The creek tumbles down misty canyons of the coast range, winding its way to the sea. It passes through mossy corridors of maple and cedar, roaring over boulders, sliding across down timber, then pouring into green pools that are smooth as glass. My wife and I were exploring an area where an old campground formerly existed; now grown over, the water pump gone, only the memory remained.

We stopped at a clearing next to the rushing creek. The trees arched in a vaulted canopy over a campfire ring and a fishermen’s trail. Was it here that my brother and I had visited back in the sixties? So long ago, so much had happened since then; a nation had lost its innocence, good people of great promise had been taken from us. The creek was unchanged, still flowing clear and cold. We were older, our hair streaked with gray, and wiser, in our veins the passion for truth still ran strong, waiting to be reborn.

Look! My wife exclaimed, pointing to the creek. I drew up alongside and focused on a shadow holding steady under the rippling surface. It was a lone steelhead, a sleek form gliding easily into the current. Blending with the graveled bottom, it was perfectly at home. I could see its steely jaw set firmly against the sometimes cruel challenges of nature. Yet the telltale white flesh on the fins of the steelhead said the time had come for this noble creature. Like many fish that must return to the place of their birth, this solitary denizen had lived his final chapter. How romantic and dutiful its life had been, of countless adventures of survival in years spent out at sea. Only his mate would know this story, told in the dance of progeneration.

The muscular steelhead wavered slightly against the water’s flow. Within this pristine grotto in the forest, he would guard this gravel bed with his last energies, ensuring a future for a generation he would never see.

I wondered what manner of awareness had befallen him, even as the light of life slowly dimmed. Was there peace, a feeling of fulfillment, a sense of duty? Perhaps an echo of eternity. There is much that we can learn from these proud creatures.

The spirit of the native Oregonian, and of all those who embrace the enduring wisdom of conservation, can be likened to the iconic salmon and steelhead that gracefully persevere through storm, drought, and flood. There is a strength tested by time, forged with discipline and sacrifice. We should do no less than to protect our salmon, steelhead and trout with the collective efforts of industry and citizenry alike. Every clearcut that infringes on creeks and rivers, every act of dumping and littering, and every gratuitous claim allowed by Measure 37 is degrading Oregon’s waterways and the ecosystems within.

Soon this solitary steelhead in the coastal creek will drift away in the current, its unseeing eyes turned toward destiny. In the spring the cycle would begin again.

This entry was posted on Monday, January 1st, 2007 at 10:04 am and is filed under Environment, General, Livability. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.