Wild Moment: Alan Dickson
Anadromous
By Alan Dickson
The fish was born in this river.
Like all Atlantic Salmon she is anadromous, which means that she has the ability to travel from the sea to a river in order to breed.
It is from the Latin and means running upwards.
She does not know any of this, she is a salmon
She is perfectly engineered for migration, with an outward and return ticket. Hatched in a small stream, she learned to use cover and shade to vanish, to become invisible. A pellet from a scattergun, she was one of the few selected to beat the long odds. To survive long enough to make the journey down river to the brackish waters of the estuary. Where the river meets the sea, she joined the shoal and waited for the slow physical changes to take place. Alterations that will adapt her for life in salt water.
The shoal grows in number, constantly moving to avoid the predation of the harbour seals and diving cormorants.
Her colour changes.
Dark river camouflage, once a lifesaver is now a liability. Gradually it is replaced with reflective silver scales. Where she once hid in the shadows, she must now learn to hide in the light.
New scales, new skills
Assimilate, adapt, survive.
She will spend years in the great ocean, travelling the Norwegian sea, the Denmark straits and the rich feeding grounds southwest of Greenland. There are many deaths out here, but if you are fast and lucky you might just evade the sharks, the seals and the trawlerman’s nets.
A day comes when she feels a great urge telling her to leave this vast abundant sea. To go home. To run up the river to the tributary of her birth. She must do this. She must successfully mate. This is her destiny.
The route is programmed in. Hardwired somewhere deep inside her.
She will reach the estuary streamlined, muscular and powerful. She will need all this reserve strength. Rivers run downwards but she will be running upwards.
Anadromous.
There are strong currents to battle, falls to leap. She will no longer eat. Her ability to feed in fresh water was lost all those years ago. The irreversible metamorphosis that freed her from the river is now a heavy burden.
Her return was late in the season and although there were fewer mates, she found one and he proved suitable. After he fertilized her eggs, she buried them meticulously in the gravel at the mouth of the burn. She made sure they were hidden well before leaving her precious gifts. She can do no more for them.
By now she is weakened and thin. Her silver scales long gone, her colour is dull and darkened,
She has the start of a fungal infection. She has gill maggots.
If she can make it back to the estuary she will have a chance of recovery, but she is tired and vulnerable. For now, she just needs to rest. Just here.
Rest near the bridge, in the shallow water where the current is gentle.
She never saw the raptor until it was on her. The bird had arrived that day. Early and eager in her search for a mate.
From the waters of the North Atlantic and from the coast of West Africa these lives meet.
They meet in the place where both began.
For one it ends.
© Alan Dickson 2024
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