Lake Eva
The end of the salmon's journey; death and renewal.
Every year at this time all the survivors of an entire cohort of pink salmon return to Southeastern Alaska, and as they enter the protected waters of the fjords, bays and inlets they instinctively return to the very stream where they started their life's journey three years before.
This morning, under a sullen gray sky, the Sea Lion maneuvered close to the shore of Hanus Bay on the eastern side of Baranof Island. The steady drizzle, which shrouded the surrounding mountains with a thin wind-driven misty veil, did not in the least deter us from deciding to start out on a hike to Lake Eva. From the beach, where the Zodiacs dropped us off, we cut through a somber stand of hemlock and Sitka spruce to the small picturesque river, which runs out of the lake into Hanus Bay. Even before we arrived at the river's edge, we started to see dead, usually partly eaten salmon scattered along the trail. But we were not prepared for what we found at the river. There were thousands upon thousands of salmon, which were either fighting the current of the rapids in their determined effort to reach the spawning bars, or were resting side by side, nose to tail, in the calmer parts of the river. The strugglers that fought their way up the cascades of water gushing over the irregular, rocky stream bed, conjured up strong feelings of respect and support among several hikers, who shouted out exclamations of encouragement, as if they were cheering their favorite runner at an athletics competition. Personally, I identified more closely with the fish, which had conquered the rapids, and were resting in the upper river before continuing on the last leg of their final journey. Ahead of them lay only the final spasmodic act of reproduction, followed by death.
At Lake Eva the serene view of the calm water and surrounding hills made us linger, and gave me a chance to reflect on the whole salmon story, and how the 19th century natural historians had romanticized and anthropomorphized the life of the salmon, using terms such as 'parental sacrifice' or 'giving all for the survival of the race'. Some people think that with the scientific understanding of how such a life strategy with one single act of reproduction has evolved, the mystery and beauty of this life cycle has diminished. I do not agree, if anything, I believe that understanding adds to the feeling of wonder at the way nature acts out its incredible drama.
The end of the salmon's journey; death and renewal.
Every year at this time all the survivors of an entire cohort of pink salmon return to Southeastern Alaska, and as they enter the protected waters of the fjords, bays and inlets they instinctively return to the very stream where they started their life's journey three years before.
This morning, under a sullen gray sky, the Sea Lion maneuvered close to the shore of Hanus Bay on the eastern side of Baranof Island. The steady drizzle, which shrouded the surrounding mountains with a thin wind-driven misty veil, did not in the least deter us from deciding to start out on a hike to Lake Eva. From the beach, where the Zodiacs dropped us off, we cut through a somber stand of hemlock and Sitka spruce to the small picturesque river, which runs out of the lake into Hanus Bay. Even before we arrived at the river's edge, we started to see dead, usually partly eaten salmon scattered along the trail. But we were not prepared for what we found at the river. There were thousands upon thousands of salmon, which were either fighting the current of the rapids in their determined effort to reach the spawning bars, or were resting side by side, nose to tail, in the calmer parts of the river. The strugglers that fought their way up the cascades of water gushing over the irregular, rocky stream bed, conjured up strong feelings of respect and support among several hikers, who shouted out exclamations of encouragement, as if they were cheering their favorite runner at an athletics competition. Personally, I identified more closely with the fish, which had conquered the rapids, and were resting in the upper river before continuing on the last leg of their final journey. Ahead of them lay only the final spasmodic act of reproduction, followed by death.
At Lake Eva the serene view of the calm water and surrounding hills made us linger, and gave me a chance to reflect on the whole salmon story, and how the 19th century natural historians had romanticized and anthropomorphized the life of the salmon, using terms such as 'parental sacrifice' or 'giving all for the survival of the race'. Some people think that with the scientific understanding of how such a life strategy with one single act of reproduction has evolved, the mystery and beauty of this life cycle has diminished. I do not agree, if anything, I believe that understanding adds to the feeling of wonder at the way nature acts out its incredible drama.
