JULY 12, 2018 // 21
CLOSE TO HOME
ENVIRONMENTAL BATTLES
LOST AND WON ON 101
By DAVID CAMPICHE
FOR COAST WEEKEND
A
bove Willapa Bay are
tumbling gunmetal
clouds and intense
bursts of sapphire blue.
Driving U.S. Highway 101
north from the Peninsula, I
find my emotions equally
tangled. My eyes dart to and
fro with nostalgic sideways
glances. My youth is flying
by.
On this bay, my brother
Jeff and I camped, fished,
hunted geese and green- and
chocolate-headed waterfowl
and hiked long miles across
mudflats, shorelines and
through sedges and yellow
waving grasses. On the fir-
lined ridges that unfurl in
undulating sheets of green
on green, we foraged for
golden chanterelles.
We filled frayed reed
baskets with pungent
mushrooms and begged
the neighbors to indulge in
the bounty, but in the early
1960s, we were summarily
dismissed. “You trying to
poison me, kid? Yuk!”
We moved on, back to
Mom’s kitchen. She sautéed
the morsels with chopped
bacon and onion, slopped in
a few drams of white wine,
heavy cream and a big pat
of butter before pouring
the whole bubbling fan-
dango over fettuccine. And
she smiled as the family
tummies purred with joy,
the reward of hunting and
gathering. We boys were so
proud!
The vast networks of
forests and streams, once
wild and daunting to our
ancestors, were now owned
by Weyerhaeuser and Crown
Zellerbach, and most of
the great trees were com-
ing down. If a half-dozen
logging companies defined
that process as harvesting,
we two brothers used other
words to describe the de-
spoiled and ravaged land-
scape. The riparian zones
that bordered the rivers were
pummeled one by one, and
the salmon disappeared
in historic numbers. The
forests of the Northwest
were becoming shadowlands
to second- and third-growth
hybrid plantations.
Jeff and I fished for sea-
run cutthroat, filled strings
with the silver glittering
fish. Mom rolled the trout in
cornmeal, then fried them in
olive oil with a handful of
garlic. Dang, they were so
fresh and so good. My fa-
ther, a ghetto kid from South
Side Chicago, could never
eat enough. Now the fish is
endangered.
Continued on Page 22
DWIGHT CASWELL PHOTOS
Sunset at High Point, Long Island, Wash.
Great Blue Herons (the camera looking north toward Long Island, Wash.).