The Spawning of the Salmon


Going to some of the local rivers at this time of year is like watching the most fascinating horror movie ever made.
Dead salmon line the banks, their eyes pecked out by manic seagulls.
The squawking of these gulls is a cacophony of screeches and caws.
They float in the shallow waters, diving their heads below the surface to grasp the flesh of a dying fish that is simultaneously giving birth and accepting its own demise.
The evidence of bird attacks and wins is spread down every rock in white.
Those chum salmon that are arriving fresh from the ocean, dive into the chaos; their sides tattooed with olive and deep purple stripes.
While those that have faced the rapid waters and dropped their cargo, swim like ghosts, awaiting their inevitable take over by a creeping white rot.
And the smell. A horror all of its own.
Yet, as in any good horror movie (as well as those that are not so good), there are survivors in those little eggs and they are now hidden away in the river gravel.
You will see some of them in the sequel in a few years time.












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