagainin 1991.

Under a new program funded by boattaxes,the state will pay for constructionofpump-out stations if marina owners agree tomaintain them and pay for electricity. One ofthe first pump-out stations under the newprogram was built at Twanoh State Park ontheSouth Shore ofHoodCanal and openedin 1991.

Holding tanks aren't the only approved method of handling sewage,according to Coast Guard officials.

BobCromes of Lilliwaup installed a$1,500 sewagetreatmentsystemthat grindsand treats the sewage with chemicals.Thetreated effluentcan be legallydischarged,

but the method isn't without controversy."Wewould never pump it out in a bay

like this," said Cromes, sitting in the galleyof his boat "BlueChip", docked at PleasantHarbor Marina. "We live on Hood Canal, sowe're very protectiveof it."

Cromes and his wife often travel toCanada, where officials prefer that hedischarge thesewage withoutchemicals,which contain formaldehyde.

'They'd ratherhave(waste) in thewater than formaldehyde," said Cromes.

Formaldehyde can be toxicto marineorganisms, asit istobacteria, but theU.S.government putsthefirst priority onhumanhealth and won't allow discharge withoutchemical treatment.

'There is no questionthat peoplehavegottendisease fromwaters that are infected," said Dr. Willa Fisher of theBremerton-Kitsap County Health Department.

On the East Coast, contaminated wateris associated with hepatitis and intestinalillness, she said. In the Gulf of Mexico,people have contracted cholera. Tuberculosisis another disease passed through rawsewage.

'The other thing you see," she added,"areeyeinfections and skin infectionsrelated to bacteria in the water."

The Coast Guard, charged withenforcing illegal discharges fromboats,appears tobecracking downon violators.

"MSDs (marine sanitation devices) areregularly checked whenever wedo anyCoast Guard law-enforcement boarding,"said Dennis Booth, chief of marine lawenforcement for the Seattle District. "For thelasttwoyears now,we havereally workedhard at enforcingthe MSDregulations inPuget Sound."

In a 12-month period ending in June,1990,578 MSD violations were noted inWashington and Oregon, said Booth, andabout half of those resulted in fines rangingfrom $150 to $350. The others were warn

ings.Coast Guard officers regularly check to

make sure that boats with an installed toilethave either a holding tank or a treatmentsystem. TheY-valve mustbe "secured" in aclosedposition to prevent discharge overboard, said Booth. That means using apadlock,heavy tape or non-releasabletie.One can also remove the valve's handle, he

said.

Boatersare allowed to use portabletoilets, said Booth, but they can't dump themoverboard.

DennisMcBreen, manager ofSeabeckMarina, said he finds boaters often stop atthe marina to use the dockside restroomsrather thandisposing oftheirwaste in HoodCanal.Somealso are carrying portable toiletsonto their boats — even if they have aninstalled toilet already, he added.

"People don't want to get theirin-boattoilets dirty; that'sa continual linewe hear,"said McBreen. But the use of shoresidefacilities also means people are thinkingabout pollution,he said.

"In Hood Canal, the number of peoplewhodump it overboard isquitesmall,"added McBreen.

It is hard to comparethe impactsofdifferent types ofpollution, according to BillClelandof the state Department of Health.But raw sewage dumped into the watercreates a morehazardous problemthan thesame amount of effluent from a malfunctioning septic tank.

Unlike liquid effluent, whichisdilutedbysaltwater, floating solids canharbor hugecolonies of dangerous bacteria for longperiods oftime. When thesolidsfinallybreakapart, they release bacteriathat canruin shellfish beds and swimming areas, hesaid.

Donna Simmons of Hoodsport, whogrewup on Hood Canal and recentlyheaded an education projectaimed at areaboaters,says peoplemust be willing tochangeifHood Canal is to survive.

"From the time I was a little girl untilnow," she said, "there has been a tremendous increase in the number of boaters."

Her Hood Canal Boater Task Force,sponsored by theHood CanalCoordinatingCouncil, drew together localpeople whoconcluded that education was the solution.Thegroup produceda brochure/boatingmap and erectedsigns last summer at 15marinas and boat launches.

"Thesignsbasically ask that peopleproperlydisposeofsewage,trash andengine-maintenance products," she said.'They pointout that Hood Canal is a veryfragile bodyofwaterand issusceptible tothat kind of pollution."

The messageis getting through, sheadded, because it comes from the hearts oflocalpeople — including boaters who careabout Hood Canal.

Recreation *167

In a 1988

survey of morethan 3,000

boaters around

Puget Soundnearly one out

offiveadmitted their

boats had a

toilet with

direct

discharge intothe water, inviolation ofCoast Guard

regulations.


"Hood

Canal is a

veryfragilebody of

water and is

susceptibleto that kind

ofpollution."

— Donna

Simmons

Wildlife Victim to Debris

Despite its natural beauty,HoodCanal is marred by the trash ofmany people.

Habitat, seeminglyabundant forseabirds, includes killing trapsmadeofabandonedfishing lineand plastic six-pack rings. And natural food sources inthe water and alongthe shoreare taintedwithtinybitsofplastic thatbirds pick upand eat,mistaking themforfish eggs andtiny creatures.

Hood Canal is actuallycleanerthanmany areas around Puget Sound, observers say, and residents and visitors aregenerally good caretakers of the water.Butthe human recordis farfromspotless.

"Peoplefor the most part want thewater to stay clean," said DonnaSimmons, coordinator of a boater education program for Hood Canal, "but thereare always those who do not make theconnection betweenthrowinga six-packringinto thewaterand theideathat theymight be destroying wildlife."

The answer is to keep plasticsout ofthe water—but thafs easier said thandone,saidKenPritchard ofAdopt-A-

Beach. While it is illegal todump anywaste off a boat — and boats over 26 feetmustdisplay a signsaying so—a surprising amount of the debris comes from theland, he said.

"Thebulkof the debrisin PugetSound is land- and shore-based. A lotcomes from roads, ditches and stormdrains."

The most common type of marinedebris isplastic foam usedindrinkcupsas wellas foodand bait packages. Ifs alsoused as flotation in docks, and a tremendous amount breaks off into the water,said Pritchard.

Eventually the foam chunks breakdownintoround"cells," small enough tobe eaten by birds and fish.The solution,he said, is to sheath flotation material invinyl,so the plasticfoamcan't get loose.

Pritchardsays the problemwillonlybe solvedwhen enough peoplerealizethat everyplasticcup they leavebehindata picnic, everyplasticbag they failto grabwhen the wind comesup, is part of HoodCanal's debris problem.

By Christopher Dunagan

Devil's bike near Mount Walker has

been isolated from encroachment ofnon-nativeplants but is vulnerable toeven the most innocent human visits.

Visiting Devil's Lake is likestepping back in time, perhaps200-300years, to a period whencivilization had not yet carriedthe seeds of foreign plants to thePacific Northwest. At one end of

the lake lies an enchanted world — a rare

bog, where the sound of distant bubblesaccompanies each footstep in the spongymoss.

Here, tiny sundew plants secrete asticky residue to capture microscopic insects;wild cranberries cling to delicate vines; and

spongy lichens grow in 3-foot-tall moundscalled hummocks. Nearby, a "pygmy old-growth forest" grows ever so slowly in thewet peat.

Only a botanist could fully appreciatethe precious values of this ancient lake,hugging the slopes of Mount Walker southof Quilcene. One botanist, Jerry Gorsline, isecstatic.

Gorsline, a member of the WashingtonNative Plant Society, has identified fivedifferent types of wetlands and dozens ofnative plants within the lake's drainage, all

Recreation *169

Section 5

Innocent

Visits and a

Pristine Lake



Visiting"Devil's Lake is

like steppingback in time,perhaps 200-

300 years. Thelake has

escapedinvasion fromalien plantsthat tend to

drive out

survivors fromprehistoric

times.

on state land. To his delight, the lake hasescaped invasion from alien plants that tendto drive out survivors from prehistoric times.

T don't think we have any non-nativeshere," said Gorsline. "That's why we've gotto protect this area."

Gorsline is worried about human

activities that threaten the lake, activities thatseem routine to fishermen

who crowd the lake on

summer weekends.

He's particularlyconcerned about a dirt road

that winds its way to theedge of the water. Vehiclescould easily carry the seedsof foreign plants to the water,where they could invade thedelicate marsh. Boats could

introduce other exoticplants,including prolific Eurasianmilfoil.

Up the road a shortdistance lies an outpost ofalien plants — early invadersso common that Northwest

residents often claim them as

their own. There's foxglove.('Thafs everywhere butthese pristine areas," saidGorsline.) There's the broad-leafed English plantain,nicknamed "white-man's

footsteps" because it followed settlers across the continent.

There's also wall lettuce, a plant fromNorthern Europe that was first noticed in theSan Juan Islands in the 1920s. It is unknownin most areas of the United States, but in theNorthwest it has spread from the lowlandsinto the subalpine slopes of the Olympics.

Gorsline's greatest fear of all is a tall,wide-bladed and "extremely vigorous" grasscalled reed canarygrass. He spotted the plantalong the rutted road to the lake, not morethan 1 V2miles away.

Canarygrass is a "rhizomatous" plantthat spreads rapidly through undergroundshoots as well as by seeds. It will grow inmoist soil and even under a few inches of

water. Once the plant takes hold, it is nearlyimpossible to eliminate, said Gorsline.

The Eurasian plant did not invadeWashington state until the 1950s,but todaycanarygrass is stealing habitat from nativeplants everywhere. Lake Ozette on the

western side of the Olympics has becomeplagued by it.

'The grass forms dense patches, andfew plants can compete with it," said NelsaBuckingham, often cited as the leadingauthority on native plants in the Olympics.

Less than 100 feet from Devil's Lake,the dirt road becomes so muddy, even in

summer, that vehicles skidaround in it as they passthrough.

'That kind of distur

bance," said Gorsline,"provides a perfect seedbedfor canarygrass."

Though worried thatpublicity might bring evenmore people and moreimpacts, Gorsline said thelake is headed for ruin unless

the public understands howprecious and fragile it is.

"Only by attractingattention to this place is therehope of saving it," he said,adding that people can enjoyit for recreation — if they'recareful.

The road to the lake is

difficult, and Gorsline is notencouraging visitors. Butthose who do come should

stop at the ramshackle A-frame building near the lake.

Visitors should not trample through themarshy areas, he said.

The bog, he explained, "is very sensitive to compaction. I'd never suggest a trailto direct people into the bog."

What he would like to see is protectionfor the lake, located on land managed by thestate Department of Natural Resources. Theland borders Olympic National Forest.

In 1992, the DNR intends to auction offthe trees around the lake. Included in the

timber harvest would be a number of

"residual old-growth" trees, survivors of afire that raged through the Mount Walkerarea in 1864.

Some of the old trees, still showingcharcoal-black "fire scars" from the Mount

Walker fire, may date back to 1701,when anearlier fire destroyed most of the timber onthe eastern edge of the Olympics.

Gorsline, employed by the WashingtonEnvironmental Council, uses his expertise to

Devil's Lake

The pristine lake,unspoiled byinvasionfrom

non-native plants,hugs the slopes of

Mount Walkersouth of Quilcene.

help arrange agreements about how timberwill be harvested. The process is known as"TFW," for Timber-Fish-Wildlife. Gorslinehas proposed keeping the logging back fromthe lake.

"As a TFW person," said Gorsline, "Ihave to respect the harvest goal, so I didn'tgo to (DNR) and say, T want no harvest atall.'"

But what Gorsline would really like is atrade of land between the DNR and the

Forest Service that would bring Devil's Lakewithin the Olympic Forest boundary.

In doing so, he said, protection couldbe extended to the old-growth timber, thefive wetlands, as well as a hillside thatcontains some rare and unusual "saprophytes" —plants that grow on decayingmaterial.

Few undisturbed lakes are left anywhere today, said Buckingham. Devil's Lakemay be especially at risk. "Lakesare likepeople.Youcan compare them loosely,butevery lake is different.I can't think of anyother lake quite like it."

Recreation • 171

"Only byattracting

attention to

this place isthere hope ofsaving it."

—Jerry Gorsline

Part

IVThe People of

Hood Canal

Dressed in a red flannel shirt and

blue jeans and wearing a toolbelt hitched up with widesuspenders, Keith Daniels tookaim and pulled the trigger."Wham! Wham! Wham!"

Shiny steel nails surged into smoothlumber as Daniels directed the powerful nailgun with little effort.

It had taken the 29-year-old carpenter,with the help of one or two others, 3 x/iweeks to create the basic structure of a 1,800-square-foot home.

Daniels smiled warmly as he stepped

down off the 6-foot ladder. He was nearingthe end of another honest day's labor. A fewmore days like this and he would be finishedframing this house overlooking Hood Canal.Then he would move on to the next job.

Construction is everywhere in HoodCanal country, where new houses sproutlike spring flowers.

Some builders carve out choice build

ing sites on steep lots overlooking Seabeck,Union and Quilcene. Some squeeze expensive new structures onto the last remainingwaterfront lots along the South Shore. Otherstransform older vacation homes into modern

•775

Chapter

11

Development

Section 1

The Canal

Pays

for our

Lifestyles


There are few placesalongHood Canal wherenew construction is not

evident from the water

176 • The People of Hood Canal

"What is the

good of ahouse if youdon't have a

tolerable

planet to put iton."

—Henry DavidThoreau

waterfront wonders.

Fornearly everynew house goingup,one canfind a family-in-waiting, fosteringdreams of moving into a new neighborhood,making new friends,enjoying the naturalsetting. Waiting for the house Daniels iserecting are Glen and June Forbes, who solda house with a Puget Sound view to buildtheir new home overlookingHood Canal.

Every silver lining has a dark side, andthe dark side to a new house is the unavoidable damage it brings to the Hood Canalecosystem.For every human familymovinginto the forest, some wildlife must move out.For every family improving its quality of life,there is some effecton the qualityof water.

The damage is dictated by the locationof the homesite as well as the concern of the

builderand future occupants of thebuilding.The damage at each lot may indeed be

slight. But already, tens of thousands ofhuman beingshave becomean integralpartof the Hood Canal ecosystem —and planners tell us that real growth is just nowcoming to the region.

With the arrival of spring, Daniels hasbeen working 10-hourdays on this house inthe Driftwood Keydevelopment near the tipof the KitsapPeninsula.He feels good aboutthe work.

Earlierin the day, a rare April hailstorm pelted the urifinished roof with frozeniceballs. As Daniels talked, melting icestilldripped through the cracks.

"Ifs nice out here," said Daniels,glancing toward the cloud-covered water."Thisis where I'm going to buy. We just rentnow."

Like other areas once considered

distant from civilization, Hansville doesn'tseem so remote in today's real estate market."People moved to Bellevue until they foundthat Bellevuewasn't so nice anymore, sothey moved to Bainbridge," said Daniels."Now they're moving here."

Trained by North Kitsap High School,Daniels says his job as a carpenter is "creative," better than the "menial" job he hadfor three years working in a lumber yard.

Construction is an important force inany economy. Statewide, more than 5percent of the labor force is employed inconstruction trades. Housing construction inparticular is going strong in the Hood Canalregion.

Driftwood Key, developed in the mid-1960s, once had the appearance of a lazy

resort community. Today, funny little houseswith upside-down rowboats in their yardsstill capture timeless views of Hood Canaland the Olympic Mountains.

Disappearing, however, are theundeveloped lots. Modern new houses havegone up almost as fast as the price of lots stillforsale. Fromalmostany vantagepoint inDriftwoodKey,one can spot two or threehouses under construction.

People looking for a natural view andquiet setting are finding it throughout theHood Canal region,one of the last unspoiledareas in the Lower 48 states.

1he price of growth is very real, saysRickKimball, environmental planner for theKitsapCounty Departmentof CommunityDevelopment, but ifs not easy to see theenvironmental impact of a single home.

"I think we're dealing with these thingsbetter and better," he said, "but if you have50acresof forest land and you put 50houseson that, you can't help but have an impact."

One of the first, and most noticeable,results of clearing land for a house can beseen after the first rainfall, said DaveDickson,a drainage specialist with theKitsapCounty PublicWorks Department.

In a forest, trees, vegetation andorganic groundcover soak up moisture like asponge, releasing it slowly into streams andinto the ground itself. But human encroachment removes a portion of that naturalsponge.The roof of a house, a driveway or astreet prevent water from soaking back intothe ground. Evena grassy lawn has only afractionof the absorption qualities of a thickorganic carpet on the forest floor.

"Everybody likes nice wide streets,paved sidewalks and driveways, but allthose things cover the pervious surfaceswehave left," said Dickson. "A well manicuredlawn looks nice but... there's not a lot of

percolation through a lawn unless it isunderlain by gravelly soils."

Seeking lower ground, water will drainoffsuch hard surfaces,pick up speed acrosssteep slopes and then carve out drainagechannels that never existed before. Streams

swell more rapidly due to the surge of water.Rows are higher than the last time it rainedequally hard. But after the rains stop, there isless water released by the remaining vegetation. Streams decrease in size during dryperiods.

This fundamental change in drainageaffectsfish habitat. Silt transported by watercan smother salmon eggs buried within astream's gravel. High water flows canrearrange the gravel, dislodging eggs fromtheir nesting place.

It's the same boom-and-bust pattern ofwater flow caused by logging clearcuts, butthe effects of developmentare even more pervasive.Clearcuts eventually growback; developments areforever.

Larry Ward, owner of Olympic Homesin Poulsbo,argues that some of the newregulationsrepresent a basic shift in thephilosophy of who should pay for community services.

"When I was a kid, I went to publicschool," he said. "I lived on a city street withcity sewer and water and paved sidewalks.

The local government paidfor them, because it wasperceived that the wholecommunity benefitted by thesidewalks we walked on and

by the schools we went to."Now, government

spends the money and sendsthe bill to our children. We

have shifted the burden to

the home buyer. We askthem to pay for schools andsewer systems."

Those against growthsupport the higher cost ofhousing, said Ward. But thestrategy may backfire onHood Canal because it forces

new home buyers to move tomore remote areas where

land is cheaper, such as theforested lands of KitsapCounty and even the foothillsof the Olympic Mountains.

Within the entire Hood

Canal drainage area, it isgetting difficult to find anarea unspoiled by humandevelopment, according to

local planners and biologists.Newcomers transplanted from cities —

and even some people who have lived in thecountry all their lives — drag a host ofurban-type problems into the woods withthem.

In addition to causing increasedstormwater runoff, the average familyconsumes 300gallons of water a day, saidJerry Deeter of the Bremerton-Kitsap CountyHealth Department. Families who watertheir lawns in the summer may use up to1,000gallons a day, he added.

In most areas, water is pumped out ofthe ground. So far, water is plentiful in mostlocations in the canal watershed, but increasing growth may reduce groundwatersupplies and bring a day of reckoning.

An average family also generatesnearly 100pounds of garbage a week

Driftwood Key

Daniels was hired toframe this new house by DanForbes, a contractor who hasbuilt numerous homes in the

Hansville area. The owners

are Dan's parents, Glen andJune Forbes, the formerowners of the resort in

Hansville known as Forbes

Landing."For 20years, we had

the same view," said GlenForbes, 65. "Ships came in allthe time, but after a while Ididn't even notice the view."

Now, they have a viewof Hood Canal with the

Olympic Mountains standingtall on a clear day.

"Hood Canal is a

beautiful piece of water,"said Forbes. "I hope peoplerecognize the value and try to protect it."

A growing list of building codes, healthcodes and energy codes — not to mentionenvironmental regulations to protect wetlands and reduce stormwater runoff — keepraising the price of a basic house, says DanForbes. But he recognizes the need for mostof the rules, he said.

"We're all working on a level playingfield," he noted. "You figure you have to getso much money from each house to make aliving for you and your family."

The extra cost is just passed along.A major problem for younger families

is that the price of even the cheapest homesmay be out of reach. Daniels, married with a7-year-old daughter, hopes to work out anarrangement whereby he can use his building skills to obtain his own home. Mostyoung families don't have that option.

Built on thenortheast bank of

the canal,Driftwood Key,

with building sitesfor 726 homes,relies solely onseptic systems.

Development *177

Construction

is everywherein Hood Canal

country, wherenew houses

sprout likespring flowers.


Every newhouse bringsunavoidable

damage to theHood Canal

ecosystem. Theamount ofdamage is

dictated by thelocation of the

homesite as

well as the

concerrn of thebuilder and

futureoccupants.

throughout the year and recyclesabout 10pounds, according to a new study in KitsapCounty. In addition, laundry and cleaningchemicals are flushed down the drain, wherethey enter the septic tank and ultimatelyflow back into the groundwater.

With the exception of Alderbrook Innat Union and Port Gamble, sewage treatmentplants don't exist on Hood Canal. Sewagegoes into septic tanks, some so old thatnobody knows if they even work anymore.

When David and Carol Smith built

their home near Union in 1984,they toredown an old structure that started out as

nothing more than a sleeping platform, builtby David's grandfather about 1912.

"A lot of the old buildings just sort ofgrew as people wanted more comfort," saidCarol Smith. "They'd build a wall here, akitchen here, a bathroom there."

When the Smiths tore down the old

house, they were dismayed to find nothingmore than an antique cesspool buried not farfrom the water's edge.

Health officials from all three Hood

Canal counties continue to discover

drainfields that no longer work, if they everdid. High bacterial counts have been measured in several places, spoiling primeshellfish beds — one of the canal's greatresources.

If normal wastes aren't bad enough,you don't have to look far to find an isolatedspot in the woods where somebody hasdumped a pile of garbage. Often, the pile isnear a stream, which means it is not soisolated after all. Then there are people whobelieve that disposing of motor oil meansdumping it on the ground.

Vehicles themselves leave a trail of

pollution, including oil and heavy metalssuch as lead, copper and zinc.

Even green space, that lovely grassylawn, can create serious water qualityproblems. The owner of a quarter-acre lot,following manufacturers' recommendations,would apply as much as 40 pounds ofnitrogen and 80 pounds of phosphorouseach year to keep a yard nice and green.

Fertilizers and weed killers can migrateinto natural areas, upsetting native plantcommunities. Washed into surface waters,they can generate algae blooms and decreasedissolved oxygen, even to the point of killingfish, as has been seen several times in lowerHood Canal.

Insecticides used on lawns create a

variety of problems. In at least two places onthe Kitsap Peninsula, Diazinon pellets killedflocksof ducks after the birds ingested thepellets,apparently mistaking them for food,said Greg Schirato, a biologist with the stateDepartment of Wildlife.

Even when the insecticide does its jobperfectly, it may not have desirable results.Birds may eat poisoned insects, thus poisoning themselves, or else the insects maydisappear, eliminating an important foodsupply for both birds and fish.

In general, people are much too casualabout their use of pesticides, says Cha Smith,director of groundwater protection forWashington Pesticide Coalition. 'The waythey (pesticides) are advertised and promoted really encourages their use andoveruse."

As development spreads into remoteareas, new houses crowd wildlife out of theforests, said Schirato. Dead or dying trees —ideal habitat for birds and small animals —

are often removed to prevent their fallingonto someone's house.

Rotting vegetation, including fallenlogs, are cleaned up, destroying an important part of the food chain. Overhangingtrees and vegetation may be chopped backfrom alongside streams, altering the watertemperature, eliminating a source of fishfood and causing stress to salmon and trout.

New home owners never realize the

damage they cause."People don't think much about it

because they don't see dead animals," saidSchirato, "but the animals are gone. Theyeither die or move someplace else, crowdingother animals out."

Many families wouldn't think ofmoving to a new home without the familypet. But a dog or cat can do more damage towildlife than the house and all the people init, said Schirato. Dogs chase and kill deer.Cats go after birds and fish.

Some people think the woods are aperfect place to let their animals run loose, henoted, but nothing could be further from thetruth.

People love rural areas for a variety ofreasons, and some are very careful abouttheir actions. Still, anyone who becomes apart of the Hood Canal ecosystem alters thebalance that went before.

Timber management consultant CanjHanson encourages landowners to

consider options toclearcutting.

Manyof the private lands thatdrain into Hood Canal have

been carved up into buildingsites and appear headed fordevelopment.But not every property owner

has dollar signs in his eyes.Consider David Smith, 62, a Seattle

insurance agent who inherited 90 acres nearUnion and would like to pass on the land tohis children.

"I was born and raised up there," saidSmith. "I dearly love the area. I have seen mykids raised up there and now my grandkidsare coming up."

Smith's land spans both sides ofHighway 106 and includes a waterfront lotwhere his grandfather gradually constructed

a house in the early decades of this century.In 1984,Smith replaced the old home with amodern house, which he visits on theweekends.

Smith's management of the remainingforest land is a lesson for property ownerswho are conservation-minded but have no

desire to lock up their land strictly for fishand wildlife.

"We are thinking about keeping it intimberland," said Smith, "unless someone

would agree to do a reasonable job ofdevelopment."

Smith hired a forestry consulting firm,Washington Timberland Management ofUnion. Gary Hanson, owner of the company,worked out a plan to thin the timber, whichprovided Smith the cash he needed to

Development •179

Section 2

Choosing

Prudent

Development



"Idearly lovethe area. We

are thinkingabout keeping

it in

timberland,unless

someone

would agreetodo a

reasonablejobof

development."— David Smith

subdivide the property into five-acrelots andput in a high-quality all-weather road.

If an excellentbuilder came along withthe right price and a sensitive plan fordevelopment, Smith admits he might sell thelots. But his preferred plan is to divide themamong his children.

Hanson, the consultant,said some loggers takeadvantage of landowners byoffering deals that sound toogood to pass up.

"We find," saidHanson, "that too manypeople don't know the valueof their trees."

Smith's own father

allowed a logger to clearcutthe lower portion of the landfor some quick income. Butthe logger failed to replantany trees. The bare landeventually grew alder trees,which were worth consider

ably less than the fir treesthey replaced.

"My dad got taken,"admitted Smith, who had theground replanted with firseedlings.

Hanson, who graduated from the University ofWashington in 1967with adegree in forestry, advisesclearcutting only for specificpurposes. For Smith's land,Hanson thinned out about a

third of the trees, clearcut small patcheswhere disease was evident and retained

several trees strictly for their habitat value."We were able to thin this, rehabilitate

of money in his pocket," said Hanson.Hanson planted grass seed along the

new road where vegetation had beenremoved. In the areas that contained dis

eased fir, he planted white pine. State lawrequires reforestation within three years, butit is best to plant right away — before thebrush takes over, said Hanson.

Hanson advises

landowners to research

forestry issues before signinga logging contract. That goesfor anyone — even owners ofa single acre. A consultantisn't required, he said, but anowner should certainly getan independent appraisaland advice on harvest and

replanting.Hanson also suggests

that owners take bids from

loggers on the basis of totalweight or volume of timber,as opposed to a percent ofgross value, because marketsare always changing.

According to Hanson,the trees on Smith's propertyadd value to the buildingsites, and homes can beworked in among the treeswith less environmental

damage than in a clearcutarea.

Smith says the future ofhis land is uncertain, but he'snot about to let the commu

nity down with shabby development. Afterall, his own home is at the bottom of the hill.

"If someone wants to pay me a lot ofmoney, I might be swayed," he said, "but I

Smithproperty

Dave Smith usedcareful timbermanagement

practices, includingselective thinning,in logging the 90acres he owns on

both sides ofHighway 106.

the lower end, and put a substantial amount don't think it is worth screwing up the area.

Residents near Union scurry tofill sandbags inanattempt tokeep runofffrom a golfcourse

development fromdamagingtheirhomes.

Itseems like only yesterday that HoodCanal was a frontier kind of place.Turn around, and there are highways.Turn around, and there are developments. Turn around, and there are golfcourses, gravel pits and shopping

centers.

At an alarming rate, forest land is beingconverted to housing and other uses inKitsap County, said Mike Reed, who reviewsforest practice applications for the PortGamble S'Klallam Indian Tribe.

"The conversion applications just pileup every week," he said. "If we lost thisamount of timber in a blowdown in two

days, we would call it a national emergency.

But we are doing the same thing overmonths."

In North Mason and some portions ofJefferson County, trees are being removedfor development at nearly the same pace.

No single housing development,grocery store, marina or golf course creates asignificant problem for Hood Canal, but thecombination of all them together does havesignificant impact, experts say.

A typical golf course, for example, usesat least 10 tons of fertilizer a year, saidDwane Erich of Alderbrook Inn Resort near

Union. Alderbrook also uses 18 million

gallons of water a year to keep the grassgreen.

Development •IS!

Section 3

Losses Come

so Easily

ByChristopherDunagaii


"Ifwe lost thisamount oftimber in a

blowdown in

two days, wewould call it a

national

emergency.Butwe are doing

the same thingover months."

— Mike Reed,Port Gamble

S'Klallam Tribe

Nobody knows how much of thechemicals escape to Hood Canal, butAlderbrook is just one of four golf courseseither operating or proposed in the HoodCanal watershed.

Despite the growth, Hood Canalremains in pretty good shape, experts say.Vast tracts of forest land remain undevel

oped, and important fish and wildlife speciesstill make their home in the watershed.

Hood Canal offers Washington residents onelast chance to preserve an area that has notyet been spoiled by growth.

"We are not yet at a point where wehave lost so much habitat that wildlife can't

migrate through the area," said GregSchirato, regional biologist for the stateDepartment of Wildlife.

While native salmon have declined

drastically, only part of the problem can beattributed to stream damage, according toDennis Austin of the state Department ofFisheries, which intends to study the habitatissue in the coming months.

All three Hood Canal counties —

Kitsap,Mason and Jefferson —are struggling to deal with the growing number ofpeople moving into Hood Canal.

Straining the Limits of SepticSystems

In most places, septic systems do anexcellent job of treating householdsewage, experts say. But aging systems

along the southern shorelines of Hood Canalmay be killing the canal's production ofliving things.

No longer can you take shellfish atBelfairState Park; commercial oyster-growing operations have been shut down;and fish kills the past few years have beenattributed to low oxygen levelsdue topollution.

"The whole canal is dying an inch at atime," said James Lockhart, a Port of Allyncommissioner who has pledged to bringsewers to the Belfair area.

The port commissioners have proposed a sewer project for most of Belfairandfor homes along the North Shore of HoodCanal out to the edge of the district. But theproject has been stymied while the stateDepartment of Ecology considers the bestlocation to dispose of the effluent.

Hood Canal should not be used for

disposal because of its extremely low

flushing rate, Ecology officialshave said.'The one thing that makes you frus

trated," said Lockhart, "is that there's toomuch government bureaucracy. Nobody iscoming up with answers, and you can'tmove but at a slow crawl."

After Ecology gives the go-ahead, itwill take another two to three years ofstudies, design and financial planning beforeany work can be done, said Lockhart.

Nobody doubts the need for sewers, hesays. An ongoing study by Mason Countyshows that some 50-60percent of waterfrontseptic systems are already failing in nearbyAllyn, which drains into Puget Sound.

"As far as septic tanks on HoodCanal," he added, "I'd say probably 60-75percent drain right into Hood Canal. Somesit just 6 to 8 feet from a bulkhead."

Poor soils and high water tables meanthat septic systems don't always functionproperly, even when there is adequate roomfor a drainfield,according to a report byEdmunds-Ludlow Associates, consultantsfor the port.

Alderbrook Inn near Union operatesone of the few sewage treatment plants onHood Canal. When the system failed tofunction properly in 1990, the Department ofEcology took over management. Today, thequality of effluent is much better, officialssay.

All around Hood Canal and along thestreams that drain into it, failing septicsystems have been discovered by healthofficialsfrom Kitsap, Mason and Jeffersoncounties.

