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| Fish out of water—salmon carcass in willow |
The beginning of March and twenty mile per hour winds whip sheets of snow across the river, loose twigs and dried leaves stick to alders lining the beach and dead salmon are quickly buried in the blowing sand--except for the decomposing carcass caught in one short willow.
I have seen many ripe salmon, easily found by following my nose, entwined in limbs several feet above the ground, teeth exposed, half eaten. Totally unappetizing unless you are a bear or a black lab.
Nowadays, I can walk to the river without holding my breath. When I first arrived over 30 years ago, the river was packed bank to bank with salmon and steelhead and otters patrolled the waters. My first canine companions discovered the gourmet pickings early on and they couldn't be contained. They loved to drag parts out from under a leaf pile, roll in the mess, dive into the delectable meat still clinging to the body and gulp the deadly tiny flukes embedded in the fish head.
