By Eric Wilson-Edge
I won’t profess to love or hate nature. If I’m being honest I’d say I’m indifferent. I don’t mean to be – it’s just so easy. We live in a scenic circus. I can drive ten minutes and be in the forest. The ocean is an hour one way, the mountains an hour the other. Really, I could step outside my door. There are trees in every direction.
I realize this isn’t a nuanced perspective. A few squirrels in the backyard isn’t an ecosystem. It’s convenient caring. I can sit on my couch, look out the window and see birds. I don’t know what they’re doing or why they’re doing it. Frankly, I don’t care. Yet, I’m glad I see them because I know it’s important. No birds equals no good.
Here’s the point in the story where the central character experiences an epiphany. Except this one isn’t instantaneous. It’s Monday morning kind of slow.
My editor asked me to explore the Kennedy Creek Salmon Trail. I’ve lived here a long time and never heard of the place. Neither had my wife. I’m told we live in a bubble underneath a rock.
We turned off Highway 101 onto Old Highway 99. The directions showed an “X” where we needed to turn. We found the road and made a left. Asphalt became gravel. The smooth sound of blacktop faded into a low crumble of rock underneath tires. The world outside transitioned from Douglas Fir to fields to power lines and back again. We found the parking lot and the trail tucked away beyond the collage of metal and wood.
I admit to a sense of urgency that comes with trying something new. I felt I’d been given an invitation to something exclusive. The rain helped. A steady wind shook the branches and transformed the leaves into pom poms. The main path was deserted except for a man in a blue coat. Turns out he was a volunteer.
Brian Owens has been a guide at Kennedy Creek for almost ten years. He drives down from Tacoma to stand out in the cold and answer questions. He doesn’t seem to mind.
We reach one of the viewing points. Owens points to a vague outline in the water. The squirming thing I think is mud is a salmon – a chum. I know this because Owens knows this. Another fish comes into frame followed by another then another. I manage to garble out an opened mouth “wow.” Owens laughs. I haven’t seen anything.
The creek will get progressively busier as the salmon return to spawn. An estimated 20,000 to 40,000 fish will pass through this spot from November to early December.
Owens takes us to a different viewing platform. The glare is thick and obtrusive. I can’t make out anything below the surface. Another volunteer hands me a pair of sunglasses. I suddenly have x-ray vision. I’m mere feet away from at least 20 salmon. Some idle patiently in the current while others thrash their tails. Two male salmon fight for the affections of a female. I find myself staring for long periods of time. I’m no longer a passive observer but an active participant – or at least it feels that way. The all-encompassing, malleable thing I call “nature” now has a definitive shape.
My wife and I have made plans to return later in November. I’m told “salmon cam” will be running. This will provide an up close view of the fish. I don’t know. I think I saw more than I ever would with my own eyes.
The Kennedy Creek Salmon Trail is open to the general public on weekends until December 1. Admission is free but donations are encouraged. To schedule a group visit contact Adam Sant at adams@spsseg.org or by phone at (360) 412-0808 ext. 107. Driving directions and a map can be found here. Don’t rely on your GPS.