The season of giving thanks - Back Burner

This is the time of the year when the Western salmon teach us about life and about living fully until it is our time to die. They hatch in gravel beds, grow in lake waters, swim joyously through racing rivers, rest in quiet pools and venture into the hazards of the great ocean. If they do not perish or are not caught and eaten, they begin the incredible journey home, leaping, struggling, battered by waters and rock until they reach their birthplace. Those that die on the way back are part of the great cycle of life as their bodies decay in the river and become nutrients for other living creatures. Those that live to lay and fertilize their eggs prepare the way for future generations. Then, they lay down their lives. The journey changes them, as it does all of us. Their bodies are marked by scars and they change shape and colour.

As I write this, I am on a journey to see the return of the salmon. An extended family celebration of the annual Thanksgiving feast began the journey in Calgary, Alta. There are no salmon in the rivers of Alberta so Albertans must cross the Rockies into British Columbia to witness this annual renewal of life. I am travelling with my mother and a cousin. They share twin grandfathers who set out on a journey many seasons ago from County Mayo, Ireland. Their grandfathers never returned to their homeland in their life times. That journey was left to their grandchildren.

Our first stop is Radium and the Columbia River Valley, where our family has an old trailer in Sinclair Canyon. We are among the many people of the 20th and 21st centuries who come to this valley for rest and recreation. There was a time when the first people of this land were called the Salmon People. The salmon spawned in Sinclair Creek below the splashing waterfall. This was one of the most westerly spawning beds not far from the Continental Divide. The rivers on the eastern side of the divide empty into Hudson's Bay, while the westerly rivers flow to the Pacific.

These people were totally dependent upon the salmon. Eons ago, there was a major change in the salmon cycles and these first people could not survive without the salmon. It is not known what became of them. Later, the Kutenai and Shuswap First Nations made their home in the valley. They fished for salmon, but were not totally dependent upon the cycles of salmon for their sustenance. In due time, explorers, traders and settlers began to fill the valley, shifting the First Nations people from their places and livelihood. Later, the Grand Coulee dam was built on the Columbia River in Washington State and other dams followed along the Canadian stretches of the great river. The salmon could no longer return to Sinclair Creek.

One branch of the salmon family must have known that this would happen at some time; that they would not be able to make it to the great ocean and return to their first home. They adapted to the changes in their environment, became landlocked and known as the Kokanee. They swim in inland waters and lakes and never taste the salty sea. Yet, they too, return to the beds where they were born.

We reached Salmon Arm on Oct. 15, near the spawning beds of the Adams River. Every four years there is a peak migration, and we are privileged to visit in a peak year. The sockeye branch of the salmon family swim for 18 days from the mouth of the Fraser River to the Adams River. (I'm sending this article before I can witness their last act of life.)

Several years ago, my son and I were standing by Sinclair Creek, awestruck that salmon once came so far inland. He asked, "what is the meaning of the life cycle of a salmon?'" There are many ways to answer this question. Each of us who takes time to learn from the salmon can find different metaphors and teachings for our lives. The Irish call the salmon the "Salmon of Knowledge." I'm beginning to understand why.

Kate Quinn writes from Edmonton, Alberta.

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