While driving through the lashing rain, running a bit late, on our way to the Quinsam River trail last Sunday, I couldn't help wondering if anyone would be waiting there for us. Sure enough, there were some hardy souls decked out in their rain gear standing patiently in the parking lot. It made my heart sing! What a committed group of people to come out in what was inarguably a miserable day.Luckily, the Quinsam River trail did not disappoint. Not long in to the walk we wandered down to the river bank, and sure enough saw lots of evidence of salmon. There were still plenty of carcasses of pink salmon in various stages of decomposition. But, we also saw dead chinook and our patience was rewarded with some fluttering action in the water.
The real highlight for me was when we got to the end of the trail by the Quinsam hatchery. There we saw a few fishermen and, despite the rain, stood around to watch and see if anyone got lucky. Again our patience was rewarded when one of them caught a huge coho and slowly brought it up to shore for us to see before releasing it again. Wow, what a sight. Fish are not often thought of as beautiful, but there was no denying the beauty of this amazing creature all shimmering pink, vibrating with energy and purpose. There were numerous other coho, pinkish orbs, visible just below the surface.
What a great experience for children to get up close with the realities of nature. The annual migration of the salmon illustrates in a contracted way the cycle of all living things - life, reproduction and finally death, and even in death the interconnectedness of all living things. There was plenty of evidence of other animals taking sustenance from the salmon. Seagulls were up and down the river feeding. We even saw numerous large chinook carcasses dragged up on to the trail some of their bodies torn open, probably by bears, left there to rot and eventually nourish the forest itself.It's fascinating how the curiosity of children overcomes their squeamishness. None of the young ones were uncomfortable with all the death and rot around them. My own son loves nothing more than poking the dead and sometimes stinky bodies with sticks and his rubber-booted feet. I have to suspend my adult sensibilities, so as to let him experience this oddly intimate encounter with nature in his own three-year-old way.
We would have missed out on all of this had we let a little, okay a lot of rain keep us inside. Even though the weather was wet, I'm so glad we ventured out on that forest trail. I'm so glad, too, that some of you decided to join us! I hope to see you next time.
