"Salmon Weather"

 

March/April

It is “salmon weather” in the canyon. Cold nights, an occasional snow or sleet—the breath of winter lasting longer. A slight annoyance to those of us done with winter. During a brief warming period in early March, when we thought spring was here, the river was running high. It was tempting to begin planning what to put in my planting barrels. The river soon dropped enough to reveal new gravel beds where salmon might spawn in the coming summer. But for now, the return of wintry precipitation is making the water rise once again, sending its chilling effect towards deeper waters pooling downstream. The salmon will be happy with this infusion of cold water. They will need to traverse those pools during their upriver summer trek. Hot water kills salmon. 

                                   

This year one of my measures of “salmon weather” was a spigot of water arching off a rock wall in a wooded area down from my cabin. On some mornings, the spigot’s flow has been edged with ice, but dangling in its funnel were green filaments and the carapace of a caterpillar, evidence of last summer’s largesse and this summer’s bounty to come. I was puzzled at how water could spout from solid rock, but the mystery was solved a few days later when a sheet of moss peeled off the wall and the spigot disappeared. Water coursing down the rock face had been hitting a protrusion of moss. Now the bare rock glints with water.

Just down from where the spigot was located is a little waterfall flowing out from under a skirting of tree roots. Both the water flowing down the rock face and the waterfall's width were a barometer of the erratic weather.

Underfoot by the waterfall's splashing, the earth is spongy. And under that, beyond what I can see and feel, more water seeps through dirt and around stones—water which will eventually carry its “salmon weather” chill into the nearby river in time for those fall upriver salmon runs. In the meantime, the wet weather is brightening the moss all around the canyon, itself a habitat for snails, red mites, and at least one purple caterpillar riding on the back of a snail.

When I feel disgruntled at the return of cold weather, I remind myself once again of the spigot, the mite, the moss, and the salmon. I can set aside my petty human annoyance.