In most cases, old drainfields can bereplaced or new drainfields can be installedfarther back from the canal. Jefferson Countyhas even implemented a low-interest loanprogram to help with the cost.

But nowhere is the problem as severeas along the north and south shores of lowerHood Canal. Much more pollution in thatarea will mean increasing fish kills, saidHerbert Curl, who studied the chemistry ofthe area for the National Oceanic and

Atmospheric Administration.Nutrients from sewage, as well as

fertilizer, may be to blame for pockets oflow-oxygen water that sometimes spreadfrom lower Hood Canal into the main

channel.

Sewers may be the only answer forBelfair'sLynch Cove and the shallow areasof Hood Canal out to the Great Bend near

Union and Tahuya, according to a growingnumber of residents.

"The people on the canal in the portdistrict are all for it," said Lockhart. "Wehave had public meetings to find that out —and we'll have more as soon as we get adecision from the Department of Ecology."

Lockhart says he will continue to pourhis energy into the dream of building asewer system.

"That's the reason I ran for the portdistrict. We need it bad. After that, I don'tgive a damn. I don't want the job."

Changing Nature's Buffer

Waterfront residents along HoodCanal often claimed their piece ofparadise by filling a shoreline lot and

building a bulkhead to protect the fill fromthe water.

In doing so, they unknowinglyspeeded the destruction of the canal'sshorelines and beaches.

In many places in Hood Canal —notably from Union to Belfairand out toTahuya — homes were built upon fill placedbehind bulkheads, according to Sean Orr, ashorelines administrator in Mason County.

Ever since then, homeowners haveclung to their valuable piece of waterfrontproperty, replacing the bulkhead whenevernecessary. Only recently has Mason Countybegun to question the need for every newbulkhead, said Orr.

"When we try to discourage bulkheads," he said, "people think we are crazy."

Orr, along with state Department ofFisheriesofficials, may force a propertyowner on the South Shore of Hood Canal to

remove an expensive new bulkhead built 4feet in front of an old one that was failing.

'There was a massive smelt spawningarea below his failed bulkhead," said Orr,"and 250-300 square feet of spawning areawas lost because he stuck that bulkhead out

there."

Tom Terich, a geographer and regionalplanning expert, argues that bulkheads are"entirely unessential as far as serving anypurpose for the common good... The milesand miles of walls and piles of rock simplyserve to protect the private property of a fewindividuals who built too close to the

shoreline to begin with."Localgovernment should do every

thing to encourage people to build their

homes farther back from the water — and to

leave the natural systems in place, he said.The concrete bulkhead could well be a

fitting monument to man's ongoing battleagainst nature.

There it stands at the edge of HoodCanal, solid, unyielding, absorbing thepunishment of waves, day after day in allkinds of weather. Then it cracks and col

lapses.The folly of bulkheads, argues Terich, a

professor at Western Washington University,is that they attempt to hold back naturalerosion, but end up altering the entireshoreline. "One of the major problems withbulkheading is that we are putting a veryrigid material in a fluid, mobile environment."

Beaches are the result of natural

erosion from sandy bluffs and upland areas,he said. In fact, beaches have been called"rivers of sand" due to the consistent

movement of sand along a shoreline.'The one thing I am most concerned

about is if we keep putting up structures, wewill prevent that sediment from gettingdown to the beach. We will start having aloss of beach."

During slide presentations to thepublic, Terich shows photographs of beachesthat have been altered in a matter of yearsdue to bulkheads, which also have destroyedwetlands and near-shore habitat for fish and

shellfish.

The easy flow of fresh water intosaltwater is disrupted by bulkheads, whichcreate vertical walls at the edge of the water.

No bulkhead can be considered

permanent due to the dynamics of uplanderosion and lateral movement of sand, not tomention wave action, said Terich. Wavescause increased turbulence in front of a

vertical bulkhead, undercutting the wall andcausing failure.

Where bulkheads are necessary toprotect property, Orr said, neighbors shouldwork together to consider the entire system.

"Oftentimes, one property owner putsup a wall, which causes wave energy at theend of the wall, so the next property ownerfeelshe has to do something to protect hisproperty."

Researchers are studying new designsfor bulkheads that minimize damage, hesaid.

One of the "softer approaches" toprotecting beaches, said Terich, is to add the

Development • 183

No singlehousing

development,grocery store,marinaorgolfcourse creates

a significantproblemforHood Canal,

but the

combinationofall them

togetherdoeshave

significantimpact.


Despite thegrowth, HoodCanal remains

in pretty goodshape. Vast

tracts of forestland remain

undeveloped,and important

fish andwildlife speciesstill make their

home in the

watershed.

right type of beach material in a particularlocation and allow the waves to spread it outalong the beach.

"You have to treat the whole beach as a

unit."

Ribbons of Development

Highway 101along the western shore ofHood Canal offers travelers a beautiful

introduction to the scenic waterway,but that road would never pass today'senvironmental rules, experts say.

The same goes for Highway 106alongthe South Shore and Highway 300along theNorth Shore.

'To fill the wetlands and in some cases

the beach itself, to cross the rivers and creeksand cedar swamps and bogs would be analmost impossible job today," said MikeLeitchof the state Department of Transportation in Olympia.

Throughout the Hood Canal area,development would not exist were it not forall the roads and highways that carry peopleto and from their homes. These long ribbonsof pavement break up wildlife habitat andcause drainage problems in every spottouched by concrete or asphalt.

Highway records are somewhatsketchy, but it is easy to imagine the hugecliffs that had to be excavated for portions ofHighway 101 and 106.Rockand debris fromthe cuts no doubt were used to fill wetlands

along the route.The long stretches of uniform highway

in place today once were smaller countyroads. Since the 1920s,the state has upgraded various sections of the roads, officialssay.

But few roadways in the state come asclose to a sensitive body of water as thosearound Hood Canal — and runoff from

roads can be a major source of water pollution.

"Any time you have an impervioussurface, you have two things to worry about:water quantity and water quality," said GaryKruger of the state Department of Ecology.

Major pollutants include petroleumproducts dripped from automobile enginesand gas tanks, lead deposited from gasoline,and zinc and copper loosened during wearand tear on the engine. In addition, pesticides used to reduce roadside vegetation canbe carried along with stormwater.

Ecology and the Transportation

Department are working jointly on a $50million program to redesign highwaydrainage systems throughout the state toreduce the amount of water pollution.Strategies include using existing right of wayand buying new land for the installation ofsettling ponds and grassy swales, both ofwhich reduce toxic chemicals.

Unfortunately, the major roads aroundHood Canal were built at the edge of thewater, sometimes next to a sheer cliff. Roomenough for such pollution control measuresmay not exist, said Clay Wilcox, a DOTmaintenance supervisor for the area.

Grass-lined ditches, proposed for someareas around Puget Sound, simply aren'tpractical there, he said.

"Along Hood Canal, we are lucky tohave any ditch at all," he said. "There areareas where there is just barely enough ditchthere to say there is a ditch."

To make matters worse, the ditchesflow more or less directly into Hood Canal.

"Over by the marina on Highway 106(at Union), there are cross culverts that washdirectly onto the beach," he said.

The district has three areas that create a

tremendous amount of sediment in the

ditches due to sloughing from steep banks,said Wilcox. In addition to the marina area at

Union, one is where the Skokomish Riverapproaches Highway 106and the other isnear the Purdy Creek crossing of Highway101.

It takes two or three days of work eachyear to clean the stretch of ditch called PurdyCanyon, he said, and about 1,600yards ofdebris is removed in that time from that one

ditch.

Nobody knows how much sedimentalong the highways fails to settle out in theditches, thus washing into Hood Canal, saidWilcox,but it is no small amount. Cleaningout the ditches isn't considered pollutioncontrol, he said, but without that maintenance the ditches would fill up and all thecontaminated sediments would wash into

the canal.

Demand for Gravel Alters the

Landscape

AlHoover used to have a nice little

duck pond in his front yard. Now, hisyard is nothing but a pond. And the

water is still rising.Hoover's entire neighborhood along

Old Belfair Highway is affectedby excesswater.

"The ducks and geese love it," saysHoover. Not so the neighbors, however, whoclaimtheir problems began a decade agowhen Anderman Sand and Gravel took over

a surface mining operation on a hill behindtheir homes.

Gravel mining is needed to build roadsand concrete foundations for all types ofdevelopment. In fact, state law considerssurface-mining programs as vital as timberand agriculture.

"We moved out here in 1980 because

we liked the area," said Hoover, a qualityassurance inspector at Puget Sound NavalShipyard. "We purchased property acrossthe street and lived there until 1987, whenwe moved here."

Until 1983, the gravel pit was ownedby ServiceFuel Co., which operated a smallasphalt plant on the top of the hill. Theoperation went bankrupt a few years laterwhen the quality of gravel declined. In 1986,the current operator arrived.

"When they came, the area had beenlogged," said Hoover, "but it was selectlogging. They cut the rest of the trees."

Among the trees cut down, he said,was a 50-foot buffer between his land and

the gravel operation. Anderman alsoexpanded the pit down the edge of the hill,he said.

Anderman officials choose not to

comment, but during legal proceedings, theymaintained that the operation has compliedwith all state and local rules.

Hoover climbed the bank behind his

house and pointed out a natural swale on hisland, where water accumulatesduringheavy rains. But silty water from the gravelpit has begun to fill in the swale, he says.

Despite an earthen dike between thetwo properties, Hoover's land still gets morewater than it ever did, he says.

Hoover's neighbor, Richard Medeiros,also has a low-lying area on his property tothe south. The area has turned into a swamp,filled with cattails and other wetland plants.

Joe Watson, who lives across the streetwith his backyard to the Union River, saidsurface and subsurface water has flooded hisyard and even run into his well underpressure.

"Sometimeswe used to get water inthe yard," he said, "but it didn't stand likethis."

Katie Littlefield, who lives next to theWatsons,sat at her kitchen table and glancedout the window at the gravel pit, whichdominates her view.

"We have lived here about 18years,"she said. "It was reallybeautiful then."

The Department of Natural Resources,which has responsibility for surface miningoperations, has attempted to reduce the flowof water from the pit by requiring a series ofsedimentation ponds on the pit property. Butone mitigation plan after another has failedto keep silty water from flowing onto theneighboring property.

One answer would be for the neighbors to grant easements to get the waterswiftly to the Union River, but nobodywants to be part of a plan that directs dirtywater into the already troubled river.

Besides,say the neighbors, that wouldonly complicate the problem becauseenvironmental agencies such as the stateDepartment of Fisheries and Department ofEcologywould never allow the discharge.

"They'veapproached me to buy myland," said Medeiros, "but it's not for sale.My contention is if the state requires them tocontain the water on site, then that's whatthey have to do. The only solution I see is toput the vegetation back to the originalcondition."

The Department of Natural Resourcesordered that Anderman solve the drainageproblem, but Anderman appealed the matterto a state hearing examiner. Christine CUsheruled that the current system of drainage"removes that runoff to a safe outlet, namelythe natural drainage pattern in the area,which includes the adjacent properties."

Furthermore, said Clishe, "Andermanis not by law and should not be required tocorrect the community water problem of thearea. That long-standing problem has beencreated by nature and several propertyowners."

Needless to say, the neighbors weren'tpleased with the ruling, and Hoover pledgedan appeal to Superior Court.

The Results of Clearcuts Show UpDownhill

More than a few Mason Countyresidents have grumbled the past fewyears that their county government

was failing to controldevelopment. But,theysay, a single event in November 1990may

Development *185

Hood Canal

offersWashingtonresidents one

last chance to

preserve an

area that has

not yet beenspoiled bygrowth.


"I'dsayprobably 60-75percent (of theseptic systems)drainright into

Hood Canal.

Some sit just 6to 8 feet from a

bulkhead."— James

Lockhart, Port ofAllyn commis

sioner

have jarred the county to its senses.The awesome power of stormwater

runoff was demonstrated near Union duringthe heavy rains over the Thanksgivingweekend, when water gushed down a steepravine, depositing tons and tons of soilandgravelacrossHighway106 justaboveHoodCanal.

'The material was coming faster thanwe could get rid of it," said ClayWilcox, amaintenance supervisor for the state Department of Transportation.

Despite the best effortsof both stateand county crews using heavy equipment,they couldn't beat the onslaughtofsand andgravelwashing down the hill. Theyendedup closingthe highway for a day.

Since then, Mason County has filed a$250,000 lawsuit against the property ownerblamed for the mess, George Heidgerken, aSheltondeveloper building a 230-acre golfcourse and resort community on the hilloverlooking Hood Canal.

The county claims that Heidgerkencleared the property of all trees and vegetation without proper drainage controls. Healso failed to install a system ordered bycounty officials after they discoveredtheproblem but before the flooding occurred.

The lawsuit was filed to recover the

county's emergencycostsas well the costofhiring a consultant to work out drainagecontrols, said Mike Clift of the MasonCounty Prosecutor's Office.

"I think we can make a case that what

they did led step-by-stepto the damage upthere," he said.

Heidgerken says he should not be heldresponsible for damagefromnaturalrunoff,and he blames most of the problem not onthe clearcutting, but on the heavy rains.

Ifs an argument that most residentsdon't buy.

"That area handled every rain event forthe past 30years," said BobClose,presidentof the Mason County Protective Association,which represents property owners in thearea.

After the clearcut, water coming downthe 50-acreravine cut a path between twohomes and flowed down a driveway toHighway 106.

"It was most fortunate that the drive

way was there," said Close, "or one or twohouses could have been in jeopardy."

Since then, culverts have been installedto bring the water off the hill, carry it acrossthe road and release it into Hood Canal.

The county ordered the developer toprepare an environmental impact statementbeforeany more work was allowed on theproject, known as Black BearResort. The firstpriority was to stabilize the slope andprevent further damage.

Close and Clift agree that the incidenthas alerted Mason County officials to thepotential problems of development. At thetime, the county had no ordinances fordealing with the kind of clearing andgrading taking place on the steep hill.

Sincethen, the county has adopted agrading ordinance,approved a North Masonwater quality plan and is gaining speed onnew requirements under the state's GrowthManagement Act.

"Theyare lookingat things muchdifferently," said Close.

The Growth Management Act requirescounties to identify problem areas and takesteps to protect them. Mason,along withJefferson County, could have opted out ofthe requirements of the act based on theirpopulation, but the two Hood Canal counties agreed that planning for growth was intheir best interests.

Local officials are searching for a way to manage the growththat's threatening tooverwhelm the Hood Canal watershed.

State requirements for managinggrowth couldn't come at a bettertime to protect Hood Canal, saysLarry Dennison,a JeffersonCountycommissioner.

But normal, everyday people holdthe real key to the future, he added.

The Hood Canal counties — Kitsap,Masonand Jefferson —are rapidly movingtoward new policies they hope will protectforestand agricultural lands from theonslaught of development.

State law also requires that theyidentify and protect:

• Fish and wildlife habitat.

• Wetlands.

• Groundwater recharge zones.• Landslide areas.

• Areas prone to flooding.Under the law, the public gets to help

design land-use policies that protect thenatural system — and that should meanmore than government just going throughthe motions, argues Dennison, who chairsthe three-county Hood Canal CoordinatingCouncil.

"Policies are worthless unless you havethe constituencies to support them," he said."Until enough people value these kind ofideas, we will not be able to make themwork."

Dennison wants the environmental

movement to have personal meaning to allwho live in the Hood Canal region. He

wants to see "politics" at work — not thekind ofbackroompolitics that has gained abad reputation,but the originalmeaning ofthe word. "Politics is the process of creatingpublic policy. The power has to be closeenough to the people that they can feel it."

All three counties have begun planningat the grassroots level,but they eventuallyhope to coordinate their efforts for HoodCanal. It is a different process than oneevolving in Oregon, where such policies areset at the state level.

Kitsap County Commissioner JohnHorsley said he believes people can understand the goal of protecting public resources.

"But I think we are going to get intosome tremendous controversy when we go astep further and try to restrict what peoplecan do with their land."

Horsley knows about planning forgrowth. As the county's first Trident coordinator and later as county commissioner, hehelped prepare for the population boom thatarrived with the giant Naval Submarine Baseat Bangor.

As a result, Kitsap County is ahead ofboth Mason and Jefferson in growth-management planning. But with five timesthe population of Mason and 10 times thepopulation of Jefferson, Kitsap also suffersthe greatest environmental damage fromdevelopment that's already occurred.

"We can handle the next 100,000people who come in," said Horsley, "if we

Development • 187

Section 4

Planning for

Growth

ByChristopherDitiiagaii


Hood Canal Shores Under PressureCarving up what's left of a limited resource

ilood Canal's once

isolated and undevelopednature has changeddramatically in the past fewyears.Sparse developmenthas given way to intensivepressure as property ownersand developers seek to cashin on the heavy demand.Western Washington'sexploding population hasspilled over into Kitsap,Mason and Jeffersoncounties. Hood Canal and

Olympic Mountain viewsare drawing new settlers bythe hundreds. All this new

development, plus theinadequaciesof olderdevelopment in the HoodCanal watershed, haveincreased the pressure on thedelicate ecosystem.

, . KEYIntense

residentialdevelopment

OlympicPeninsula

QuimperPeninsula

Watershed Potboundary -Ludlow

Dabob

Quilcene

•fj^^s'-Silvetdak^^~Olympic

.••'View

PugetSound

Port AGamble

' Watershed

boundary

'Hood Point/

W.. Watershed \mv boutaa>y\

The .'.. .' JGreat fPeninsula I

Belfair • ••

Bremerurn

•fm DeWatic

North Shore

tlh Sliare

The HoodCanalwatershedrouglily follows the linedown thecenterofthe Great Peninsula.Drainagewest of the lineends up in the watersofHood Canal.Drainageeast of the line is into PugetSound, it's baysandinlets.

Areas of intense shoreline development, shaded black, are increasing.Next, the upland view areas will get the pressure.

Source: Kitsap, Jefferson, Mason counties and Sun staff research

develop a land-use pattern that concentratespeoplein our urban centersand protects therural areas from overdevelopment."

None of the major urban centersproposed are within the Hood Canalwatershed, though Port Gamble maybecome a much larger community than it istoday, said Horsley.

"What we're trying to discourage is acheckerboard pattern of 2 '/2-acre tracts or 5-acre tracts without adequate road systems,water systems or open space," he noted.

PhyllisMyers, a habitat biologist forthe Suquamish Indian Tribe, says she isweary of the growth battles taking place asrural areas are forced to make room for more

people."I'm feeling sad these days," she said.

"Someone said to me recently, 'We don'thave growth management; we just havegrowth.' "

Myers helped put together a newwater-quality plan for Dyes Inlet betweenBremerton and Silverdale. The plan calls fornew populations to move into areas alreadypaved over by development.

"Development should take the form ofredevelopment in the city of Bremerton," shesaid of the county's future.

Maintaining areas in forestry is a goalrequired by state law, though it may beeasier to accomplish in the lesser-developedportions of Mason and Jefferson countiesthan in Kitsap.

Horsley said he hopes to be able toconvince major forest land holders in Kitsapto retain their property in timber — perhapsby allowing them to build higher-densitycommunities in more urban locations.

But he says he's "discouraged" aboutthe declining runs of wild salmon and aboutmanagement by the state Department ofFisheries.

The numbers of fish reaching theirnative streams are governed by two factors:1) the success of their reproduction — whichdepends on the local water quality, and 2)the number caught on their way home.

In the spring of 1991, Fisheries announced a cutback in commercial and sportfishing to protect wild coho returning toHood Canal. But Northwest Indian tribes sayit is not enough.

It is sad to think that the magnificentfish may be on a permanent decline, saidHorsley. He suggests that salmon may be agood yardstick for measuring the success or

failureof localcontrolson development."They are like the canaries that went

down into the mines as a test of when the air

was bad," said Horsley.Unfortunately,studies are lackingon

just how severely the streams already havebeen degraded.

One sectionof the Growth Management Act which has gotten little attentioncallsfor innovative techniques in managinggrowth.

"It is a very short, but I think powerfulsection," said Steve Wells of the stateDepartment of Community Development.'Think of a tool kit in the hands of the

counties and cities.They are right nowdeciding what tools are going to go into thatkit."

They may choose a heavy hammer —the police authority of local government,including zoning controls and buildingrestrictions.They may add a scalpel — theability to purchase development rightsprecisely in areas that should be preserved.

In essence, the state has given thecounties authority to decide.

Mike Reed, a biologist with theS'Klallam Tribe in Port Gamble, has urgedKitsap, Mason and Jefferson counties toadopt what he calls "urban thresholds," aconcept originally proposed to protectresources from logging operations.

Thresholds are measurable values that

reflect the amount of damage to an ecosystem, such as a watershed.

For example, biologists can measurethe amount of sediment in a stream. One

threshold level — perhaps a 10 percent ratioof sediment to gravel — would alert forestmanagers to an upcoming problem, andlogging could be reduced. At a second level,perhaps 25 percent, drastic changes wouldbe required to reduce the level of sediment— even if it meant stopping logging altogether.

Reed argues the same approach shouldbe used "when you move down the watersheds into the urbanizing areas." Urbanthresholds would put the burden on developers to prevent the kind of damage that hasoccurred in the past.

Only in this way, Reed says, willpoliticians be held accountable for commitments they make in the face of economic and

political pressures.BothDennisonand Horsley say they

find the concept of urban thresholds appealing and would like to incorporate it intoregional planning.

State and county agencies are gettingbetter with environmental regulations. Notso many years ago, the Department ofFisheriesfailed to prevent, or apparentlyeven notice,damage from development.Now, both Fisheries and Wildlife review theplans for new developments with an eye forpotential impacts.

Fisheriescan force developers toprotect streams, and Wildlife can oftenprotect habitat for migratory birds and otheranimals. Bothare using their authority understate law to mandate stormwater controls to

prevent excessiverunoff.Kitsap County, which has made some

attempt to control the rate of runoff in thepast, is now discussing strong new measures, including those that would reduce theamount of pollution, said David Dickson ofthe Kitsap County Department of PublicWorks.

Using a computer, engineers can nowdesign a stormwater system that moreclosely matches the natural-flow conditionsof a site. In addition, grass-lined ditches,known as biofiltration swales, can be used toabsorb pollutants before the water leaves theproperty.

Already, the county has begun requiring such modern stormwater controls in newdevelopments, though a full-blown ordinance and storm-drainage manual probablywon't be ready until 1992,said Dickson.

Unmanaged growth has spoiled manyareas of the country, including parts ofWashington state. Some would argue thateven Hood Canal has been damaged beyondrecognition. But a majority of planners andbiologists say Hood Canal still containsmany natural wonders, despite the pressinggrowth.

"We may have let things get out ofhand," said Reed. "We may have some dirtylaundry that we need to clean up. I believe alot of our actions are based on the remote

idea that we will not be around to live with

the consequences of what we do today."That attitude, he argues, has got to

change. And what better time than now?

Development • 189

State law

requires thatcounties

identify andprotect fishand wildlife

habitat,wetlands,

groundwaterrecharge zones,landslide areas

and areas

prone toflooding.

Chapter

12

Native

Americans

Section 1

When

Indians Plied

Its Waters

By Gene Yoachum

Skokomish elder

Joseph AndrewsSr.

Hood Canal offered bountiful

fishing amid cool waters and apicturesque aquatic highway tothe three major Indian tribesliving there in the decades priorto the 20th Century. The history

of the canal was shaped by the Twana,Chemakum and S'Klallam tribes, but onlyremnants remain today: the Skokomish, theSuquamish and the S'Klallams.

Elders from the three tribes describe

the canal as a much simpler, more pristineplace in their youth, when it was a base fortheir subsistence.

Joseph A. Andrews Sr., 76, recalled theyears just prior to 1920as a time when herarely wore clothes and when Hood Canalwas a "beautiful place" to be while growingup. Early in the morning, he'd watch deeralong the shores of the canal lick salt offrocks at low tide.

Andrews' eyes glistened as he talked

790

about how the autumn sky "just turneddark" as huge flocksof migrating geese flewoverhead, issuing sounds "that were like alullaby to my ears."

He remembered sitting in the bow ofhis grandfather's 24-foot shovel-nose canoeas a preschooler, "eating salmonberries thathung out over the canal. I wasn't a very goodpicker,but I could eat them pretty good.

"When I was a young boy, before Iwent to school, the Indians traveled the canalby canoesand rowboats equipped withsails," said Andrews, an elder among theSkokomish, whose reservation sits at theGreatBendof Hood Canal in MasonCounty.

"We had camps on both sides of thecanal," he said. "Therewere plenty of fishand clams. There were trees along both sides;the loggingcamps were just getting started."

Andrews said he "didn't wear clothes

until he was 8 years old. There was no needto becausethere was lots of privacy outthere."

When he was about 13 years old,Andrews had an encounterwith a couple ofwhales that he's not forgotten.

"About halfway across the canal, thesetwo whales buzzed me," Andrews recalled."They bumped the boat and made wavesthat bumped me, and the dogs barked, butthey didn't tip me over."

When he told about being accostedbythe whales, Andrews said his motherexplained the huge beasts may have beentrying to get to the dog and her puppies,noting that whales eat seals and other smallanimals.

Andrews' tribe shared use of the canal

with two others, the Suquamish and the PortGamble S'Klallams.

The Skokomishelder said his peoplehad friends among the Suquamish Indians,although"theyhad a hostility among them.It seemed like they always had to havesomeone's permission to be in the area. Wenever worried about it, but they did."

Doth sides of Hood Canal originallywere inhabited by the Twana Indians,divided into three bands, the Du-hlelips,Skokomish and Kolsids, the Rev. MyronEells wrote in The Twana, Chemakum andKlallam Indians ofWashington Territory,published in 1887.

He said the word 'Twana" was

believed to meana portage,coming"from

Native Americans »191

the portage between Hood's Canal and themain waters of the Sound, where the Indian,by carrying his canoe three miles, avoidsrowing around a peninsula 50 miles long."

Skokomishmeans "River People,"derived from their settlement at the mouth of

the large freshwater river that empties intothe canal.

The Chemakums are believed to have

originated from the Kwilleuts, who livedsouth of Cape Hattery on the PacificCoast.Eellswrote that a portion of the Kwilleuttribe, according to the Kwilleut tradition,came inland from the coast followinga veryhigh and sudden tide long ago and settlednear Port Townsend, calling themselves"Chemakums."

By 1887,Eells said the Chemakumswere "virtually extinct," there being only 10left who had not married whites or members

of other tribes.Only one four-member familywas included in the total. At one time, theChemakums occupied lands from the mouthof Hood Canal to Port DiscoveryBay.

The S'Klallam tribe derived their name

from "Nusklaim," a word in their languagewhich meant "strong people."

The S'Klallams had claimed territoryfrom Port Discovery Bayto the Hoko Riveron the northern coast of Washington.

Shortly before the turn of the 20thCentury, Eellsnoted many S'Klallams hadmoved to Little Boston,opposite PortGamble; to Jamestown north of Sequim; andPort Townsend and Port Discovery Bay,where most were employed at sawmills.

Another band of S'Klallams made their

home in Elwah, about eight miles west ofPort Angeles, living largely on fish. (Although the Port Gamble clan changed thespelling of the tribal name to S'Klallam, theclosestreflection to the correctpronunciation, the Jamestown and Lower Elwah clansstill use Klallam in their names.)

Ihe Suquamish and the Skokomishwere the main users of Hood Canal duringthe latter years of the 19th Century, according to Lawrence Webster of Indianola.

At 91, Webster is the eldest of theSuquamish tribe, centered on the PortMadison Indian Reservationin North Kitsap.

'They used the west side, we used theeast side" of the canal, he said. The KlallamTribe, particularly those from Port Gamble,didn't begin to make substantial use of Hood

The Northwest

Coast tribes

lost most oftheir creative

traditions

within a fewdecades of thetreaties theysigned with

whites in the

mid-19th

Century.Indian culture

was banished

during theschool year at

boardingschools the

children were

sent to.


The S'Klallam

Tribe derived

its namefrom"Nu-sklaim," aword in their

language thatmeant "strong

people."

Canal until after Pope &Talbot built itslumber mill at Port Gamble in 1854, Websteradded.

He recalled taking a cedar dugoutcanoe on a month-long fishing trip on thecanal when he was about 4 years old.

"It was a family canoe, seven of us," hesaid. It was large enough for four adults,three children and the

group's camping equipment.They paddled the

canoe northward from Miller

Bayaround the KitsapPeninsula, into the mouth ofHood Canal and all the wayto the south end of the

saltwater channel.

The group had timedthe journey to the canal totake advantage of the tidesbecause without help fromtidal currents, their canoe tripwould have been much

longer. Evenwith tidesworking in their favor, thetrip required the better partof a day.

They spent the nextmonth living in canvas tentspitched along the banks ofthe canal, sleeping on cattailmats, fishing each day anddrying their catch overcampfires to keep it throughthe winter.

After they'd caught anddried what they could take back in theircanoe, they returned home.The trip back,however, took a full day's paddling and partof another, Webster recalled, because theyhad miscalculated the tides needed to make

their journey easier.When he was growing up, Webster

said Anderson Hill Road in Central Kitsapand the Port Gamble-Suquamish Road inNorth Kitsap werenot roads,but merepaths— routes used frequently by his people toget to and from Hood Canal.He said tribalmembers who were in fishing camps on thecanal for extended periods often used thetrails to tend to matters back home. The nine-

mile trek could be made within a few hours.

Webster recalled the Suquamish didn'tgo over to the canal as much starting inabout 1910. Older tribal members were less

inclined to make the trip becauseof the effort

it required. Younger Indians "began to getbusy with other things."

Irene Purser, 90, an eldermember ofthe Port Gamble S'Klallam Tribe at Little

Boston, also remembers the canal as a majorthoroughfare for early settlers.

She and two other

S'Klallam tribal elders — her

half-sister, Mildred Decoteau,64, and Catherine Moran, 81— recalled how game, fishand other forms of life were

found alongside the canal.Then commercial ventures

and increasing numbers ofresidences began to changethe life they'd grown toenjoy.

"In those days, youcould go where you wantedto dig clamsor go fishing,"Decoteau said. "It was an

important part of daily life."Purser said she could

remember when there was

"only one store on the canal— at Lofall. People wentthere to buy hardtack, flourand sugar."

She recalled her

grandparents taking her toPuyallup with them to pickhops and going to Brinnon tocatch and dry fish for the

winter. She also remembered family members baking bread by burying loaves in hotsand and "eating fishon a stickevery dayand never getting tired of it."

Moran said her people would digclams each winter and sell them for 50 cents

a bushel.

Purser's family had a large canoe, largeenough for a bed in the middle for thechildren in her family to sleep, with room oneach end for adults to sit and paddle thecraft.

In addition to paddling and using tidalcurrents to their advantage, the Indians alsorelied on the winds to power their canoesand flat-bottomed boats, Moran said. Sherecalled how sails were created by sewingflour sacks together.

'The canoe was how they got around,"she said.

Hood Canaltribes

The Skokomish (1),the Port Gamble

S1 Klallam (2) andthe Suquamish (3)

allfoundsustenance in the

bounty of the HoodCanal watershed.

It is mid-winter and pre-white man.The last of the yabu, the dog salmonpeople from the Skokomish and otherrivers, have been hauled in and

smoked. Food the Tuwa'duxq havegathered should last the season.Now it's time for the 1,000 or more

people of various bands scattered around thecurled leg of water they calltuwa'duxqlsi'dakw — the Twana's saltwater— to congregate in their plank houses anddevote their time to more spiritual matters.

Nine communities surround the

Twana's saltwater, occupied by three or fivebands, depending upon whose accountconstitutes history.

