Summer

This was a familiar journey, one they had made many times; it was a journey that marked the passing of one season and the beginning of another.

The greenish-black river wound itself around small rocky inlets and snaked down through an aster-filled valley surrounded by meadow and marsh on either side. In the moist air of late summer the boy and his father negotiated the water’s swift, deep rushes and slow, shallow straits. After many hours on the water, when the light drew thin and folded itself into evening, they reached a broad turn where the shore widened and pulled away from its wet, clay banks as it pushed itself past the thick groves of red willows and salt-cedar along the river’s edge. There were cattails all around, and tall, green reeds that bent and swayed and made tall, green reed sounds as the water rushed by.

This place was loud with crickets and evening larks and bright with fireflies and reflections of the moon on the water and damp with moss and evening dew and fragrant with cactus flowers and wild parsnip. Here they rested and set camp for the night. Daybreak would bring swift currents, many more miles of river, and thick runs of salmon moving quick-silver like up the river toward the waiting reeds.

Edging their canoes along the smooth granite walls that jutted out from the river’s bank, they tossed their nets into the tea-colored pools of cool, iridescent water, and piled their raft high with bright silver salmon whose skin shone softly in the sun and cast tiny spheres of light all around.

The remains of the day returned the boy and his father and their catch to their riverside camp, which held the last embers of dusk, and the promise of returning home the next day.

It is estimated that before the industrial age at least ten million wild Atlantic salmon returned to spawn each year from the sea to a branch of rivers that swam from New York’s Hudson up through New England and Eastern Canada, across to Iceland and the British Isles, to Scandinavia and the Baltic, up into Northern Russia, then down the Atlantic Coast of Europe and Portugal. But since the 1970’s, populations have declined steadily, owing that fact to the usual list of suspects including pollution, loss of river and ocean habitat, acid rain and, in recent decades, fish farming, which has mushroomed from a relatively quiet cottage industry in Norway in the late 1960s to a 2.5 billion-dollar-a-year enterprise that produces nearly 3 million pounds of fish and threatens the health of wild varieties with disease and encroachment of native habitat.

Today farmed salmon can outnumber their wild brethren by almost 400 to 1 in some places, and ancient spawning grounds along the Eastern Seaboard no longer see millions of hookjaws and other species but only a few hundred. The North Atlantic salmon’s fate remains precarious.

Salmon Rosemary

1 medium whole salmon (about 6 lbs., filleted with skin on)
2 cups fresh spinach
1 cup Mandarin orange segments, whole
1 cup slightly toasted pine nuts, coarsely chopped
¼ cup olive oil
4 springs fresh rosemary (to add as garnish when salmon is done)

Pre-heat oven to 375*. Rinse the salmon several times in cold water, pat dry and place on a large, double layer of foil. Place the spinach inside the salmon, covering the length of the fish evenly, then add orange segments and pine nuts in the same fashion. Drizzle 1/8 cup oil over the spinach, oranges and nuts, again distributing evenly over the length of the fish. Close the salmon and rub the remaining 1/8 cup oil evenly over the skin of the entire fish. Form the foil into a loose pouch around the salmon, making sure the edges are well sealed. Bake for 25-30 minutes. Garnish. Serves 2-4.

Fall

The late afternoon breeze swept over the tall sweet-grass that grew in dense collections near the outer edge of the wide, shallow marsh and rushed through the wild grape vines that clung to the east-facing oak trees on the opposite bank. A slow-moving stream curved down around a large grove of cottonwoods into a long, warm ravine then broadened out toward the vast open plain to the south. Stretching itself over the grassy prairie, it eventually dipped below the horizon and flowed into a broad, swift river filled with smooth stones, bright ribbons of algae, and quick trout.

The brothers knew this place well and moved quietly through the tall sweet-grass and past the clinging grape vines toward the far border of the marsh. There they gathered twigs and still-soft branches of various lengths and thicknesses, which they carefully bent and twisted and shaped into small traps and snares for catching the plump quail and grouse that were plentiful here in early fall.

Working deftly and deliberately for many hours, the two boys moved down the length of the marsh, quietly baiting the delicate bird-traps with small lizards and large beetles, and sometimes with bright blue or orange and yellow butterflies that they caught near the hollyhocks and honeysuckles along the edge of the stream. They worked until the sun’s last light fell from the sky and a bank of thick, evening clouds pushed in from the north. Dusk would see them back to their camp, far up the canyon beyond the marsh.

Morning’s twilight and several fresh sets of turkey tracks led the brothers down into the marsh once again, where they found their traps filled with fat, young birds which they collected in two large, deer-hide pouches and carried home back through the marsh and up the steep canyon.

