PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF
THE CLACKAMAS FISH HATCHERY
by Barbara Kemmerich Halliday, March 6, 2002
Earlier History of the Clackamas Fish Hatchery:
[The following information about the Clackamas Fish Hatchery was gleaned from Clackamas, Oregon, Vol. 1, a history of the village of Clackamas, produced by the fourth grade class at Clackamas Grade School in 1974.]
In 1877 the first fish hatchery in Oregon was built
on the Clackamas River one mile below Carver.
It was built by the Oregon and Washington Fish Propagating Company
and operated for four years. Personnel
of the U.S. Commission of Fish and Fisheries took the fall chinook salmon
eggs and as soon as the fry were hatched, they released them back into the
river. This operation was discontinued in 1880.
By 1887, the Oregon State Board of Fish Commissioners was created. Leasing the abandoned hatchery at Carver, they reopened it with state funds. The Federal Government came to its aid to supply funds the next year, but a dam across the river at Gladstone prevented the salmon from coming up in the fall. The egg-taking operations ceased at Clackamas in 1894 until passage could be provided over the Gladstone dam. Finally, in 1895, the Columbia River Packers Propagating Company put a ladder over the dam.
In the report of the Commission for June 1901, E.N. Carter, supervisor at Clackamas Hatchery decided that because of insufficient water, the hatchery would be moved further down the river to take advantage of the large spring off the beaver lake area.
The equipment was moved from the old site to the present one just south of the town of Clackamas. A hatchery building 42’ x 42’ was built and it can be seen today. There was a bunkhouse 30’ x 42’ and a large stable.
The Clackamas Fish Hatchery operated continuously until 1942, when it was closed down. In 1955, the United States Fish and Wildlife Service deeded the property to the Oregon Fish Commission for a research laboratory.
Several early pioneers in Clackamas were active at
the hatchery. Mr. Mitchell was director
as well as King Spurgeon. Mr. and
Mrs. Hawley lived in the large home on the grounds.
Many early picnics and parties were held in this beautiful spot.
Living at the Clackamas Fish Hatchery, 1940-1950
I lived at the Clackamas Fish Hatchery from the summer of 1940 until my marriage in December, 1950. My father, Alphonse Kemmerich, a career employee of the US Fish and Wildlife Service, had been at the Bureau of Fisheries office in Seattle, Washington. In 1940, Congress granted President Franklin Roosevelt the authority to reorganize the agencies of the U.S. Government. As a result, they consolidated the former Bureau of Fisheries and the Bureau of Biological Survey into the Fish and Wildlife Service and the regional office for the combined agency was established at Portland, Oregon in place of the existing offices which had been at Seattle and Denver. My father was among those relocated to the Portland area. Our family of four were: my father, Alphonse, my mother, Pauline, my younger brother and only sibling, Noel, and myself. At the time we moved to Clackamas I was 9 years old, and Noel was 3.
The new Portland Regional Manager was Fred Foster. He was offered housing at the Clackamas hatchery, and encouraged my father to apply for housing there also. Mr. and Mrs. Foster occupied the Superintendent’s house and we moved into a smaller house located near the entrance to the hatchery property. What a deal! Even in 1940, monthly rent of approximately twenty dollars for a three-bedroom, one-bath home was a bargain. There was a third house on the hatchery grounds, located west of the hatchery itself. I don’t know who was living there at the time we moved in, but later that house was occupied by other Fish and Wildlife Service regional office staff: Hanford and Lois (Foster) Thayer and their two sons, L. Edward Cheney and his family and finally, Paul and Muriel Zimmer and their two daughters, Linda and Elaine. Mr. Cheney was the Predator Control agent for the region and spent most of his time dealing death and destruction to coyotes. Mr. Zimmer was involved with salmon research. The Zimmers moved to their new home in Clackamas about two years after the property was sold to the State of Oregon. Mrs. Muriel Zimmer says their former home is now used for offices, and still referred to as “the Zimmer Office.”