Edward S. Curtis, who photographedtribes throughout the West at the turn of thecentury, located the Duhle'lips at UnionCreek, the S'kokomish at their river, theSoatlkobsh along both sides from what isnow Hoodsport to the Dosewallips at whatis now Brinnon.

Members o{ the S'Klallam tribe

apparently camped at Brinnon, but farther tothe northeast there were more Twanas — the

Kolsids at what is now Quilcene, anotherversion of their name, and the Slchoksbishon both sides beyond.

Native Americans »193

Farther were more S'Klallams at Little

Boston and Port Gamble, Port Ludlow,

Hadlock and Port Townsend.

The S'Klallams spread into the formerChemakum territory from their originalcamps along the Strait of Juan de Fuca as theChemakums — depleted, it is said, by warand smallpox — declined first to a remnantof a people, then to a memory, then to afootnote.

By1859, only a few years after thefederal treaty had been signed with the threetribes, the S'Klallamswere very much inevidence all along the passage to the canal.

Their chief, Chetzemoka, hosted athree-day ceremonial gathering of 400S'Klallams in 1859 that a San Francisco

newspaper correspondent described as an"invocation to their Tomanawos, or Great

Spirit." Tomanawos was a Chinook word,the trading jargon spoken by Indian andwhite alike.

Once into the canal, the saltwaterbelonged to the Twanas. Beforecentury'send, their five bands were all calledSkokomish after the river where their 4,000-acre reservation was located, and where

most of their depleted population eventuallysettled.

Section 2

Tribes

Seek Their

Spirit Song

ByJulieMcCormick

Skokomish spiritualleader Bruce Miller

brought theoldcleansing ritual back tohis tribe.

194* The People of Hood Canal

Unlike the

northern tribes,many of whose

similar

ceremonies

were attended,described in

detail,explained andanalyzed by

white scholars,most of the

Coast Salish

were — and

still are —

secret. And the

artifacts oftheir rituals

gone.

lheyhad named 32 different places onthe river, 146on the canal, including somewhirlpools and other special spots that wereto be avoided lest the salmon people becomeoffended and not return.

This intimate relationship with theirnatural surroundings, upon which theyrelied for their relatively abundant existence,was shared by all the Coast Salish and othertribes throughout the Northwest PacificCoast.

Winter was the time when those

relationships were most often displayed insong and dance. It is the timewhen tribalmembers may become "Indian sick," theterm members of Xanxanitl, the Skokomishtribe's secretsociety, have given to a state ofmind that requires certain prescribedspiritual steps.

"Indian sick is when you go through asudden or maybe a gradual characterchangein your life," saysBruce Miller, a Skokomishspiritual leader.

Millerbrought the old practices back tothe tribe after his initiation in a Lummi

ceremony in 1977. Indiansickis likea fluforwhich there is no detectable cause.

'That means that your spirit song istrying to be born," Miller explains. "Welivein a societyin which the majorityof peopleare without a song, and from my observationthey wander lost.They leave their ownculture to find a culture that will give them asong."

Song—harmoniesof human soundthat precedeand underlie formal language— was given by the Great Spirit to expressbasic human emotion.

It's the same old song — and dance —Millernotes with a slight smile.Spiritdanceaccompaniessong in the longhouseorsmokehouse where rituals known only tomembers resemble those of ancestors likeFrank Allen, one of the last dancers.

Allen's death in the 1950s, at the sametime as that of Miller's grandmother, also adancer, was the end of spirit dancing for theSkokomish until Miller reintroduced the

practice.Songis a cure for Indian sickness, an

expression of the powerof thespiritwhosename you have taken in a naming ceremony.In the old days, says Miller, a personwithouta song wasn't really alive.

The ceremonies described by the SanFrancisconewspaper correspondent in 1859

were full of color — although he was notallowed to witness much — but not

grounded in meaning.Four people went into extended

trances and were revived by mask-wearingdancers.Spiritswere calledby the beating ofrattles upon the roof of the lodge house.

People danced masked as bears,lizards, cranes. People blackened their facesand filled their hair with white feathers. One

man appeared to swallow an arrow.None of that should have been re

corded, remarks Miller. The correspondentnotes that Chetzemoka was admonished for

permitting whites at an evening performance, where they disgraced him withlaughter.

Unlike the northern tribes, many ofwhose similar ceremonies were attended,described in detail, explained and analyzedby whitescholars, mostof the CoastSalishwere — and still are — secret. And the

artifacts of their rituals gone."You could pass along the right to have

a mask, but not the mask itself," explainsMiller. "To have an uninitiated personobserve vilified the ceremony."

Until the 1978 Native American

Freedom of Religion Act, ceremonies werealso technicallyillegal.Tribal members weresometimes jailed for participation.

At the Skokomish Reservation, onlytheTreatyDaysceremonies the lastSaturdayin January are open to the public.They arecalledTreaty Days becausecelebrationof thePoint-No-PointTreaty was the only justificationgovernmentagents would allow for theforbidden practices.

Xanxanitl initiates must endure

isolationand deprivation, based on thetheory that it strengthens one for hardshipthat can comeat any time. 'That teacheskal,the utmost belief that the spirit will give youwhat you need to survive until you getbetter," says Miller.

The Salish and other Pacific coast

people had wealth-basedcultures. Statuswas achieved partly through the redistribution of wealth in the potlatch ceremony andthe children of the wealthy particularlyneeded such training.

When an initiate ends his or her fast,each morsel must be shared, "because thenyou beginyour new lifeby sharing ...in anatmosphereof thankfulness," saysMiller.'They are forced to admire the beauty of thesimplicityof their life."

Suquamish artisan EdCarriere.

EdCarriere's eyes gaze down atthick fingers tangled in theirdeliberate work. Lost in it, his voiceis barely audible as he tells aboutthe conviction that drove him to re-learn this painstaking task after so

many years.

"My desire is to make baskets thataren't being made anymore," says theSuquamish Indian, arching and weaving stiffcedarstrips of limband root into warp andweft.

"I feel like it's a link, a connection, andI'm doing it exactly the way it was donehundreds of years ago."

Carriere is starting clam basket bottomsfor hisclassof novices. Theyoftengetstuck on this difficult initial part of theprocess, so he is sparing them that frustration in their early work.

Native Americans *195

Although there are many basketmakersamong the coastal tribes, onlyCarriere regularly attempts the traditionalopen-weave clam basket. They are sturdierand less showy than the more tightly wovengrass and cedar bark baskets used forstorage, carrying and cooking.

Clam basket makers did not adorn

theircreations with meticulousfancyworklike that of the other types. They would lastonly a season or two before breaking downfrom heavyuse and saltwater decay, whilethe others lasted generations.

The Northwest Coast tribes lost mostof their creative traditions within a few

decades of the treaties they signed withwhites in the mid-19th Century.

They were quick to adapt to new ways.Manufactured goods replaced many of thematerials they had collected for centuries to

Section 3

He Weaves

Past and

Present

Together

ByJulieMcConuick


The art ofbasket making

waned fromarrival of

white societyuntil the 1930s,

when,ironically,

governmentprograms

sought to teachbasket making

to

impoverishedIndians duringthe Depression.

carve, weave and decorate.Denim and gingham replaced hide,

beaten cedar and dog's wool clothing.Modern cookingin pots and pans replacedthe tightly woven basketsused to make"stone soup," any water-based concoctioninto which hot rockswere dropped for heat.

Peopleused pails to collect and washclams.They lasted longer than the strong oldbaskets.

Only a few women retained the basket-weaving skill.One of them was Carriere'sgreat-grandmother, Julie Jacob.

Once her fingersbecametoo stiffforthe work, the 15-year-old great-grandsonshehad raised was taught to help.

But when he was grown, Carriere, nowin his late 50s,stopped making baskets,wentto work at Puget Sound Naval Shipyard andraised a family.

"In '691 started to work with it againand bring the art back," he said. "It tookmeabout four years to make a fairlygood,decent lookingbasket.I had to try to pull allthat knowledge out and try to remember."

Carriere believes he owns close to

everybasketbook ever written in English.Multipleexamples from other basketryspecialties have joined a broadassortment ofNorthwest native work on shelves in

Carriere's living room.For more than 20years, his workbench

has been the dining table in the house hebuilt across from his great-grandmother'shome. It is located on family land along theIndianola beachfront in North Kitsap.

But this year, Carriere is completinga

workshop addition to house not onlybasketrybut carving materials and tools.

He's taken up carving under thetutelageofS'Klallam JakeJonesand DuanePasco, a white carver who has gained aworldwide reputation for meticulous workin the Northwest Indian tradition.

"Everyartist needs something else," hesays with a conviction born of experience.He has a log on his land all picked out for hisnext major project, a canoecarved in thetraditional style.

Carriere sells every basket he makes,and he also likes to produce a bent cedarbark pouch of a type used to carry whalingtools in the bows of canoes.

People find him. He does not advertise,nor prepare work for galleries, nor takespecialorders, "because then it would be justlike a job.I just do it when I have the timeand I feel like doing it, because then I canmake a better basket."

Completing the first of a long seriesofbottoms for the class he's teaching at the PortGamble S'Klallam Art Center, Carrieremuses aloud about his students and his

work.

He says it takes 12hours to make amedium-sized clam basket, not includinggathering and preparing materials,whichare stored in a freezer.

"It looks so easy, and then, when I startteachingclass,no one can do it." He smilesinto his hands. "My fingers get really wornand smooth if I'm weaving every day ...Allthe little fingerprints get worn off."

Duane Pasco, a non-Indian who isanexpert intraditional Northwest Coast tribal carving, teaches

a class in bentwood boxmaking.

"... the construction of (these) boxes issomewhat peculiar. The sides andends are madeofone board; where the corner is tobe, a smallmiter is cut, both on the inside and outside, partlythrough. Then the corners are steamed and bentat right angles, andthe inside miter is cutsoperfectly that itfits water-tight when thecornersare bent." — Rev. Myron Eells,missionaryand diarist, in The Twana, Chemakum andKlallam Indians of Washington Territory, 1887.

Onthe beach at Point Julia,Northwest carver Duane Pasco

is tending a rock-filled fire anddigging trenches in the sand.His students in the bent box

class, several from the PortGamble S'Klallam tribe, are putting finishingtouches on their rectangular cedar boards,prepared at the reservation's new artbuilding across from the tribal center.

The last bent boxes handed down

within the tribe were reduced to ash several

years ago in a fire that destroyed tribalchairman Jake Jones' home.

Native Americans *197

The tribe put up a building in 1989 tohouse a canoe carving project led by Pascofor the state's centennial. When that was

done, the building became a classroom tohelp bring back the traditional arts.

Pasco, a non-Indian carver in theNorthwest Coast tribal tradition, teaches

design and box making to several oldertribal members. They, in turn, will pass it onto the next generation, said Jones.

More modern steaming methods areavailable to soften the wood for bending, butthe class also used the traditional method of

burying it with hot rocks covered in swordferns.

Bent box making methods wereentirely lost, even among the more traditional northerly tribes, by the time Pasco firsttried it 30 years ago. An account by pioneeranthropologist Franz Boas seemed completeuntil he tried it and failed, Pasco said.

The next step was to study examplescollected in museums and — voila! — a keyundercutting method could be discernedthat allowed a scored piece of wood to fold

Section 4

Teaching

the Tribes'

Lost Art

By JulieMcConnick


The bent boxes

— unique tothe world of

the Northwest

tribes — were

often used forstorage, andsometimes

bound bywoven strands

of cedar barkfor carryingand to bind

them together

tightly in upon itselfand forma watertightseal.

The bent boxes — unique to the worldof the Northwest tribes — were often used

for storage, and sometimes bound by wovenstrands of cedar bark for carrying and tobind them together inside canoes.

At theSkokomish Reservation, 40miles south by canoe along Hood Canal,tribal member Bruce Miller has shared his

basket making skills and experience withothers, including children, since 1970.

Among the three Hood Canal areatribes, the Skokomish have been mostsuccessful at maintaining their traditionalart.

"Actually, we have a budding community of artists," said Miller,known primarilyfor his twined and coiled baskets, but also asa carver and beadwork artist. There are 14

Skokomish basketmakers, who generallymarket their work to a steady clienteleofcollectorsand galleries.

The work of carver Andy Wilbur,silversmith Pete Peterson and basket maker

Richard Cultee has gained internationalrecognition for beauty, Miller said.

Miller, 46, credits two key elders,Louisa Pulsifer and Emily Miller, for passingalong before their deaths the traditionallyfemale art of basket making to his generation.

Miller learned from Emily Miller,whose granddaughter Mary Hernandezrecently decided to continue the familytradition into the fourth generation.

Basketsof all sizes and for all purposescontinued to be made privately by tribalmembers, Miller said, because it was anenjoyable occupation and because it, unlikeother arts associated with forbidden reli

gious practices, was never banned.Miller once found some "Louisa

baskets" in New York shops and learnedthat one of his had reached a collection at the

Museum of Folk Art in Berlin.

But the art waned from arrival of white

society until the 1930s,when governmentprograms sought to teach basket making toimpoverished Indians during the Depression.

"We thought it was hilarious," saidMiller. "It was like selling refrigerators to

Eskimos."

The basket making is an integral part ofthe economic well being of the communitybecause we're a poor people, basically," saidMiller.

Miller and other basket makers in the

tribe now often use modern dyes andmaterials, including raffia from Madagascar,rather than pursue the laboriousprocess ofgathering, treating and creating native dyes.

"The basket making itself comprisesonly about 5 percent of the whole process,"he said.

But some entirely traditional basketswith trademark Skokomish dog, stacked-boxand other designs are still made frombeargrass, cattail rushes, shredded cedarbark and "sweet grasses."

Rit dye easily replaces and outlasts the"blue mud" of the marshes used to stain

materialsblack, the rootsof Oregon grapefor yellow, the alder bark that once waschewed to a paste to obtain red. "Nowadays,we use a blender," Miller said, "but ifs notthe same red."

While such methods may not seementirely authentic, Skokomish artists arequick to point out that the elders themselveswere fond of innovative techniques thatcould save them time and trouble.

Hernandez laughs at the memory ofher grandmother, who decided the best wayto remove unwanted mucus from grassmaterials was to place it between plywoodsheets and drive back and forth over it with a

car.

"My grandmother didn't even knowhow to drive," she laughed, but it beatscraping off the stuff with dull knives.

It's not only troublesome, it's oftenhopeless to try to do things the old way.

Rediscovering the old methods isanother matter. Miller said he learned most

of what he knows about tribal traditions "bykeeping my ears open. Some of this I'venever seen, but was described time after timeby my elders."

For several decades, renewed interestin the Northwest native arts has opened newmarkets and created a revival of interest

among tribal members themselves, who canpoint to the work of their elders and ancestors with pride and appreciation.

Head Start students at the Port GambleS'Klallam Tribal Center are introduced

to the language oftheir ancestors.

A Cultural Appreciation

Many of their grandparents went toboarding schools,where much of theIndian culture was banished during

the school year.Today, the grandchildren attend Hood

Canal School, where educators try to rekindle interest in Indian traditions.

Almost 100 Indian students attend the

school, located at the Skokomish Reservationon the Great Bend of the canal. They represent about 40 percent of the K-7studentpopulation.

Inside the school, students get reminders of the culture that existed long beforewhite man's schools first came to the

Skokomish in the 1870s. Interest in Indian

heritage seems to rise during the fallwhenthe curriculum includes a three-week session

Native Americans • 199

on Native American studies.

"Just that time of year everybody says"I am part Indian,' " said Pat Hawk, directorof Indian Education at the school. Hawk, an18-yearHood Canal employee, directs thesession, where students learn culturalcomparisons among the American tribes.

"They didn't all live in tepees; theydidn't all wear feathers."

The session also includes visits bypeople in the tribal community who shareskills in storytelling, puppetry, dancing andfishing lore.

She also directs a year-long art class forthe older students, who worked on paintingan Indian mural in the hallway.

"We want to keep the traditional artsalive," Hawk said.

The school's funding for Indianeducation is limited, said Superintendent

Section 5

Using the

Classroom to

Rekindle

Tradition


Native

American

students learn

better bydoing. They

pick up morefrom discovery

than frombooks.

Robert Weir. Statefunds totaling $5,200, andfederal TitleVfunds totaling $17,000 went tothe school for Indian education in 1990.

"We have to squeeze salaries from that,as well as things for the kids," Weir said.

Tied to the money is the requirementthat Indianpeoplein the community stayinvolved with the school. An Indian Parent

Education Committee meetsmonthlytodiscusscurriculum and classroom problems.

"We are a liaisonbetween parents andthe teachers and staff,"said LaurieByrd,parent and Head Start teacher.

If parents raise concerns, committeemembers act on their behalf.

"A lot of the parents are uncomfortablewith the teachers,"Byrdsaid.

Only two of the school's 22 teachers areIndian.The underlying cultural differencesmay have something to do with parentaldiscomfort. Whateverthe reasonforanydiscomfort, Byrd believes the solution isgetting people together to talk.

"We need to keep communicationopen," she said.

The Indian Parent Education Commit

tee was successful in arranging tutoring forIndian students last year. The SkokomishTribalCouncilfoots the bill,paid for out ofthe council's fish tax. Many of the Skokomishare fishers.

The tutoring sessions include not justemphasis on any skill the students need topractice, but also about 15 minutes a sessionon native arts or crafts.

"We want to ensure that there is a

multi-cultural concept in all the curriculum,"said SallyBrownsfield, a fifth-grade teacherat the school and a parent member of theIndian Parent Education Committee. She is a

member of the Squaxin Island tribe.Brownsfield contends that Indian

students have different learning styles fromtheir Anglo classmates.

"It's been shown that Native American

students learn better by doing. They pick upmore from discovery than from books,"Brownsfield said. With that knowledge, sheplans her classes so the students can beinteractive.

"I let them do the experiment first, thenthe reading, then the experiment again," shesaid. "With other classes, I might give thereading and instruction first."

ByJessie Milligan

Reviving the Language

Nuts'oo... chasa ... lleewh."

The guileless pre-schoolers in the PortGamble S'Klallam Tribe's Head Start

class wrap their throats around the clusteredsyllables of theirancientlanguageas ifbornto it.

"...ngoos... lhq'achsh ... t'xung."Theyhold up eachlittlefingerand

repeat with teacher Myrna Milholland fromthe Lower Elwha Klallams, who holdsflashcardswith pictures of familiar traditional objects. •

Nuts'oo kw'ayungsun — one eagle.Two whales— chasa ch'whe'yu. They runout of fingers at 'oopun.

Milholland is out of numbers after

nineteen, she admits to her adult class laterin the morning. Shehad only a few words ofnuwhstla'yum ootsun — the S'Klallamlanguage — until, as a young woman, shebegan helping her mother, NellieSullivan,with the sometimesunruly mixed summerclasses of adults and children.

Milholland recalls that children in the

tribe had begun to mimic the language whenher mother used it, poke fun at the oldsounds, until she stopped speaking it.

She loved working with her motherand tries to keep up the work despiteoccasional feelings of inadequacy. "Someofthe words are so hard, I'd almosthave myfacein her mouth trying to pronouncethem," she smiles.

When her mother died a few years ago,only six elders in the Elwha tribe retainedany use of the spoken tongue.

Now Milholland must use a taperecorder to preserve what is left of thelanguage among her elders and hopes to getaccess to the University of Washingtonlanguage tapes made decades ago andstored somewhere.A book of the languagecreated by University of Hawaii researchersis flawed,based upon only one source whospoke two tribal languages and mixed themup. Her mother told her to ignore it.

Milholland's mother needed her helpbecause she was educated to teach children

and she knew how to keep them busy anddeal with their short attention spans. Today,as with every Wednesday language class, thechildren are learning something new andadding it to the small store of basics.

Out come the animal puppets. You

remember sta'ching, the wolf,saysMilholland.

He playeda keyrolein the storyofpretty Nakeeta, heard lastweek and relatedagain today. Straying from hermotherduringa berrypicking expedition, shebecame lost and was eaten. Her mother'sgrief wassostrongthatshe wasgiven LakeSutherland as consolation.

Tsyas, hand. They trace theoutlines oftheir ten fingers onto theirbook of coloringpictures. Later, theywilltakethese bookshome and maybe their parents will take aninterest.

It is with the children that the future ofthe traditional culture rests, tribal leaderssay.

Most adults share a legacy of generations of white control that included bans onthe languageand customs,distrust andcontemptfor the "savage"waysofa PacificNorthwest Coast culture rich in personalindustry, art and religiousceremony.

"I think we were one of the first peopletogivethem up," S'Klallam chairmanJakeJones saysof the old ways,mostlybecauseofearlyand persistentcontact with whites,hesurmises.

SeparateS'Klallam bands once rangedfromNeahBay at the far western tip of theOlympicPeninsula to Discovery BaynearPort Townsend; from Lower Hadlock, whereartifacts at a beach called Tsetsibus indicate a

meeting ground centuries old; and later to

Native Americans • 201

Port Gamble, where tribal sources say thecampwasdisplaced by thewhitecommunity's graveyardafter the mill townwas established in 1853.

The ancients were known as excellenttraders and fierce warriors. But by the timeJones' generation was born, there were nomore canoe makers, no more spirit quests,no more "nuts'oo... chasa ... lleewh."

The Port Gamble S'Klallams recentlyput thetraditional "s" prefix backbeforetheirname.Likemany of the words, it worksbestifyou suckin on the prefix, breatheouton the next syllables, much like playingharmonica.

The tribe hired Milholland to helpregaintheirculture,whichas any linguistorpoetknows, is embeddedin the words.

Jones' sisters, Ginger and Geneva Ives,signed up fortheadult language class andadded to MilhoUand's vocabulary withmemories of sounds buried since the deathof their grandmother 47years ago.

All threeagree on the variablemeaningof umit, which can be sit down or get up,dependingon what you do with your hands.

But nu can't be the only way to say"no," saysGeneva. "Shealways said'aunu'," she muses about the large old ladyshe waited upon in old age. Maybe shemeant "no more."

Myrna Milhollandwrites that down.Maybeher elders will know.

ByJulie McCormick

Most adult

tribal members

share a legacyof generations

of whitecontrol that

included

distrust and

contempt for aPacific

Northwest

Coast culture

rich in

personalindustry, artand religious

ceremony.

Chapter

13

Life on the

Canal

Section 1

Growing

Pains in

Belfair

ByJim Rothgeb

Bill Bruns wrapped his fingersaround a cigarette, gulped a shot ofblack coffee and smiled from his

seat at the counter of the Belfair

Cafe.

"I consider myself very fortunate,"said Bruns. "I've lived in the best of times for

a sportsman like myself. For someone wholikes to hunt and fish, I can't think of anymore desirable time and place to be thanright here."

For an innocent moment, Bruns, a 69-year-old retiree from Puget Sound NavalShipyard, was Belfair'schief spokesman. Thechamber of commerce couldn't have said it

better.

Located at the eastern most point of

BUI Bruns enjoys a cup ofcoffee at the Belfair Cafe

Hood Canal,Belfair and its surroundingterritory have become a haven for people insearch of tranquility.

But Bruns also knows that if he were 20

years younger, he might not so willingly singsuch praisesof Belfair and its rural appeal.He knows there are signs that the parade ofnewcomers may be sapping Belfair of itssmall-town foundation.

"In 20 years, you probably won't evenbe able to recognize this town," said Bruns."We'll see large residential areas developedbecauseof the spillover from KitsapCounty."

In the last two decades, Belfair's cupalready has filled.

• There once were two mom-and-pop

202

grocery storesin town.Now there's a largesupermarket,and rumors persist thatanother largesupermarket chain will soonannounce plans to build in Belfair.

• In 1965, there was only the BelfairCafe. Now there are at least six family-styleeateriesalong the strip on Highway 3.

• There were no senior housingfacilities. Now there are two, each fundedthrough the federal government.

• There were two churches servingmostly an interdenominational audience.Now there are six churches with 12 separatedenominations.

• The most prosperous banks wereonce a hole in the backyard or a space underthe mattress. Now Belfair has a bank, asavingsand loan, and a credit union.

They're all signs of a spreadingpopulation and one wonders just how muchlonger Bill Brunscan callBelfair and thiscorner of Hood Canal an outdoor paradise.

It was in 1964 that Carol Wentlandt

and her husband, Sanford, first moved toBelfair from their home in Seattle. He

worked at Puget Sound Naval Shipyard andhad grown weary of the daily commute toBremerton. Land around Belfair was cheapin the 1960sand the Wentlandts were eagerbuyers. Bytoday's standards, land valuesaround Belfair are still on the downside.

Wentlandt says now she can relate herexperience then to author BettyMacDonaldin the Western Washington classic, The Eggand I.

"I was used to life in the fast lane and

this placewas so quiet," said Wentlandt,who livesalong the south shore of HoodCanal. "It was hard to make the adjustmentbecause this place seemed like we weremoving to the end of the world."

Now Wentlandt manages the Mary E.ThelerCommunity Center, carved from theestate of one of Belfair's most influential

families and the closest thing theunincorporated town has to a full-timetourist information center and chamber of

commerce.

"It used to be that people would justoccasionally come in with questions aboutthe area," said Wentlandt. "Now we'regetting newcomersat about the rate of threetimes a week. People come in and say, I'vejust moved here, what is there to do?'

"What I tell them is that they reallyhave to like the outdoors — camping,fishing, birdwatching. There's not many

Life on the Canal • 203

culturalthingsto do hereso you have to likethe rural atmosphere and appreciate theoutdoors."

Justoff theOld Belfair Highway, nearthe intersection of North Shore Road, sits aramshackle house behind a row of trees.

The back half of an old Mercedes Benz

hangsout the garageand immediatelythrough the frontdoor of the house a fewfeetaway is the kitchen.Turn right andthere's a bedroom so filled with smoke and

heat from a wood-burning stove that it'suncomfortable to breathe.

This the modest home of Cecil Nance,an 82-year-old Belfair character whoclingsmostly to his memories.Nance often walksthrough town,stoppingat the Belfair Cafe,the post office and Thriftway.He has veryfew teeth, but it doesn't stop him frombearing a wide grin, even for strangers.

"I lived here when the only time you'dseeanybody, it was in a horse and buggy,"said Nance. "I liked it here a lot better then."

Thosewere the days when Belfair wasknown as Clifton, a town of homesteaderswho depended on Hood Canal for its fishingand the timber around it to eke out a living.The canal was too shallow to make Clifton

much of a port town, so it depended mostlyon a criss-cross of roads over which loggerstowed their loads.

'This has always been a crossroadstown," said Irene Davis, who's compiling ahistoryof Belfair. "Thecenterof the community was the intersection of the roads toNorth Bay(now Allyn)and Seabeck."

That center has changed through thedecades,as Highway 3 eventually replacedthe Old BelfairHighway as the town's mostimportant artery. Latercame the development on the roads lining the north and southshores of the canal,shaping Belfairinto whatit is today.

Accordingto Nance and Davis, the oldClifton post officewas closed in 1913. Nancesays it was because the postmistress was toobusy reading everyone's mail instead ofdistributing it. Two years later, the townspeople demanded the post officebe reopened, and changed its name to Belfair.

'The name Belfair came from a novel,called St. Elmo," said Nance. "Lizzy Murraywas reading the book at the time and theyjust decided on that name, for no specialreason. My mother thought Belaire would

Located at the

eastern most

point of HoodCanal, Belfair

and its

surroundingterritory have

become a

haven forpeople insearchof

tranquility.


"In 20 years,you probablywon't even be

able to

recognize thistown. Well see

largeresidential

areas

developedbecauseof thespillover from

KitsapCounty."

— Bill Bruns

have been a better name, but I wish it wouldhave stayed Clifton."

"New Clifton" is still a crossroadstown and a lot of people view that as aproblem. Despite its constant flow of traffic,thereisonlyone traffic light—flashing at acrosswalk.

'Traffic has alwaysbeen tougharoundhere, especially in thesummer," said Neil Werner,owner of Neil's Lumber and

Garden Center. "I can

remember many years agohaving to wait to cross thestreet, and I still have towait."

Werner, like others,favorsa new highway toeliminate the problem but itcould hurt his own business.

'The solution is to put abypass on the ridge aroundthe town," said Werner.'That way you couldeliminate a lot of the traffic

thafs just passing through."The state highway

department supposedly isstudying it, but bureaucracymoves slowly — just like thehorse and buggies thatNance remembers from his

childhood.

But if Mason County governmentyields to the demand for sewers in Belfairand the surrounding area, it may open aland rush evenmoreprominent than today.

And there goes the rural neighborhood.

A growing population does, however,have its benefits. The North Mason School

District,growing at the rateofabout 10percent per yearfor the past decade, hasprospered with the steadystream of 20th Centuryhomesteaders.

In 1980, it was one ofthe poorest districts in thestate, so bad it faced discontinued school bus service in

an entirely rural district.'The community was

divided between the upperclass on the shoreline and the

lower classliving inland,"said Walker. "It was a

stratified population, but themiddle class was missing."

Since then, more andmore baby boomers withschool-aged children havemoved into the district, andschools have prospered withthe passage of each new levythat couldn't get passed 15

years ago.

That led to better times. North Mason

is now one of 33 school districts in the stateserving as a model for the state's 21stCentury educational program.

"It was amazing to see this small, rural,economically undernourished schoolsystembecome a model for the state," said Walker.

About 39 percent of the students in thatschool district come from families with

incomesfrom the federal government. It'sproof that much of North Mason has becomea bedroom community catering to workersfrom PSNSand Bangor,and military familiesin general.

They're willing to trade 30 to 35minutes commuting one-way to their jobs inexchange for reasonable housing prices andthe promise of a quiet, rural life.

Dill Bruns, who likes the coffee at theBelfairCafe, paid $18,000 for 10acres ofundeveloped land near the Tahuya River in

Belfair

Belfair, the fastestgrowing

community on thecanal, is adjacent

to some of thewatershed*s most

fragile areas.

1he key to Belfair's future may not restwith the people running over the top of theland as much as it does with the water

running under it.Sewers are a hot topic in this North

Mason area, where, according to Werner, thepopulation numbers about 10,000 in thewinter but swells to more than 60,000 duringthe summer.

Because of the pressure that septicsystems place on the delicate ecologyofBelfair'swetlands, some people say there arevery few bathrooms along the row ofcommercial businesses on Highway 3 thatwork properly.

"Belfairhad better solve its septicproblems, but there is a sharp division onthis," said Jerry Walker, a retiredmidwesterner who moved here about five

years ago. 'The oldtimers say a well-managed septic tank is best, but the newcomers say sewers are the only answer."

1973. He figures with his 9-year-old house,it's worth about $125,000 to $130,000today.Those figures are mild compared to thesoaring property values today in Kitsap,King and Pierce counties.

But with its preferred location andbargain prices, Belfairteeters on the verge ofprosperity. It almost seems that everythinggood about it — land bargains, rural atmosphere, friendly people — is also bad —increased pollution and overcrowded roads.

The one constant that won't go away isan ever-increasing population.


"IfSea-Tac Airport eventually takes offand decides to build a satellite at Kitsap(Bremerton) Airport, this place will beanother Mercer Island — a fast-growingmetropolis out of control," Carol Wentlandtsaid. 'That's why a sub-area plan is neededfor this area. You can't stop progress, butyou want to make sure people appreciate itand make sure that it grows properly."

And if the Bremerton Airport doesn'talign with Sea-Tac?

"Belfairwill still grow," she said, "onlyslower."


Section 2

New Homes

Jam theBackwaters

BySeabury Blair Jr.

ridgehaven is a posh communityoff South Point, near the spotwhere Hood Canal kisses PugetSound. Perched on its miniature

peninsula 10 feet above sea level,Bridgehaven forms a canal within

the canal.

