An Afternoon with Kayaker Fred and The Spawning Salmon

Considering that the most toned part of my body is my mouse-clicking finger, it should not surprise me that after yesterday's kayaking trip, my arms are dangling from their sockets like flaccid pieces of overcooked spaghetti. The most challenging rapids on the river were only class 2, but they were enough to tax this relative novice.

But not enough to tax Kayaker Fred, our host. Kayaker Fred is a veritable paddling Buddha, able to glide serenely through any eddy, in any direction he cares to go. Our other host, Brenda, flipped her kayak on one of the more challenging rapids, and yet still managed to hang onto the beer.

I have a long way to go.

Despite my flailing through the rapids, it was an enchanting day on the river. Shorebirds flew overhead with freshly caught fish clutched in their talons. A group of turkey vultures were gathered on the bank, feasting on an enormous, and very dead, salmon. We paddled past a bald eagle's nest. The occupant was at home, staring down at us as we floated by.

As we were heading downstream, hordes of salmon were swimming in the opposite direction. It's a comical and yet admirable sight to watch them struggle upstream. When they come to a particularly daunting rapid, they commence a vigorous wiggling of their tails, then fling themselves forward with all their might. All this effort for the opportunity to lay or fertilize some eggs, and pretty swiftly thereafter, die. And then get eaten by turkey vultures.

There's a law firm metaphor somewhere in all this, I just know it.