Opening Weekend
Bridge over Fiscus Creek
Our opening weekend brought us nearly 300 visitors and several dozen chum, and on Saturday, we were given a day of rain that left as we arrived, and came back as we closed up the trail.
Regardless of the weather, I always find Kennedy Creek magical. Greeting these amazing creatures who have travelled thousands of miles in a dance they and their ancestors have carried on for millenia is, to me, an experience and a privilege not to be missed.
The connections sparked in conversations between myself and visitors, the docents and visitors, make for meaningful conversation that is just, quite frankly, hard to find these days. We stand together in awe of salmon, and from the connection of the salmon we take off on foot paths that lead us to make meaningful connections to our lives and to each other, if only for a short time.
What better way to express my gratitude in the month of Thanksgiving than to express it to the salmon and the people that make this experience what it is.
Turning to the Creek itself………
Fiscus Creek was not yet high enough to bring salmon into it. A blanket of maple leaves, which dominated much of the trail, was the most striking feature of Fiscus Creek, whose water was flowing slightly higher and faster.
Fiscus Creek bed
Station 3 provided some of the best salmon viewing on Saturday. Several females vyed for space and began to ‘dig’ their redds here. The creek flows still appeared to be relatively low, much as they were last week. The water itself was relatively clear, the substrate still pretty dark.
Station 3
The real treat of the day was Station 8/9, where we all got a close up view of a beautifully striped female, who appeared to have constructed her first ‘redd,’ where most of her eggs will be deposited. A dominant male kept several satellites at bay, one of whom, I believe, prematurely released some milt. We also saw, for our purposes, the first carcass of the season nearby.
Station 8/9
We crowded around the redd for what seemed like an eternity, held captive by the thought that the next moment may just be the moment they spawn.
Likely the product of wishful thinking, I thought I saw her crouching into her redd, one of the signs that a spawn is imminent. Had this been a true spawn, the female would have crouched and gaped her mouth wide open, the dominant male joining her, releasing his milt as she released her eggs. The satellite males rushing in, adding their gametes to the mix.
I found myself amused by antics I imagine the fish would find very serious. At one point all was quiet and peaceful in this redd. Then a fish passed several feet away and suddenly attacked what seemed like nothing. This set off a chain reaction in the chum occupying the redd, and suddenly the water was alive with the thrashing, snapping gyrations of the salmon.
Well, that ends my weekly reflections on my day at the Trail. I look forward to hearing yours 