In some respects, it is a microcosm ofthe splendid fjord it faces: perhaps 30Bridgehaven homes line the beach on bothsides of the peninsula. About a football fieldwide, this man-enhanced sand bar — like the

shores of Hood Canal — serves as the sole

filter for the septic drainage from thesehomes.

Homes crowd the waterfront oftheBridgehaven development at South Point.

Some residents of Bridgehaven sailpast a marina at the north entrance of theirmicro-canal to moor their 40-foot sailboats at

their homes. Some drive their Buicks and

their Jeep Cherokees onto their treelesssandspit from the community of Trail's End.

They cross speed bumps and 10-miles-per-hour signs, and pass a sign that advisesall who enter that Bridgehaven is a privateresidential community.

The folks who live above Bridgehavenat Trail's End look across the roofs of the

Bridgehaven houses to the emerald stretch ofHood Canal.

The Trail's Enders don't often cross


paths with the Bridgehavenites. If they visitthe spit, they dig clams or sun themselves ontheir community beach at the south end ofthe finger of sand that scratches the easterntideline of Hood Canal.

Where the two groups are more likelyto meet, however, is at South Point's onlycommercial establishment.

The Trail's End Tavern

once rocked and bulged withpeople, when South Pointwas the eastern terminal for

the barge that ferried carsacross Hood Canal during afour-year span after theHood Canal Bridge sunk onFeb. 13,1979.

Dee Wilcoxen took over

the tavern several months

after the bridge was restoredin the early 1980s.On the daythe BeachGirl stoppedrunning, the tavern's formermanager closed the doorsand never came back. It's

been quiet ever since."Some days," says

Wilcoxen, looking across theold parking lot to the canal,"I'm here by myself until 4o'clock. It's pretty quietaround here these days."

On this day, Don "Rocky" Rockefeller,who lives in a motorhome across the parkinglot, is counting pulltab tickets for Wilcoxen.Rockefeller("They tell me I'm his ninthcousin."), 46,spent his teen years at SouthPoint and relates how Trail's End got itsname.

"Yeah, it used to be the end of the trailfor the Pony Express. See, they made PortAngeles the officialwest end of the PonyExpress, and this is where they would rideto."

The tavern and restaurant were built

more than three decades ago, before thebridge was built and the new Highway 104bypassed South Point by three miles.Hunters and fishermen still stop by thetavern, says Wilcoxen, but mostly it servesthe folks of Trail's End.

"Not too many people fromBridgehaven come in here regular," she says.Wilcoxen sips from a glass of bottled water.The tavern's well, located across the parkinglot within 100 feet of the canal, contains salt

Outside, a survey crew is attempting tofind old property lines between the tavern'sparking lot and Bridgehaven property. Mostof the stakes are buried under the asphalt ofthe old ferry parking lot.

Ihesurveyors are harbingers ofa newwave of growth that is aboutto slam into the shores of

South Point. Wilcoxen and

Rockefeller talk of the

proposal to build a 60-acreshopping center just east ofthe intersection of the South

Point Road and Highway104.

"I don't think it'll get inthere. Pope and Talbot won'tlet it happen," says Wilcoxen.The Port Gamble timber

giant has its own plans for ashopping center closer to itsburgeoning vacation-retirement community ofPort Ludlow.

From his Trail's End

vantage point aboveBridgehaven, BillShipleywatches a developer digthree septic percolation testholes in two remaining lots

on the spit. Shipley, a Gorst resident, lives ina travel trailer parked permanently on hisrecreational vehicle lot.

He's fixed his trailer up, with a bigdeck facing the sunrise across the canal. Acatwalk to a feedingstation for squirrels andbirds arches from his bank to the trunk of a

big fir, perhaps 30 feet off the ground. It's anairy lookout, one Shipley says his wifedoesn't like to visit.

The retired Puget Sound NavalShipyard worker is proud of his getaway. Hesays he's camped up and down Hood Canalmost of his adult life. He fishes — "I caughtan 18-pound salmon right off the point lastyear" — and puts out his crab pots regularly.

Shipley says he hasn't noticed anydecline of shellfish in the canal, and says,though there are fewer salmon, "you can stillcatch them if you know where to go." Hesays that when the salmon run, you canpractically walk across the canal on the decksof commercial fishing boats off South Point.

He keeps a small boat at the marina, he

South Point

The Bridgehavendevelopment atSouth Point hasfilled a narrowsand spit with

upscale houses.

and iron and cannot be used for drinking. says. He waves in the general direction of

John BarberofBridgehaven isglad that mostof the houses

along thesandspit are

built because it

couldn't

handle too

many more.


Bridgehaven before continuing: "But if youwant to see some boats, you ought to godown there in the summer. That's where the

money is."

beventy-four-year-old John Barber wasamong the first Bridgehaven residents.Freshly retired out of Bellevue, Barbermoved to Bridgehaven to watch it explodewith houses after it was "discovered" bythose seeing the vacant lots from the decks ofthe Beach Girl.

Barber says he helped establish aresident-controlled Public Utility District toget water piped down to the spit from wellsup above. As he talks outside his beachfronthome, he waves to a passing car, explainingthat a neighbor is driving her husband to theTrail's End Tavern for an hour of socializing.

"She'lldrop him offand then go backand pick him up later," he said.

Barber says he's glad that most of thehouses along the sandspit are built because itcouldn't handle too many more.

The "Schafer Castle" on thecanal'sSouth Shore, designedfrom a

European postcard in 1926, is oneofHoodCanal'splush properties.

Hood Canal houses a number of

the rich and reclusive along itsshores, but there's no truth tothe rumor that Clark Gable once

lived in a turreted castle not far

from Twanoh State Park.

"That's just a story," says Bob Close,who owns the landmark known as the

Schafer Castle. "The ranger up at Twanohlikes to send cyclists down here to see 'ClarkGable's house.' "

About four miles west of Twanoh, thestriking half-timbered house — with well-groomed topiary trees at its entrance — is areal head turner.

Close says his grandfather, AlbertSchafer, had architect Elizabeth Ayer designit from a postcard he had received fromfriends in Europe.

"I think the postcard showed a place


along the Rhine. He said, 'Here's the postcard, Elizabeth, now you design it.' "

Ayer, the first woman architect licensed in Washington state, took him up onthe challenge. Working with Edward J. Ivey,she included many castle-like details: a hugefireplace with a little seat inside it; a romanticwindow seat facing out on the canal; a turretwith a winding staircase; and a leadedarched window made with old bottle glass.

It was built as a summer place in 1926.Schafer and his two brothers were owners of

Schafer Brothers Logging Co. in GraysHarbor.

Close, who manages industrial parks inSeattle, grew up in Aberdeen where hisfather practiced law. But he spent summersswimming and waterskiing at his grandparents' place on the canal.

"They'd open it up Memorial Day

Section 3

Plush

Properties

ByAnn Strosnider


Down the

road — on

the west side

ofAlderbrook

Inn— is the

compoundowned byBill Gates,the founderof Microsoftwhose net

worth was

recentlyreported at$4 billion.

weekend and close it on Labor Day weekend."

A perfect place for children, the houseincludes boys' and girls' bunkrooms, wherea child could have as many as five friendsstay overnight. The unusual purple fixturesin all the bathrooms are originals, says Close.

"I've noticed Kohler is introducingnew colors,but I've never seen a color quitelike this."

The inside of the house is lined

throughout with clear Port Orford Oregoncedar. The sandstone around the big centralfireplace came from Tenino, and the antelope, mountain goat and moose heads on thewalls were supplied by his father, a big gamehunter.

A visitor notices modern touches as

well. An outdoor shower has been converted

into a hot tub and spa, and the roof, originally made of cedar bark, has been replacedwith slate.

Down the road — on the west side ofAlderbrook Inn — is the compound ownedby BillGates, the founder of Microsoft whosenet worth was recently reported at $4 billion.

From the road, a thick stone wall keepsrubberneckers away; from the water you cansee a group of low, tastefully designedmodern houses. The Nordstrom family alsoowns two houses on the South Shore of

Hood Canal, on the Belfair side ofAlderbrook.

If you're in the market and a cool$1.2million doesn't phase you, check out theDaviscourt estate, also on the South Shore.The 4,000-square-foot main house, hiddenfrom the road by a discreet cedar hedge,includes a solarium, a family room with apool table, 230feet of waterfront and deepwater moorage.

"You can bring your yacht," sayslisting agent Jim Avery of John L.Scott.

Bud Daviscourt of Bellevue had it built

as a summer house 16 years ago. He alsobought 10 acres on the other side of the roadand built two additional houses there. It

would make a perfect family compound,Avery observes, but it may be broken up intotwo parcels.

Dob Close may have a turret and theDaviscourts their own dock, but how manypeople have their own private golf course?

Chuck and JoAnne Haselwood do.Their sculpted 10-acre course slopes

down to their white Mediterranean-stylestucco house and swimming pool. TheOlympic View property — near SubaseBangor — overlooks Hood Canal and theOlympic Mountains.

Haselwood, owner of HaselwoodBuick and West Hills Honda in Bremerton,says he's no golfing fanatic.

"I play once in awhile, but mostly, Ilike the atmosphere," he says.

Maintaining that atmosphere of palmtrees and manicured greens keeps threeworkers busy full time. Equipment forcourse upkeep is stored in a building the sizeof some folks' houses.

The course was nearly three years inthe making — last summer was the first timethe Haselwoods and their friends got achance to play on it.

The sloping ground had to be shapedand mounded to create three greens, twoponds and 11 tees. "You can play 18 holes ifthere's only one foursome," saysHaselwood.

Designers from McCormick Woodsbuilt the course, and bonsai specialist DanRobinson did the landscaping.

The Haselwoods moved to the canal 15

years ago from a house on Lansing Street inNavy Yard City. "A friend owned theproperty," recalls Haselwood. "When wecame out here to look at it, the woods werepretty thick, and we had to paw our waythrough. When we saw the view, we saidthis is for us."

The scenery is always different becauseof the play of the sun and the clouds aroundthe mountains, the Haselwoods say. Their333feet of waterfront is high bank — 85 feethigh, in fact — but they're now in theprocess of installing a tram down to thebeach.

Chuck Gilman, a local architect,designed the house. At the time, theHaselwoods still had four children living athome, so they had a four-bedroom, two-bathroom "kids' wing" built at one end ofthe house and their own master bedroom

wing at the other.Between them, they have seven

children and 11 grandchildren, so theswimming pool and the extra bedrooms getplenty of use, especially during familygatherings in the summer.

It was Dan Robinson who suggested

the palm trees. Mediterranean fan palms dojust fine in the Northwest, Haselwood says.They've been thriving on his Hood Canal

Life on the Canal •211

road to West Hills Honda too.

Clark Gable may not have lived on thecanal, but he would have felt right at home

property for 13years and can be seen on the among the palms.

Find a Place to Visit

Clark Gable may never have ownedthe castle-like home on the South

Shore of Hood Canal, despitepersistent rumors, but he once stayed atthe elegant WillcoxHouse on the canal.

And those who can't afford to buy aplace on Hood Canal can still experiencethe serene beauty of a night or a weekendon the water, as Gable did.

In recent years, a number of ownershave opened bed and breakfast inns orsingle cottages to the public. Accommodations range from refurbished cabins to theWillcoxHouse. Here's a listing of canal-side accommodations:

• Canal House, 29993 Hudson Ave.NE,Poulsbo98370,779-2758: A guesthouse right on the beach. Cook-your-ownbreakfast. $80per night. Coburn Allen,owner.

• Clark's Seaside Cottages, E. 13990Hwy 106,Belfair98584,275-2676: Threerooms in cottages across Highway 106from the water with beach access and

water views. $85-$115 per night. Jim andJudy Clark, owners.

• Right Smart Cove Cottage, 426Wawa Point Rd., Brinnon, 796-4626:Cottage on private beach, sleeps 4. $65per

night/$350 per week. Sandy Spalding,owner.

• Seabreez Cottage, 16609OlympicView Rd. NW, Silverdale 98383,692-4648:Private house on the beach with hot tub

and view of the Olympics. $99-$129 pernight. Dennis Fulton, owner.

• Summer Song,Bedand Breakfast,P.O. Box 82, Seabeck 98380,830-5089: Onebeach cottage, breakfast served on thebeach when weather permits. $55/weekdays; $65/weekends. SharonBarney, owner.

• Tides End Cottage, 10195ManleyRd. NW, Seabeck 98380,692-8109: Onecottage on beach, full equipped. $60 pernight/weekly rates. Gerry Taylor, owner.

• The Walton House, 12340 SeabeckHwy. NW, 830-4498: Decorated withantiques. Two guestrooms with privatebaths, $63and $72.50; vacation apartment,$75.Shirley and Ray Walton, owners.

• The Willcox House, 2390 TekiuRd., Bremerton 98312,830-4492: Fiverooms with views, $100-$155. Privatebeach and pier; guests may arrive by boator seaplane.

Prices quoted were for 1990.

Thescenery isalwaysdifferent

becauseof theplay of the sunand the clouds

around the

mountains.


Section 4

Waterfront

Land Rush

By Travis Baker

he story of hordes of Californianswashing over the landscape anddriving up land prices aroundHood Canal may be an urbanmyth.They don't exist,unless they're

stopping off in KingCounty first.Real estate people and canal residents

seem to agree. The price pressure that hasmade canal property hard to find and harderto pay for is coming out of the Seattle area,not from the Golden State.

"We took a poll in the office," saidBonnie Davies, associate broker at ReidRealtyin Belfair, "as to who was buyinghere, and it was mostly Seattlites gettingready to retire and thinking ahead andcoming over and buying acreage."

"The demand comes from the Seattle

market, the 1-5 corridor, at least 80 percent ofit," agreed Leonard Schmidt, broker atRealty 7 in Belfair.

Added Jerry Rogers of ERA OlympicRealty in Jefferson County, "The 1-5 corridoris growing, and some of those folks want toget back to where they used to be but they're

Demand forwaterfront homes on Hood Canalhas outstripped supply.

not anymore."A lot of new residents and recreational

owners have come to Dewatto Bay in the 15or 20 years she has been spending the warmhalf of the year there, notes Lydia Wood, anOld BelfairHighway resident the rest of theyear.

"Most of them are from Kent and

Auburn," she said, "a few from Seattle. Mostof the timea friend comesout and brings afriend, and then buys a littlepieceof property."

That pattern isn't universal, however.Karen Ramsey of John L.Scott's

Poulsbooffice said Californians make up agood share of that office's clientele.

But Kitsap County statistics compiledby the Digest of Real Estate Sales and Loans,a Port Angeles publication, said that of 5,338sales throughout this county in the firstseven months of 1990,250 buyers came fromCalifornia and 1,185 were from the Seattlearea.

W hoever is buying Hood Canal

property, there's a lot less to buy than therewas just three years ago, said the real estatepeople. A buying spurt in 1988and 1989cleaned out a backlog of unsold properties,and new listings have not been plentifulenough to replace them.

But once again, the answer changessomewhat as one moves north. Jerry Rogers,a sales associate at ERA Olympic Real Estate,located alongside Highway 104a couplemiles north of the Hood Canal Bridge, saidthere is a lot of undeveloped waterfrontproperty that changes hands from time totime. And Jack Westerman, Jefferson Countyassessor, said "We have a large number ofbare-land waterfront sales."

But land with homes on it is as scarce

as to the south, said Rogers."People just don't want to sell their

homes."

What sells does so for increasinglyhigher prices.

Westerman said his staff is reappraising the Chimacum School District this yearand he expects land values there to doublefrom the previous appraisals four yearsearlier. Rogerssaid prices of canal waterfronthad been going up 10 percent a month untilthe middle of last summer, "but it was waybehind everybody else to start with.

"People came and bought the Seattlearea waterfront, then the (San Juan) Islands,then suddenly they discovered JeffersonCounty wasn't very far away and priceswent up."

But they're still lower than in Seattle,he noted, and Frank Leach, associate brokerat John L.Scott in Silverdale agreed. "Valueshere are miniscule compared to King andSnohomish county," he said. One hundredand thirty feet of waterfront on Hood Canalthat might bring $130,000 here could go for10 times that at Maidenbauer in Bellevue, hesaid.

Darryl Cleveland, assessor in MasonCounty, said property valuation increases onHood Canal waterfront have moderated. His

staff reappraised that end of the county forthis year's taxes and found only 13 to 20percent growth over the previous four years.

The land is the thing on the waterfront."Improvements are the lowest part of

the assessment," noted Mac McKenzie of All

Points Properties and past president of theKitsap County Association of Realtors.Davies with Reid Realty in Belfair agreed.

"It makes it hard to do a market

Life on the Canal *213

analysis for a client," she said. "We havesuch a diverse kind of house out here. We

can have a $200,000 house with what lookslike a $50,000 house next door, but it will costyou $150,000" because the land is so valuable.

Waterfront buyers are a breed apartwhen it comes to financing, too, saidSchmidt at Realty 7. VA purchasers arebecoming more plentiful with interest ratesat 9 percent, he said. But they're the uplandbuyers.

"Waterfront buyers (often) put down50 percent cash," he said.

Hood Canal Residential Demand

The canal's natural beautyis attractive to thoseseeking residential surroundings of aremarkable nature.

Shown are the number of parcels listedfor sale on or within view of Hood Canalin the first week in March 1991 and theiraverage asking prices;and the numberwhich sold in the previous 12 months,followed by their a\'erage selling prices.

Western North KitsapNo /Asking No. /Selling

Residence*

Land only

Resldences

Land only

Residences

Land only

Residences

Land only

residences

Land only

Residences

Land only

14/ $236,035

49/ $373,492

12/ $188.93S

20 / $ 42.205

15/ $77,630

38/ $307,565

25/ $117,700

25/ $ 24.292

Western Central KitsapNoJAsking

5/ $312,700

6/ $153,750

8/ $164,990

11/ $ 79.863

No. /Soiling

8/ $292,250

7/ $ 92,207

14/ $175,923

8/ $ 27,793

South and North ShoreNo 'Asking No. /Selling

5/ $430,800

5/ $107,100

7/ $91,471

6/ $53,416

20/ $170,915

13/ $ 48.581

23/ $ 62.675

13/ $ 18,484

Source. Kitsap Co Multiple Luting Service


Thepricepressurethat

has made

canalpropertyhard to find

and harder to

pay for iscoming out of

the Seattle

area, not fromthe Golden

State.

bev Horning, who sold the HappyHollow conveniencestore to the Templeton'schain early in 1990, said her six years in thebusiness saw the South Shore of the canal

become more permanently populated. Sheknew of a lawyer and a father and son in thecontracting business who flew to work fromtheir homes on the canal.

"You also have a lot of young businesspeople who are more affluent than others.They have beautiful homes on the canal andspend four days on the canal and work threein Seattle. Others commute from Tacoma

and Olympia.But the area remains essentially "a

giant retirement community, but one ofextremely vivacious people. They might be55 or 85 years old, jogging down the road."

Many were not full-time residents."We'd see the influx of people on Thursdays.And it became a very consistent business forme at Happy Hollow whenever there werestorms or high tides as people came to checktheir homes."

Buyers on the canal want summerhomes, a place to retire and, occasionally, aplace to live now. Retirees and those planning their retirement make up a hugeproportion of canal real estate prospects.

Not all retire there.

"Many people buy with a dream of achalet on an acre," said Leach in Silverdale,"But they don't — for medical reasons orbeing closer to shopping."

No matter. They buy the land, oftenpaying top price and creating the impressionthat newcomers are resented by the longtimeresidents.

If that's true, it appears to existmore inthe abstract than in connection with specificindividuals. And it tends to erupt around thetime the county assessor sends out notices ofrevaluation. The tax statements themselves

are easier to take, said Westerman.State law cushions the property owner

from the full impact of his escalating value,so that taxes increase substantially less thanthe land value.

"We've seen that if we look in other

areas," said Westerman. "There was anunbelievable reaction to value increases in

King County last year, but not a fraction ofthe same concern now that the tax state

ments have been mailed."

But some, like Ester Starcevich ofKing's Spit south of the Bangor submarine

base, have a much longer view than oneyear. Ester says the progression of higherand higher taxes,however moderated bycushions in the laws, worries her.

But she holds no animosity for theindividual moving here.

"The Californians we've known have

been very nice," she said. "I don't blamethem for getting out of there, do you?"

Buyers, Dig Deep

Is $1.2 millionmore than your pocketbook can stand? Can you go $219,000,or $209,500, or $159,500?

Those are the prices of four of theever smaller array of Hood Canal waterfront homes on the market earlier this

month.

The $1.2million place is the 10-acre-plus Daviscourtcomplexon low-bankSouth Shore Road in Mason County.

The $219,000 was the asking pricefor a two-bedroom home with 1,400square feet on 1.25acres with 100feet oflow bank waterfront in Jefferson County.It's on the remote Coyle Peninsula,halfway down the west side of the canal.

For $209,500, you could get a brandnew 1,200-square-foot rambler with threebedrooms and two baths on a 70-by-300-foot medium-bank lot in Kitsap Countynear Hood Canal Bridge.

And if you can scrape together$159,500, it would buy you a double-widemobile home at Bald Point,18 miles outNorth Shore Road from Belfair at the

Great Bend in the canal. You'd get a 50-by-100-footlot with no-bank, bulkheadedwater frontage.

That, it would appear, is rockbottom for buying a home on the canal.

A reliable inventory of available realestate all around the canal isn't easilyavailable. But the Computer MultipleListing Service in Silverdale can give agood picture of prices between Union inMason County and the northern extremeof the canal in Kitsap County, providingthe land is listed with a CMLS-member

Realtor.

A CMLS printout in March 1991

listed 24waterfront homes for sale by its membersbetween Union and Foulweather Bluff. There had

been 43 waterfront homes sold between the two

points in the 12months prior to that week.Comparable figures for homes with a canal

view (27 available, 62 sold), raw land on the water (60available, 58 sold) and raw land with a canal view (37available,46sold) suggested there are properties tolook at.

As with all waterfront, undeveloped HoodCanal frontage is sold by the front foot. DarrylCleveland, assessor in Mason County, said NorthShore waterfront is worth between $1,200 to $1,250per footjust now, with South Shoregoingfor up to$1,400. A hundred feet of shoreline in those areas,therefore, could set you back $120,000 to $140,000.

Thafs for land with good depth, and room for ahome and septic tank. Beachfrontproperty on whicha home would have to be built across the road dropsto about $400 per front foot, he said. Construction onsuch lots can be difficult due to the steepness of theterrain lining the canal.

High-bankwaterfront in the difficult-to-reachDewattoarea goes for $200 to $300 per foot,headded.

The economics of lots with a view of the canal,but no frontage, can be peculiar, he said. In someplaces, it doesn't matter how big the lot is — withinreason. The view is what's being purchased, and theprice is the same to be looking out from a third-of-an-acre lot as a half-acre, he said. Twenty thousanddollars is a likely price for those lots, if unimproved.

JeffChapman, chiefappraiser for AssessorJackWesterman in Jefferson County, says the mostlyhigh-bank canal frontage in his county ranges from$500per foot on the Coyle Peninsula to about $1,000near Port Ludlow. Just south of the Hood CanalBridge, $600 to $700is a common per-foot price, hesaid.

Elmer Harding, a salesman with ERA Olympic


RealEstate alongside Highway 104in JeffersonCounty, said his firm had only one canal homelisted, the one on the Coyle Peninsula.

But for $145,000 a person could claim 10acres with 371feet of unimproved lowbankwaterfront and extensive tidelands. That's only$390 per foot,but ifs located on remote TarbooBayin JeffersonCounty.

Two-and-a-half acres of high bank waterfront on the Coyle Peninsula sounds like a bargainat $39,500, Harding said. But add another $15,000-$20,000 ifyou want electricity, which would haveto be run to the lot.

Asking prices near Hood Canal Bridgevary.There was 7-10thsof an acre with 76 feet of highbank for $102,000. For $155,000, there was a wholesix acres just four miles away. And $130,000 wouldbuy fiveacreswith 284feetof high bank in thesame area.

There were other homes available on the

North and South shores in Mason County, saidBonnie Davies of Reid Realty in Belfair.For$175,000, you could get an old fixerhouse suitableas a summer cabin on a good-sized 75-by-235-footlot.That's $2,333 per front foot and the house maysubtract value rather than add it.

South Shore also offered homes on the water

from $205,000 and $350,000. The latter one has adock.

Frank Leach, associate broker at John L. ScottReal Estate in Silverdale, said canal waterfront inKitsap County can run from $600per front foot for"really lousy waterfronf' — high bank and mostlyunusable beach — to $3,000 for low bank andsome high bank with good depth.

Mid-range prices for Hood Canal waterfronthomes is $450,000, he said, but a 110-by-325waterfront lot on Stavis Bay Road with a 1,500-square-foot home in average condition could behad for $175,000, according to CMLS data.

By Travis Baker


Section 5

More Than

the Sum

of Its

Human

Parts

John Davis

A Farmer Is Displaced

As a young boy growing up near Belfair35 years ago, John Davis has somefond memories.

On most weekends, he and his brothers and sisters would pile into the familywagon on the family farm and head to town,where they sold fresh produce between thegasoline pumps at Pope's Grocery Store.

Beans and pumpkins sold for a nickel,

and an average take for each of the Davischildren was about 25 to 30 cents a day.

"We used to sell out of all our vegetables and then go home," Davis remembers. "But today? People wouldn't dare senda kid to do that today."

What happened then and what'shappening now weighs heavily on Davis.He's probably one of the most traditionalfarmers in Western Washington and yet hefeels that tradition has been squeezed from

its place, even in once-sleepy Belfair.Now, the 45-year-old Davis says, "I'm

outa here." And he means it literally.Davis and his wife Judy left the family

farm north of Belfair and Hood Canal in 1991

to make a new home on an 80-acre spreadnear Ladysmith, Wis.

And in Belfair, losing Davis is bignews. He is one of its most well-known and

recognizablecitizens and certainly one of itsmost ardent farmers.

The streets of town have been wipedclean of Davis and his favorite mode of

travel — an old-fashioned horse and buggy.Davis' reasons for leaving seem to

reflect a few facts of life in Belfair. He said

the last straw happened about a year agowhen he was hired to plow a lot on TreasureIsland, in Puget Sound, about seven milessouth of Belfair, and, in turn, the islanderscomplained about the way Davis crossedtheir one-lane bridge with his wagon teamand the droppings his horses left behind.

"I told them that since they drive anautomobile and use gas and oil, they aremore a part of pollution than I am," saidDavis, who refused to clean up after hisanimals.

Davis says he can remember whenTreasure Island had only a handful ofhouses, and now it's covered with permanent homes and summer cottages. Inessence, that's what has turned him off to thearea of Hood Canal closest to the populationcenters of Bremerton, Tacoma and Seattle."This is suburbia now. It's gone."

Dressed in overalls and a workshirt,the dark-bearded Davis talked about life in

general a few weeks before his move.Davis is strongly opposed to the urban

sprawl he believes has come to Belfair. He'swatched it since he first located here in 1952.

"Instead of adjusting to the city and suburban life, these people have come out hereand destroyed this," Davis said. "Loggershave been driven out of the lowlands, andthe price of farming has become so expensive around here it's impossible to evenconsider it. So I am going where there is nourban sprawl."

Sand Hill Road was once a dirt strip, atbest, and now it's a major asphalt arterylinking Tiger Lake with North Shore Road.Just a few years ago, a new elementaryschool was built about a mile from Davis'

farm — another sign of a growing population.


Many of those newcomers to Belfairare people who work on federal militaryinstallations in Kitsap County and commuteto Bremerton and Silverdale. Like the first

homesteaders who settled this territorynearly a century ago, they're looking for low-priced land in a natural setting. And they arewilling to commute more than a half-hour towork in order to live there.

"If they want to work a 40-hour-a-week job, they should live where they workand try to make that community a betterplace to live," said Davis. "It's just notnecessary for everybody to have five acres ofland and have to commute such longdistances to work."

The car has caused much of the

problem, he adds. And that's one reason heprefers to get around with a team of horsesand a wagon instead of an automobile. Hiswife still drives a car, but Davis likes horsepower, both on the road and on his farm.

Davis sold his dairy cattle several yearsago when the wholesale market dried up. Hehas raised corn, potatoes, oats, and timothy.

"Farming is more than just a job," hesaid. "It's a place you want to be 24 hours aday. It's a place you hope your children willtake over some day and you want that farmin a place your children would be willing toaccept.

"But there is no way I could stay onthis farm and expect to turn it over to mychildren. If I stayed, I'd be giving them athird generation farm — and I'd be givingthem nothing."

ByJim Rothgeb

Love of the Outdoors Drew Them to

the Canal

Teresa and Mark Barron of Quilceneknow why they live on Hood Canal."Our love of the outdoors drew us

together," she said. "Our courtship was inkayaks."

They celebrated their first weddinganniversary on June 21,1990.

From their residential vantage point onThorndyke Bayalong the deep, cold canal,the Barrons enjoy "just watching animalsand seeing what they do," she said.

Barron is a native of the region and hiswife came to this area 12 years ago from LosAngeles.

He is an artist, crafting pottery mostly

"But there is

no way I couldstay on this

farm andexpect to turnit over to mychildren. If Istayed, Vd begiving them a

third

generationfarm — and Vdbe giving them

nothing."— John Davis


"Myinspiration fordoing what Ido came fromhaving grownup on HoodCanal and

getting toknow and love

the wild placesI knew as a

kid."

— Ron Hirschi

and firing it in an ancient-style Japanese kilnhe built himself. He is also a self-employedcarpenter.

She is employed by the JeffersonCounty Planning Department, and formerlyworked with the Makah Tribe near Forks,the Olympic National Forest, OlympicNational Park and with fisheries in Alaska.

She has a master's degree in resourcemanagement planning and also raisesminiature horses on their Hood Canal

acreage.

Forests of the nearby Coyle Peninsulaburned around the turn of the century andnow is in various stages of second growth,including some "remnant monster" treesthat have survived.

The 70-year-old second growth createsa "canopy of green" for the Barrons and thewildlife living along the canal.

"We've got deer, osprey, owls, pileatedwoodpeckers, just to name a few animals,"she said. "Having this privacy and rapportwith nature... makes us feel protective of ourenvironment and puts pressures on us tokeep the extraordinary quality of life wehave, to keep it as nice as it is now."

The area is experiencing "lots ofspillover from Kitsap and King counties,"she said, as folks burned out on urban lifeseek a different lifestyle.

'The world is coming to us now. It's atour threshold, although we really don't wantthe world to settle here. Everyone who liveshere feelsespecially privileged to be here.Besides New Zealand and Alaska, I've neverseen a more beautiful, undisturbed place,"she said.

ByGene Yoachum

Afraid That the Best Is Gone

Growing up, quite literally, on and inHood Canal had an effect on Ron

Hirschi, a former fish and wildlifebiologist and author of children's books.

The 43-year-old Hirschi and his wife,Brenda, have lived on Miller Bay nearSuquamish for the past three years. Prior tothat, they lived at Vinland, north of Bangor.

He worked several years as a fish andwildlife biologist, most recently with the PortGamble S'Klallam Tribe at Little Boston. This

year, Hirschi decided to devote his energiesto writing full-time.

"My inspiration for doing what I do

came from having grown up on Hood Canaland getting to know and love the wild placesI knew as a kid," he said.

Much of the historical perspectiveHirschi has about the canal came from his

grandmother, who told him about hergrandfather settling at Seabeck in the 1850s.Later, Hirschi's great-great-grandfatherbought the Brinnon homestead at the mouthof the Duckabush River.

