1998

June, 1998 

She could see it all from her perch high in the cedar tree. She is above a small fork in the river, where two torrents converge to form a raging whirl. A low mist lifts from the valley floor to reveal a small white Westfalia van parked on a spit of gravel. There is a young boy out fishing, awkwardly casting his long line into the violent waters. He fights to reel against the confluence, battling for strength with his little hands. From above she sees the look of shock and surprise on the young child’s face,  as a large coho salmon comes flying out of the water, fighting against the shock cord, desperate to escape. The child is stunned still. The father, in an attempt to be helpful, runs over, encouraging the child to pull against the line and land the fish. In the struggle the father gets excited, and being unsure what to do, he bludgeons the fish. The child bursts into tears -- the salmon sits slowly losing rich magenta blood which dyes the smooth grey rocks red. 

Time passes, and her young are hungry. She’s bound to the nest in order to protect and care for her recently hatched chicks. Their nest is immense, worked on for consecutive summers, constantly built safer and more secure. The old cedar tree is strong, and she has grown to love their view up and down the misty valley. Below, the father is consoling his son, the young daughter is tucked away keeping busy, trying not to be involved. To her amazement the family clambers out to a large rock in the middle of the converging streams, and ceremoniously lays the salmon across the rock. 

She knows exactly what they are doing; they are burying the salmon. They are offering the poor creature back to nature. She dives out of her nest, her strong brown wings thrown open. She glides down, talons outstretched, and grabs the fish between her razor sharp claws. Vigorously beating her enormous wings, she climbs back to the nest to feed her young this unexpected treat.