Who could possibly imagine the fishing legacy of the West Coast salmon from simply eating unsaumon au beurre blanc? The Pacific salmon in its various genetic declinations is the fish at the heart of all the controversy in Wadewitz’s well-documented book. Although completely free of any culinary references, except to mention that North West Natives’ “ability to preserve the catch was a highly valued skill” (19), Wadewitz’s detailed history of the borders that have shaped the West Coast salmon fishing industry compelled me to reflect on the implication of my own consumption. I needed to know how this fish ended up in my plate. While making their way toward and up the Fraser River to spawn, Pacific salmon obviously do not follow the man-made borders that cut across the complicated coastal waters, known as the Salish Sea, that lie between the province of British Columbia and Washington State. These salmon migration runs, which had been fished by aboriginal peoples for over fifteen hundred years (13), became increasingly criss-crossed with additional human intervention starting in the late 1700s, when white settlers from the fur trade started taking over Native land in Western Canada. Wadewitz’s book carefully traces the emergence and history of three legendary conflicting forces of this industry: natural boundaries, national frontiers, and capitalistic venture. Used initially as native tribal delimitations, these salmon runs eventually became subordinate to the Canada-U.S. border as well as thoroughly exploited by a fishing industry looking to make money at all cost, in spite of this border. Fishermen, pirates, trap owners, cannery bosses, immigrants from all over the world, Native peoples, and government officials all participated in a fishing industry that has almost decimated the Pacific salmon population. The Nature of Borders is about quotas, season dates, and laws from both sides of the border. It is also about those who created, policed, chose to abide by or ignore these regulations. In particular, Chapter 5, entitled “Pirates of the Salish Sea”, gives the reader a refreshing, and sometimes even comical look at how those on the lowest rung in the financial ladder, fishermen, learned to outsmart rich cannery and fish trap owners, government officials, and the law to earn a living in the late 19th and early 20th century. The sheer size of the nautical borders to be patrolled, combined with the court-proven argument at the turn of the century that “as fish are of a roving nature[,] their being in the traps did not constitute possession” (142), left fishermen immune from the law for a long time. Early on, Wadewitz introduces us to an aboriginal awareness of the salmon – an awareness reflected in spiritual beliefs (29), and in an altogether more eco–responsible and sustainable approach to fishing, where sharing and divvying the resource with the community and other tribes, was a priority (27). In later chapters, Wadewitz sketches out an industry driven by the economic value of this noble fish and supported by an ever-evolving set of exploitative tools. From fishing boats to manned fish traps to motorized boat engines, the fishing industry went further out to sea to catch more and more salmon. Sadly, it wasn’t until the beginning of the 1900s that both the industry and governmental bodies realized that the salmon stock had been seriously depleted. Although another topic in itself, salmon harvesting in the 20th century is only touched upon lightly in the last chapter, an activity I would definitely have liked Wadewitz to explore further. West Coast farmed salmon are actually Atlantic salmon raised in netted pens (172). A precarious practice, “Fish farms […] represent a …