In December, 1941 Mr. Foster resigned and returned to Seattle to become the Director of Fisheries for the state of Washington. We then moved into the Superintendent’s house and remained there until 1950 when my parents bought a home on Lake Road, in Milwaukie and I married and moved out of state. At least two other families occupied the house near the hatchery entrance: William Hagen and his family moved in as we moved out and they stayed there until Mr. Hagen was transferred to Washington, D.C., probably in the mid-1940’s. Mr. Cosby and his family lived there for a few years, and later Mr. Parvin and his family occupied the house. That house is no longer there. (I understand it burned down sometime after the State of Oregon assumed ownership of the hatchery property.)
The Clackamas hatchery was
operating on a limited basis in 1940. According
to my father, the source of the springs which provided ideal water temperature
and ample flow for raising salmon had been severely impacted by a Depression-inspired
work project in 1933. At that time,
there was a large swamp north of the hatchery. A drainage ditch was hand-dug to drain the
swamp. This was successful and a creek
started flowing below the swamp. However,
the spring at the hatchery diminished in flow and never recovered.
Apparently the entire valley had been a wetland.
(In Clackamas, Oregon, Vol. 1, a history of
Clackamas written by Clackamas Elementary School students in 1974, the article
on the hatchery refers to “a large spring off the beaver lake area.”). After losing the spring, water was pumped up
from the Clackamas River. As the river
became more polluted it was no longer possible to use it for fish-rearing. Then, a well was dug but the flow was not enough
to provide the necessary water for full operation of the hatchery. I do remember that they were still raising
some fish at the hatchery in those early 1940’s. Probably brought from the hatcheries upstream on the Clackamas:
there was a small hatchery and egg-taking station at the small hamlet
of Eagle Creek, at the junction of Highways 224 and 211 and another, larger,
hatchery near Eagle Fern Park (I believe this is now the site of a new federal
fish hatchery).
There were two levels at the hatchery property: the upper level was on an old river bluff and consisted of two houses for hatchery staff plus two huge, deep concrete reservoirs, directly across from the house near the entrance. Apparently the reservoirs were originally used for storage of water for the hatchery (perhaps during the era when they pumped water from the Clackamas River). They had ceased to function by the time my family occupied the house near them. Over the years, my brother and I found new uses for the reservoirs: they made a fairly good roller skating rink, a small tennis court (with sloping sides!!) and on the Fourth of July, small “ladyfinger” firecrackers could be lit, and tossed in the big open standpipes next to the reservoirs--which resulted in a much magnified and very satisfying BOOM!!
The “business” portion of the hatchery was all located below the bluff, on river-bottom land.
A one-lane, gravel road led down to the lower level. Dominating the scene was the huge hatchery building itself. I remember it as always dimly lit, and the burbling sound of running water could be heard, as it flowed through the fish-rearing troughs. The troughs themselves were constructed of thick, redwood boards, heavily coated with a black waterproofing substance. According to my father, there were once TWO hatchery buildings on the lower level. One had troughs brought from the first hatchery on the Clackamas River, at Clear Creek (near Carver, Oregon). The remaining hatchery building had redwood troughs brought down from the Yes Bay, Alaska hatchery after it was closed in 1933.
There was a laboratory building across the road from the main hatchery building and it was still in use, even after the hatchery itself ceased to function. Probably in the late 1940’s it housed three fisheries biologists from the Public Health Service: Dr. L. Edward Perry, Peter Dudaroff(sp?) and Dr. J.C.G. Brown from the University of Montana. They were doing a survey of the polluted Willamette River--the impetus to clean up the Willamette probably came from the work done by these three biologists at Clackamas. A Pete Nielsen also used the lab at Clackamas at this same time, but I don’t know what projects he was working on.