"My grandma always told storiesabout big elk herds at the mouth of theDosewallips River, of cougars, of signs of elkin Kitsap County when she was small,"Hirschi said. "Then, I started seeing changesin my own lifetime, and I became worriedabout losing what we have on Hood Canaland wanted to pass on what I knew aboutthe natural world to kids."

That inspired him to write his books.'The canal has been my roots, my

home," Hirschi said. "I grew up in PortGamble.My father worked in the mill, mygrandfather and great-grandfather. I neverworked a day at the mill, but I spent a lot oftime following my dad around and fishingfrom the docks."

The decline of fishing in the canal issomething Hirschi has viewed with sadness.

"In Kitsap and Jefferson counties, thestreams are really being neglected," he said."Maybe it's because we tend to think that it'sthe bigger streams where all the fish comefrom, but it's all the small creeks where theyreally come from."

As a 12-year-old, Hirschi and hisfriends, had an informal agreement relatingto a small, unnamed stream where an aldersawmill was located.

'This was the first place I ever saw fishspawning and even as kids, we had anagreement that you couldn't keep fish youcaught in that stream," he said.

But a few years ago a local loggingcompany clear-cut along the banks, sprayed2-4Don maple trees along the banks andthen piled wood chips in the headwaters.

"The combination of all that means

there are no more fish in there now," Hirschisaid. "A very valuable run of cutthroat troutwas wiped out."

The gradual destruction of the naturalhabitat of Hood Canal by increasing numbers of people has been disheartening,Hirschi said. It's prompted him to make a"painful decision," to leave Hood Canal andPuget Sound for a life in Montana. The

Hirschisplanned to leave the area sometimeduring 1991.

ByGene Yoachum

Enjoying the Lush Greenery

Moving to Hood Canal from Montanamore than 50 years ago "was the bestmove we ever made," according to

Alvin Ackerman, now 66, of Quilcene.The hot, dusty, grasshopper-infested

wheat fields of Wolf Point, Mont., were nomatch for the lush greenery and mild climateof Puget Sound and Hood Canal, Ackermansaid, recallingwhen his parents and 10of thefamily's eventual 13 children came toWashington.

"We couldn't imagine all these greentrees and winter; it was so warm," he said."There were all these fruit trees and such.

We'd never seen apple trees before, and wegot out of the car and climbed up and pickedsome of those apples."

Ackerman's wife, LaVerle, 63, alsocame to Washington from elsewhere.Shewas 5 years old when her parents "got tiredof Wisconsin and came here to dig clams andfind a job," she said.

The two went through Quilceneschools together and then Ackerman wentinto the Army during World War II and wasawarded a Purple Heart after beingwounded in Germany.

After his return to civilian life, herhusband-to-be came to her house one day onthe pretext of "looking for some timber," shesaid. "My folks, they always laughed aboutthat."

The couple has been married 42 yearsand had four children, three of whom live in

Quilcene.Quilcene has offered the Ackermans a

quiet life, "well, at least it used to be quiet,"she said, adding that even as the pace in theircommunity has picked up some, "at leastwe're not like Silverdale."

By Gene Yoachum

He Fights for the Canal

The water of Hood Canal nearly laps athis doorstep, but he cannot eat itsbounty.The oysters and clams in front of his

home are tainted by septic runoff.The contrast between natural beauty

Life on the Canal *219

and pollution isevident to RalphLartz, 60, ofBelfair.

"We can shoot for the moon, but wecan't even take care of the earth," Lartz said,shaking his head.

Lartz, however, is willing to do hispart.

He recently led a citizen group thatdeveloped North Mason's first water qualityprotection plan.

The plan, adopted in Octoberl990,represents the first time in 20years thatMasonCounty has amended its comprehensiveplan, the document that sets policies fordevelopment.

The water quality plan also representsthe first time Mason County has developed a"sub-area" plan that looks at just one of thecorners of the county instead of the county asa whole.

Past countywide changes to thecomprehensiveplan were shot down bypeople with their own neighborhoodinterests in mind, Lartz said. The solutionwas to allow large "neighborhoods" todevelop their own plans.

"He's really done a tremendous job upthere," said Eric Fairchild, Mason Countyplanning director. 'That subarea plan pavesthe way for other areas of the county tofollow."

Lartz and a group of North Masonrepresentatives spent three years pullingtogether factions to hammer out the waterquality plan. Essentially, it limits development on environmentally sensitive lands.

"Citizens have to take the opportunityand do the work themselves if they want itto get done," Lartz said. He already isputting time in on his home computer towrite drafts of ordinances to enforce the

goals in the plan. He's working on a drainage and grading ordinance now.

Lartz isn't a professional land-useplanner. But he has coupled his problem-solving skillswith a concern for the environment.

Lartz retired 10 years ago from AT&T,where he set up a regional computer maintenance division that guided the NorthwestAT&Tregion toward awards for more "uptime" than anywhere else in the nation.

He and his wife bought property alongthe canal in 1983.He joined the ChristLutheran congregation, and no sooner did hejointhan an opening occurred for the job ofretreat manager at the Christ Lutheran center

"Citizens have

to take the

opportunityand do the

work

themselves ifthey want it to

get done."— Ralph Lartz


on Hood Canal.

He joined the North Mason Kiwanisand North Mason Chamber of Commerce.

Both have proved to be outlets for hisenvironmental concerns.

. Last year the Kiwanis Club sought aproject to commemorate its 75thanniversary.Theclub wanted to see one-stoprecycling inBelfair. Lartz organized a group ofKiwanians and Lions.The group secured asite at the North Mason School District

complex. Now ifs monitoringMasonCounty Garbage effortsto receive a haulingpermit.

A year ago he set up a recyclingcenterat the Christ Lutheran Retreat. If s used by

the communityas well as the congregation.His involvement with the chamber

eventually led him to its presidency,and tolead the committee that developed the waterquality plan.

Lartz was intrigued by the grant-funded process ofassessing communityknowledgeof water quality.He helpedsurvey his neighbors, then helped work on acommunity education slide show.

"The really surprising thing of it all ishow little we know about our own earth."

The water quality plan probably won'tbe the last of his efforts to understand.

ByJessie Milligan

Sculptor Ken Lundemo was raised onFlood Canal,andhe returned topursue hisartfull time.

Inspiration from the Canal

Forartists, Hood Canal is more thana pretty place. It's an inspiration, arefuge, an obsession, and sometimes a struggle.Like everyone else, they watchsunsets paint the water pink and

follow fog curtains up and down the mountains.

Unlike everyone else, they can turn aridge of snowy mountains into an ice-bluepainting. Or convert a circling seal andyellow trees into poetry.

Artists are not immune to the beauty ofthe fjord. But their connection is morecomplicated.

For John and Iriss Blaine it's been asanctuary for the past four years.

The couple traded their big-bucks lifein Chicago for a low-income, low-stress lifein Union.


In their version of the popular American success story, they owned a 3,600-square-foot house and an acre of land in thesuburbs. Their incomes added up to sixfigures. They both worked 60 hours a weekin commercial art — he was an art director at

an ad agency and she was advertisingmanager for a 46-store chain. Their lives yo-yoed around deadlines and other people'sagendas. There was never time to paint.

"We were burnt out from creativity oncommand," said John. "And all we felt likedoing was turning on the TV," added Iriss.

Though they wanted to get off thehigh-pressure treadmill, the Blaines didn'tknow what their alternative was.

To help them crystalize what they didwant, they enlisted a therapist-friend to askquestions. High on both wish lists werecloseness to nature, time to develop creativeenergies, and making a living at what theyliked.

Section 6

A Haven for

Artists

ByDeborahWoolston


"The canal

changes sorapidly. It's so

diverse and

primal.Sometimes I

thinkIII getjaded after

living here fouryears, butI

still get a rushevery time I seeit. I don't care

which wayyou turn, it'sunbelievable

scenery."—John Blaine

The Blainessold the house, squeezedwhat they could into a 29-foottrailer, closedthe savings account, and headed west to acaretaker job they'd lined up outside Shelton.

The first two years were tough.Theirold car sucked up their savings and theBlaines couldn't find work they had assumed would be available. Everyrrurumumwage job, such as cutting Christmas trees,attracted dozens of contenders.

Ifmoney problems weren't enough,the couple got cabin fever in their little trailerhome. The promised studio wasn't readyand they missed their friends,family, andthe cultural attractionsof the big city.

"But I'd go outside and take a deepbreath and say Thank you,' " recalledIriss."Even with the financial difficulties, it wasworth it."

"And never for one second did I think

I'd made a mistake," said John.Bythen, he'd developed moral objec

tions to advertising.What pulled the couple out of their

financial quagmire was John's hobby ofgardening. What he used to do for weekendrelaxation in Prospect Heights paid the billsin Mason County.

Four years ago, he found the ideal job.In return for taking care of a 1.5-acrewaterfront estate for a couple in their 70s,theBlainesget a paycheck, flexible work schedule, and a little cabin with a wide-anglecanalview and studio for two.

They make a fraction of their Chicagoincome. Though they can only affordovernight trips if they camp out, they earnenough between John's gardening andhandyman jobsand Iriss' housekeeping andfree-lance commercial art work to survive.

Nirvana is how John described theirnew life in Union. They work at what theylike to do, they set their own schedules, andthere's lots of time for art.

In the beginning, John's imaginationwas a little rusty after years of catering toother people's creative agendas. To discoverhis own artistic style, he did a lot of spontaneous black-and-white sketching.

To his surprise, he'd changed from aphoto-realist to an impressionist. The canaland the climate could have triggered theswitch.

"What intrigues me are what artists callatmospherics," John said. 'That's how theatmosphere affects the colors and the depthof field. On a gray day or late in the day, for

example, the mountains look like they're cutout of cardboard.

'The subjectmatter is everywhere. If Ihave a problem here, it's that there's toomuch. I could spend the rest of my lifepainting the same view, and yet ifs impossibleto get in a picture.It's a challenge. Butifs intimidating too." •

Then Iriss rushed upstairs to announcea spectacular sunset in progress outside. TheBlaines dashed outside to the edge of thecanal and gawked. To the west, bands ofpink and green sky glowed above thesawtoothed mountain ridge stretching north,while distant lights and stars winked on inthe darkness of the north and east. Before

them,circling duckscut curvesin the glassypink water and quacked in the stillness.

'The canal changes so rapidly," Johnsaid. "It's so diverse and primal. Sometimes Ithink I'll get jaded after living here fouryears, but I still get a rush every time I see it.I don't care which way you turn, ifs unbelievable scenery."

"Won Over" by the Canal

The poet and the violinist came for jobs.The sculptor came for marriage. Boththe jobsand the marriage ended.The three artists stayed, and now they

wouldn't live away from Hood Canal. Forthem, it's the perfect mix of peace, scenicbeauty, and urban availability.

"This is the best combination of

solitude and accessibility to the city," saidKatherine Michaels, the sculptor.

Though she deliberately left the citywhen she moved to 11acres overlookingParadise Bay15 years ago, she still needs thecity. Someone who makes a living from artcan't ignore Puget Sound's artistic nervecenter.

"What I like is that I can come to the

woods, which is quite inspirational, and thencan take the ferry to Seattle to do businessand see people," she explained.

The other two artists agree. When theycame to Seattle for jobs at the University ofWashington, it seemed like cultural Siberiafrom their East Coast perspectives. Afterseveral decades, it's their cultural home.

"I thought it was exile," admittedWilliam Matchett, whose two-year stint inthe UW English Department stretched into35 years. Four years ago, he retired andmoved full time to the sprawling waterfront

house in Nellita.But Matchett and his wife, Judy, keep

an apartment in Seattle.They almost qualifyas commuters they take the ferry so often togo to the theater, music, and dance events,not to mention social occasions.

Seattle is for cultural fun, but HoodCanal is home. That's where Matchett writes

poetry.

AlanIglitzin, onthe other hand,spends his summers on Hood Canal andlives in Seattle the rest of the year when thePhiladelphia String Quartet is not on tour.Since it was cut from the UW's economic

apron strings in 1982, the quartet has gonethrough a lot of changes.

But Iglitzin, the only original memberleft, continues his mission of demystifyingclassical music and performers. The derelictdairy farm he restored to house the OlympicMusic Festival and Chamber Music Institute

plays a big part."When we started, we had a very clear

idea of what would be an ideal atmospherefor teaching young people and a having amusic festival— relaxation and the beauty ofnature," said Iglitzen.

During the 10-weekend festival, themusicians play in jeans and sweatshirts inthe renovated dairy barn to an audiencesitting inside on benches and hay bales andoutside on the grass. The resident burrosoften bray in the background.

"We wanted to be more approachableby people who are put off by musicians whohave the aura: I'm a great artist and I don'trake leaves. That's absurd.

"Besides, the country life gives you areality which is different from winter planesand trains," he went on. "You hear theanimals, play with them, and watch themgrow. It puts you on another plane as ahuman being. I want to be a normal individual as well as be an artist — one thingdoesn't preclude the other."

The concept of chamber music concertsin the country, a first in the PacificNorthwest, has been a hit with audiences. In fact,the festival is probably Hood Canal's biggestcultural event and attracts visitors from the

throughout the Pacific Northwest as well asfrom the East Coast.

1he flip side ofHood Canal's appeal


for artists is the solitude.It's a necessarypartof the creative process.

"It's a beautiful place in which tocreate," said Michaels, the sculptor. "I likethe solitude and peace and harmony.

"I work better when there's harmony— and I need a lot of different kinds of

environments that make me think and feel."

In addition to a nurturing, creativeclimate, the canal also suggests subjects forher sculpture. Michaels, who used to teachenvironmental education, is drawn tonatural themes such as her current series of

oversized seapods.Matchett also mines his Hood Canal

life for ideas and images. The canal isn'tricher than other places, though it's a lotmore beautiful.

"Wherever I am, I write about it later,"he explains. "I don't go and stare at thescenery, I sit in this room and think."

This room is a comfortable book-lined

fireplace-equipped study, and what hethinks about are the patterns that emergefrom his daily journal.

'This is where I live, so it has animpact. My poems tend to start as a responseto a place and move to a quiet affirmation.

"But actually, I'm more involved insaving the canal than writing about it,"Matchett said. Like several other canal

artists, he's politically active, in his words,"to protect this place."

Making Time for their Art

On the wall of Ken Lundemo's huge,crowded Seabeck studio hangs ascarred white hardhat marked with a

faded yellow-and-blue Bell Telephone logo.It's a souvenir of the double life he led

• until his retirement from the phone companyin 1983 after 28years. The responsiblebreadwinner side of him stayed in auninspiring job to support his family. Theartist side of him longed to chuck thefinancial burden to become a full-time

sculptor.This conflict between family and art is

a common one.

Virginia Hawkins experienced it fromthe domestic side. She postponed paintinguntil her household responsibilities hadeased. At the age of 43, she got a high schooldiploma in order to get into Olympic Collegeto study art. Once Hawkins finally followedher dream, she's never looked back.

"It's a

beautiful placein which to

create. I like

the solitude

and peace andharmony."

— Katherine

Michaels


"When I firstmoved into the

woods, I didgreens, thecolors were

overpowering.But I'm not

good atgreenand I don't like

it."

— VirginiaHawkins

Both artists are well-known in local art

circles.Lundemo's sculptures in metal, clayand wood include a seagulls piece outsideEdgewater East Apartments in Bremertonand the upended Viking ship at PoulsboMiddle School.Hawkins' paintings havebeen shown throughout Puget Sound, andher students number in the hundreds.

Their stories tell a lot about becomingan artist in the Hood Canal orbit. Not onlydo they experience opposite sides of the art-versus-family dilemma, they have differentresponses to the pull of this place.

Lundemo is a native who started a

lifelong love affair with the canal when hewas growing up in Seabeck.Over the years,he's boated, fished and scuba-dived in thewater, and camped and gathered shellfish onthe beaches.

Art trickled into his lifeslowly, first inhigh school and then in classesat OlympicCollege. After he met and married his wife,he bowed to economic reality at PugetSound Naval Shipyard for a year, with theU.S. Navy for four years, and finally with thephone company.

'That had nothing to do with art," saidLundemo. T just wanted to be a sculptor, afull-time artist doing what I wanted."

He tried. For eight years, he spent mostof his free time in OC art coursesand rarelysaw his family. Though his sculptures sold,he had to fight for time to make them.

"You can't be an artist and a phoneman," said Lundemo. "But maybe I shouldhave been tough and gone fulltime. An artistis like any other profession — you have to becompletely selfish and forget your family.

"But there's a problem of waiting untilthe time is right and time can pass you by —I may have waited too long."

By contrast, Virginia Hawkins has noregrets — except at first, when she movedvery grudgingly to the Olympic Viewneighborhood from Long Beach,Calif.,whenher husband retired from the Navy 30 yearsago.

"I liked city living," said the Brooklynnative, who didn't want to move to theboondocks.

But the family did, and Hawkins fell inlove with the beautiful boondocks on the

east side of the canal.

Her journey from busy homemaker toartist and art teacher started when she

decided to go back to school after years ofbeing a Navy wife.

"I used to draw," Hawkins said. "Butwhen I got married and I made my choice —art or marriage. When we put roots downhere and the kids were on their own, I didwhat I had wanted to do for a long time."

She took art classes at OC and paintedin a dark basement in-between the house

hold chores.

"I couldn't believe the changes in me,"recalled Hawkins. "It opened doors, and Ilearned such confidence. At first I didn't

believe I could be a good artist until I startedwinning awards and selling."

But it took a while for the canal to sink

into her imagination and for Hawkins to findher style.The first paintings were traditional,realisticcityscapes of her native New Yorkstreets and the George Washington Bridge.Then came a wave of green landscapes thatreflected the surrounding scenery of her newhome.

"When I first moved into the woods, Idid greens, the colors were overpowering,"she said. "But I'm not good at green and Idon't like it.

In recent years, Hawkins has specialized in impressionistic vistas of the mountains, which have filled her windows foryears. A mix of acrylic paint over canvas andrice paper fragments, they have blurredoutlines, steep angles, and soft blue-and-white tones.

"I've been exposed to this for so long,"she said, nodding at snow-coveredOlympicswedged between fir trees, "that I havemental images of the rocks and mountains."

Lately, stark images and colors of theSouthwest and the Middle East, picked upduring recent trips, have crept into herpaintings.

"Now I'm going through a red pe-' riod," Hawkins explained. "An artist paints

whafs available. To grow as an artist, youneed to do different things.

"I don't paint just to sell," saidHawkins. "I paint to satisfy the creative urge.And sometimes I get so excited, I want toyell and celebrate."

Lundemo gets excited too, but one oldtemptation still lures him away from thestudio. Three feet away from the fadedtelephone hardhat hanging beside the door,a short fishing pole leans against a workbench. It belongs to his young grandson,who is learning how to fish from a veteran.

"Fishing is a disease," says Lundemo."Art is more of a blessing."

Once a Thriving Artist Colony

All thafs left of the days when artistsflocked to Hood Canal are some

memories and a few pictures.Theglorydays were after World

WarI,when passengerboats linkedcanalsettlements with Seattle.

Union-bound artists made the 10-

hour trip for all the reasons artists havefled cities for centuries. The little town on

the southern crook of the canal had

stunning scenery,peaceand unhurriedpaceas wellas local colorin the formofloggers, fishermen and Indians.

After70years, the detailsare a littlefuzzy. But FritzDalby,now 79,remembers. He ticked off members of the art

crowd that included sculptors, painters, apiano-playing postmistress, musiciansand writers. Of all the names, Ore Noblesand Waldo Chase are the most famous.

The story goes that Ore taught art atBallardHigh School,traveled to the FarEast, and hosted lots of studio parties.

Maybehe built the odd littlecabinsat Olympus Manor, the summer resortthat became Hood Canal's art headquarters during the 1920sand 1930s. The pint-sized mansions had a Disneyland woodsytheme, according to Joe Morosco, whosettled in Union 20 years ago and helpeddemolish the last one 10years ago.

Waldo Chase, the other name thatcropped up a lot,was one of the earliestOlympus Manor residents. Known as awoodblock artist and free-spirited


bohemian, he moved into a tepee in 1929,recalled Dalby.

In 1935,Chase became front-pagenews the day after his pagan wedding toa vegetarianbride. Dalby,who was 22atthe time, remembered how this peculiarceremonybrought the townies, theloggers and theartists together on a hillabove town.

"His bride was a natural-food

faddist who could graze a hillside likeburro," he said. "They were standing sideby side in an old Indian robe, talkinggibberish, and partakingof parched corn.A famousphotographer from Seattletooka picture of that dumb dame running outof the brush and into the tepee. It madethe magazine section of the Post-Intelligencer and went nationwide."

Dalbyand Chasebecamegoodfriends until Chase died in 1988. By then,most of the artists were gone from thecanal. The cabins and studio were torn

down in the late '70s to make way for theBlue Heron Time Share Condominiums.

Ifs the latest twist in the canal's

fortunes. Dalby, who lives in Shelton, isn'tvery optimistic about its future.

"Beforethe developers moved in,Hood Canal was a beautiful place," hesaid. "Theyhaven't ruined the mountainsyet, but I figure they'll bulldoze themountains and fill in the canal prettysoon. But I won't be alive to see it."

ByDeborah Woolston

Part

v

Conclusion

Retired trapper Andy Rogers hasobserved many changes during his

lifetimeon FloodCanal.

Hiswhite hair flowing in thebreeze, Andy Rogers sat upon adriftwood log, watching thewaves break upon the shore atStavis Bay,a serene inlet 1'Amiles south of Seabeck.

Time has not changed the unceasingpattern of wind upon water — not sinceRogers played in this same spot as a child,not since the first white explorers discoveredHood Canal, not since the original nativeslearned to hunt and fish here thousands of

years ago.

Most everything else has changed,however, and Rogers has no room forregrets.

"I've worked as a logger and a trapper,and I've always been a conservationist," hesaid. "I never trapped to get the last animals.I trapped the dumb ones and let the restremain free."

Rogers, 73, is independent, opinionatedand even obstinate sometimes. He admits

that he likes to argue. In fact, he's neverhappier than when jousting verbally withsome high-minded environmental type.

"It's funny how well we've gottenalong without dinosaurs," he told one youngwoman. "Was it clearcutting or logging thatcaused the problem?"

But when it comes to nature, fewpeople can match Rogers' love for this Hood

•229 •

Chapter

14

The Future

of the

Canal

Section 1

Memories

of the

Canal


230 • Conclusion

"I believe in

rights. To me,the rights of

the individual

are supreme."— Andy Rogers

Canal country, which is being altered day byday, week by week, year by year.

"Every time anybody moves here," hesaid, "it gets worse — and that includes me.Youcan't do anything about it. Peoplehaverights. It seems our rights are going to killusin this country."

Others less independent-minded thanRogers, who have been herea shorter time, say it is nottoo late. But there is no

agreement about how muchgovernment interference canbe tolerated to protect publicresources or how much

taxpayers can afford to spendon keeping an ecosystemintact.

There is no doubt that

the spread of human population continues to degrade thewater quality and to driveaway many species ofwildlife (although a fewanimals, such as racoons andcoyotes, have adapted quitewell).

Rogers is old enough toremember the rise and fall of

many trees. Much of the landwas logged before he wasborn. Much has been loggedagain, and some even a thirdtime.

'The '20s was the greatest era oflogging," he said. 'They were loggingbothsides of Hood Canal."

As for wildlife, most animals comeback after a loggingoperation—some rightaway, some after the trees grow to a certainsize. On the other hand, wild creatures haveless tolerance for human habitation, whichbrings high-speed automobiles plus dogsand cats running wild through the woods.

In the early days, people were moredirect. They'd shoot wild animals on sight,especially predatory beasts. Bears,cougarsand wolves were considered a threat to

people and livestock. Eaglesand seals were athreat to salmon.

"All the things man killed as a matterof survival have become man's best friend,"said Rogers with just a trace of scorn, thoughhe agrees that Hood Canal becomes a lesserplace when a species disappears forever.

The last cougar in the Stavis Bayarea

couple others disappeared from the BigBeefarea to the north in the 1940s.

Today, says Dave Brittell, a cat specialist with the Washington Department ofWildlife, the Kitsap Peninsula has beendisturbed to the point that it cannot supportan ongoing population of cougars.

On the other side of the Hood Canal

watershed, in Mason andJefferson counties, a curtailment in cougar hunting hasallowed the population tostabilize at around 30

animals.

Cougars, said Brittell,tend to follow the migratorypatterns of their prey — deerand elk — which move into

the private lowlands inwinter and onto higherfederal lands in summer.

Putting even a singlehome in this migratorypathway could createadditional problems for theanimals, he added.

"If we have to have

houses in those areas, weshould concentrate the

impact and not allow thescattering of houses up anddown the valley," he said.

Ultimately, cougarpopulations are limited by their own densitywithin the available habitat. Like other

creatures at the top of the food chain, theyhave evolved a complex social system,including defined territories, said Brittell.Each male may command 50-60squaremiles, likewise for females.

Younger cats have to seek out theirown territories, which leads to conflicts withpeople living on the outskirts of civilization.

With the way things are going, saysRogers, there may come a day when therewon't be room for cougars or even bears onprivate land.

Bobcats,being smaller and controllingless territory, remain plentiful in undeveloped parts of Hood Canal country. Theymay continue to co-exist with people to somedegree.

"Bears could too if people wouldtolerate them," Rogers said. "But they can'tbecause they are so dangerous."

According to Rogers, human beings

Stavis Bay

AndyRogers is oldenough to

remember the riseandfall ofmanytrees along this

Kitsap County inletofHood Canal.

was killed in 1936,according to Rogers. A have some major decisions to make about

the wildlife of Hood Canal.

"Man's the only one of the species whocan control how many there are going to be."

Kogers, who had been rotating histime-worn hat in his hands, paused amoment, then plopped the soft objectsquarely upon his head.

"I remember my dad writing thegovernor and county commissioners,wanting to get a road out here," he said.'Then they wanted fire protection andutilities."

In those days, when people were fewand far between, new residents helpedimprove the quality of life, at least in theminds of adults.

For a young boy playing in and aroundStavis Bay in the 1920s, the world was theforests and the streams.

"When I was 10 or 11 years old," saidRogers, "I saw a sign that said, 'No trespassing.' I went and asked my mother what thatwas, because I had never seen that before.People went where they wanted to go."

Lifeseemed slower and more simplethen, he said.

"There wasn't any ballgames to go to,"said Rogers. "I spent my time going up anddown the streams looking at fish."

Salmon were plentiful then, and youcould depend on their migrations likeclockwork.

"I knew the salmon would start up thecreek about the 20th of August," said Rogers."Pert' near all these streams were full of

salmon by Labor Day."Now almost all the salmon are gone,

the result of too much fishing and too manyseals, in the view of Rogers. For most of thestreams, siltation from logging operationsand man-made culverts have been onlyminor problems, says the old trapper, takinga somewhat contrary view to modernbiologists.

When salmon are coming back in greatnumbers, they tend to clean the streams ofsilt as they dig into the gravel duringspawning, he said.

As he talks, Rogers reaches down,picks up a broken clam shell and turns itover and over in his hand. He kicks at the

sand with his tan, high-topped boots."Nature repairs itself awful fast when

given the chance," he said.Then he suggests something that seems

The Future of the Canal • 231

out of character to this man who has made

his livelihood from natural resources: If

salmon fishing could be stopped for just fouryears (the life cycle of most salmon), naturalproduction could recover to levels thatwould provide a wealth for future fishermen, he says.

Salmon numbers would rebound

quickly, he continued. Bottomfish — some ofwhich live to 40 years of age — would takelonger to recover.

Morethan other species, the salmon isthe symbol of Hood Canal and the entireGreat Northwest. The magnificent fishexpresses freedom by traveling thousands ofmiles through the ocean. It expresses aninborn responsibility by returning to its placeof birth to begin a new generation of its kind.

"Salmon are keystone species," saidChris Frissell,a biologist at Oregon StateUniversity's Oak Creek Laboratory. 'Theyare very critical for the food chain of theentire ecosystem. They provide food fordozens of species like eagles and otters andbears and ospreys, literally hundreds ofspecies."

Because salmon are uniquely adaptedto the stream of their birth, losing even onenative run of wild salmon is losing something that cannot be replaced, says Frissell.

Frissellwrote a paper about theprotection of salmon runs and entire ecosystems. He titled it "All the King's Horses andAll the King's Men."

"An ecosystem is like an egg," he said."It's not like a watch, which you can takeapart and put back together."

The danger is that man does notunderstand what he is doing to the salmonresource, he said. Hatchery-bred fish from adistant river system are released in localwaters, where they breed and compete withnatural runs. It is not easy to measure theresult.

Another example: Ocean fishing tendsto catch the larger salmon because of themesh size of the nets. This unnatural selec

tion increases the proportion of smalleradults returning to spawn.

But it seems likely that in streams siltedin by logging and development that thelarger fish will be more successful at reproduction because they can dig deeper nests,called redds.

"Fishing is selecting for younger,

"Pert'near all

these streams

were full ofsalmon by

Labor Day."— Andy Rogers

232 • Conclusion

"An ecosystemis like an egg.It's not like a

watch, whichyou can take

apart and putback together."

— Chris Frissell,Oregon State

University

smaller fish," said Frissell, "while a degraded stream habitat is selecting for older,bigger fish."

A decline of wild salmon in Hood

Canal, particularly the coho, has intensifiedthe debate over managing the salmonresource. The Skokomish Tribe, for example,has demanded that the Department ofFisheries reduce its commercial ocean

harvest to allow more native coho to getback to their streams of origin.

"From our perspective," said RandyHarder of the Point No Point Treaty Council,"the department responds to public pressure. Right now, they are responding to theeconomic concerns of the fishing industry.They should be responding as well to publicpressure to increase the escapement andrebuild the wild runs."

Harder objects to the "shortsightedness" of the Department of Fisheries,whichadvises people that Hood Canal will be allright within a few years.

"We are trying to educate the publicthat there may be restrictions on their fishingopportunities," he said. 'The SkokomishTribe has already accepted that they are notgoing to have a coho fishery on those stocksfor some time. It is going to take awhile toget out of this hole."

Both the state and the tribes agree thatmore information is needed about the

condition of stream habitat. They are

negotiating toward a memorandum ofunderstanding about how joint studiesshould be done and who will pay for them.

Kogers can remember steelhead inStavis Creek. They had evolved there forthousands of years. But now they're gone.

"All these streams had steelhead," hesaid. "There was an old outlaw who had a

bootleg market for them, and he'd put hisnets out in front of the stream.

"After he died, they (steelhead) wereso rare that our parents would show them tous whenever they would come in."

Rogers pushed himself up off the olddriftwood log and began a short hike back tothe road near his home. He had bought his75 acres of land in 1952 for $10 an acre.Similar land had gone for $1 an acre duringthe Depression years, when few people hadany money to spend.

Rogers supports the idea of using taxincentives to protect forest land and openspace. He wants the county to offer incentives to developers who cluster their housestogether.

"But you cannot shut the door andkeep people out," he emphasizes, thenglances again toward Stavis Bay.

"I'd sure like to stick around and see

what this place is like in 50 years."

InMay 1991, The Sun asked five peoplewho care a lot about Hood Canal to sit

down together to discuss their concernsand ideas for the future.

They were:Ron Hirschi is a former fisheries

biologist for the Port Gamble S'KlallamTribe. He now travels to schools around the

country to teach children about the environment. He also writes books for children

about ecology.He grew up in Port Gamble,but moved to Montana in 1991.

