THE LAST JOURNEY HOME

Salmon are incredibly driven to spawn. They will not give up. This gives me hope. --- Kathleen Dean Moore

In the opening scenes of the 1992 film Last of the Mohicans, three hunters are on a frenzied chase through the forest. They are pursuing a bull elk that comes breaking through the trees, just as Hawkeye, played by Daniel Day-Lewis raises his rifle. With true aim, he brings down the creature with a startling crash. The breathless hunters are silent. There no cheers or accolades. Then in mournful sorrow, the Indian father pays tribute to the fallen elk by saying, "We're sorry to kill you, Brother. We do honor to your courage and speed, your strength."
That scene crosses my mind as I was paddling on the Lower American River and encountered the migrating Chinook or King Salmon. They were traveling up upriver from the Pacific Ocean to spawn.

As they had done for untold centuries, these creatures were completing their life cycle by spawning, laying eggs, and dying in their natal water, "Where they themselves had first known the quickening of life."
"It was the climax of existence," wrote naturalist Sigurd Olson after witnessing the eelpout spawn in Northern Minnesota, "The ultimate biological experience toward which everything previous was merely a preparation."  
Obeying their urges that were implanted in their genetic structure long ago, the salmons' entire life had led them to this supreme event. For eons, the salmon had spawning grounds of over 100 miles in the American River and its tributaries. But with Nimbus Dam just upstream, it is the end of the journey for these “wild salmon,” that avoid the fish ladder of the Nimbus Hatchery. Instead, they will lay and seminate eggs in gravel nests in shallows of the river beds.
At Sailor Bar, they find clean, cool, oxygenated, sediment-free fresh water for their eggs to develop. 

 The river was alive as it moves over the rocks with a quiet whisper. From my kayak, I watched the dazzling show of nature. The salmon were swimming against the flow of the current. I could see their single dorsal fins above the waterline. They were contorting their bodies and swishing their tail fins to clean any sediment in their nest area. It was like watching something prehistoric. This ritual to reproduce been has been practiced since the dawn of time.
"I have seen salmon swimming upstream to spawn even with their eyes pecked out, " wrote author and environmentalist Kathleen Dean Moore, " Even as they are dying, as their flesh is falling away from their spines, I have seen salmon fighting to protect their nests. I have seen them push up creeks so small that they rammed themselves across the gravel. I have seen them swim upstream with huge chunks bitten out of their bodies by bears. Salmon are incredibly driven to spawn. They will not give up. This gives me hope."

While spawning time celebrates the sheer primeval laws of procreation. It also marks the end of their life cycle. The salmon aging process has been accelerated as they migrate to the spawning sights like the American River's Sailor Bar. Scientists say it would be like if we as humans, aged forty years in two weeks. Most of them stop eating after they return to freshwater. Their bodies change. The male develops a hooked snout and a humped back. And in using every bit of energy they have for the return trip, they are simply exhausted, and they die.

As paddle back toward the lagoon of Sailor Bar, I came across one noble salmon lying motionless on the shallows more dead than alive. It was in the final moments of its epic life.
Like the hunters in The Last of Mohicans, I felt a certain melancholy as I witness the death of this river brother. I thought about its life of traveling in the distant ocean. How twice it swam twice under the Golden Gate Bridge. How it navigated the ocean dodging whales, seals, sea lions, and fisherman's hooks, and how it found its way back home to spawn.
Seagulls and turkey vultures were pecking and feasting on the numerous dead carcasses littering the riverway. No doubt this one would be soon included with those others. Its journey was now complete, as its body would provide vast amounts of nutrients back to the habitat. But not before I would say a prayer, to honor its courage, speed, and strength.
 

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