There would be many fires in the camp by nightfall, their bright flames reflected on the stream’s still surface. And there would be many stars. And there would be feasting.

From the great rolling plains of Canada and North America to the riverbanks and shores of the American coast, to virtually every marsh, meadow, valley, canyon, glen, lakeshore and mountain trail in between, quail and grouse have thrived for countless generations and remain among the iconic symbols of the great frontier.

Traditionally the fowl were roasted over open fires, or smoked in small pit-fires. Feathers were used in clothing and for adornment purposes; the tiny bones to fashion items such as beads and awls for working elk- and deer-hide.

Though the number of healthy and plentiful coveys is strong today, these birds are never without risk of environmental threats and habitat loss due to an ever-expanding human population. Diligent protection of native habitats is essential to keep populations steady.

Bacon-wrapped Quail with Wild Rice and Fruit Stuffing

4 fresh quail
1 ½ cups slightly undercooked long-grain wild rice
¼ cup dried cranberries
¼ cup dried cherries
8 strips bacon, uncooked
½ tspn. dried parsley
4 Tbsp. dark brown sugar

Pre-heat oven to 275*. Rinse and dry quail. Place in lightly greased baking pan.
In medium bowl, mix rice and fruit. Gently place ½ cup of the rice mixture into each quail, then wrap with two strips of bacon. Cover pan loosely with foil and bake for 20-25 minutes. Remove foil, sprinkle first with parsley then with sugar, increase heat to 450*, and cook another 5 minutes to brown. Serves 2-4.

Winter

As night fell over the birch- and Alder-lined winter camp, the tee pees were filled with the sounds of celebration. Several young men had been selected for initiation into one of the tribe’s hunting societies, and each family was preparing for the pending departure of the six young hunters at dawn.

The place for hunting elk was a day’s journey to the north, near the tree-line where snow drifts had settled along the edges of the aspen groves that sprang from the forest floor, and wolf-songs drifted above the spruce and pine trees that grew all around.

Each hunter had been given two horses, a new bow and many good arrows, and a small, blanket-wrapped bundle filled with dried meat and berries, arrowheads in different sizes and shapes, several lengths of thick sinew, various plants and roots, and small pieces of pine sap for treating scrapes and bruises.

The evening light gathered on the western edge of the forest where the land sloped down into a long, wide glen followed on both sides by jagged, white cliffs. A small, quiet stream pushed through the dry grass on the northern border of the glen, and a tall, mossy bank rose up against its southern hem.

This was a good place for the hunters and their horses to rest until morning.
Above the glen and beyond the jagged white cliffs, the elk gathered. And waited.

Pulled from sleep by the cold, waiting dawn, the hunters gathered their camp and moved into the day and toward the waiting herd. Far beyond the mossy bank to the north, the trees thinned and the forest flattened out into a rocky shore and tumbled into a deep, shell-filled lake. Some of the women in the tribe were named after the color of the lake.

The morning was thick and loud with elk and the hunters moved in under the tall, dry grass near the water’s shore.

Many elk were taken back to the winter camp. Again the tee pees were filled with the sounds of celebration as the young men’s families prepared to honor the season’s first hunt, and the safe return of their hunters.

The great mountain ranges of North America are home to several species of elk, which for countless seasons have provided a consistent and sustaining food source for tribes in the region. Meat was dried and smoked; hides were used for clothing, moccasins and shelter; bones for breast- and neck-plates and small flutes and whistles; sinew for thread; antlers for pipes and beads.

In recent decades, native elk herds have rebounded from the brink of endangerment, having survived considerable losses of habitat and multitudes of other environmental assaults. Today elk hunting thrives in virtually all of the Rocky Mountain States, where populations are strong.

Though traditional hunting practices continue to provide sustenance to a handful of faithful trackers, most elk hunting in the United States today is for sport rather than subsistence.

Ground Elk Meat Balls with Raspberry Preserve and Red Chile Glaze

1 ½ lbs. ground elk meat

½ tsp. salt

½ tsp. pepper

1 medium egg

½ cup breadcrumbs

½ cup raspberry preserves

¼ cup ground red chile

¼ cup vegetable oil

¼ cup water

Heat oil to medium-high in large skillet. In large bowl mix meat, salt, pepper, egg and breadcrumbs. Shape meat into balls, about 1 inch in diameter. Place meatballs in skillet, turning often to brown evenly. Cook for about ten minutes, then add the preserves and chile, stirring gently to coat each meatball evenly. Reduce heat to low, add water and cook another ten minutes. Serve as appetizers, or with pasta. Makes about thirty meatballs.