Marjorie Redman has been a memberof the Puget Sound Water Quality Authoritysince its inception in 1985.A former memberof the KitsapCounty Planning Commission,she lives in a waterfront home on Hood

Canal in North Kitsap.Donna Simmons is a former president

of Hood Canal Environmental Council and

worked as education coordinator for the

Hood Canal Coordinating Council. She isvice-chairwoman of the Washington StateEcological Commissionand is a supervisorfora conservation districtin MasonCounty.She lives in Hoodsport on Hood Canal.

Dennis McBreen owns and operatesSeabeck Marina on Hood Canal. He is

president of Hood Canal Salmon Enhancement Group and is active in Save Our


Salmon, Kitsap Poggie Club and ManchesterSports Club. He lives in Port Orchard.

State Sen. Brad Owen, D-Shelton, is alegislator from the 35th District, whichincludes a major portion of Hood Canal aswell as the timber town of Shelton. Owen

has served in the Legislature for 15 years. Forthe past three sessions, he has sponsoredlegislation that would make Hood Canal asport fishing preserve.

Several others were invited but were

unable to attend.

As the discussion opened, the atmosphere was lively,yet cordial. Likea groupof friends who had gathered to talk aboutsomething important, they seemed to feel thefreedom to disagree and even raise theirvoices at times.

One area of agreement was about whatindividual people can do. It all starts on asmall scale,by working on a single stream,by improving small watersheds, they agreed.(Watersheds are areas of land that drain into

a given body of water.)What follows are excerpts from the

two-hour discussion.

Hirschi: If we restore each of those

streams, we may heal our community. Whennon-Indian people first came here, like my

Section 2

Preservation

Through

Action


234 • Conclusion

"The questionhere is whether

ive now have

thepoliticalwill, whether

environmental

awareness has

builtup to thepoint where

we'regoing tosee citizen

pressure put ondecision

makers..."— Donna

Simmons,Hoodsport

great-great-grandfather, they were here justto take, and we're still in that kind of mode.We're consuming and not giving back.

Redman: Working on smaller watersheds is a good way to get people involved.If you live on the stream, you are going to beconcerned about what happens to it.

Driving around the southern part ofHood Canal, I must say that I don't knowwhere the drainfields are. I see house,

driveway, house, driveway, house, driveway— with no room for septic tanks.

For a small monthly fee — a lot smallerthan what sewer districts charge — youcould make sure that septic tanks aremaintained. They are perfectly good ways ofhandling sewage, but they must be builtright in the first place, and they have to bemaintained.

Simmons: The big question here iswhether we now have the political will,whether environmental awareness has built

up to the point where we're going to seecitizen pressure put on decision makers toput together some plans or regulations thatwill stick and start turning things around.

As for growth, it's not the level ofgrowth so much as the kind of growth. Takea whole day and drive around the HoodCanal watershed and you will see thispiecemeal chopping up of land, which Ithink is the greatest danger we face rightnow, and we don't have the controls inplace.

I heard a friend of mine say the otherday, in fact a developer, "We're five-acreingourselves to death," and there's a lot of truthto that.

McBreen: I have three big concerns:that commercial development be done right.I'm also concerned about the marine life.

And the third thing is that we have developed a rash of regulations that are no longerrational.

Owen: I believe we need to try toidentify and set aside the canal as a marinefish preservation area and a natural area asmuch as possible for the nation and theworld, because I believe the canal is a uniqueplace.

We need to purchase sensitive landsalong the canal... We, as a state, need to findthose lands that are still available and getthose for the public, so it is not driveways allalong (the shore). It's not going to get anycheaper.

Redman: The lack of opportunity forpeople to dig clams...is real sad.

Hirschi: Port Gamble Bay ... is right onthe threshold of being decertified (forshellfish harvesting). Essentially the entirewest side of Port Gamble Bay is undeveloped... Failing septic systems have something to do with the problem. A couple ofsmall streams ... have something to do withthe problem, because there are cows andhorses still using the streams.

A frustration for me is in seeing theresponse of (public) agencies in not takingexisting regulations, existing authority andexisting money and doing something aboutthose streams.

Destruction of watersheds by forestrypractices has completely devastated thechinook (salmon) population. The wildchinooks are gone in the Dosewallips (inJefferson County).

McBreen: The wild chinooks are gonein the entire canal. But that is not because of

the streams not being able to take care ofthem.

Hirschi: Well, it's a big factor. Trustme. All that rock that has moved down

stream in any number of the small tributariesfrom logging, and that has been a big factorin the Dosewallips.

Why not get a corridor of national parkalong one of these streams so we havemanagement for ancient forest conditions?The Duckabush would be another good one.It's a beautiful stream, but 10 years from nowyou won't know it.

McBreen: The streams are there, andhistorically the salmon went up the streamsand had things to feed on ... We took anartificial system that was developed by theDepartment of Fisheries because theywanted to have an inland chum fishery ...and we started producing thousands andthousands and millions and millions of

chums in the hatcheries...

We now release these chums and we

send them back out, OK? The Department ofFisheries has raised these 18 trillion chum.

Now they send in 18 trillion purse seiners totake them, and where are they going to takethem? They are going to take them rightwhere they concentrate, right in front of thestreams where they sit.

We don't allow anything to go up thestreams. We fish the mouth of each stream so

hard that there is no brood stock going up.

It's just a crazy thing.Redman: What about the bottom

fish...?

Hirschi: There may be some things assport fishermen we've done, too. I wasraised a Catholic and grew up in PortGamble. It was my responsibility to bringhome mostly rock fish for Friday dinners.

Owen: What you are saying is thatthere's too many Catholics?

(Everyone laughed.)Hirschi: As a true sport fisherman, it

was my duty to go out and catch as manyfish as I could. I had enough rock fish in ourfreezer, as a 13-year-old, to last for two years.

We do over-harvest as sport fishermen,too, and I think it is important to take somepersonal looks at what we've done andmaybe even forego some opportunities.

Owen: The draggers (commercialbottom fishermen) also contributed to that.

(Draggers have since been eliminated fromHood Canal as a result of a bill by Owen.)

And I think a major contributor to thedecline of bottom fish...is that the Department (of Fisheries) is behind the eight ball.They will wait until there is a problem. Ithink they need to think about managing itconservatively.

McBreen: One of the nicest things wesaw during shrimp season was the fact...that the kelp beds are starting to come back(following removal of drag fishing). For thefirst time, you'd pull up a pot and find bigkelp. Three years ago we knew there wasnothing there.

Simmons: I see two really big needs inthis whole issue. If we're really serious aboutturning this around in the Hood Canalwatershed, it requires — along the moretechnical lines — a change in the way we dothings. Possibly that means regulations andenforcement, tax incentives, all kinds ofways we can change the way we do things.

But there's also a need for a change ...in the way we think.

Sometimes I get furious when I hearpeople go on and on about their rights, theright to buy view property and put a bighouse on it... But that is not a right. That is aprivilege to have an unobstructed view ofthe water.

If he (a property owner) carries hisperception of rights to the point where hehelps to eliminate another legitimate use of


the water (such as shellfish growing), thenthat, in my opinion, is carrying things waytoo far.

Hirschi: Another perception that wehave to change is we have to recognize thebase of what we have to start with before we

can even think for a minute that we can take

something from it.We have been taking so much from the

canal since we first got here that we'veexhausted a lot of the resources. I think there

should be a moratorium on a certain number

of harvest activities before we even think

about more enhancement. We keep dumping salmon out into the canal withoutknowing what the carrying capacity is forjuvenile salmonids.

Why don't we try to determine whatthe natural carrying capacities of each of thestreams of Hood Canal are and manage forthose carrying capacities, allowing them toproduce what they can produce, thenharvest the excess.

What I am saying gets into the uplandsand puts a moratorium on growth as well...We're almost driving a herd of elk to extinction ... We've lost 50 percent of the winter elkhabitat on the Dosewallips and yet wecontinue to allow both housing increases inthe watershed and fairly extensive logging ...

There's an awful lot of people inresource agencies ... who know biologicallywhat is going on. We aren't listening tothem. We are listening to political statementsby management people in agencies who areonly acting like any other political animalwill act. They will make decisions to keeptheir jobs, and it's usually counter to whatthe land is telling them.

McBreen: Everybody is talking aboutputting more rules and regulations onthings. We build one set of regulations forthis group and another for that group, andthey're not working. Part of the educationalprocess is pointing to the good side of things.If we could educate people to understandthat if we do it right, we will have jobs forpeople down the line.

Simmons: I have been an educator,and I agree. But I have also been around theblock enough times to know that you simplycannot limit your range of alternatives oryour tools.

I work with the (Mason County)Conservation District, and our first and

foremost tool is education. We offer money.

"Afrustrationfor me is inseeing the

response ofagencies in nottaking existing

regulations,existing

authority andexisting money

and doingsomething

about those

streams."

— Ron Hirschi,

Kitsap Countybiologist

236 • Conclusion

"We fish themouth of eachstream so hard

that there is no

brood stock

going up. It'sjust a crazy

thing."— Dennis

McBreen, SeabeckMarina owner

We are not regulators; we don't have badges.If we work with a farmer and maybe

two years go by ... and he still has cows inthe stream and he still has water runningthrough a manure pile into the stream, wefeel we have to be backed up with regulations.

I am lucky enough to have worked onenvironmental issues from a more radical

beginning ... and I, like a lot of environmentalists, thought the solutions were regulatory. But I've also had the chance to work forgovernment now, and I can see the problemsfor government and politicians.

I will agree that environmentalists mayhave made some mistakes by only pushingfor regulations ... If you keep imposingrestrictions, one after another, and sometimes regulations that are not even consistent... pretty soon you have that farmer sofrustrated that he will do exactly the kind ofthing you are trying to prevent. He will sellthat farm to the nearest developer, who willchop it up into 5-acre tracts.

Hirschi: I'm not sure that is what's

driving people. I think a lot of times it's usedby the forest products industry as an excuse.

We are losing our forest industry inKitsap County, which I also see as very sad.That's one of the things I would put up nearthe top of the list of things that are specialabout the canal.

The forest industry sustained a groupof people for a couple thousand years. It onlytook us 150years to completely devastate it... Education is taking place very slowlywithin fisheries agencies and slowly tricklingdown to enhancement groups. We all wantto do good. We all want to go out and plant atree or plant a fish. But we don't want to takethe more difficult task of fixing what wehave been destroying.

We have blocked run after run after

run (of wild salmon), and this includes thecanal. There are culverts everywhere ... thereare miles of devastated stream banks.

The regulations are not strong enough.Owen: I think logging practices have

improved dramatically over the years, but

they are not to the point the environmentalcommunity would like to see them. Theywould like to see a real, real diminishing oflogging in the state of Washington, whichthey are succeeding in getting.

We have seen the pendulum, whichswung too far to the loggers at one time,when they would literally shut off a streamwith a dam to back up the water to run thelogs down. Now (it is) overkill on the otherside.

The logger has a place because thissociety has depended on paper products andhousing.

McBreen: There has got to be a certainamount of development to put our kids towork. There has to be logging some places totake care of building houses. We have to drilloil wells to keep the cars running.

We can't let one teeny minority controlwhat is good for the whole population. Thecanal is good for the people of KitsapCounty. It is a place to go, a recreational area.It is a source of food for a lot of people. It is apotential commercial asset. It is a place tolive and have jobs. It is a beautiful area.

I am an environmentalist. I work real

hard to keep my marina clean. Let's not stopeverything because it is not the way it was20,000years ago.

Owen: There are people out there whowant you to think that nothing is working,that everything is getting worse, that loggingpractices aren't working, that education isn'tworking.

I think that is baloney. I can see in the15 years that I have been in the Legislaturemy own self that the public's attitude onenvironmental issues has taken a tremen

dous turnaround. So it's bogus to say we aregetting worse. We are getting better, but it'snot to the point it can be yet. The issue is,how do we make it better ... without takingan industry like the logging industry, andtotally wiping it out.

As far as the canal, I think it is worsetoday in some instances, but the attitude andmovement is in the right direction.

To a New Environmental Ethic

Who in his right mind, some peopleask, would destroy an entireindustry of hard-working loggers

and their families for the sake of an owl

that isn't much good for anything?Who in his right mind, other people

ask, would belong to an industry that hasdestroyed 90 percent of the unique old-growth ecosystem and now wants to takethe rest?

What we are seeing in this countrymay be more than a debate over protecting the northern spotted owl fromextinction. We may be experiencing apowerful collision of moral values relatedto man's place in the natural world.

The same morality clash is reflectedin issues related to timber management,fishing,development and recreation,accordingto philosopher J. BairdCallicott.And what may be emerging out of theconflict,he says, is a new environmentalethic for the 21st Century.

Callicott,a professor at the University of Wisconsin at Stevens Point, becameinterested in what he calls the "bigpicture" in the early 1970s,as Americansrenewed their interest in protecting theenvironment.

Callicott, who formulated one of thefirst university courses in environmentalethics, says today's battles are part of anevolution in thinking, which actuallybegan before the first lumbermen came tothe Hood Canal region.

In the mid-1800s, Ralph WaldoEmerson and Henry David Thoreauexpressed a love of nature "with aspiritual twist," said Callicott.

Emerson wrote that nature can be a

temple in which to commune with God aswell as a quarry from which to mine theore of industry.

Natural history became an important part of Thoreau's writing, but both heand Emerson relied more on the experience of nature — its ability to sparkcreativity and imagination in man — thanon natural science.

"The romantics," said Callicott,"were into experience — Thoreau, withhis eyes narrowly focused on the things

The Future of the Canal *237

around him, and Emerson with his headin the clouds."

It took naturalist John Muir to turnthis romantic-transcendental philosophyinto a national moral campaign to appreciate and preserve wilderness.

Muir was not opposed to materialthings in a puritan way, said Callicott. Buthe despised the lumber barons, mineralkings and captains of industry whoseemed "hell-bentupon little else thanworshipping at the shrine of the almightydollar."

John Muir, who was read byTheodore Roosevelt,had profoundinfluence on the creation of many naturalareas, including federal lands in andaround the Olympic Mountains.

About the turn of the century, a newenvironmental ethic began emerging, saysCallicott.Gifford Pinchot, a youngercontemporary ofJohn Muir, is creditedwith formulating the ethic. It is basedupon scienceand the utilitarian view thathuman happiness should be the primarygoal of government.

The values of "nature" in the

romantic views that went before were

reduced to "natural resources" byPinchot, who became the first chief of theU.S. Forest Service.

"Natural resources," wrote Pinchot,"must be developed and preserved for thebenefit of the many and not merely thefew."

He also declared that "conservation

means the greatest good for the greatestnumber of people for the longest time."

Said Callicott, "The higher usescelebrated by Emerson, Thoreau andMuir had to compete on all fours withindustrial, agricultural and other utilitarian uses."

Economics became an integral partof the ethic. One could preserve theYosemite Valley or the wild Olympics,said Callicott,but only if society waswilling to place a price on the wildernessexperience.

World War II brought the issue ofpatriotism into the equation.

"Mechanized technology was

238 • Conclusion

I can see in the

15 years that Ihave been in

the Legislaturemy own self

that the

public'sattitude on

environmental

issues has

taken a

tremendous

turnaround."— State Sen. Brad

Owen, D-Shelton

developed for war purposes and unleashed on the domestic scene," he said."The whole industrialization of nature

ratcheted up a quantum leap."Protesting the exploitationof natural

resourcesbecameunpatriotic.Science andtechnologybecame the driving force, andpeople pledged their faith to the experts.

Attempts to increasethe productionof natural resources led to the science offorestryand methods ofgrowinguniformstands of trees.Thesame thinkingled tofaster-growing fish,which could be mass-produced in fish hatcheries.

Thus developed the legendarybattleof the Preservationists, represented byMuir, against the Conservationists,represented by Pinchot.

Mun^spublic campaign to preservewildernesshad beenbased primarilyonthe higher spiritualvaluesofpreservingnature, says Callicott. In that sense, bothMuir and Pinchotargued from anthropo-centric positions — that humans possessthe only legitimate interests, that naturalentities are only a means to man's ends.

But privately, said Callicott, Muirwas already thinking in terms that wouldbecome the driving force for a newgeneration: that people are just a part ofnature, that all creatures are valuedequally by God.

According to Callicott, the conservation ethic depended so much on sciencethat scientific advancement proved to beits major downfall. Scientists learned thatnature is more than a collection of useful,uselessand noxiousspecies, all arrayedupon a landscape of soilsand waters.

'It is a vast, tightly organizedsystem, less like a vast mechanism andmore like a vast organism," he said.

It fell to Aldo Leopold,who beganhis career as a Pinchot conservationist, toarticulate this new ethic, based on thescienceof ecology — the interrelationshipof all living things.

Human beings,wrote Leopoldin1949, "are members of a biotic team...plain members and citizens of onehummingbioticcommunity."

"In relationship to these otherviews," Callicottsaid, "it is very differentbecauseit suggests that other forms of lifehave rights too."

That is not to place humans on alower levelor to say that people shouldnot activelymanage natural systems, hesaid.

QuotingLeopold: "A thing is rightwhen it tends to preservethe integrity,stability and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise."

Sometimes it takesactivemanagement to meet this goal, especiallyin lightof economicand political interests.

The trouble is that changes in onepart of the natural system may lead tounexpected,sometimes profound,changes in another part, Callicottsaid.

Leopold discovered this for himselfduring his years as a game manager in theSouthwest. Destruction of predatorscaused the deer population to increase,which led to destruction of forage plants,which increased soil erosion, which hadcontinuing impacts on the entire ecosystem.

Leopold's ethic — though it hasnow been around for about 50years —stillhas not becomeingrained in ourtrtinking, says Callicott.

"From the public point of view, it isstill pretty far out to think that nature hasrights," he said.

Eventually, most Americans willshift to this new way of thinking,predictsCallicott, who sees no further ethicalchanges on the horizon.

The challenge for the 21stCentury,he maintains,will be not merely toconserve our natural resources but to

maintain and restore ecologicalintegrity.


The future uncertainty about Flood Canalcan beputinhuman terms: Will Girl Scouts

50 years from nowbeable toenjoy thewaterfrontat Robinsivold?

WhatHood Canal will look

like 10,20,50 years fromnow will be the cumulative

result of many decisions,some big ones and manysmall ones, experts agree.

A small decision: How much fertilizer

should a homeowner use on his lawn each

year?A big one: How much private timber

land will local governments try to keep outof the hands of developers?

Hood Canal is not a clean slate by anymeans. Civilization has been here more than

a century, and marks upon the landscape are


not easily erased.But the handwriting is not yet on the

wall. For its size and resources, Hood Canal

remains one of the most unspoiled areas leftin the United States.

Decisions made today about land useand resource protection will echo downthrough history, says Nancy McKay, executive director of the Puget Sound WaterQuality Authority.

"In some ways, the problems are sosimple," she said, "more people creatingmore pollution. But when you try to solvethese problems, it gets more and morecomplex."

Section 3

An

Uncertain

Future


240 • Conclusion

"KitsapCounty is

quickly gettingto be what a

lot of othercommunities

are, a bedroomcommunitywihout a

recollection ofits history or

wildlifevalues."— Mike Reed,

biologist for PortGamble S'Klallam

Tribe

Growth management, now a majorpolitical force in Washington state, must tryto reach for the more complete answers, shesaid.

'To me, one of the challenges is foreach of us to take ownership, not necessaryof the problem itself, but of our responsibility to be part of the solution," said McKay.

Cars, green lawns, boats, horses, septictanks, bulldozers, garbage, house construction, dogs, cats, driveways... The list ofpotential problems goes on and on.

"Part of the challengeis to see thatmaybe one thing a person does may notmatter so much," said McKay,"but whenyou take it all together, our presence onHood Canal makes a real impact."

Donna Simmons, a resident ofHoodsport and vice-chairwoman of theWashington State EcologicalCommission,scribbled a note to herself one night andtaped it on her refrigerator.The note says,"Uncontrolled growth is suicide; controlledgrowth is controlled suicide."

"It came to me after one of the Mason

County Planning (Commission) meetings,"she said. "But I want to add that it doesn't

have to be. In my more optimistic moments Irealize that there are some good thingshappening."

The advance of environmental science

and the intensity of new thinking is apositive forcefor the entire Northwest, saysChris Frissell,an ecologist at Oregon StateUniversity in Corvallis.

"We're in the throws of a revolution

when you realize what is going on to protectthings like endangered species and wetlands," he said.

We're also running out of time."For a long time, we could implement

laws and still have wiggle room in terms of asurplus of natural resources," he said. "Nowwe are coming to the end of the surplus."

The use of the land itself is the greatestissue facing Hood Canal, says Frissell.

"In the lower 48 states, it is unique asan ecosystem," he said.

Land used for forestry or agricultureleaves future options open, at least to somedegree, he said. With urban development,there is no turning back.

Alarms are sounding for western

Kitsap County, a critical part of the HoodCanal watershed,says MikeReed,a biologistwith the Port Gamble S'Klallam Indian

Tribe.Development pressures there aregrowing intense, but people don't seem torealize it.

"I went over to the Stavis (Bay) area,"said Reed. 'There used to be lots of forest

lands there. Now ifs sold and will all be

developed."Unfortunately, urbanization of an area

begins as an invisible transformation. Often,not a single tree is cut down when the land istaken out of forestry use.

Sometimes the change takes place witha handshake, when an agreeablebuyermeets an agreeable seller. Sometimes, it takesplace in the mind of the landowner, when hedecides the time is ripe for development.

Over time, properties that have beenremoved from the timber base seem to getdivided into smaller and smaller tracts, allready for one or more homes. There is noparticular pattern.

Clyde Stricklin, long-range planner forKitsap County, says the county is studyingways to encourage developers to put smallerparcels back together. The county remainscommitted to a policy of clustering homes inan effort to save some open space.

The county is offering developers theopportunity to develop more homesites ontheir property in exchange for dedicating aportion to open space in its natural condition.

While the population of western Kitsapis growing, said Stricklin, the land baseremains primarily forest.

"We have been doing a fairly good jobwith new developments," he said. "Weknow we have to continue to do that jobandto do the job even better."

Ihejob ismuch bigger for countyofficialstoday than it was even a year or twoago, says BobCrowley of Port Townsend,executive director of the Olympic Environmental Council.

"County officialshave traditionallybeen in the permitting business," he said.'They have not been in the resource-protection business."

The state's Growth Management Acthas handed the counties major responsibilities to identify and protect forest lands,wetlands, wildlife habitats, areas prone to

erosion,areas prone to floodingand areasimportant for groundwater supplies.

How well the counties will handle that

responsibility is yet to be seen, said Crowley."You've got to realize that county

planning departments are staffed largely byurban planners," he said. "More than 90percent of all the planners in the country aretrained in urban planning. This new functionof resourceprotection may take them sometime."

Crowley would like to see the countiesapply some new planning techniques,including an approach that has been giventhe fancy name "landscape ecology."

Landscapeecologymight be called theart/science of finding a place for humanhabitation in the natural world. Its goal is tominimize impacts of development throughan ecological approach to the landscape.

For wildlife,it goes beyond the idea ofpreserving scattered piecesof open spacewith the hope that animals can find andmake use of the remnants of development.

Landscape ecologycalls for preservingareas that are the most important as well asprotecting natural connections from one areato the next.

It is no coincidence that a couple of themost important habitats have already beengiven specialprotectionsunder the law.Wetlands, for example, offer a tremendousdiversity of habitat for many species. Streamcorridors — when they include a band ofnative vegetation — can be wonderfulthoroughfares for wildlife.

Ihe next challenge of landscapeecology,says Frissell,is to preserve as manynatural connections between these areas as

possible, while providing for the equallyimportant needs of human beings.

"When you fly in a plane over theNorthwest, there is a lot of space not occupied by human development," he said. "Butthe character of the land is the key. It sohappens that the lower, flatter country — thecoastal lands — are virtually gone. There arecritters there that can't just pick up and moveto the mountains."

Humans have managed to buildhighways to get from one community to thenext, Frissell noted. In doing so, we havedisrupted the natural pathways of somewildlife.

"In terms of effects on wildlife, roads


are vastly underestimated," said Frissell."Highways affecteverything from elk toamphibians.Our road corridors need to belooked at in a landscape context."

It may sound farfetched, but overpassescanbe built to channelwildlife fromone side of a highway to another. OnInterstate 90, highway engineers unintentionallydesigned an ideal passage forwildlifeunder the high Denny Creek Bridgenear Snoqualmie Pass. But less expensivestructures may also work well.

At the same time, says Frissell,wehumans need to think about enlarging ourexistingcommunities rather than buildingbrand new ones.

"We need to make sure our cities are

livable," he said, "but I think we are probably going to have a hard time reversing thetrend of people moving into the rural areas.

1raveling north on Highway 101 alongthe western shore of Hood Canal, one issuddenly presented with a long stretch ofunspoiled forestland 15miles beyondHoodsport.

An immense wooden sign along thehighway points out a Girl Scout campknown as "Robinswold."

Walking through the area, JimMessmer,site manager for the camp, pointedout the dozens of activities available to the

girls— from observing marine lifeon theshore to hiking among the 400acres offorestland owned by the regional Girl ScoutCouncil.

The gentle silence was pierced by ascreechingnoise coming from above.Messmerpointed to the top of a toweringtree, where the ruffled head of an ospreypeered down over the edge of a nest. Thenest was nearly straight up from one of thecabins.

'This whole area was clearcut, startingabout 1890," said Messmer. "Now we have100-year-oldsecond growth timber."

Messmer, who has a college degree inbotany, says timber from upland portions ofthe camp and oysters from waterfront areasprovide income for the Girl Scouts. Someareas are left alone for the wilderness

experience."We are in an enviable position of not

being market-driven by timber or oysters orwhatever," said Messmer, who has managedthe site for 13 years.

"This anti-

loggingmovement is

acceleratingthe movement

of land fromforestry andagriculture

into urban and

industrial

development."— Robert Lee,

University ofWashington

sociologist

242 • Conclusion

"Economic

growth andenvironmental

preservationare

interdependent,not mutually

exclusive

interests."

— WashingtonEnvironment

2010, a statewidetask force

Adjacent to the scout camp is a muchlarger piece of property owned by theRobins family. Helena Robins was the onewho donated the 430 acres to the scouts in

1928.

Now her grandson, Dave Robins,manages his family's timberlands andshellfishbeds as income-producing property.

Surprisingly, however, managementtechniques on the Robinsproperty are not somuch different from those at the scout camp.It is simply good management, said Robins.

'There is nothing incompatible, in myview, about good forest practices, waterquality and wildlife habitat," he said.

Selective thinning and even carefulclearcutting are part of the plan, said Robins,who each year clearcuts about 40 acres —roughly 1.5percent of the property —forsustained yield.

The last thing he wants to see isdamage to water quality from loggingoperations, said Robins, "because the oysterbusiness is a good part of our income."

Both Robins and Messmer say theyplant a variety of tree species,not just thedouglas fir that is in demand from lumbermills. Roads are constructed about two yearsbefore logging to allow settling and toreduce erosion. Clearcuts are planned toproduce less impact to wildlife habitat.

It doesn't take a lot of acreage toprovide for both income and the environment, said Gary Hanson, a timber consultantfor the Girl Scout Council.

"Unfortunately," he said, "mostproperty owners don't know how to managetheir timberland."

Ifsaving Hood Canal demands asofterapproach to logging and development, italso requires a stronger commitment fromstate and county officials, says Reed of theS'Klallam Tribe.

"Until recently," he said, "all thecounties were doing was ensuring that theirareas were being degraded, but in an orderlymanner."

Kitsap County is beginning to take onthe appearance of a bedroom community for

metropolitanSeattle,he said. It is losing itsidentity as a rural community with a sense ofhistory and valuable resources.

Controlling urban sprawl sometimesmeans saying "no" to a lot of landownersand would-be developers, said Reed.

Unlike some areas of Puget Sound, it isnot too late for Hood Canal,but it requirespolitical leadership in Kitsap, Mason andJefferson counties,Reedargues. It alsorequires vocal commitment from the peoplewho elect them.

"If a county commissioner were braveenough to speak out, I think he would besurprised at the support he would get," hesaid.

The Kitsap County Board of Commissioners recently made a major dedication ofreal estate taxes for the purchase andpreservation of open space. The move hasbeen widely applauded.

Land trusts, such as the Kitsap LandTrust, Jefferson County Land Trust andHood Canal Land Trust, also stand ready toaccept donations of valuable resource landsor conservation easements, both of whichoffer tax benefits to the donor.

"We found a lot of pent-up desire forlandowners to preserve their property insome way," said Gary Parrot, founder of theHood Canal Land Trust.

A conservation easement lowers the

value of the land and thus the property tax— by setting limits on development, saidParrot. The reduction in value can become a

deduction on the owner's income tax.

The landowner retains title to the

property, which he can then sellor pass on tohis children. But the easement puts thebrakes on development, offering enduringprotections for wildlife and other naturalvalues.

"The greatest threat to Hood Canal,"said Simmons of the EcologicalCommission, "is continued uncontrolled growth.

"None of us should fool ourselves that

things are going to remain the way theyare," she added. "A certain amount of

growth is inevitable. The best we can do ischannel the growth to protect those thingswe find valuable."


Making the University of Washington an Ally

Biologists today would call it a wetlands. But in the early days of HoodCanal, herds of cattle grazed on the

vast meadows at the mouth of Big BeefCreek in Central Kitsap.

Just upstream from the meadows,the creek meanders through a semi-developed property covered by trees andcontaining scattered buildings, a rustytrailer and modern scientificequipmentused for fisheries research.

This 300-acre area, where beef cattleonce roamed freely, is owned by theUniversity of Washington and is calledBigBeefResearch Station.

The site was almost forgotten thepast several years when a shortage offunds forced the university to lease thesite to a private salmon-farming operation. Butnow the facilityis coming backto life as the university resumes controland pumps a quarter million dollars intoreconstruction.

The university's presence on HoodCanal adds another voice in favor of

preserving the natural values of the area,officialssay.

The man in charge here, at least forthe time being, is DickKocan,a professorin the UW's Fisheries Department.

"We had to make a decision

whether we were going to lease it as acommercial operation or run it ourselves," said Kocan. "People in thevarious departments convinced the dean(of the fisheries department) and othersthat this place was simply irreplaceable."

Kocan finds himself fielding requests from a variety of universityscientists who see the outdoor laboratoryas an ideal place to conduct environmental studies that cannot be performed in abuilding in Seattle.

Walking through the site, Kocanpoints out a number of projects alreadyunder way.

One UW researcher, Tom Quinn, isstudying how different types of streamhabitat affect salmon. The creek flows

through a series of pens, each containingdifferent amounts of natural debris.

Researchers placecoho salmon within thepens and measure their growth andsurvival.

In another part of the site, MikeKellett of National Marine Fisheries

Service tests a new machine that auto

maticallydecodes a tiny electronicfish tagas fish swim through the machine. Thestandard method requires killing the fishand removing tags by hand.

Thestate Department of Fisheriesuses BigBeefCreek as an "index stream"for measuring the natural return ofsalmon to Hood Canal. For years now,juvenilesalmon have been trapped andtagged on their way to the sea,whileadult salmon are counted on their wayback up the stream.

Kocansays he is being bombardedby requests from fisheriesexperts whowant to use the stream for studies. And he

has begun to receiverequests from otherresearchers, such as those in zoology, whowant to use upland areas.

Kocan's greatest task is to coordinate all the requests so that work on oneproject doesn't affect the results ofanother, he said.

"If somebody is doing a project atthe mouth (of the creek), can you approvesomething upstream at the same time?"he asked. 'This whole question has mademe look at alternatives or safeguardswhen I approve a project."

The site was acquired by the UW in1964, and by 1968a few serious researchprojectswere under way. Then in the1970s,as the university was drawing upmajor expansion plans, state funding wascut.

