In early October I had the great privilege to travel to British Columbia, Canada and board a charming converted tugboat. The expedition would take me through the maze of islands and deep fjords of the Great Bear Rain Forest.
The timing of our sailing overlapped with the end of the salmon-run. The rivers and estuaries had in the weeks before received record rainfall from an atmospheric river. The last of the migrating and spawning salmon were completing their journey inland. On our first shore excursion into this abundant grizzly bear and coastal wolf habitat, we were able to see the environment and salmon up close.
Our journey took us deep into a Fjordlands Conservancy region of towering mountains and biodiverse river estuaries. We encountered grizzly bears along the edge of a muddy river bank in Kynoch Inlet. Sitting in a zodiac in the cold and pouring rain was a small price to pay to see this healthy young adult bear appear through the deep grass a short distance away. We watched as several bears sparred and foraged at the edge of the forest, already fat with salmon and preparing for their winter hibernation.
Everywhere we went, smalls trees and tenacious vegetation grew from the crevices of rocky cliff faces. We lost count of the humpback whales we encountered along the way, bubble-net feeding close to shore and passing in groups across misty channels. Our overnight anchorages were often near waterfalls tumbling down dark cliffs into deep waters. On a rare white sand beach I spotted coastal wolf tracks leading across the damp sand and into the trees. Ocean-worn boulders and a variety of inter-tidal ecosystems were explored every day.
The image I carry closest to my heart from this journey however is one I was unable to photograph.
One dark and early rainy morning in K’ootz/Khutze Inlet I wandered the quiet boat deck, looking across still water to the towering, misty mountains. Just off the bow and swimming close in the darkness was a ghostly salmon. It moved slowly, almost meditatively as it faced the incoming tide, it’s shifting shape barely visible in the predawn gloom.
After they have spawned and perhaps evaded predation by bears, wolves, or birds, some of the salmon wander from the rivers back into deeper waters. Their colours fade, their fins become tattered. In the inky water they appear to be swimming among stars, as particles and tiny bits of debris filter past in the quiet current.
I watched this particular fish for a long time, wondering if it knew what came next. The seemingly endless depth of the space through which it moved felt like a metaphor for the incredible journey it had already made, arriving finally at a place where it had completed its cycle and would soon become an elemental part of the ecosystem.
There was not enough light to make a photograph of this particular moment, but if I close my eyes I can still see that pale salmon, swimming toward infinity.
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