Salmons!
Went to the Renton Library today to return a book (Seannan Mcguire's 'A Local Habitation', in case anyone's curious. It's awesome. I'm on the list for the next in the series). The front door of the library is on a bridge over the Cedar river, and when I got there, small groups of folk were peering over the railing looking at the water. Now, this is the sort of thing I might do for longish periods of time, especially since there are scores of giant, fat, araneus orb weavers spinning off the bridge, but it's less usual to see regular folk doing that.
I looked. The river is *full* of salmon. Giant, bright red ones, near reproduction and death, which in salmon are nearly the same thing; digging little scrapes in the creek bed, in pairs and sometimes in threes.
I saw my first salmon run!
They really do look pretty rough, most missing chunks of scales, and all were just about blade-thin. The sign on the bridge indicated that these must be coho salmon, but next month we'll get chinook, too. I'm going by every day I have off to see them now, as long as they're running. I'd like to find somewhere closer to the sea, to see them less worn out, too. One had enough oomph to chase off a brown trout, though, who was probably trying to steal eggs. I tried not to think of all the yummy eggs along the riverbed, but watching all that salmon made my mouth water a bit.
It's a gorgeous river. Small, as rivers go, barely above a creek at this point, but clear and full of riffles and lined by multicolored pebbles. I'm sure I'd find lots of things living there, it looks cold and crisp and well-oxygenated.
I know it can't possibly be really clean, we are in a city here, but it's for sure alive, and it feels happy. The salmon must mean that something there is right. And even if many other things are not right, this thing is, and sometimes that's enough.
I looked. The river is *full* of salmon. Giant, bright red ones, near reproduction and death, which in salmon are nearly the same thing; digging little scrapes in the creek bed, in pairs and sometimes in threes.
I saw my first salmon run!
They really do look pretty rough, most missing chunks of scales, and all were just about blade-thin. The sign on the bridge indicated that these must be coho salmon, but next month we'll get chinook, too. I'm going by every day I have off to see them now, as long as they're running. I'd like to find somewhere closer to the sea, to see them less worn out, too. One had enough oomph to chase off a brown trout, though, who was probably trying to steal eggs. I tried not to think of all the yummy eggs along the riverbed, but watching all that salmon made my mouth water a bit.
It's a gorgeous river. Small, as rivers go, barely above a creek at this point, but clear and full of riffles and lined by multicolored pebbles. I'm sure I'd find lots of things living there, it looks cold and crisp and well-oxygenated.
I know it can't possibly be really clean, we are in a city here, but it's for sure alive, and it feels happy. The salmon must mean that something there is right. And even if many other things are not right, this thing is, and sometimes that's enough.