Uncertain about the future of the

research station, many university scientists chose not to commit to long-termprojects at BigBeef, said Kocan.

As money dwindled, the universitywas forced to choose between selling theproperty and leasing it to a private party.It chose to lease the site to Scan Am Fish

Farms, which ran the place until its leaseran out.

When Kocan took over, much of the

Hood Canal is

not a clean

slate.

Civilization

has left itsmark on the

landscape. Butfor its size and

resources,

Hood Canal

remains one ofthe most

unspoiledareas left in theUnited States.

244 • Conclusion

area had become overrun with brush. The

roads were in disrepair. Trash was strewnabout.

Now, the university is cleaningupthe site, rebuilding the roads and clearingout unused equipment, including an oldtrailer.Remodelingof a former laboratorybuilding is planned to create livingquarters where researchers can stay. Adeep well, which provides pure water, isbeing improved.

Kocan says it is not unreasonable tobelievethat, in time,BigBeefResearchStation could build a national reputationlike that of the university's marineresearch lab at Friday Harbor in the SanJuan Islands.

Gordon George, the residentcaretaker at BigBeef, has lived in theSeabeck area most of his life. He even

worked at the university site in the early1970swhile he was in high school.George

worries about the future of Hood Canal

and believesthe university's renewedpresencecould becomean important forcein protecting the canal.

Kocansaid he and other universityofficials are interested in protecting thewater quality in BigBeefCreek, eventhough development and logging activities may already have increased theamount of silt in the stream.

BigBeefCreek begins in a marshyarea near the tiny community of Crosby.It flows past Camp Union and into LakeSymington, where it spills over a dam,then makes a wide bend to the north

beforeentering university property."Placeslike this are getting harder

and harder to find," Kocan said. 'Tor thisplace to have been retained by theuniversity and saved for the future showsgreat insight, I think."


Youcould scour Hood Canal from

the bridge to Belfair,and youwouldn't find a soul in favor of

defacing its beauty, of poisoningits life,of chaining its magnificent wildness. Not if you put it

that way. Not one soul.But nature puts it another way. Nature

turns to each of us and asks what we will do

to protect the canal. If we who live here donot answer, it will not be done — and intime, even the questions will scud away likeclouds running before a cold mountainwind, and be forgotten.

We have examined Hood Canal in

every season. We have explored frombeneath its waters to the heights of itswatershed, from its wild places to its loggingcamps, its cities and its submarine base.

Now it is time for us to recommend

solutions to the many problems and challengeswe have found. Theseare not the onlysolutions. We are journalists, not sages. Norare they easy solutions. We aren't magicians,either — just people who live near HoodCanal and who, like you, are among itscustodians.

What followsare seven approaches toprotecting Hood Canal from the threats itfaces. Only state government can accomplish


some of them. Only you can accomplishothers.

We do not claim to be the last word in

setting an agenda for Hood Canal. But, withutter certainty, we do know this:

To do nothing is to lose Hood Canal.

The Watershed: Protection Starts

Here

Across Hood Canal from Seabeck and

down a bit from Dabob Bay,a logger isclearcutting a modest tract. A stream runsthrough the tract, on its way toward HoodCanal.

The logger is among the last of thesmall, independent breed, scrapping to behis own boss in a business gone global andtough. Time is more than money for thelogger; it is survival. He must fell treesquickly, or he loses the economic race.

The logger is under state orders toleave a 25-foot buffer around the stream, buthis hasty march through the forest carrieshim right to the bank in spots. Nobodynotices.

Rain fallsa few days later, and slowly,softly, dirt washes into the stream and worksinto the gravel along its bed. It is an old storyfor the stream. Already, it is silted almost to

Section 4

A Vision

for the

Future

ByMike Phillips

246 • Conclusion

the threshold beyond which salmon eggsmay not survive.

This time, silt builds past the threshold,and another salmon run passes into lore.

Such stories are told every day in theHood Canal watershed. They are told by thewaters and the winds, by the fish and theanimals. They are stories of death drop bydrop, of strangulation one microscopicsqueeze at a time.

Such stories, such problems, cannot becountered by one grand scheme. Instead,they must be met in scoresof small ways. Ifthe Hood Canal watershed is to be preserved, it will be done the way the loggersilted the stream: drop by drop.

Septic systems: Most of us aren'tloggers. But most of us have indoor plumbing. And if we live within the Hood Canalwatershed, that means our plumbing ends ina septic system.

Septic system failure is common. In asensitive watershed like Hood Canal's, septicsystems should be inspected frequently.

We recommend that a three-countyutility district be formed throughout thewatershed. It would charge homeowners asmall annual fee and subjectevery septicsystem in the watershed to regular inspections. It would have the authority to orderrepairs or upgrades, with enforcement beinghandled by the county of residence.

Sewers: Some might argue that allhomes around the canal should be sewered.

We think better maintenance of septicsystems would be far cheaper and just aseffective in most areas.

But in a few high-density spots, sewersnot only make sense, they are essential.Aneffort to sewer the north and south shores of

Hood Canal outside Belfairis moving slowly— far too slowly — through the halls ofgovernment in Mason County.

Forestry review: When permission issought to log a tract of land, the state'sprimary consideration today is to assurereplanting within three years. The HoodCanal watershed would be well served if

applicants also were required to leaveindividually calculated buffer strips aroundstreams, lakes or wetlands, and if theapplicant were further required to observeindividually calculated sedimentation limits(called "thresholds") for streams.

Inspections — now a rarity — shouldbe mandatory in the watershed, and penalties for not meeting the regulations should

extend not just to the logger, but to theowner of the land.

Construction review: In the Hood

Canal watershed, there's a good case to bemade for extending building inspections toinclude stream and wetland protection. Newbuildings should be set back from wetlandsand streams — especially salmon streams.

And construction methods should

include temporary dams or filtered sedimentation ponds to keep dirt or sand fromwashing into streams. Portable toilets shouldbe required for crews working near streams,and they should be properly serviced.

Runoff: Cover too much of the land

with a hard surface, and a path to the canalhas been paved for all of man's chemicals.

It makes sense to offer incentives — tax

breaks, perhaps — to watershed propertyowners who drive on dirt or gravel, whofavor natural vegetation over lawns, whocollectroof runoff and ease it gently into theground.

Bulkheads: Beachesare breedinggrounds for many marine lifeforms.Theyfilter runoff, and they give Hood Canalplaces to cast off its debris.

When people install bulkheads,beaches disappear. No further bulkheadingshould be allowed along Hood Canal'sshores, and as old bulkheads fail, theyshould not be replaced.

Other methods of combatting erosionexist, and state and local agencies shouldhelp property owners learn about them.They also should require that new construction be set far enough back from the bank tolet natural, beach-building erosion take placewithout threatening the structure.

Hazardous waste: The same publicutility that provides septic inspections in thewatershed should also provide frequent andconvenient opportunities to safely dispose ofhazardous household waste.

Garbage collection: Garbage pickupisn't available to all watershed residents. It

should be more than available; it should beuniversal.

Mandatory garbage pickup wouldreduce illegal dumping throughout thewatershed. It would be an added expensefor many property owners. But the privilegeof living so near the canal cannot be hadwithout cost.

Off-road vehicles: Splashing through acreek in a fourwheeler can be great fun, but itrips up the stream bed and creates rutted

channels that help silt find the stream.Off-road vehicle recreation has its

place.Some trails already are available inless sensitive areas, and more could beprovided — away from salmon streams andwetlands.

Walk the last mile: Consider your autoor truck in a different light for a moment: It'sa rolling tank of hazardous material. It picksup greasy road films wherever it goes andsheds them whenever it rains. It leaks.

Your vehicle is hardly Hood Canal'sbest friend. If every road to the waterstopped a mile short, if a nice, well-maintained footpath continued from there, HoodCanal would gain breathing space fromautos and the toxicity that comes with them.

Streams and livestock: Livestock and

clean streams don't mix. But farmers do have

water rights, and animals do need to drink.Streams and livestock can't be kept apartinflexibly,but land-use regulations in thewatershed should limit livestock access to

streams as much as possible. And livestockshould be kept out of wetlands altogether.

Farmers, homeowners and chemicals:Financial incentives for farmers who volun

tarily limit their use of agricultural chemicalswould be a good investment in HoodCanal's future. And a program of chemicaleducation and advice for all who live within

the watershed would give them all the toolsthey need to make at least one contributionto a cleaner, healthier Hood Canal.

Marine Sanctuary: Give Hood CanalSpecial Status

Until two decades ago, Hood Canalwas the mother of salmon by the millions, ofcod and crab, of oyster and clam. From herfertile womb, life flowed into the greatPacific.

Today she is all but barren. Sheproduces salmon through the artificialinsemination of hatcheries. She breeds crab

fitfully and is empty of cod. She is at risk,even, of losing her shellfish as her gentletidal flush falls behind pollution's march.

Before Hood Canal can be such a

source of life again, she must be made safefor life — a sanctuary.

Making Hood Canal a national marinesanctuary would require federal action. Italso would require agencies to give up turf,commercial interests to give up a revenuesource, anglers to give up haunts, tideland


owners to give up a measure of control.Butit would give them — and all of us

— life in return.

Sanctuary status would provide astrong impetus for a non-tribal commercialfishing ban in Hood Canal.

The commercials play a valuable rolein feeding the world, but their shore-to-shoreseines have filtered the canal's life. Their

drag nets have scraped the bottom clean ofhabitat.

Hood Canal is not just another part ofPuget Sound, not just another inlet to bedealt on the table of commercial fishingallocations. It is more fragile than the sound,almost enclosed, flushing so slowly over itsshallow sills that much of its water is

replaced just once a year.It must be set aside.

But even such peace at home will notmean peace abroad for Hood Canal.

The canal's salmon fan out toward all

points of the PacificRim and heavy fishingpressure threatens the canal's ability torenew wild strains. Be they pirates fromTaiwan or legal commercials from Canada,the fishing fleets of other nations can bepersuaded only through negotiation.OurState Department, prodded by our congressmen, will have a stronger case to make aboutHood Canal salmon if the canal is a national

marine sanctuary.The first step toward creating a Hood

Canal National Marine Sanctuary is to getthe area on a site evaluation list. The Hood

Canal Coordinating Council should draft aresolution in favor of the sanctuary, and thethree county commissions should pass it —documenting local support.

Meanwhile, our congressional delegation will need to introduce and lobby forlegislation establishing the site evaluationstudy.

The Harvest: Take the Canal's

Bounty with Greater Care

Until Sen. Brad Owen stopped them in1988,commercial fishermen seeking cod,halibut and other bottom feeders draggedheavy nets across the floor of the canal andscraped it clean of the kelp beds that breedfish and shrimp.

When a combination of fishing pressure and degraded spawning streamsdrastically reduced the canal's wild salmon,state officials responded with massive

248 • Conclusion

releases of hatchery salmon — and setfishing limits too high to assure naturalspawning.

State officials have allowed sea cucum

ber to be harvested so intensively that diversare killing themselves seeking these exoticdelicacies at ever-deeper depths.

And they have proposed that geoduckcolonies, which regenerate themselves in 25-year cycles,be harvested 10years after thelast harvest, using methods that blast a seriesof craters along the bottom, up to 600 yardsfrom shore.

And every time Sen. Owen and otherHood Canal defenders try to move commercial salmon fishing boats out of the canal,they run into a wall of hostility whose bricksare commercial interests and whose mortar

is the state bureaucracy.If Hood Canal were a marine sanctu

ary, and if its managers were devoted to thecanal first and foremost, these changes couldbe made:

Top priority for wild salmon: Wildsalmon provide the genetic material forhatchery salmon, and without them, nomatter how successful our hatcheries, weface a future of genetic inflexibility— unableto respond to unknown diseases or toclimatic changes we can't anticipate today.

Rather than respond to a diminishingsupply of wild salmon by putting largechunks of our resources into hatcheries, weshould respond by investing our resources inrestoring streams, in researchand in fishingenforcement to better protect the wildsalmon.

Manage salmon in smaller units: Forthe computer modelers who determine whatwill be caught every year, a Hood Canalsalmon is a Hood Canal salmon. But a

Dewatto River coho is not a BigBeefCreekcoho. Failure to manage Hood Canal salmonin smaller chunks means we'll miss opportunities to intervene through fisheries management when a particular run is at criticallylow levels.

Encourage shellfish farming: As newresidents line the shore of Hood Canal, theyincreasingly complain about shellfishfarming operations off their beaches.

Their objections primarily are aesthetic.However, they might think the sight asbeautiful as the sun behind the mountains if

they pondered more on the criticalroleshellfish play in protecting Hood Canal.

Shellfish are the first fruits of the sea to

suffer when water quality deteriorates. Theyare succulent morsels, and when theirharvest is forbidden because of pollution,people are quick to notice and to react.

Of all forms of aquaculture, shellfishfarming is the least likely to disturb thelandscape and should be considered asnatural a sight on water as barns andpastures on land.

Severely limit other harvests pendingstudy: We've come to associate geoduck andsea cucumber harvesting with trouble but itneed not be so.

These marine resources also should be

harvested in Hood Canal, but not until moreis known about their cycles of renewal, andnot until the methods involved can be less

dangerous or disruptive of marine habitat.

Governance: Special Powers toProtect a Special Place

Neither watershed protection, nor amarine sanctuary nor marine harvestregulation can happen for Hood Canalunder existing governmental bodies.

In all the agencies, all the layers, all thehalls of government, nobody's first priorityis looking out for Hood Canal. This specialbody of water needs a special protector.

A good approach would be to simplyexpand the role of the Hood Canal Coordinating Council, which presently is a discussion group of representatives from countygovernments and Indian tribes around thecanal. With the help of the Legislature, themembership and duties of the coordinatingcouncil could be expanded, and it couldbecome an effectiveprotector for HoodCanal.

Makeup of the council: Besides thethree counties and the tribes, the statedepartments of Natural Resources, Ecology,Fisheries and Wildlife, and the U.S. ForestService and the National Park Service should

have representatives on the council.In addition, it would be helpful if a few

citizens from the three counties who represent forestry, environmental and economicdevelopment interestswere appointed bythe three county commissions.

Regulatory oversight: One of the mostimportant functions the expanded councilcould provide would be assuring that a widevariety of governmental regulatory functionstake Hood Canal's welfare into account.

Within the watershed, various govern-

mental entities regulate logging, construction, fishing, land use and zoning, publichealth, road construction, wells, sewers,septic systems and waste disposal.

In cases where county commissionshear regulatory appeals — such as zoningappeals from local planning commissions —it might be useful if, in watershed cases, thecoordinating council heard the appealinstead.

In other cases where appeals are heardat a higher level or in the courts, the coordinating council should have standing to makearguments for or against appeals and tolodge appeals of its own.

Model legislation: Hood Canal's newbodyguard also should be charged withrecommending legislation to the Legislatureor ordinances to the three counties that set

up watershed programs like septic systeminspections or special logging standards.

Research: The coordinating councilalso should have central responsibility forenvironmental research in the watershed.

Available state and local research

funds should be channeled to the coordinat

ing council for distribution and the councilshould have funds from state and local

sources to hire a technical staff that could

advise localand other governments aboutmatters ranging from stream flows to soils towildlife populations in the watershed.

No taxing authority: Hood Canalneeds a friend, not a tax collector, and thereis no need for this body to have taxingpowers.

The modest funds needed for staffingshould be diverted from other agencies orshould be shared by counties who each need,for instance, part of a biologist but can'tafford one full-time. Several state agenciesare active in the Hood Canal region, andsome of their manpower could be shifted tothe coordinating council staff. An excellentplace to look would be in the Fisheries officethat makes computer models for the PugetSound fishing industry.

Research: Where Ignorance Wounds,Here Is Healing

People who are worried about HoodCanal's future often use a familiar word in a

new way: "threshold." They're talking aboutthe point where trouble begins, the placewhere a Hood Canal angel dare not tread.

There are — in theory, anyway —


thresholds for forestry and construction: thepoint beyond which those activities,depending on how they are carried out, can doirreparable harm.

There is an ultimate threshold for

Hood Canal. We all know there's room here

for the canal and for people. But how manypeople? The answer to that question depends on how we address the smallerthresholds. Address them well, and there'sroom for many more people withoutharming the canal. Address them poorly,and we already have too many.

Every threshold needs a definition — adefinition thoughtfully created after carefulresearch and thorough, public discussion.But we don't know enough about the canaland its watershed to effectively regulatehuman activity in a way that fairly balanceseconomic and environmental needs.

Soon, urgently soon, we must developa much larger body of knowledge about thewatershed, particularly in these areas:

• Salmon breeding conditions, streamby stream and type by type.

• Sensitive land areas that are high-priority candidates for preservation.

• Stream flow conditions and needs,stream by stream.

• Stream siltation conditions, streamby stream.

• Stream by stream and wetland bywetland, tailored strategies to accommodateconstruction, agriculture or forestry whileprotecting the environment.

• Water supply, throughout ourcomplex, glacier-tumbled geology.

In knowledge, there will be the powerto make intelligent decisions. Money spenton gaining knowledge would, in the longrun, be far more beneficial than money spenton hatcheries or on computer models offishing seasons.

The Public: Improve Access andKnowledge

Hood Canal is one of our great publictreasures, but it is walled off from the publicby a ring of private property. So the publiccan appreciate, understand and support thisnatural treasure, more windows should becut in that wall.

This is by far the most expensive of ourrecommendations for Hood Canal. But we

think of the expense as an investment ofextraordinary value.

250 • Conclusion

Now, before waterfront land is only forthe rich; now, when public support for andunderstanding of Hood Canal are so important; now is the time to open those windows.

Public beaches must be acquired, trailsmust be built, boat launches must be provided.

In the end, only whole-hearted publicawareness and support will preserve HoodCanal, and it isn't reasonable to expect suchsupport when access is so limited.

With access should come education.

Let the marvelous interpretive centersrun by the National Park Serviceinspire us.Such a center in Belfair and at other cross

roads around the canal could educate the

public about wetlands, Indian cultures,forestry and marine life.The centers couldexpose hundreds of thousands of residentsand vacationers to Hood Canal and do more

to protect the watershed than any amount oflegislation.

A special effort should be made toeducate young people about Hood Canal.This generation of adults might manage toconstruct a sound framework of preservationfor the canal,but coming generations willhave to build the rest. Give them a head start

of knowledge that most of us lacked.And last, a modest proposal to raise

public awareness of, and respect for, theHood Canal watershed: On every road orfootpath that crosses into the watershed,place a small sign marking the watershedboundary. Let none of use enter the watershed without being reminded that we havetaken on a special responsibility just by beingthere.

To Save the Canal, Improve OurCities

Everywhere you go in this region,you'll find a great sense of urgency to dosomething about growth around HoodCanal before growth does something beyondrepair to the canal.

Urgency you'll find, but action —regionally coordinated, state-supported andadequately funded — is in short supply.

The sheer physical presence of peopleinside the Hood Canal watershed is a central

issue that can best be resolved by makingnewcomers welcome in urban areas outside

the watershed, by making those areasattractive, livable and stimulating.

Bremerton, for example, could be home

to tens of thousands more people whowould not compete with the canal's salmonfor water and who would not challengethewatershed's ability to filter pollution. Yet forevery one of those new residents, the canaland its riches would be a short drive or

bicycle ride away.As Bremerton improves its housing,

rebuilds its commercial core, cleans up itsstreets and, in scores of other ways, makesitself more attractive to newcomers,Bremerton helps not only itself,but HoodCanal.

Other urban areas are right on theshores of the canal, and they offer specialchallenges.

In the fast-growing Belfairarea, forinstance, a sewer system is urgently neededto protect wetlands at the tip of the canal, butaction has been held up by an avalanche ofred tape.

Almost at the other end of the canal, inPort Gamble, Pope Resources wants to builda good-sized town.

Kitsap County officials believe the ideahas merit if Pope commits most of its otherholdings, many acres in the watershed, toforestry.

How well Mason County meets theBelfairsewer challenge, and how high astandard Pope Resources sets for its PortGamble project might well set a pattern forsuccess or failure as growth continuesaround Hood Canal.

Whatever we do to manage thatgrowth, we must do as a region — as a three-county community of environmentalists anddevelopers, foresters and factory workerswho accept our common responsibility.

Together, we can preserve a magnificent natural legacy.

Apart, we will allow growth to destroyit.

The Cost: A Clean, Healthy CanalWon't Be Free

In growth management strategies nowbeing developed can be found Hood Canal'smost positive hope. What will it cost toprotect Hood Canal?

Not nearly so much hard cash as youmight think.

The bigger cost of our agenda might bereducing governmental cash flow here andthere in return for landowner concessions.

Here are some possible financial

impactsof a vigorous program of preservingHood Canal and its watershed:

• Give tax breaks or transferrable

development rights to watershed propertyowners who write conservation easements

into their deeds.

• Offer tax breaks and free technical

advice to farmers who use agriculturalpractices that might be less efficientbut arefriendlier to the watershed.

• Offer tax breaks or waive inspectionfees or construction permit fees forhomeowners who use good runoff practiceslike gravel driveways instead of concrete.

• Waive inspection, permit or licensingfees for builders who use watershed-friendlytechniques.

• Set up a permitting fast track forbuilders who agree to a set of watershedconstruction standards that exceed the law.

A successful program like this in Horidasaves money and valuable time for the mostconscientious builders.

• Make similar incentives available to

loggers.• With local and state contributions,

fund a 5- to 10-member technical staff for an

expanded Hood Canal Coordinating Council.Let this staff of biologists, geologists andpublic health experts provide the researchand technical advice about the watershed

needed by governments and the public. Thecost would be $200,000 to $400,000 per year,


and some of that could be covered bymoving a position or two out of related stateagencies.

• Capital investments in interpretivecenters and educational trails could come

from a combination of state and local

sources. Interpretive centers like oneplanned in Belfairwould cost in the neighborhood of $3-5 million each. A well-designed interpretive center requires lowmaintenance, just a few staffers to conductprograms, and can take great advantage ofvolunteer docents and guides.

• Money to increase public facilitiesaround Hood Canal would be the greatestexpense of preservation. It probably wouldnot be difficult to spend $40 million or so inthe three counties setting aside waterfrontland. Localbonding would be the mostlikely source of funds.

But the largest contribution wouldcome from the thousands of watershed

residents, who must be asked to approachtheir lifestylesa little differently, to payseptic inspectionand garbage pickup feesand, most important, to accept their specialresponsibility as Hood Canal caretakers.

On that contribution, no price tag canbe placed.

(This section isculled from a series ofeditorials written bySun Editor Mike Phillipsandpublished Aug. 12-17,1991.)

Chapter

15••••••

What You

Can Do

Theprotection, and in some cases,restoration of an ecosystem likethat of Hood Canal's is not just upto governmental leaders orbureaucrats. They can pass laws,make regulations and enforce

rules, but the fragile environment of thecanal watershed would still continue to

decline.

Chapter 11 explored the impact of asingle home being built in the forest. Theindividual designer, home builder and homebuyer have more influence on the ultimatehealth of the Hood Canal ecosystem than thenine commissioners of the three counties that

// will be individual action, as much as

action bygovernment, that keeps theFlood Canal watershed healthy.

border the canal. Landowners themselves

have more to say about protecting fish andwildlife than any of the state agencies. Ifpeople who live in the ecosystem and visit itfor business or pleasure choose a morebenign path, the canal will be the beneficiary.

Here are some things each of us can doto choose that more benign path:

Become a citizen watchdog:

• Know state and county rules. Reportimproper clearing, grading, filling, loggingand dumping. Also report failing septictanks, damage to wildlife habitat and

•252 •

trespassing onto private property. (Start withcounty planning and zoning officialsand gofrom there.)

• Get involved in growth management planning. The result may determinenot only the future of Hood Canal but ofWestern Washington. Start with countyplanning offices.

• Take an active role as city andcounty agencies develop new wetlandsregulations over the coming months.

• Beaware of nearby wetlands andmake sure any planned developmentprotects the wetland.

• Join a land trust or conservationgroup working to acquire deeds or development rights to important wetlands.

Get interested in protecting fish andwildlife:

• Learn about the ecologicalconnections between plants and animals. Books andarticles abound.

• Join the Audubon Society's Adopt-A-Forest program, which seeks to protecthabitat in national forests.

• Investigate plans for state andprivate timberlands. Know the landownersnear your home. Understand their intentions. Recognize what state rules allow.

• Obtain a copy of the forest practicesapplication from the Department of NaturalResources when logging is proposed. Makesure streams, wetlands and critical habitatare listed — and protected. Work cooperativelywith the DNR forester and biologists.When necessary, filean appeal.

• Know the hunting seasons andreport poachers to a wildlife agent. They canbe reached through the Washington StatePatrol, 478-4646.

Conserve water and electricitydrawn from the watershed:

• Know where your water comes fromand how well the system is managed. Beaware of whether demands are increasing,and ask about conservation measures by theoperator.

• Check the results of recent water

quality tests for your water system to seethat they meet all state and federal requirements.

What You Can Do* 253

• Learn to read your water meter ifyou have one. Keep track of daily wateruseage and how your consumption relates toactivities such as watering your lawn.

• Conserve water outside your homeby using native plants or special grasses thatuse less water. You can make an averagelawn more drought tolerant by graduallyextending the time between waterings. Also,remove thatch and aerate compacted soil toimprove watering efficiency.

• Conserve water inside your home byrepairing leaking faucets and toilets. Toiletleaks can be checked by placing a drop offood coloring in the tank and watching to seeif it shows up in the bowl without flushing.Reduce daily consumption in showers,dishwashing and laundry.

• Get involved in water planning foryour county. Kitsap County Public UtilityDistrict is in charge of developing a groundwater management program for the county.

• Conserve electricity by insulatingyour home adequately, turning off lights andappliances when not in use and reducing theuse of hot water. A reduction in Northwest

power demand eases the pressure to buildnew dams.

If you own timberland in thewatershed:

• Keep your land as natural as possible, whatever your future intent.

• Consider thinning trees instead ofclearcutting.

• For assistance, consult a stateforester (1-800-527-3305), join a landownerassociation or hire a professional consultant.

• Keep a portion of your property intrees for birds and wildlife. The area need

not contain the most valuable timber.

• Manage your land so you have treesin a variety of ages, sizes and types.

• Save standing dead trees unlessthey're a safety hazard. They provide homesfor birds and small animals.

• Leave decaying debris on theground whenever possible. It can providefood and /or shelter to many creatures.

• Protect trees and vegetation along astream. Fence the stream to keep out petsand livestock.

• Avoid the use of pesticides. They candestroy important segments of the foodchain.

254 • Conclusion

If your property includes wetlands:

• Protect your property from pollutionand disruption. Leave it natural. Consider aconservation easement to save it forever.

• Maintain buffers at the edge of yourwetlands; 50 to 300 feet is recommended,depending on conditions.

• Keep pets and livestockout of fragileareas. Local conservation districts can

propose alternative watering plans for cattle.• Consider planting native species and

avoid placing non-native plants in your lawnand garden that could invade nearbywetlands.

• Find alternatives to fertilizers and

pesticides near wetlands.• Besure your septic tank is function

ing properly and have it pumped every threeto five years.

• If a wetland is already damaged,enhancement may be possible.Seek professional advice.

If your property includes streams orwaterfront:

• Leave natural vegetation alone.Trees and shrubs shade the stream and keepwater temperatures cool. Insects fall off thevegetation and provide food for fish.

• Plant vegetation to stabilize streambanks. Blackberry bushes, alder trees andwillows provide good root systems to reduceerosion.

• Preserve natural debris. Fallen trees

and boulders are part of the stream habitatand should be removed only if they blockpassage of fish.

• Becareful when building nearstreams. Heavy equipment can destroyspawning gravel, remove important vegetation and cause siltation.

• Keep pets and livestock away.Livestock can destroy vegetation andspawning gravel. Dogs may chase spawningfish and stir up mud in the stream.

• Use garden and lawn chemicalssparingly. Some are toxic. Others canencourage the growth of weeds and algae.

• Keep the beaches clean.• Consider growing clams or oysters if

your beach is safe.• Never use the water for disposal of

anything.• Avoid bulkheads if possible, or at

least coordinate construction with shoreline

neighbors. (For information, contact SeaGrant through your local officeof WSUCooperative Extension Service.)

• Maintain your septic tank. Healthofficials recommend pumping every fiveyears, but it should be checked more often.

• Be informed. Tell others about the

importance of streams and how to protectthem. If you see someone damaging astream, contact the Department of Fisheries,895-4756.

If you are developing your property:

• Learn about ecology and use thelightest touch in developing.

• Take pains to preserve fish andwildlife habitat, then take credit for youraccomplishments.

• Design building sites with the leastimpact to vegetation, especially on slopes.

• Control runoff during construction.• Avoid changing natural conditions

near shorelines, streams and wetlands.

If you live in a home in thewatershed:

• When making home improvements,reduce the amount of hard surfaces. Use

paving stones instead of concrete, groundcover instead of grass lawns.

• Find alternatives to chemical

fertilizers and pesticides or use them sparingly, and only at the right time of year.

• Recycleused motor oil. Never dumpit. (In Kitsap County, call 895-3931 forrecycling locations.)

• Dispose of garbage properly.• Reduce use of toxic household

chemicals, including cleaners and phosphatedetergents. Most chemicals pass straightthrough municipal treatment plants andseptic systems. (For information on alternatives to toxic chemicals, call the state Hazardous Substances Information Office, 1-800-633-7585.)

• Cut back on water use.

If you are a boater:

• Maintain your boat's sewage system.If it has an installed toilet, it must have anapproved marine sanitation device (MSD),either holding or treating the sewage.

• Make sure there is no direct dis-

charge from your marine toilet. Pump outyour toilet at an approved pump-out facility.

• To locate area pump-out stations,call Washington State Parks, 586-8592, orwrite 7150Cleanwater Lane, Mail Stop KY-11,Olympia 98504. On the canal, TwanohState Park, Pleasant Harbor Marina and PortLudlow Marina have pump-out stations.

• Avoid pumping treated sewage inshallow areas or near shellfish beds.

• Use shoreside restrooms when

possible.• Keep track of your fuel level. Avoid

"topping off" the tank, and wipe up spills ondecks and docks.

• Use an absorbent sponge to soak upchemicals in the bilge.

• Check fuel lines for leaks.

• Recycleused motor oil.• Report small spills to the marina

operator. Report larger spills to the Department of Emergency Management (1-800-262-5990), Department of Ecology (753-2353) orCoast Guard (1-800-424-8802).

What You Can Do • 255

• Keep a secured trash container onboard and use it. Don't throw any garbageor sewage overboard.

• Avoid throwing any debris overboard. It is illegal.

• Pick up floating debris and beachedplastics, including tangled fishing line thatcan be especially hazardous to marine life.

• When maintaining your boat, usesanders with vacuum attachments. Catch

paint scrapings and drippings with a dropcloth, then dispose of them in the trash.

• Clean up with non-phosphatedetergents rather than toxicdeck cleaners.

• Avoid paints that contain tributyltin(TBT), which has been banned on all butaluminum boats in Washington state.

• Disposeof chemicals during hazardous waste cleanup days.

If you like to drive around the canal:

• Keep the car tuned and patch anyleaks that may drip oil on the ground.

Appendix

A

Useful

References

Anderson, Helen McReavy, How, When andWhere onHood Canal, Puget Press,Everett, Wash., 1960.

Angell,T.and K.C. Balcomb, Marine Birdsand Mammals ofPuget Sound, Washington Sea Grant Program, Seattle,1982.

Brown, Bruce, Mountain in theClouds: ASearch for the Wild Salmon, SimonandSchuster, New York, N.Y., 1982.

