Lewis & Clark Salt Cairn, Seaside, Oregon
Allan McMakin photo
By 1900 the salt makers' oven had long since collapsed into a pile of rocks—a "cairn." In the 1950s, local historians reassembled the stones into a structure that represents the presumed appearance of the original.
The plaque reads:
On January 2, 1806, the salt works was established by the three "salt makers" of the Lewis & Clark Expedition: Joseph Fields, William Bratten and George Gibson, who remained here until February 20, 1806. These men, assisted at times by hunters and packers, were able during this period to tediously extract approximately four bushels of salt by boiling seawater day and night in five metal "kittles."
The Expedition had run out of salt before arrival at their winter camp at Fort Clatsop, 10 miles to the northeast, and it was very necessary for curing meat and preparing for the return trip to civilization.
This actual site was established by a committee of the Oregon Historical Society in 1900, on the testimony of Jenny Michel of Seaside, whose Clatsop Indian father remembered seeing the white men boiling water, and had pointed out this place to her when she was a young girl. She was born in this vicinity about 1816 and died in 1905.
Erected by Seaside Lions Club 1955.
Before you trust a man," goes an ancient proverb, "eat a peck of salt with him." That would take nearly nine months, for by modern measure a peck is equal to eight quarts, and an average-sized adult needs only six grams—about a thimble full of salt—each day to maintain a body chemistry that normally contains three ounces of salt.
We lose salt daily through urination and perspiration. If it isn't replaced, our bodies try to gain an optimum saline balance by discharging the excess water. Ultimately the body dehydrates until it dies of thirst. That is a problem only in underdeveloped countries today; elsewhere, and especially in the United States, the presence of too much salt in prepared foods appears to be a major threat to health, although scientists and health professionals still disagree on the extent of the problem.
The Corps of Discovery probably got plenty of salt from the bloody red meat they ate—about six pounds of it per man per day when they were faring well—from the "marrow bones" they relished, and from the salt they used for flavoring, when they had it. When meat was scarce and they were out of sodium chloride, and were obliged to rely on camas and wapato roots, they longed for the tang of it, but their bodies may also have sensed a chemical deprivation. Savor may have been a metonymy for need.
On the other hand, too much salt is fatal, too. Seawater is 3.5% salt, but human tolerance stops at 2%. If a person drinks seawater, the body sets about evacuating the excess salt through vomiting, diarrhea, and urination, leading to dehydration and, inevitably, death from thirst made more torturous by salt saturation.
In early November of 1805 a couple of the Corps' landlubbers began to discover this for themselves over on the north shore of the brackish Columbia River estuary. "Some of the party not accustomed to Salt water," Clark wrote, "has made too free a use of it. On them it acts a pergitive."
Even sea life is susceptible to too much salt. In 1998 a spill of salt-brine waste from the Mitsubishi Corporation's huge industrial salt works in Baja California killed many fish and black sea turtles.