The cold wintry whistling winds of March is forever a welcome warning that spring is just around the corner and summer will follow. Mussels, Rock Fish, Cockles, Chitons, Abalones, Herring, Razor Clams, Crabs, Barnacles, Eels, Night Fish, Surf Fish, Spring Salmon and the new growth of various plants and herbs and a lot of hard work was synonymous with the approaching season.
The low tides combined with the calm ocean, because of the protection provided by Trinidad Head, made it possible for the Tsurai residents to safely harvest the various seafoods which were abundant in the low tide pools. At the beginning of summer, the supply of dried seaweed is stored for winter, and preparations are being readied for the surf fish drying task at Luffenholtz Beach.
The two choice campsites on Luffenholtz Beach belonged to the daughters of Mary Warren. These camps were near the fresh plenty of water for washing the fish, and also, quality water for drinking, plenty of firewood and most importantly, plenty of drying space. The big rock at the mouth of the creek was Annie Kirby’s, a medicine woman in her own right, who died in 1929. Her camp was last used by her daughter-in-law Minnie Shar and her sister, Alice Spot, in 1951 or 1952. Eliza Lindgren, who died in 1940, used her camp for the last time in 1938. The other camps were on the sandy part of the beach, and grass mats were used to dry the fish on. The firewood and drinking water were carried to their camps. Sometimes during the hot days, shade trees of alder were temporarily erected and resembled a baseball backstop.
Nearest camp to my grandma’s place was the James family. George James was the son of Humpback Jim. Next to James’ was Trinidad Pete and his wife, Emma, who was my grandmother’s (Eliza Lindgren) first cousin, and also the sister of Blind Liz. Right under the Linton’s house (1532 Scenic Drive) was Sandy Child’s camp. Sandy was the grandson of ‘Old Willie.’ The next camp was Trinidad Jack and Kitty Jack, and way up the beach was Bill Stevens (we called him Oregon Bill; I don’t know why) camp. Sometimes Lottie Charles of Big Lagoon would share the camp of the James family. The camps on the beach didn’t dry too many fish, only for their own use.
After two or three good runs of the fish, the logs, rocks, and grass mats glistened with fish which had to be turned daily and sometimes twice on a hot day. The old women made their job appear easy and enjoyable while keeping an eye on the youngsters who were trying to enjoy the beach. There were too many rules and customs to obey: you couldn’t dam the creek, couldn’t throw handfuls of sand on the water that resembled rain, couldn’t swim in the ocean; like I said, ‘too many rules to obey.’
When we became hungry, grandma would stir the campfire to a blaze and take half-dried fish, place them between two sticks that were bound together with a reed-like grass, and stand the sticks with the fish near the fire and allow them to roast. Meanwhile, flour, water, and a little pinch of baking soda was kneaded into a thick patty which was about six to nine inches in diameter and covered with hot sand. She put the coffee pot on for herself, and within half an hour, the fish were cooked, the coffee boiled, the bread cooked nice-n-brown, the sand removed by a couple of smart taps on each side, break the bread into the exact number of pieces, and put homemade butter and wild blackberry jelly on the hot steaming pieces. You know Grandma did this for years, but she never did learn how to cook enough.
In September, when the season is drawing to an end, Grandma would have four or five hundred pounds of dried surf fish, which she would generously share with people who came to visit, or if she would go to visit, always she carried seaweed or dried fish. Many seasons passed by, but the one that stands out in my memory is the year Grandma had seven full sacks and two half sacks of dried fish ready to be transported home.
That night my Dad (Axel Lindgren Sr.) was extra tired, so we decided to wait until the following evening. Early the next morning, Grandma and I walked to Luffenholtz. On arrival, she saw that seven sacks had been stolen. Grandma said a lot of bad things loud and clear in every direction so that the world would know she was robbed. It was a long winter; in those days, there were no food stamps, no federal grants, no welfare checks—just one sack of dried fish.
Axel Lindgren Jr. (1918–1990), written in 1981 for “Trinidad News & Views” and the Trinidad Museum Society Newsletter.
Most of the photographs in this exhibit are a gift from Barbara & Chuck Snell, who camped at Luffenholtz in 1950.
Other photographs, baskets, and objects are part of the Trinidad Museum Society Collections.