Buchanan, Iva Luella, An Economic History ofKitsap County, unpublished thesis,University of Washington, 1930.

Bunton, Donna, and Robert Sluss, AnIntroduction tothe Natural History oftheTheler Wetlands, for Hood CanalWetlands Project,Belfair, Wash.,1991.

Burns, Robert, The Shape and Form ofPugetSound, Washington Sea Grant Program,Seattle, Wash., 1985.

Cheney,DanielP. and ThomasF.MumfordJr.,Shellfish and Seaweed Harvests ofPuget Sound, WashingtonSeaGrantProgram, Seattle,Wash.,1986.

Clayson, Edward,Historical Narratives ofPuget Sound, Hood's Canal, 1865-1885,Ye Galleon Press, Fairfield, Wash.,1969.

Downing, John, The Coast ofPuget Sound: ItsProcesses and Development, University ofWashingtonPress,Seattle, Wash., 1983.

Gilmore Research Group, The 1988PugetSoundRecreational Boaters Survey,Washington Public Ports Association,1989.

Hood Canal Advisory Commission,Hood

Canal Handbook, Kitsap County Department of Community Planning, PortOrchard, 1977.

Hood Canal Advisory Commission, Report tothe County Commissioners, 1979.

Hood Canal Coordinating Council, Boatingin Hood Canal: Boaters' Guide and

Resource Map, Silverdale, Wash.Hood Canal Coordinating Council, Educa

tional Services Project Final Report,KitsapCounty Department of Community Development,Port Orchard,Wash., 1988.

Hood Canal Coordinating Council, HoodCanal Regional Planning Policy,Silverdale, Wash., 1986.

Hood Canal Coordinating Council, HoodCanal Water Quality Policies Analysis &Element, Port Orchard, Wash., 1987.

Jefferson County HistoricalSociety, WithPride InHeritage: A History ofJeffersonCounty, Port Townsend, Wash. 1966.

Jones & Stokes Associates, Priority WetlandsThreatAssessment, for U.S. Environmental Protection Agency,Seattle,Wash., 1988.

Kitsap County, Department of CommunityDevelopment and Public UtilityDistrictNo. 1,Preliminary Assessment ofWater Resource and Public Water ServicesIssues in Kitsap County, 1986.

KitsapCounty Ground Water AdvisoryCommittee, Kitsap County GroundWater Management Plan, Kitsap CountyPublic Utility District, Poulsbo, 1989.

•256*

KitsapCounty HistoricalSociety, KitsapCounty History: A Story ofKitsap Countyand its Pioneers, 1977.

Magoon,C, and R.Vining,Introduction toShellfish Aquaculture inthe Puget SoundRegion, Washington State Departmentof Natural Resources, Olympia, Wash.,1981.

Meany, Edmond S.,Vancouver's Discovery ofPuget Sound, Bindfords and Mort,Portland, Ore., 1935.

Nehlsen, Willa, Jack E. Williams and JamesA. Lichatowich, "Pacific Salmon at theCrossroads: Stocks at Risk from

California,Oregon, Idaho and Washington," Fisheries,Vol.16,No. 2,March-April 1991.

North Mason Sub-Area Planning Committee, North Mason Sub-AreaPlan,Shelton, Wash., 1990.

Northwest Environmental Consultants Inc.,Theler Memorial Recreation Park Comprehensive Plan, for Mason RegionalPlanning Council, 1979.

Puget Sound Water Quality Authority, PugetSound Water Quality Management Plan(biennial) plus issue papers on numerous topics,Seattleand Olympia, Wash.

Simmons, Donna M., Directory ofEnvironmental Education Resources forthe HoodCanal Region, Hood Canal Coordinating Council,Silverdale, Wash.,1987.

Useful References • 257

Strickland, Richard M., The Fertile Fjord:Plankton inPuget Sound, WashingtonSeaGrant Program, Seattle,Wash.,1983.

Terich,Thomas, Living with the Shore ofPugetSound and the Georgia Strait, DukeUniversity Press, Durham, N.C., 1987.

Washington State, DepartmentofEcology,Coastal Zone Atlas of Washington,Olympia, Wash., 1980.

WashingtonState,Department of Ecology,Instream Resources Protection Program,Including Administrative Rules,(multiplevolumes by area),Olympia,Wash.

Washington State,Department of Fisheries,FisheriesStatistic Reports, Olympia,Wash., annual.

Welch, Janet L., and BillBanks, The QuilcenejDabob Bays Water Quality Project,WashingtonStateDepartment ofEcology, Olympia, Wash., 1987.

Williams, Walter R., Richard M. Laramie andJames J. Ames, A Catalog of WashingtonStreams and Salmon Utilization, WashingtonStateDepartment of Fisheries,Olympia, Wash., 1975.

Yoshinaka,Marvin S.,and Nancy J. EUifrit,Hood Canal: Priorities forTomorrow, U.S.Department of Interior,FishandWildlife Service, 1974.

Appendix

b

The Series

Muchof the material in this

book was originally published over the span of a yearin The Sun, a newspaper inBremerton, Wash., that

circulates in the Hood Canal

watershed.

The stories in the series were re-edited

and updated for inclusion in the book. Insome cases, whole new pieces were added;in other cases, articles were significantlyshortened.

What follows, for researchers orreaders who want to refer to the originalmaterial, is a listing of the dates of originalpublication.

Part I: Introduction

July 9,1990: A waterway of nationalsignificance.

July 10,1990:The canal's watershedJuly 11,1990: Native Americans in the

canal's history.July 12,1990:Early logging and white

settlement.

July 13,1990:The people of Hood Canal.July 14,1990:Driving tour of the canal.

Part II: Recreation and Tourism.

Aug. 20,1990: Recreatiqnal uses of HoodCanal.

Aug. 21,1990:Economicsof the growingtourist trade.

Aug. 22,1990: Impacts of recreation.

Part III: Fishing

Sept. 24,1990: The Boldt decision andtribal fishing.

Sept. 25,1990:Commercial fishing onHood Canal.

Sept. 26,1990: Sports fishing.Sept. 27,1990: Habitat loss and its threat

to salmon.

Part IV: Logging

Nov. 12,1990: A Log's Long Journey.Nov. 13,1990: Logging's Delicate Eco

nomics.

Nov. 14,1990:Profile of a logger.Nov. 15,1990:The spotted owl contro

versy.

Nov. 16,1990: For Timber or the Environment.

Part V: The Oyster

Nov. 22,1990:The oyster industry.Nov. 23,1990: Tribal claims to shellfish.

Part VI: The Culture of Hood Canal

Jan. 2,1991: Northwest Indian culture.Jan. 3,1991: Creating art on Hood Canal.Jan. 4,1991: Artists of the canal.

Part VII: Wetlands

Feb. 18,1991: Miracles of the Marsh.Feb. 19,1991: A Puddle of Life.Feb.20,1991:A Regulatory Patchwork.

Part VIII: Life on Hood Canal

March 18,1991:Growing Pains: A look atBelfair.

March 19,1991: New Homes Jam SouthPoint.

March 20,1991:Plush Properties.March 21,1991: Waterfront Land Rush.

Part IX: Development

April 29,1991:Houses Everywhere.April 30,1991: Turn Around, and It's

Gone.

May 1,1991:Planning for Growth.

Part X: Water Resources

June 10,1991: A Precious Commodity.June 11,1991:Jockeying for the Resource.June 12,1991: Water Demand Grows.

Part XI: Bangor

July 2,1991: A Setting for AwesomeFirepower.

July 3,1991:400 Feet Below the Canal.July 4,1991: Mission: Keep it Clean.July 5,1991: Hood Canal's Largest

Community.

Part XII: Conclusion

July 29,1991: Memories of the Canal.July 30,1991: Preservation Through

Action.

July 31,1991: An Uncertain Future.

•258*

ANE Forests of Puget Sound, 74-76Access

Impacts of, 170Public, 8-12,249-50

Ackerman, Alvin & LaVerle, 219;photo 143

Adams, William J., 60Ah Fong's Gold, 13Alderbrook Inn, photo 8, map 163

Golf course watering, 181Sewer 178,182

Allyn, Port of, 182-83Anderman Sand and Gravel, 185Anderson, Mary Helen, 162Andrews, Joseph A. Sr., 190-91;

photos 139,190Aquifer recharge, 39-40,187-189

(see also stormwater runoff)Artists

Barron, Mark, 217-18Blaine, John & Iriss, 221-222Iglitzin, Alan (musician), 223Lundemo, Ken, 223-24Matchett, William, 222-23Michaels, Katherine, 222-23Hawkins, Virginia, 223-24Olympus Manor artists colony,

225

Auto touring, 8-11,162Automobile

Pollution, 184Wetland impacts, 170

B

Bald Point, 214

Bangor Base, 131-154(See Naval Submarine Base at

Bangor)Bangor community, 5,61; map 7Barber, John, 208Barron, Teresa & Mark, 117,118,

217-18

Beavers, 49-50Becker,George & Maryjane, 157Bed & breakfast inns, 211Belfair,map 204

Drive to, 9Growth center, 250History, 61Name change, 203-04Pollution, 116Rural atmosphere, 202-05Sewer project, 182,204Sewers, recommended action,

250

Urban sprawl, 216-17Wetlands, 3,44-48

Belfair Cafe, 203Belfair State Park

Recreation, 9Shellfish restrictions, 5,182

Bernthal, Carol, 50-51BigBeefAquifer, 39BigBeefCreek, 126,243-44Big Beef Research Station, 39,243-44BigMission Creek, 45BigQuilcene River (see Quilcene

River)Blaine, John & Iriss, 221-22, photo

138

Blinn, Marshall, 60Boating

Education, 166,167

•259*

Index

Law, 166Pollution, 165-67Sewer pump-outs, 166What you can do, 254-55

Boldt Decision

Basis for, 96-97Change in management, 91-93Coho agreement, 111-13Future issues, 97Independence for tribes, 93,95Non-Indian views, 92,101,104Oysters, 124

Boldt, District Judge George, 92-93,96-97

Bremerton

Growth center, 250Water supply system, 31,38,42

Bridgehaven, 206-208, photo 206Brinnon, 19,61,218, map 19Brown Point, 11Bruns, Bill,202,204-05, photo 202Buckingham, Nelsa, 51Bulkheads, 183-184,246Busch, Russ, 27-28

Callicott, J. Baird, 237-38Camping clubs, 161Carriere, Ed, photo, 195-96,photo

195

Casad Dam, 38,42Cattail Lake, 151Cavenham, 76Chamber Music Institute, 223Charrier, Larry, 98-102Chase, Waldo, 225Chelan Agreement, 31

260 • Hood Canal

Chesapeake Bay,5,116Chetzemoka, Chief 193-94Clark, Jerry, 66,67,68Clifton, 61,203Close, Bob, 186,209-210Coast Guard, 167Coast Oyster Co., 4,116,118,120,

121, photo 120Conservation easement, 242Conservation ethic, 84,237-38 (see

also preservation) Conservation, water, 39

Construction (see development)Cougars, 18,230Creeks (see rivers and creeks)Crowley, Bob,86,240-41Crown Zellerback, 76Crosby, 11Cushman Dam, 23-26,27-28,160,

161, photo 23, maps 25,28

D

Dabob Bay,map 133Humming noise, 13Oyster growers, 115-16Oyster reproduction, 117,128Trident testing range, 145-148

Dalby,Fritz, 225Dams

Casad, 38,42Cushman, 23-26,27-28,160,161Elkhorn, Hamma Hamma, 33-35Quilcene, 30,41Salmon, effect on, 25

Daniels, Keith, 175-76,177Davis, Irene, 45,203Davis, John &Judy, 216-17, photos

143,216Daviscourt Estate, 210,214Day, Jon and Loanna, 126-28,130Decoteau, Mildred, 192Dennison, Larry, 187Development, Chapter 11,map 188

Erosion, 176-77Fertilizer, 178Garbage, 177-78Impervious surfaces, 176-77Oysters, effects on, 117,129Pets, 178Pressures, 240, map 188Recommended actions, 246Recreation oriented, 160-61Stormwater runoff, 176-77Timberland conversion, 181What you can do, 254Wildlife, impacts on, 178,189

Devil's Lake, 169-71,map 170,photos 137,169

Dewatto, 11,26,61,94,215Dewatto Bay, 11,212-13

Dewatto River, 26Dosewallips River, photo 17,map

36

Elk herd, 86-87,235Row characteristics, 17-19Indian meaning, 26Power potential, 33-35Preservation, 234Seal pollution, 118Soutlkobsh Indians, 193Water supply question, 26,30Wild salmon, 234

Dosewallips State Park, 116,156Driftnet fishing,94Driftwood Key,176, map 177Duckabush River

Elk herd, 87Mosquito fleet, 61Preservation, 234Water supply question, 26,30

Duffy, Bill, 42

Ecological Commission,Washington State 30

Economics (see also real estate)Conservation ethic, 237-38Fishing, Indian, 93Fishing, non-Indian commercial,

99-101

Fishing, sport, 106Land owners, 74-76Oyster trade, 119Recreation, 160-64Timber, 71,72-73,80-82,86Timber tax, 77

Education, environmental, 126-28,166,167,180,235-36,252-255Eel Glacier 17-19, map 18

Eldon, 162,163Electrical Power Generation

Cushman Dam, 24-25,26Elk Horn, Dosewallips,33-35Hamma Hamma, 33-35

Elk, 51,86-87,235Elkhorn Hydro Project, 33-35, map

34

Endangered Species Act, 66,86Erosion, 176-77,183Ethics, 111, 113,235,237-38Exploration of Hood Canal, 60

Fish, Chapter 7, map 112As symbols, 113Bulkheads, effects, 183Coho decline, 188,232Dams, effects, 25,30,32,34-35Development, effects,177

Endangered runs, 32Genetics, 111, 231-32,248Habitat management, 110History of damage, 108Keystone species, 231-32Natural runs, 111-114Spawning streams, map 112What you can do, 253

Fish hatcheries

Boldt, impact of, 93,99-101Consequences of, 32,234,247-48George Adams, 25Hoodsport, 104Naval Submarine Base at

Bangor, 151Point No Point Treaty Council,

95

Quilcene, 29-30,31-32, photo 29Sign of desperation, 108,113-114Sport enhancement, 93,106

Fisheries,State Dept. of,Coho decline, 232Commercial vs. sport, 105-06Development plans, review, 189Enforcement, 91Hatcheries, 234-35Index stream, 243Management, 91-92Sport preserve, 104-06,114Fisherman's Harbor, 11

Fishing, Chapter 7, photo 144Bait business, 102Ban proposed, 92,114Bottom fish, 99-101Commercial harvest numbers,

100

Conflicts, 105-06Enforcement, tribal, 91-93, photo

91

Fish preserve, 92,114Foreign fleets, 247Gillnetter, 99,101Hatchery fish, 102,104Indian, 94-96photo 91Management, 91-93,96-97,110,

111-13

Marine sanctuary, 247,248Purse seiner, 98-99Recommended action, 248Sport decline, 103-06

Florida, USS, 135,145-48, photos131,145

Forbes, Glen & June, 176,177Foulweather Bluff, 46Frissell, Chris, 231-32,241

Gable, Clark, 209,211Garbage, 177,178,246Gates, Bill, 210

Geology, map 21Affectson pollution, 117,182Navy, advantages to, 132Sills, 5,22

Girls Scout Camp, 241-42Glaciers, 17,38Glyn Ayr RV Park, 161Goldsmith, Sir James, 76Golf courses, 181,210Gonzales, Cmdr. Henry, 132,145,

149

Goodpaster, Jim Sr., 80-82,photo 81Gorsline, Jerry, 49-52, photos 137Gravel mining, 184-85Groundwater formations, 37-39Growth management

County role, 240-41Decisions, 239-40,250Landscape ecology, 241Logging, 89-90Mason County, 185-86Oyster growing, 118Resource protections, 38-40,54-

56,177,189Growth patterns, 212-13,214,234,

235,240-41

H

Hamma Hamma Oyster Co., 119Hamma Hamma River

Elevation drop, 18Hiking, 9Hydro project, 33-35Indian meaning, 26Water supply question, 26,30

Handly, Mike, 69-71Hanson, Gary, 179,180,242Hansville, 176Happy Hollow, 214Hatcheries (see fish - -, oyster - -)Haw, Frank, 24Hawk, Pat, 199-200Hawkins, Virginia, 223-24Hayes, Gordon, 4,118Hayes, Vern, 121Hazelwood, Chuck and JoAnne,

210-211, photo 143Highways, impacts of, 184Highways, map 10Hintz, Gary, 65Hintzville, 11Hirschi, Chuck & Ida Faler, 62-63Hirschi, Ron & Brenda, 107-110,

218-19,233-36,photo 235Holly, 11,61Hood, Admiral Samuel, 22,60Hood Canal Bridge, 11,161,207,215Hood Canal Coordinating Council,

167,187,247,248

Hood Canal Land Trust, 4,46,48,242, map 5

Hood Canal Salmon ManagementPlan, 92,111-113

Hood Canal School, 199Hood Canal Seafood, 115-16Hood Canal Wetlands Project, 44-

48, photo 44,maps 45,47Hoodsport, map 161

Drive to, 9Octopus holes, 13Mosquito fleet,61RV parks, 161,162

Hoodsport Grocery, 160Hoover, Al, 184-85Horsley, John, 187-89Hungry Bear Restaurant, 163

I

Iglitzin, Alan, 223Impervious surfaces, 176-77,184Indian culture, Chapter 12

Arts, crafts, 195-96,197-98Basket making, 195-96,198Bent boxes, 197-98Boldt decision, 93,96Carving, 196Chetzemoka, Chief 193-94Cushman project, 27-28Fishing, 95Language, 200-01Song, dance, 194Spiritual practices, 194Teaching, 195-96,197-98,199-200Tribes, locations, map 192

Inns, bed & breakfast, 211

j

Jackson, Garth, 26,28Jefferson County Land Trust, 242Jefferson County PUD, 33-35Jerkovich, Nick, 98-101, photo 98Jones, Jake, 197,photo 139

K

Kelp beds, 105-06,235King's Spit, 5Kirk, G.R., 74-76Kitsap Bait Sales, 102Kitsap Memorial State Park, 156Kocan, Dick, 243-44

Lake Chelan Agreement, 31Lake Cushman, 80,160,161Lake Cushman Hydro Project, 23-

26,27-28, maps 25,26

Index • 261

Lakeness, Kirk, 115-16Land trusts, 242Landscape Ecology, 241Lartz, Ralph, 219-20Laudine DeCoteau Creek, 107Lawn chemicals, 178Leopold, Aldo, 238Lichatowich, Jim, 32,108Lilliwaup

Mike's Beach Resort

Rest A While resort, 161Lilliwaup Wetlands, 49-52,photo

49, map 51Litter, 166,168Little Mission Creek, 45Little Quilcene River (see Quilcene)Lockhart, James, 182-83Logging, Chapter 6

Clearcutting, 69-71,177,185Conflicts, 86-88Daily life,78-80Development, 178Harvest levels, 87Impacts on fish, 97,107-08,108-

09,218-19,231,234Impacts on oysters, 118Jobs, by county, 72Lilliwaup Wetlands, 50,52Modern methods, 64-68,69-71,

236

Recommended actions, 245-46Small property owners, 179-80(See also timber...)

Lundemo, Ken, 223-24, photo 221Lynch Cove, 20-22,44-48,116

M

Manke & Sons, 74Marine debris, 168Marine sanctuary, 62,234,247Martin, Clarence & Dorothy, 51Martin, Louis, 115Mason County Protection Assn.,

186

Mason County PUD 1 & 3,33Mason County Tourist Center, 161,

164

Matchett, William, 222-23McBreen,Dennis, 167,233-36, photo

236

McElligott, Cmdr. Marie, 135-36Melbourne Lake, 51Messmer, Jim, 241-42Michaels, Katherine, 222-23Mike's Beach Resort, 162Milholland, Myrna, 200-201Miller, Bruce, 194,198, photo 193Minerva Beach RV Park, 162Misery Point, 118,123Moran, Catherine, 192

262 • Hood Canal

Mosley, John, 145-46, photo 145Mountains (see Olympic Moun

tains)Muir, John, 61,237-38Musicians: Alan Iglitzin, 223Mygatt, Chris, 132,134-136

N

Native Americans (see Indians)Nature Conservancy, 46Naval Submarine Base at Bangor,

Chapter 9, photo 150Delta pier, 133Deterrence, concept, 148-49Family life,134-36Nuclear safety, 152-54Pollution, 152-53Strategic location, 132-33Submarine traffic, 11Submarine trials, 145-148

Navy, US., 11,13,131-154Nellita, 11,61,222-23Nelson, Bert, 102Nobles, Ore, 225Nordstrom family, 210North Mason School District, 46-47,

204

North Mason Subarea Plan, 219-20North Shore, 9,161,182,184,203-04,

214 (see also Belfair, Tahuya)Northern spotted owl, 78-84,86Northwest Rivers Council, 35

O

Octopus holes, 13Old-growth timber, 78-80,84,86,

171

Olympic Kayak, 35Olympic Mountains

Geology, 20-22Inspiration, 221,222,224Mount Anderson, 17Mount Constance, 18Mount Skokomish, 23Saddle Mountain, 50Views, 177,188,123

Olympic Mountain Music Festival,223

Olympic National ForestBackpacking & camping, 162Car touring, 162Forest management, 42,86,87-88Spotted owl, 78-80,82-84Wild & Scenic Rivers, 33,35

Olympic National Forest Management Plan, 33,35

Olympic View, 210,223-24Olympus Manor, 225Osborne Lake, 51Otto, Ivy, 82-84,photo 83Otto, Larry, 156-57

Owen, State. Sen. Brad, 92,104,114,233-36,247-48

Oysters, Chapter 8, photos 115,144,map 127

Business & culturing, 4,115-16,117,120-21,126-28,242

Japanese, 117,120Harvest, by year, 116Health restrictions,234,map 127History, 116-17Legal issues, 117,123-26Pollution, 117-18,125Property conflicts,123-25Reproduction, 117,121Research, 120-21Shucking, 115Tribal harvest, 123Types, 116,119,120

PacificCoast Oyster Growers Assn.,116,117

Pacific Funding Corp., 74Panama, sunken ship, 13Paradise Bay,222Parks, Washington State

Belfair, 5,182,9Dosewallips, 116,118Driving tour, 9-11Potlatch, 9Scenic Beach,Twanoh, 19,155-57,166,209Visitors, 156-57

Parrot, Celia & Gary, 3,4,7,242,photo 53

Pasco, Duane, 196,197,photo 197Pederson, Dick & Celine, 78-80,

photo 79Penny Creek, 29Peters, David, 5Phillips, Jean, 35Pickel, Marie, 46-47Pinchot, Gifford, 237-38Plankton, photo 126

Annual blooms, 130Red tide, 129-30, map 130

Pleasant Harbor, 165-67Point No Point Treaty Council, 91,

95,97,113,232,111-13,124Pollution

Agricultural, 236Automobile, 178,184Bangor, 133,152-53Boating, 165-67Garbage, 178Gravel mining, 185Lawn chemicals, 178Logging, 97,107-08,108-09,118,

177,185,218-19,234Marine debris, 168Seals, 116,118Septic tanks, 178

Oysters, effect on, 116Oyster growers fight, 117Recommended action, 247

Pope, Andrew Jackson 60,62Pope Resources

Dosewallips elk, 86-87Formation, 61,67Land owner, 72-73,74-76Management policies, 76Port Gamble plans, 250Timber trade, 71

Pope & TalbotHistory, 60-61,62-63, photo 59Mill shutdown, 66-68

Port Ludlow log dump, 66Port Ludlow Marina, 166Port Gamble

Driving tour, 11History, 60-61,62-63,218Mosquito fleet, 61Pope Resources plans, 188,250Sewers, 178Shellfish, 122,234

Port Gamble S'Klallam Art Center,196

Port Townsend Paper Mill, 42Port Townsend water supply, 31,

41-41

Potlatch, 9,61Preservation

Ethics, 237-238Preservation area, 234,247Reasons for, 3,62,82-83,234(See also conservation)

Price Lake, 51Puget Mill Company, 60-61,62-63Purdy Creek, 184Purser, Irene, 192

Quilcene, map 121History, 61,219Indian meaning, 26Mosquito fleet, 61

Quilcene Bay, 116-118Quilcene National Fish Hatchery,

29-30,31-32, photo 29Quilcene Oysters, 4-5,116,119,121,

128

Quilcene River, map 42Water supply, 24,31,41-42,87Fish hatchery, 29

R

Real estate prices, 177,212-213,214-215

Recreation, Chapter 10Boating, 165-67Lake Cushman, 28Off-road, recommended action,

246-47

Olympic National Forest, 162Oyster picking, 116Scenic drive, 8-11Scuba, 12-13Shrimping, 161,163Twanoh State Park, 155-57Visitors, 160-161,163-64Wild and scenic rivers, 35

Red tide, 129-30,map 130Redman, Marjorie, 233-36Reed, Mike, 32,89,108,181,189,

242,242Regulations

Bewatchdog, 252-53Effecton price, 177

Rest A While resort, 161Rivers and creeks

BigBeefCreek, 243-44Big, Little Mission Creeks, 45Dosewallips, 17-19,26,30,32,33-

35,45,86-87,118,193,234,235, photo 17, map 36

Duckabush, 26,30,32,46,61,87,218,234

Hamma Hamma, 9,18,30,33-35Indian names, 26Laudine DeCoteau Creek, 107-08Penny Creek, 29Purdy Creek, 184Quilcene, 18,29-30,31-32,41-42,

45,87,118Seabeck Creek, 108-09Silt Creek, 17Skokomish, 9,18,22,25-29,32,

60,184Tahuya, 205Union, 24,31,38,42,185Wild & Scenic, 35

Robins, Dave, 242Robinson & Noble, 37-38,39Robinswold, 241-42, photo 239Rogers, Andy, 229-232, photo 229Rose Point Resort, 158-59Runoff (see stormwater)

Salmon (see fish)Scenic Beach State Park, 9Schafer Castle, 209Seabeck, map 61

Ah Fong's Gold, 13Drive to, 9Mill, 13,60,61Mosquito fleet, 60Oyster beds, 123Proposed mussel farm, 118Sunken wreck, 13

Seabeck Bay, 129Seabeck Creek, 108-09Seabeck Marina, 104,167Seal Rock Campground, 116

SewageAlderbrook, 182Belfair, 250Boater, 165-67Failing drainfields, 166,178,182-

83

Recommended actions, 234,246Shellfish

Bangor Base, 152Belfair, 182Early Indians, 192Geoducks, 248Health restrictions, 234Kitsap moratorium, 118Mussels, 118Tribal harvest, 122-24(Seealso oysters, pollution)

Shipley, Bill, 207Silt Creek, 17Simmons, Donna, 30-31,86,88,167,

233-36,240,242,photo 234Simpson Timber Co.

Land ownership, 74-76Lilliwap wetlands, 51

S'Klallam TribeFishing enforcement, 91Fishing management, 91-93Language, 200-01Shellfishing, 122-24

Skokomish River, photo 103, maps28,104

Discovery of,60Driving tour, 9Highways, 184Indian meaning, 26North Fork, 23-24Silty water, 12-13,22

Skokomish Tribe

Basket making, 198Coho decline, 111-113,232Fishermen, 93,94-96Fishing gear, 94-95Fishing management, 91Hood Canal School, 199Oyster harvest, 123Treaty rights, 25,27-28

Smith, Bill, 94-95,photo 94Smith, David & Carol, map 180

Old cesspool, 178Timber management, 179-80

Smith, Tim, 116-17,119Snooke Junction, 161South Point, 206-208,161,map 207South Shore, 166,184,209,210,214,

215 (see also Belfair, Twanoh,Union)

Spotted owl, 78-84,86Staircase Rapids, 23-24Starvevich, Max & Ester, 6-7,214,

photo 6Stavis Bay 229-232,240-41, map 230Stavis Creek, 232Stormwater runoff, 176-77,189,246

Index • 263

Strategic Weapons Facility,149,150Sunset Beach Grocery, 161

Tabook Point, 11Tacoma City Light, 25,26,33-35,27-

28

Tahuya, 9,11,26Tahuya River, 205Talbot, Frederic, 60,62Tarboo Bay, 215Tax incentives, need for, 250-51Telles, Larry, 29,31-32Theler, Mary E.,Community

Center, 7,44-45,46-47,203Theler Wetlands, 44-48, maps 45,47Timber industry, Chapter 6

Automation, 86Conversions, 181,240Economy, early days, 60-61Economy, today's, 69-71Economy, regional, 72-73,83Harvest levels, 87Management, Bangor, 151Ownership, 74-76,179-80,241-42,

Practices, 76Small land owners, 179-80Sustainable Forestry Roundtable,

90

Tax structure, 77Thresholds, 90Timber, Fish & Wildlife agree

ment, 89What you can do, 253(See also logging)

Toandos Peninsula, 11,64, map 66Tom, Bernard, 91, photo 91Trail's End, 206-208Trail's End Tavern, 207Trammel, Virginia, 158-59Traveler's Insurance, 74-76Trevathan, Charlie & Mary, 122-23,

124

Trident Submarine Base, 131-54(see Naval Submarine Base...)

Trillium Corporation, 74-76Twanoh State Park, map 156,photo

155

Recreation, 9,155-57Sewage pumpout, 166Visitors, 156-157Water temperature, 19

u

Union

Alderbrook Inn, 178,181,182Drive to, 9Golf course flooding, 185-86,

photo 181Highway culverts, 184

264 • Hood Canal

History, 61Olympus Manor art colony, 225

Union City, 61Union Marina, photo 12Union River

Bremerton water supply, 24,31,38,42 .

Gravel mining impacts, 185United Property Owners of Wash

ington, 124-25USS Rorida (see Rorida, USS)Usnick, George & Delores, 123,125,

photo 122

Vancouver, Capt. George 22,59-60

W

Walker, Jerry, 44-45,46-47Walter, John, 76,87Washington Timberland Manage

ment, 179,180,242Water characteristics

Bangor Base, 133

Rushing action, 3-4High water tables, Belfair, 182Highways, impact, 184Layering, 12-13Low oxygen, Lynch Cove, 182Oysters, 117Rainfall map, 39Stream sediment, 189Temperature, 19Wetland values, 46What you can do, 253,254

Water resources, Chapter 4Average use, 177Bremerton, 31,38,42Chelan Agreement, 25-26Cushman Project, 23-26Drinking water standards, 41-42Elkhorn, Hamma Hamma, 33-35Fish, wildlife needs, 30Future supply, 37-40Garbage impacts, 178Geology, 37-38Golf course consumption, 181Groundwater, 3940,177-78Minimum stream flows, 30-31Politics, law, 30-31

Port Townsend, 31,41-41Skokomish negotiations, 27-28(See also rivers)

Water Resources Act, 31Webster, Lawrence, 191-92Wentlandt, Carol & Sanford, 203,

205

Werner, Neil, 204Wetlands, Chapter 5, map 55

Beaver ponds, 49-50Growth management, 54-56Highways, impact, 184History of diking, 45Mosaic, 50Plant, animal communities, 47-

48,50-52Regulations, 54-56,177Theler, 44-48, photo 44Values, 47-48,49-52,54What you can do, 254

Wheeler, Bob, 42Wilcoxen, Dee, 207Wild Rivers Conservancy, 35Wild & Scenic Rivers, 35Wright, Capt. Malcolm, 132,133,

136,149

rsBN 0-9630365-0-5

ilillillililillililil ililrllllilfilISBN U-18303h5-t t -5

hood canal - splendor at risk

Documents