Salmon

My better half and I left late on Friday hindered by the usual delays. We headed westbound with the prairie fire in our eyes on a shotgun trip to the B.C. interior. We were in search of a spectacle that occurs once every 4 years, the Adam's river Salmon run. This year was set to be a banner year with over 2 million sockeye salmon expected to reach the 12km stretch where they were born. We were slightly apprehensive that we may have missed the main event, which typically occurs in the earlier weeks of October. As we rolled west the sun fell quickly behind the horizon. Always vigilant to the hazards of driving at night we scanned the ditches, we had already spotted a coyote a two cow moose. As we rounded a bend traffic slowed then stopped. After a lengthy delay, traffic started to roll slowly westbound. A few hundred feet along the reason for the delay became apparent, first the contorted carcass of a moderately sized bull moose then the contorted carcass of a van, car or truck, too mangled to tell. Both were lying on their sides, both were complete write-offs. Back on route and that much more vigilant we crossed into Canada's most majestic park, Jasper national park. Shortly after our entrance a massive bull moose attempted to imitate the previous one but our vigilance prevailed and us, our truck, and the moose continued on with our journeys unharmed. Weary from the late night driving and long miles we settled into a rest stop and the comfort of sleep.



Late Saturday morning, 800kms behind us we pulled up to the Adams River. Perhaps foolishly, we were surprised by the number of vehicles parked in the grassy lot. Stepping out of the truck the stench of rotting flesh was apparent. We approached the river bank, crowded with curious onlookers from various countries. Once the river came into sight so did the salmon.



They filled the corner pool, shoulder to shoulder, tail to head. The mass of elongated red bodies could almost be mistaken for red weeds, the way they moved with the current and blanketed the river.



For as many that were alive an equal amount were decaying on the shores having succumbed to the strain of their journey;



a 500km upstream journey in fresh water that slowly poisons them.



The females bear a striking appearance with their crimson red bodies and olive green heads. The males are even more striking with the same colours and a grotesque humped back and kype jaw.


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The males jostle for position, biting and bumping. The battles create a powerful spectacle often taking place in waters no more than 2-3" deep, leaving 2/3 of the muscular fish exposed to the air.



Eggs are visible on the dry cobblestone shore, their lives over before they really began. Eggs are also visible on the river bottom.



The few that survive will come back to complete the circle of life that is portrayed so vividly for a few short weeks in October