Steve Egner
Contributor
While camping in the Mt. Baker/Snoqualmie National Forest last year, I saw a group of three drysuit-clad figures swooping, crawling, and dipping their way down one of the shallow creeks by our campsite. They were carrying a video and a smaller digital camera, and appeared to be taking their time from pool to pool.
When I saw my chance, I asked about their activity. They were from the state fisheries department, and were involved in counting the King Salmon currently spawning, as well as marking their sites.
We planned to return to the same area this year, and at the last moment before we left, I tossed a 3ml shortie wetsuit, my mask, and a snorkel in the back of the truck.
The day after our arrival, a forest ranger let us know that the Salmon would be coming upstream literally any minute. That afternoon the thermometer topped 90 F, so I suited up for a cool dip.
I wasn't really prepared for just how cool that dip would prove to be. I regularly dive Puget Sound in my 7ml suit, hood, boots, etc., and this water was much colder, the stream source being snowmelt and glacial runoff. The suit barely staved off hypothermia, and my entire head, arms, and hands were numb after only a few minutes.
But what a reward! The Salmon were slowly moving up the stream as I dove. While bracing myself against a smooth boulder in the clear, swift water, a large King, probably 20-25lbs, moved right up within a foot of my mask and stayed there. They are so powerful and streamlined, the fish needed only to make slow, graceful sweeps with it's tail to maintain it's position in the stream. I, on the other hand, was not so graceful.
Gradually getting the hang of it, completely numb by now, with a bruised tailbone and an ugly looking gash on my shin, I too swept from pool to pool, dipping, treading, crawling, and most of all, observing. I was entirely gripped by the scene of these beautiful fish. By the time I left the water I was almost too weak to stand, but I went back in each of the following two days, sharing my gear with my children and another couple we were camping with.
I've always appreciated the miracle of the Salmon migration, but this experience definitely raised my view to a new level. My children were able to witness something most people will only see on television, if ever, and their appreciation of this delicate ecosystem is now well-seeded.
I'll be going back in two weeks, and I'm going to try to snag a camera. If I do, I'll add pics to today's story. I won't under dress for the occasion this time, either.
Cheers!
Steve
When I saw my chance, I asked about their activity. They were from the state fisheries department, and were involved in counting the King Salmon currently spawning, as well as marking their sites.
We planned to return to the same area this year, and at the last moment before we left, I tossed a 3ml shortie wetsuit, my mask, and a snorkel in the back of the truck.
The day after our arrival, a forest ranger let us know that the Salmon would be coming upstream literally any minute. That afternoon the thermometer topped 90 F, so I suited up for a cool dip.
I wasn't really prepared for just how cool that dip would prove to be. I regularly dive Puget Sound in my 7ml suit, hood, boots, etc., and this water was much colder, the stream source being snowmelt and glacial runoff. The suit barely staved off hypothermia, and my entire head, arms, and hands were numb after only a few minutes.
But what a reward! The Salmon were slowly moving up the stream as I dove. While bracing myself against a smooth boulder in the clear, swift water, a large King, probably 20-25lbs, moved right up within a foot of my mask and stayed there. They are so powerful and streamlined, the fish needed only to make slow, graceful sweeps with it's tail to maintain it's position in the stream. I, on the other hand, was not so graceful.
Gradually getting the hang of it, completely numb by now, with a bruised tailbone and an ugly looking gash on my shin, I too swept from pool to pool, dipping, treading, crawling, and most of all, observing. I was entirely gripped by the scene of these beautiful fish. By the time I left the water I was almost too weak to stand, but I went back in each of the following two days, sharing my gear with my children and another couple we were camping with.
I've always appreciated the miracle of the Salmon migration, but this experience definitely raised my view to a new level. My children were able to witness something most people will only see on television, if ever, and their appreciation of this delicate ecosystem is now well-seeded.
I'll be going back in two weeks, and I'm going to try to snag a camera. If I do, I'll add pics to today's story. I won't under dress for the occasion this time, either.
Cheers!
Steve
