Sunday Hike: Chasing Salmon, And Remembering Who I Am.

The Mrs. and I got out for a little hike yesterday in the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness near Mount Hood.  But it was more than that;  it was an experience of closing a big existential loop.  I particularly like this hike, though it’s not the most challenging in the world. There is slight elevation gain, but for the most part, the hike along the Salmon River is more of a forest stroll, the kind that’s conducive to big thinking, existence pondering, and post industrial ennui erasing.  On this trail, the mind is less focused on the physical challenge and more concentrated on the sense data that abounds.

First to the nose is a ubiquitous autumnal scent;  the leaves, the pine needles, all imbued with a hint of cold. Yes, one can smell the cold in the shadows this time of year. And the shadows, too, are sinister;  they’re a reminder that one must take care of himself here or face the consequences made manifest by the elements when bad decisions are made. In the woods, we are the exact measure of ourselves.  

A Circle Closed:

For months, we’ve been advocating with our friends at Save Our Wild Salmon for the Obama administration to change the Bush era policy on salmon in the Snake River Basin.  It’s been gut wrenching, and ultimately disappointing. But for any environmentalist, getting your teeth kicked in by greed and bad science is a familiar bad taste, one that must be washed down with a ‘never say die’ optimism. And instead of slitting your wrists, you need to get out and remember what you’re fighting for, and why.

It’s fall; salmon are running. After hiking about two miles in on the Salmon River (yes, aptly named) trail, my wife Molly spotted a rudimentary campsite off the trail, down by a calmer stretch of the river. Immediately, we both vowed to come back and hole-up in this spot.  I love backpacking, but one of my favorite kinds of trips is to hike in to the perfect spot, establish a base camp, and then day hike out of it for a few days. This was the epic spot in which to do that. Surveying the site, my dog had no interest in anything other than getting in the river, as he’s a true water dog.  

If it’s wet, he’s in it. We walked down to the edge to throw a stick for him and we noticed eddies where eddies shouldn’t have been.  And then, like blowing the cover off the wilderness’s camouflage, there they were:  the salmon.  Tons and tons of them were running. Some had already spawned and were slowly decaying, and others still on their mission, navigating to their own birth place by some hidden industry that still eludes human comprehension.  Like bison in Montana, salmon are the ambassadors of the Northwest. They are THE icon and the ultimate indicator species.  We watched in awe as they darted to and fro as we attempted to understand the motivations for their movements. In cities, behind computers we forget salmon empirically; we measure them by our own policies and interests. We loose respect for them- not by any willful activity, but rather by the rages of circumstances- out of sight out of mind, as they say.  But here, on the bank of a river, in an old growth forest, I am with them. For hours. At first, I’m attempting to photograph them with a 20 mil lens, which is completely useless unless I wade into the stream.  But quickly, I realize that I need not photograph them to capture them–  no, I just need to be present.  I need to be here.  I need to be away from circumstance.  I need to be fully unengaged from the self, and intimately engaged with what I’m bearing witness to–  like watching a painter paint without care or worry for what the final product will be.  This is how beauty manifests in four dimensions, and arguably five; as it will be committed to memory, too.  I like the word ‘moment’ very much. Because it means nothing unless you’re in it.

They say that a picture is worth a 1,000 words.  They lie.  The words are the means by which we understand our pictures, whether they’re out in the world, our hidden in the mind’s eye. I’d say that a nature essay is worth a 1,000 pictures.