The Salmon Are Not Here

There are no spawning salmon here.

There are no fishing bears.

This is not the trip I booked. That’s always the risk with nature. That doesn’t ease the disappointment, though.

Every day I take my spot in this hard, plastic-molded chair, confined to a deck of milled, nailed boards three feet off the ground at the river’s edge. Waiting. It’s beautiful. But.

I can dawdle a day away in the grass, among the wildflowers and pollinators, on the soft tawny sand, in the endless array of rock shapes, colors and sizes. Confined to this deck, my curiosity cannot be tactile. I am a wanderer.

The resident bald eagles oblige: a low flyby, a perfect perch, preening in front of us, fighting over scraps, watching and waiting for a salmon carcass that never comes.

I photographed kingfishers, magpies, variegated thrushes, flycatchers and spotted sandpipers. On the first morning, when I was full of hope, I watched a family of river otters frolic by.

Pink salmon spawn in this mile-long section every year. The bears come to feast. In fifty years of observation, the latest the pinks had ever arrived was July 22nd. It is August 4th.

The salmon are not here.

Fisheries monitor salmon counts all over the Pacific Northwest. They reported the pink salmon entered this river at the usual time and in average numbers. What happened between the river mouth and these historic spawning grounds is anyone’s guess. The journey up the river usually takes about two weeks. It’s been well longer than that.

It’s not the first time Nature hasn’t kept to the schedule. In times past, in other places, it meant hiking further to find the fish. That’s not the model here. The pinks always come to the viewing sites. We cannot go to them.

The salmon are not here. The bears are not here.

Eight guests join me, from France, Miami, New York and Virginia. We’ve traveled a long way to see bears. To see bears fish. Our hosts are distressed about promises unkept.

Common mergansers delight and entertain us with their twice-daily passings.

The pink salmon have a two-year lifecycle. Eggs laid during spawning hatch over the winter, and the smolts (young salmon) swim out to the ocean where they grow and mature. They then return to their natal riverbeds to spawn and start the cycle again. If there are no eggs/few eggs laid here this year, then there won’t be a substantial salmon run here in 2028. Fewer fishing bears could be predicted. What will the hosts tell guests who already have deposits down for those trips?

The salmon are not here.

It’s a stunningly beautiful place. Gorgeous weather. Crisp, clean air. Great company. All the ancillary things are here. I’ve been here, on this deck, hopefully waiting for four days. Encouraging others to have faith while they look through photo books full of pictures taken here in years past of bears, cubs, fishing, splashing, rubbing, playing, eating. I didn’t expose myself to that raw disappointment. Today, my hope has turned heavy. I am running out of time.

All of the Pacific Northwest salmon populations are in decline. They are the life engine of these rivers and riparian ecosystems, bringing nourishment from the oceans inland. It’s an all-too-familiar lament.

The salmon are not here.

Addendum: In mid-August, the salmon reportedly appeared, and the bears fished. There is hope for the salmon and this ecosystem that depends on them.

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

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