some localities, and scoop nets in others. Sometimes they build a
fence at right angles to the shore, and extend it twenty or thirty
yards into the stream. This fence is fish-proof, except in a few
places where holes are purposely left.

The natives lie in wait with skiffs and hand-nets and catch the
salmon, as they attempt to pass these holes. I watched a Gilyak taking
fish in this way, and think he dipped them up at the rate of two a
minute; when the fish are running well a skiff can be filled in a
short time. Sometimes pens of wicker work are fixed to enclose the
fish after they pass the holes in the fence. The salmon in this case
has a practical illustration of life in general: easy to get into
trouble but difficult to get out of it.

[Illustration: GILYAK MAN.]

For catching sturgeon they use a circular net five feet across at the
opening, and shaped like a shallow bag. One side of the mouth is
fitted with corks and the other with weights of lead or iron. Two
canoes in mid stream hold this net between them, at right angles to
the current. The sturgeon descending the river enters the trap, and
the net proceeds of the enterprise are divided between the fishermen.

It requires vision or a guide to find a fishing station, but the sense
of smell is quite sufficient to discover where salmon are dressed and
cured. The offal from the fish creates an unpleasant stench and no
effort is made to clear it away. The natives and their dogs do not
consider the scent disagreeable and have no occasion to consult the
tastes or smell of others. The first time I visited one of their
fish-curing places I thought of the western city that had, after a