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146stormfishing away from reservations, in ancestral fishing grounds. “JudgeBoldt made a decision that we are going to protect ourselves,” Billysays. “There’s laws written and there’s a lot of principles come out ofthat decision. We’re self-regulators. Now, we have to manage to getour salmon back. We are part of the system.”As a part of the system, the tribes established a new organization torepresent all Western Washington treaty tribes. With no comparableorganization in existence, Billy and Hank Adams arrived in Portlandon May 1, 1974, where a think tank was underway to form theNorthwest Indian Fisheries Commission, which would be chargedwith protecting treaty rights, managing resources, and educating thepublic. Charts and blueprints were scattered about. “I went up thereand I spoke that day,” says Adams, “and looked at their charts . . . andthe only interest I heard discussed and the only interest I see up onthese charts was who is going to arrest the Indian fishermen now.And I said, ‘I’m tired of the Indian fishermen, of your tribes beingtreated as a criminal class! This isn’t good enough! You’re going tohave to start over!’”Adams slammed his hand down on a partition with such force itcaused a thundering jolt. The partition crashed to the ground with astartling thud. Adams jumped. “It almost frightened me because Ididn’t realize that it was going to sound like an explosion. I went andtore all the rest down and said, ‘You’re going to have to start over!’”Adds Billy with a laugh, “And they started over.”Guy McMinds, a Quinault, rose in support of Adams. “Maybe he’sright,” he told the room. “Maybe we’ve gone about this the wrongway.” After what Adams calls the “gong” of the partition, a chartercommittee was appointed and put together a plan the tribes endorsed.During the chaos, longtime friendships formed in surprisingplaces. Few moments can top the day Mike Grayum met Billy. Hisboss, the respected biologist Jim Heckman, sent him to the NisquallyRiver to “figure out what they’re catching.”