We four drove north from Smithers yesterday, First stop was Moricetown Canyon beside the fish-ladders. First Nations men, secured to the bank by ropes around their waists, were dip-fishing with nets on long poles in the fast-flowing currents, and hoisting out salmon by the score. The fish were carried to a holding tank, then measured and released upstream. A census-taker wrote down records of the fish caught. Dangerous work. But for the man with a chainsaw it was more dangerous yet, standing sometimes on the bank, sometimes on the wedged logs themselves, trying to free the jam thirty feet above the summer water level. A maze of tree trunks had become snarled in the narrowest part of the canyon. Earlier attempts to set fire to the tangle had resulted in blackened wood, nothing more. As we
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