"We need to grab all the radiation, all the toxins, and say thank-you, and then give them back to the Sun. It's Sun food, it's no good for us, we can't eat it, but the Sun makes it and the Sun eats it. We need to thank the Sun for sharing and then give it all back to the Sun." The local Medicine Man's words rang through his head as he watched the ripples move further out over the clear, still water.
There were no other sounds, save the occasional call of a Gull, nor any other Salmon to be seen beneath where he stood on the black slate knoll over-looking the lake.
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| photo by Robert E. Livingood |
It was early evening, and we were standing on traditional Xeni Gwich'in grounds, saying our farewells to Chilko Lake. We had been living here for a week now, waiting for their arrival. The Salmon had finally reached this area of the large lake. They had come all this way. 650 kms upstream, against rapids and strong currents, up 3850 feet of elevation, and through toxic effluent leaked into the Fraser from the all-too-timely Mount Polley mine tailings pond breach. We followed their migration route. We wanted to see, as best we could, what it actually means to come back home for these Salmon. We dipped into the Fraser canyon to follow the Fraser River for a time. We tried to imagine what it would be like to have to move through all the toxins from the tailings spill - to have it absorb into their livers and gonads, to concentrate in their eggs and sperm, their entire reason for making the arduous journey. We camped for three days at the confluence of the Chilko and Taseko Rivers. We saw how the teal waters of Chilko meet the milky-white of the Taseko, and how the two rivers travel side-by-side for a time before finally melding into a beautiful milky-teal colour.
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| photo by Stephanie Kellett |
Here the current was so strong that the red bodies had to swim single file amongst the shallows, over half-submerged rocks and other obstacles, sliding their tired bodies over them and through the air, exposing themselves to eager mouths. We paddled along side them as they entered the mouth of Chilko Lake at the north end. Watching them jump all around us, all day and all night, in joyous celebration of making it back home and receiving the gift of reprieve of still waters. Yet most still had to journey some or all of this 65 km lake to finally reach the spawning ground from which they were born, before they offering the rest of themselves up to become food for the world around them. The Eagles, Ravens and Gulls delight on their eyes as they float to the surface, the Grizzlies and Otters consume them whole as they arrive on the shore, and the Douglas Firs and Lodgepole Pine absorb the composted DNA into their makeup. Only the Humans do not eat them this year. They are the only species that is aware of the possible long-term consequences of consuming concentrated amounts of arsenic and lead. Even they though, believe on some level, that what doesn't feed you can be given back to life, in a good way. Being here with the Salmon and the Xeni Gwich'in, on this sacred lake, has shown me the medicine of the Salmon, and of those who consume it: to move through the challenges to follow your heart, then give thanks and give it all away.