The building next door to the lab is now referred to as “The Annex.” It’s considered to be the oldest building at the hatchery, dating from 1911. My father said that it was originally the office for Mr. Hawley, perhaps a superintendent at Clackamas. There were other smaller buildings down near the hatchery building--a fish food plant where (ugh!) tripe, dead fish, seals and other food sources deemed tasty by both large and small fish were processed. There was a refrigerated room to hold the fish food. A carpenter’s shop was full of interesting tools--my father would occasionally use the shop and tools for some home repair project. My brother, Noel, and I loved to tag along and inspect the planes, drills, miters and other woodworking equipment. Garages for hatchery trucks and a gas tank for storage of fuel for the trucks were at the west end of the lower property.
In its heyday, the Clackamas hatchery must have been almost self-sufficient. There was a large orchard just south of the laboratory building with a variety of fruit trees--I particularly remember the delicious plums that were a mouth-watering treat for hungry children returning from an August swim in the chilly Clackamas River. Apples of many varieties grew there too. There was a large garden area near the orchard and all the residents made good use of this to grow their own produce during the years of World War II and “Victory Gardens.”
The road from the upper to the lower level had a primitive, farm road branch, leading past the orchard and down to the north bank of the Clackamas River. I don’t think the hatchery property extended to the river. The land between the orchard and the river was farmed by Fred Luneberg. Mr. Luneberg’s house, barn and rhubarb hot houses were all located just west of the hatchery property, on the upper, bluff level.
In addition to the hatchery building, there were outdoor fish-rearing ponds at various points on the lower level. By 1940, only two ponds were still in use. These were located just under the bluff, adjoining the hatchery building. These two ponds were unlike the dry, unused round, cement rearing ponds. They were obviously designed to be part of the garden landscaping, and had attractive rock borders. They housed some enormous, ancient Columbia River sturgeon and one needle-nosed fish--whose appearance made me think he should be in tropical waters. The needle-nosed fish soon disappeared, but the sturgeon were there until at least the late forties when they were moved to the Bonneville Dam grounds. The sharp spines running down a sturgeon’s back are very intimidating--my brother and I gave those fish a wide berth. But, in actuality, they were very docile and were the “pets” of the hatchery. They attracted a lot of attention from visitors and were lovingly tended by the few people still working at the hatchery. Sadly, they later perished at Bonneville--the victims of being fed tennis balls by unthinking tourists!
The number of men actually working at the hatchery dwindled with the onset of World War II and the official closure of the hatchery in 1942. Certainly, there were some research biologists and perhaps a groundskeeper still there until the closure. I think a Mr. Holcomb, who lived on 82nd Avenue just south of the hatchery entrance, was still employed for some years to maintain the grounds and perform other tasks on the lower level. But the bulk of those working at the hatchery after 1942 were the lab staff.
My brother was about three years old when we moved to the hatchery and his heroes were the young men doing the lawnmowing and groundskeeping. He would tag after them as they went about their work. For many reasons, we were all sorry to see those fellows leave, probably going into uniform and serving in the war. With their departure, the responsibility for maintaining the handsome landscaping around the Superintendent’s house fell to my family. No longer could my mother just point to where she wanted the primroses planted and voila! it would be done. No one else would be raking up the sharp needles from under those stickery deodara trees that graced the two “circles” in front of our home. No one else would be pruning the fast-growing shrubbery around the house. Most ominous of all--no one else would be mowing what seemed like an acre of lawn around the house! They did supply my dad with one of the earliest power lawn mowers--but the mower turned out to be no match for the gravel that was constantly being excavated by the tribe of moles inhabiting our lawn. Dad would march out, rev up the mower, make a few successful passes back and forth over the lawn, then a “ping!!” would ring out, the motor would stop, and my dad would come stomping and cursing into the house, announcing that the mower blade had hit a rock and was broken--once again. This meant the mower went to Portland for repairs that usually took weeks. Meanwhile, out came the old handmowers and my father would announce, “Well, Barbs and Noel, I guess you are going to have to mow the lawn for awhile.” Oh yes, those groundskeepers were sorely missed!
