yeap ...There were few places on earth like pillar and the Silver King in it's hayday...You would pull out of Joyce and head up that seeming endless winding road, up and down and around and round. Catching glimpses of the straight now and agaon through the tall timber. We would chug up that last grade loaded to the hilt just hoping that the brakes would hold in the final hairpins above camp. You know the curves , the ones that caused the jake brake alarm clocks to be applied everymorning .
Then finally you could make that turn down John's driveway and assend upon the wonderfull smells of seawater, smokers, canners, campfires and most of all the smell of salmon. Check in with the old man who believe it or not loved that place.
"Are they bitting?" "how deep?" What time is the tide?" "Do you have bait?" Now wonder he acted like such a sour old fart. Having to put up with the assinine questions as well as the envornmentalist wackos that were alway on his case, I am amazed that he lasted as long as he did, God Bless Him!
Anyway find your spot, set up camp , launch the boat, greet some old friends, and settle in for the first night party. Funny how tough that first night is...I guess it is just that part of the city grind that has to let its'self out. I know for a fact that after a week or so most have changed and adapted to life at pillar point.If they haven't they don't belong. I think the true transformation of settling into fishcamp no matter where it might be is that third or fourth day when you finally get rid of the runs.
There were many factors that changed Silver King. Too many to go into here. But some things that will never change are the fantastic rock formations, the Northern lights, the brilliant sunrises, and the ghostly moonscapes over the kelpbeds.
Yeap Silver King was truly a treasure of the northwest fishing industry , such as were many other camps around the state that will never be quite the same.