End of a journey:                         See the photo gallery
A salmon reaches its final destination
By Rich Stromberg, Oct. 1 2005

I didn’t head out looking for salmon. I was actually on a photo assignment for an article on urban and rural energy costs in Alaska. I’m living in a rental house while finishing a journalism degree at the University of Alaska Anchorage, and I decided to walk along some power lines at the end of my street. I was about a quarter of a mile down the trail when I heard what sounded like an animal crossing a stream.

My dog, Taiya, and I didn’t see anything, so we walked through the foot-tall grass and shrubs to a small tributary about a foot wide and only 4 inches deep. There, before our eyes, was a red salmon half above the water thrashing about, pushing itself a few feet up the stream.

I’ve seen salmon in streams before, but never this small of a stream and never this far from the ocean. Their sight always brings about feelings of wonder and sadness, because, unlike spotting a bear or moose in the wild, you know that the salmon you see is giving everything it has to push itself to the place where it will die.

If it’s lucky, the salmon will find a mate to spawn with. That was not the case with this fish. I checked up and down the stream and no other fish where in sight. My roommate did confirm a few hours later that another pair was spawning several hundred yards downstream, so at least this fish will serve as food for next year's newly hatched fish.

This salmon was still breathing, but had stopped moving up stream - maybe just resting for a while, but most likely within yards of the spot where it will die. I took a moment to kneel down and touch the salmon's skin and feel its dying spirit. Taiya, having never seen a salmon before, came up and gave the fish a sniff. (See video- 9MB AVI. Rotated 90 degrees.)

This salmon was born not far from this very spot. It lived for a year or so in the surrounding streams, nourished by the remains of its ancestors. It survived predators along South Fork Campbell Creek on its journey to Cook Inlet and spent years in the Gulf of Alaska growing larger and stronger.

Then, weeks ago, a primordial drive triggered within the creature; driving it back from whence it came. It swam up Cook Inlet, past fishermen's nets, past anglers' casts, past the eyes of eagles - talons waiting to grasp a meal and carry it back to the nest. It swam past the black and brown bears that roam the surrounding woods. It swam further than most of its kin who died along the way in nets, on hooks or in claws.

Success for this salmon still brings but death - a few days or weeks or hours more of life than those down stream, but death nonetheless. It may not have what we consider to be thoughts, but thanks to its struggle to the end of the trail, this salmon's spirit will pass on to those that hatch in the spring.

And for this one fish, life was truly about the journey. The destination is simply a starting point for those that follow. 

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Epilogue: Overnight, rains swelled the tributary, doubling its depth. The fish was gone from this spot, but at least three salmon were spotted about 200 feet upstream. The chances for spawning are good, though the offspring of these fish will never return to this exact spot, which is located directly within the path of the Bragaw Rd. extension. The extension is needed, but city planners and construction crews will need to ensure passage for future runs of salmon.

Rich Stromberg is the editor and publisher of Rocky Mountain Magazine and is the owner of alaskacolorado.com - a fine art landscape photography business. He is currently pursuing a journalism degree at the University of Alaska Anchorage.

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