The entrance to the hatchery property was from 82nd Avenue. I believe the two cement pillars still stand at each side of that gravel road where it joins 82nd Avenue. A large sign hung between the pillars, announcing that this was the entrance to the ‘CLACKAMAS FISH HATCHERY.” My brother, now deceased, said his earliest recollection is watching the sign being taken down, so that our moving van could drive on in to the hatchery. The Federal Government owned the road from 82nd Avenue to the hatchery grounds and once a year, it was closed to non-hatchery auto traffic to maintain ownership. For the other 364 days, it also provided access to two other landowners before it reached the hatchery. And, walking home from Clackamas Grade School, or in later years, after the Milwaukie High School bus dropped me off at the entrance, I would pass those farms and the various hazards along the way. The road dropped down a small hill, curved left and crossed a rickety wooden bridge. There I encountered the first hazard--a pasture full of snorting, pawing Jersey bulls. Next came the railroad tracks of the main Southern Pacific line. No fancy crossing barricades here--just those white warning signs, stating “railroad crossing ahead.”
After looking both ways (and maybe taking a few minutes to practice on the 1940’s version of a balance beam--the track rails) I would walk on by the entrance to the Notz farm. Those were Mr. Notz’ bulls I had just passed. Like the Lunebergs, the Notz family had property on top of, and below the river bluff. The family’s home, that bull pasture and a barn occupied the bluff top. Down below, Mr. Notz’ main crop was rhubarb. I believe there were four Notz children and they were major players in working the farm and harvesting their father’s crops. One daughter, Emma, was in my class in high school and was a close playmate in earlier years. Two other Notz children bracketed the 6-year span between Noel and me, and we often teamed up with these three for play sessions and those chilly summer swims in the river.
After passing the Notz farm, the road swung east. The Luneberg’s home was on the south side, and another house stood on a slight hill on the north side. The Lunebergs owned that house and the property surrounding it, as well as bluff and river bottom land below. Mr. Luneberg had served in Europe during World War I, and was one of the many to be “gassed” during a battle. This apparently caused great harm to his lungs, but in spite of his problems, he was an energetic and prosperous farmer. Much of his prosperity stemmed from his investment in long, low sheds that housed rhubarb plants. By growing the rhubarb indoors, Mr. Luneberg could get his crop on a train, and in New York City way ahead of other Willamette Valley farmers like Mr. Notz. My family was impressed with the value of hothouse rhubarb when Mr. Luneberg commented one day to my father, “Well, I just sent a freightcar load of rhubarb to New York City--and bought that new Chevy with the proceeds.”
Behind the Superintendent’s house and beyond the east end of the Hatchery property, stood a home occupied by an elderly woman, Mrs. Handley. She had suffered a paralyzing stroke and her daughter and son-in-law lived with her and cared for her. I believe the Handleys owned most of the bottom land below the bluff and on the east side of the hatchery road. Much of the property was in holly trees. The main access to the Handley property was on the east side of their home.
The Superintendent’s house was a very comfortable home for our family. It had a rather modern convenience for the time--a forced-air furnace. Originally designed to use coal, my father had it converted to burn “mill ends” wood--of which there apparently was a cheap and plentiful supply. It still had to be “stoked” but I don’t recall doing this chore--maybe one stoking a day by my father was sufficient. The living room had a very handy feature for children--there were sliding doors that closed off the living room from the front hall. This made the hallway a natural “stage” for us to present our home-grown productions. When the performance was to begin, the sliding doors could be opened and the “stage” revealed. An upright piano graced the living room and I had weekly piano lessons on it. At that time, piano teachers were quite happy to drive to their pupils’ homes every week. The bay window in the dining room was a pleasant place to soak up some sun on the infrequent winter days when it appeared. There was a low divider between the living and dining rooms. The kitchen had room for a small table on the south wall. This room was a hub of activity in late summer when “canning” season arrived. My parents would drive to Salem to get fruit from relatives’ orchards. Other produce came from field or farm to the kitchen counter, and if necessary, went in two huge pressure cookers. With no air-conditioning, it could be very hot and steamy in that kitchen in late summer! Green beans, corn, peaches, pears, sauerkraut, salmon--my mother filled literally hundreds of glass jars every summer and stored them on shelves in the basement--in a small room just off the larger furnace room. The basement served another purpose--it was the locale for the washer and “dryer.” But they weren’t quite the same appliances that we take for granted today. My mother had a wringer washer and two large laundry tubs in the basement and there were clothes lines strung all across the furnace room. With the wet Oregon climate, she probably hung her clothes down there at least as often as on the outside clothes lines at the back of the yard.
