POULSBO — For years, there was some mystery as to whether Liberty Bay was ever officially named that, or if it was still legally “Dogfish Bay,” according to Judy Driscoll, Poulsbo historian.

“The official date has eluded us; perhaps a future historian will be able to nail it down,” concluded Driscoll and other authors of the authoritative history, “The Spirit of Poulsbo.”

Consider it nailed down.

According to documents obtained by the Herald from the state Committee on Geographic Names, the U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey officially changed the name from “Dogfish Bay” to “Liberty Bay” on Nov. 4, 1914 — almost 102 years ago.

It took nine years to get the name officially changed. Here’s the background:

Poulsbo residents had petitioned the U.S. Board of Geographic Names back in May 1905 to change the name to “Liberty Bay.” The letter, signed by 44 businessmen, educators and farmers who lived in area, stated, “Many years ago, prior to the settling of this Bay, the Indians occupied the bulk of the lands situate thereon, and they called this bay ‘Dogfish Bay’ on account of the number of dogfish that were in the habit of running in the waters thereof. We now have a very prosperous community in Poulsbo, another one at Pearson and a small one at Keyport. The population is composed largely of Scandinavians who have taken out their citizenship papers and propose to make the United States their home. The name of ‘Liberty Bay’ is more euphonious and much more appropriate … as the name ‘Dogfish Bay’ has become a term of derision and opprobrium [harsh criticism or censure].”

“Liberty.” It seemed the word was in the air and everywhere in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Thirty-one U.S. communities have “Liberty” in their names; it’s tied with “Eagle” as the most popular patriotic name ever, according to the National League of Cities. Lady Liberty’s image appeared on virtually every U.S. coin minted from 1793 through the middle of the 20th century, according to numismatic websites. And perhaps no image of liberty captured the minds of immigrants more than the Statue of Liberty herself.

Between 1886, when the statue was dedicated, and 1924, the statue was almost the first thing some 14 million immigrants saw when they steamed into New York harbor.

Locally, the inspiration for “Liberty Bay” may have begun with the Frank Johnson family who named their homestead and dock “Liberty Place” in 1888.

“The Johnson family were fiercely patriotic and one of the earliest on the bay to raise a flag pole and fly the American flag … presumably the one they earned as newly-sworn citizens,” according to “The Spirit of Poulsbo.”

“Since their dock was one of the first at the south end of the bay … steamer captains would have become used to referring to it as they entered the bay.”

But who named it “Dogfish Bay”?

In their petition, the applicants wrote “Dogfish Bay” was an Indian name, and the U.S. Board of Geographic Names made a serious effort throughout 1906 to determine the correct spelling of the Indian phrase for Dogfish Bay, going so far as to contact Franz Boas, one of the leading anthropologists in the U.S. at the time, according to Dennis Lewarch, the Suquamish Tribe’s historic preservation officer.

Eventually, the experts concluded that the Suquamish name for the bay was pronounced “Quo-itch.” They wrote that it translated as “Dogfish Bay.”

It turns out the petitioners probably got it wrong.

The Suquamish did not name bodies of water, according to Lena Maloney, Suquamish Tribe language coordinator. Rather, they named places along the water based on resources or activities there. Plus, she says “Quo-itch” does not mean “Dogfish Bay” in the Suquamish language, although “quo” sounds something like their word for “water.”

So who did name it Dogfish Bay? An early European explorer or settler would be the best guess, according to Driscoll. But until a “smoking gun” map or letter shows up to support that notion, it will remain the bay’s last unsolved mystery.

Pity the poor dogfish

The dogfish, or more correctly Puget Sound’s spiny dogfish or “Squalus suckleyi” — aka “spur dog,” “dog shark,” and “mud shark” — has huge, protruding, watery blue eyes, a dark brown to gray body, shovel mouth, and a white protruding belly that makes it look like it just swallowed a loaf of French bread whole.

Ugly aside, they were — and continue to be to this day — a valuable and useful commodity. According to Dennis Lewarch, Suquamish Tribe historic preservation officer, the Tribe burned dogfish oil for light, used its rough skin for sandpaper and, later on, sold its liver oil to early sawmills in the area to help lubricate their machinery. In addition to lubricating machinery, early lumber mills in the Poulsbo area, also used the oil from dogfish livers to grease the skid roads upon which logs slid down to the water. The smell was so bad that, “A blind man could follow a skid road recently greased,” one 1870s traveller said.

By the beginning of the 20th century, dogfish oil was also used for human health (fish liver oil) and by 1905 — the same year Poulsbo residents petitioned for the name change to Liberty Bay — there were some 250 fishing boats in Puget Sound engaged in catching dogfish and exporting them abroad for fish and chips, according to Washington state records.

The Scandinavian fishermen who immigrated here in the 1800s were certainly familiar with the dogfish. Scandinavian fisheries were major suppliers of dogfish filets for fish and chips in European markets. The Cape Cod Commercial Fishermen’s Alliance reports the dogfish has “a sweet, mild flavor.” Dogfish are still caught today for export.

But they are ugly. And they get no respect even in the literary world.

When it was published in 1883, Carlo Collodi’s children’s book, “The Adventures of Pinocchio,” became the Harry Potter book of its day and was translated and sold all over the world.

Remember the whale that swallowed Pinocchio and his father in Disney’s 1950 animated film? Well, in the book, the part of the finny villain wasn’t played by a cute whale — it was a monstrous, horrible, dogfish, “bigger than a five-story house with a mouth so big it could swallow a railway train with its smoking engine in a single gulp.” Fortunately, it was a very old dogfish suffering from asthma and a bad heart. So Pinocchio and his father were able to escape when it snored.

An ugly, big, snoring, wheezing dogfish.

Pity the poor dogfish. The only way he can get any respect is batter-fried with chips.