Coquille Indian Tribe member Jason Yonker rakes and stirs the fire in the salmon pit on Saturday afternoon at The Mill-Luck Salmon Celebration. Some of the salmon was cooked on cedar stakes while some was wrapped in foil and buried with hot coals underground. World Photo by Madeline Steege

At first glance it appears the reason that Jason Younker's shorts are sopping wet is to keep them from bursting into flame as he hovers over a bed of coals that, in time, will grow to nearly 700 degrees Fahrenheit.

As it turns out, that's not the reason at all.

It's tradition.

He'd just returned the bones of his cousin to the sea.

"I have to go up to my hips in the water," Younker, 38, explained Saturday as he tried to catch his breath between manning the salmon bake pits at The Mill Casino-Hotel for the Coquille tribes annual salmon celebration.

As the story goes, since the salmon have offered themselves to feed the people, it's hoped that by returning the salmon remnants to the sea that the salmon spirits will tell the fish families to return again to the people the following year.

"It's a privilege - and I don't mind it one bit. Our salmon cousins have sacrificed themselves," he said.

Before he lets the bones go, Younker says a little prayer.

"This ensures that, annually, they come back to us," he said. "I'm thanking them for their sacrifice.

The salmon bake is no doubt one of the main attractions for what has become the Coquille tribe's second largest annual event. It's the unfamiliar cooking style that draws a crowd, forcing shutterbugs to snap a couple of shots and onlookers to gape for more than just a few minutes.

However, for those of Native American descent, the salmon-bake is a tradition that stretches back more than 10,000 years.

"That is how we survived," said Don Day, a member of the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde who came to help with the bake.

The pit itself, filled with sand, is about 20-feet long by three-feet high and seven-feet wide. Those working in the pits are constantly throwing cedar and alder logs into the fire to create a bed of coals. Once the coals are formed, they're raked back and salmon, wrapped in foil, are chucked into the pit. The embers are then raked on top of the fish and both are smothered in sand, creating an oven where the fish will cook for about two hours.

Manning the earthen ovens is no small task. Burns are not uncommon from the intense heat of the fire, which Younker estimated can reach 700 degrees Fahrenheit - enough to actually burn the sand itself, turning it an orangish color. Over the course of the two hours, the temperature dies down to about 200 degrees, Younker said.

"Ow," Younker cries out as he wriggles one of his feet back and forth as he stands atop the sand, pulling back the coals with a rake.

A coal drops from his sandal - a somewhat unusual choice of footwear.

"It's a lot easier to shake a coal out of these than a boot," Younker explains.

The burns are a small price to pay, Younker said the moment a smiling - and satisfied - customer stops by to commend the men on the fine cuisine. Within moments after the salmon is pulled from the pits, it's shuttled over to steam tables where visitors line up to get their share at $16 a plate.

Years ago, salmon weren't the only meat that was cooked in this manner, so were pigs, elk, deer, clams and virtually every other edible creature that roamed the wilderness. Day said for thousands of years on the Columbia River there was a cannery of sorts where Native Americans dried and preserved various meats with salt from the Pacific Ocean to help tribal members survive the winters.

Chris Foltz, a banquet and sous chef at The Mill, is in charge of making sure everyone is fed. He said, he planned to feed about 300 people over the two-day festival, which meant about 16, 25-pound salmon.

"It's my job to taste everything," Foltz said. "That's the hard part," he said with a sly smile.

Those who prefer their salmon smoked, partook of skewered salmon, drenched in a secret berry sauce, that dangles on stakes over open pit fires.

The recipe for the salmon bake has changed over the years. Thousands of years ago, the Northwest's Native Americans seasoned the meat with seal oil, camas, berries and nuts. And, instead of aluminum foil, mud and seaweed were used to wrap the fish.

The contemporary palate has changed.

"Now we enjoy modern conveniences," Younker said, noting that the seasonings of old have been replaced with items such as garlic, onions, salt, pepper, bay leaves and lemon.

"And butter - lots of butter," he said.