There were three bedrooms on the main floor: one was just off the kitchen. The other two bedrooms were separated by the single bathroom and were accessed from the front hallway. My father used the front bedroom as a den/study, my parents occupied the middle bedroom, and my brother had the one near the kitchen. The floor plan meant that two children could chase one another almost in a circle through the house--and never be trapped in a room with no exit. The one and only telephone was on a stand in the hallway, near the front door. A flight of stairs from the hallway led up to the second floor where there were three bedrooms and a large alcove. I had the front bedroom, looking down on the sidewalk, while the east bedroom became a playroom--most of the time, my brother’s Lionel train track occupied the bulk of the open floor space. The middle bedroom--well, that was a rather spooky room. Mostly it was used for storage, but it had a lot of low closets with doors set into the walls. A gloomy room, with very little light--I only went in it when required to retrieve some of the stored supplies for my mother.
A lot of VIP’s from Washington, D.C. and other parts of the region accepted my father’s invitation to come out to the hatchery for dinner, my mother’s famous chocolate cake--and the chance to play with that Lionel train. The after-dinner routine was that my brother would dutifully ask the guest, “would you like to come upstairs and see my train set?” When the guest agreed, Noel, my father and the VIP would climb the stairs, start the train with its transformer, and downstairs, the sound of the little train rumbling around its track could be heard. Before long, Noel would appear downstairs again--while the two grown men stayed upstairs, happily kneeling on the floor and playing with the train!
Most of the early years at Clackamas were war years, with the accompanying gas rationing, food rationing and other homefront hardships. We took no driving vacations, never went to the Oregon Coast or to the mountains. But the bus on 82nd Street ran from downtown Portland to Oregon City a few times a day. On Saturdays, Noel and I would take the bus to Oregon City, go up the elevator to the movie theater and enjoy the latest Hopalong Cassidy movie matinee. I had a bicycle and made good use of it, visiting friends in “downtown” Clackamas, even venturing as far as the Oaks Amusement Park one time. Summertime meant berry-picking--there were strawberry fields all around Clackamas and no one thought children under the age of 15 should not be allowed to labor in the fields. The bluff below our house and below the Handley house had a good stand of native wild blackberries. My mother would send us out with clean, empty “Crisco” buckets with bails, and we were expected to forage for those little tart, black berries so she could turn them into pie or jam. Even child laborers worked only part of the day--in the mornings when the fruit would be freshest. That left us summer afternoons for our own amusements. My parents had a lawn swing with awning on the wide front porch of the Superintendent’s house--a perfect place for reading the latest “Nancy Drew” mystery book. And when the weather finally warmed up in mid-July and August, a group of us would walk down that dirt road to the Clackamas River. This was not an official “beach” but there was access to the water and a small sandy point for thawing out in the sun. The Clackamas River must be one of the chilliest streams in western Oregon! But that never deterred us. As we got older and more daring, we’d sometimes catch a log or piece of lumber that came floating down, and use it to paddle across to the far bank.
In one of the last conversations I had with my brother, who passed away in 1998, we talked about growing up at the hatchery. We both agreed that we couldn’t have had a better childhood. I’m grateful that so much of the Clackamas Hatchery has been preserved and even more grateful for all the good memories of it that I now treasure.
e-mail: gbhalliday2@yahoo.com
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