119 Fish...

According to the latest government figures, observed human predation has claimed the lives of more than 21,000 Chinook salmon. Sport fishermen alone killed more than 16,500 salmon. Another 3,109 Chinook were caught and released by sport fishermen, presumably because their adipose fins were not clipped, meaning that they were probably wild fish. Of those, a very conservative government estimate suggests that 10% will die after being released, as a direct result of handling. (A more accurate estimate is probably closer to 20%, but let’s just use the government’s figures for this.) This means that, of the wild salmon who were caught and released by sport fishermen, at least 311 of them can be expected to die as a result of the trauma associated with the sport fishing industry. (Or 622 if we use the 20% figure that some suggest would be more accurate. But let’s just go with the government’s numbers.)
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A Special Friend

I met someone over the weekend, and I want you to meet him too. I’m not sure whether words can really introduce you to this remarkable being, but words will be the bridge I will try to build between us, between the theory and the reality of who the sea lions really are. I met Hank at the mouth of the Columbia, basking in the sun near a row of fishing boats. I started calling him Hank because he reminds me of a certain dog I know — same color, same facial expressions, same bark. And there’s something else that Hank the sea lion has in common with Hank the dog — each one in his own way has chosen to bestow upon me a deep trust that I don’t know how I earned, and that feels like a miraculous gift.
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Greeting the New Day

Tomorrow is Easter, a day to celebrate the turning of the wheel, from decay to resurrection, from winter to spring, from death to life. And in a fitting salute to this ancient Pagan (yes! Pagan!) holiday, the runs are here: The salmon are pulsing through the river again. Life comes surging into the world again with the spring. And with it come the sea lions, gliding through the water with the salmon, as they have for thousands of years.
I can hear them from my window here, barking and trumpeting from the waters as they lounge along the shore, as they gleefully swirl through the water, as they break the grey-green, splashing surface with their whiskered, dog-like faces. I counted four of them this morning, as I walked along the shore. This is good. This is how the spring goddess comes dancing back into the world: She comes with bright blossoms and soft petals and perfumed air. She comes with singing birds and unfurling fronds and awakening earth. And, here in Cascadia, she comes with the salmon and the sea lion.
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