The Daily Bucket is a place where we can post and exchange our observations about the natural happenings in our neighborhoods. Birds, bugs, blossoms and more - each notation is a record that we can refer to in the future as we try to understand the natural patterns that are unwinding around us.
Seattle. October 28, 2012.
Coho Salmon (Oncorhynchus kisutch) have spawned in the lake shallows for at least as long as there has been language to describe their presence. stSaKatSeed was the Lake People's name for a place just north of the Wetland - Cooking Fish on a Stick - where fish are split open, gutted and splayed on a framework of alder sticks, then cooked over open fires. I have eaten salmon cooked in this manner, and they are delicious.
Coho Salmon hatchlings, alevins, wiggle up from their gravel beds in late winter or early spring, school together and feed for a while, then split from their schools to set up individual territories. They spend their first year in those fresh water empires, growing and gaining strength, then swim out to the ocean. A few return the next year, but most swim in salt water for two years, gathering in schools to journey up and down the coast until they catch the scent of home, turn towards fresh water, and return to the place where they first emerged.
Late winter a couple of years ago:
I worked my way north from the Wetland pond along its outlet rivulet to the lake, something I'd never done before. There was no path; I was thankful for my rubber boots. Marsh marigolds were blooming along the creek edges. The first ones to bloom are yellow and I remember them bright in the respite of winter sun. A little further on, I flushed a couple of infatuated mallards from their bower, then pushed my way through an alder thicket onto the lake shore.
The shorebed here is gravel, bigger than peas, maybe a size between big marbles and banty hen eggs. There are driftwood logs too, alder mostly, and the usual detritus of a city landscape. A sheltered place, quiet.
My shadow preceded me onto the lake surface. Under it the water began to boil. I stepped back, startled by the sudden sound of thrashing water and the sight of a clean frothy wave arcing out from the shallows towards deeper water. Fish. Little fish. Hundreds of little fish, as startled by my shadow as I was of their frantic escape. Ten seconds later the lake surface was calm. Only my shadow on the water, whole again.
I walked the lakeshore there this afternoon in dim light, the flat grey light that embraces us in winter. The lake was almost still, just thick ripples moving in from the deep places in towards the gravel beds. Three Horned Grebes took turns diving out by the buoys.
Then this. A tail fin jutting out of the water, almost still. A shadow underneath.
Salmon. Spawned out, tattered, pale, so weak, yet still alive. It made its way closer and closer to the place where the roiling waters had once startled me. I sat and watched as it rested. Waited a long time until it moved again.
Rest. Swim.
Rest.
Swim.
Rest.
October 28, 2012. Seattle. Coho Salmon (Oncorhynchus kisutch) have returned to spawn in the shallows adjacent to the Wetland.
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Your turn. What's happening in your neighborhood? Everyone is welcome to add their observations to the Bucket. I'll be back in the early afternoon PDT and again around dinner.