For reasons I may never fully understand, the perennial number one hit on my website is a decade-old article on the topic of tanning fish hide. Since posting the article, I’ve received mail from people on four different continents asking for how-to advice.

The idea of making fish leather first crossed my mind when I dulled my best filet knife on the thickened skin of a “smoker” chinook salmon. Prior to the epiphany, options for dealing with the leftover, smelly carcass were either dump it in the river, boil it down for soup stock, or bury it in the vegetable garden where a passing dog might dig it up and roll in it.

Why fish leather? According to an article by Gia Yetikyel in the Smithsonian magazine, tanned fish skin — aka fish leather — is stronger and more breathable than cowhide. Fish skin is readily available as a byproduct from the fish-processing industry. Its finished leather consists of a range of textures, depending the species of fish used, and is easily dyed.

There’s hope by some proponents that fish leather could replace exotic animal skins in fashion. Indeed, a recent article in Hakai magazine described how several sustainability minded companies are “pushing to develop the emerging fish skin industry.” Fashion accessories such as belts, wallets, watchbands and purses are commonly advertised on the Internet, along with innovative products that include a hip flask, hurling ball, and even a bikini.

While the specifics of making leather from fish skin are considered trade secrets, general methods are similar to those used to tan the hide of bovines and other ungulate animals. Most companies first treat fish skins with water-resistant fats and oils to keep the product supple. What typically follows is a chemical and mechanical process that includes churning, soaking, and vacuum drying.

Fish leather has been around for centuries. Indeed, clothing crafted from fish leather has spiritual significance in some far North cultures. The historical record from the Amur River in Siberia describes how women left salmon skins to dry in the shade before they beat them out flat with a mallet. They next rolled the skin around a wormwood stick (a shrub that contains the licorice-flavored liqueur absinthe) and soaked it in water. After the softened skin dried, it was unrolled and stretched. The final step was to hang the skin above a hearth and smoke it for up to two weeks —similar to how buckskin is made.

North American Indian tribes from this region used fish skin as a “wrap” for food storage. For example, the Yakama Tribe lined hemp baskets containing pulverized salmon flesh with dried skin to keep them airtight. Other Columbia River tribes had a practice of storing food in bags of cattail leaves lined with dried salmon skin.

My research on the craft began with a well-worn copy of “Foxfire 3.” This cult classic from the days of black lights and Jimi Hendix contains an entire chapter on how to tan animal hide. One quote that sticks in my mind is from a backwoods mountain man who stated, “all animals have just enough brains to tan their own hide.”

Fish don’t have hair, which makes the tanning process easier. However, fish skin needs to be brined to toughen it up. In the Middle Ages, old urine was used to brine animal skin. Letting urine set for a week or two allows for ammonia — the principal tanning agent — to form. The traditional Inuit tribe method involves a one-to-one solution of urine-to-water. Most contemporary approaches include curing in a salt brine.

After watching the challenges my son had when he wrestled with the tanning of a large steer hide, I was content to test my skills with a walleye. I first removed the skin from a “butterfly” filet. Scraping off the tiny scales from the outer layer reminded of the need for safety glasses. I then covered the skin in a solution of one part plain salt to four parts water and refrigerated for 48 hours. Next, I rinsed the skin in tap water and removed remaining flesh left on the inside surface. Scraping both sides of the skin clean benefited from the use of my wife’s $180 carbon steel chef’s knife. Needless to say, she caught me and I had to promise to never touch the knife again.

The final step involved working the skin with beeswax and tacking it to a plywood board to stretch and dry. Alternatively, beef tallow or lard can be worked into the finished skin or “fish hide” to keep it pliable. Shoe repair shops also sell products that provide flexibility to leather. Different finishes can be obtained by smoothing with sandpaper or adding a light coat of varnish.

Fish leather can be applied as a veneer for a hatband or belt by gluing a cuttable section over other materials. You could go with the grain or contrast belly skin with that from the dorsal surface of a fish to make an interesting pattern. Hang a finished product on your living room wall as if a bobcat pelt or stitch skins together to make a wallet. No matter what you choose to do, the product will be unique.

Admittedly, my finished pieces of walleye skin leather were stiff and difficult to work with a needle and thread. (Confession: I did not try the chewing method to render it supple.) On the plus side, the finished product has a pleasing color. While the amount of leather salvaged from an eater-size walleye was too small to craft a purse for my wife, the option remains open for making her a handsome wallet.

Looking ahead, I’m stuck on the idea that the skin from a 40-pound buck chinook salmon would make a stylish vest. There are worse excuses for justifying extra time spent on the water this next fall.