The Star - News, views and advertising of the Grand Coulee Dam Area

Still in his dream state and far away from his storage site in the town of Coulee Dam, Sammy paused for a time in the deep, clear waters of the upper Columbia River to listen to his friend, a two-legged man named Billy Frank, Jr., talk about life on earth. He said to himself that he’d remember Billy’s observations and share his wisdom with his old and new friends during his trip down the river.

With his tail moving behind him at a fast clip, Sammy decided to check out the river’s surface above him; he saw the shadows of two-legged people, fishing from boats and barges. Down underwater, he felt the turmoil from high-powered motors, and noisy machines treading the waves; and just because he could, he started gawking at the visitors, looking at them in awe. He saw many people, of all shapes and sizes, swimming, wading and paddling with their heads bobbing like water balloons. Some of the visitors swam with their four legged creatures, called dogs.

Sammy liked watching the dogs, swimming with paws paddling, their tails flopping too. He thought it was funny that the two-leggers’ pets had so much fun in his river, chasing sticks and brightly colored toys. He liked their game, that of swimming back to shore and out again. He decided that the dogs, and especially the children playing with them, were there for summertime fun on the river, not for the fun of fishing for us.

When a two-legged man, wearing a slippery suit, fins and an ugly gizmo on his face, swam up next to him, Sammy slapped at him with his tail and swam off as fast as he could, heading for a place in the river that he longed to see again.

Sammy at Kettle Falls And then where?

Once, the important gathering site of two-legged native people had been a fishing site, called Kettle Falls, a river-spanning formation, lodged in the river’s channel where fast moving waters rushed over timeworn rocks, finally cascading into waiting pools.

Each season, when the salmon were “running,” fishermen and their families came to Kettle Falls by the hundreds, to harvest salmon, their life-sustaining food source. During those harvest times, the waters filled with Sammy’s relatives. Some people believed that the life-giving water created a mist, healing the parched flesh of all of the creatures connected to the river.

A few days ago, Sammy swam around in the ancient grounds, now underwater at Kettle Falls, and the thought crossed his memory that in decades past the yearly catch sometimes went by quickly; in a few hours of spearing and netting, the people, with some travelling from far away, caught what they needed to feed their families in the months to come when food was scarce. And the two-legged people held feasts at these gatherings, to honor the fish for giving up their lives.

Sammy made his way underwater, stopping close to the rocky falls formation; there, in a cool spot, he met eye-to-eye with a few small salmons. With a half-dozen new friends in tow, he settled down for a long visit with them. He was ready to share his thoughts and stories about life in the Columbia River. Since he was a fully developed salmon, he was their elder and an honored guest.

The young salmon were eager to hear his stories, so he began by remembering what the wise old Salmon Chief told him: This is the place where the salmon once jumped for their lives. Yes, Kettle Falls was a sacred place for the ancient ones, both man and fish, and it still is today.

A day or two later, Sammy was ready to leave; not that he wanted to, but he felt his calling. With a farewell, and not even a quick look back up the river, Sammy made one last leap into the mist. He was gone again.