Tag: nature

“Where the Salmon Still Run”

Notes from Alex: Streams of Salmon and Stories of Generations

“A timeless cycle that connects streams, people, and history.”

“There’s something timeless about standing at the mouth of a stream and watching salmon return, as if witnessing history swim right before your eyes.”

The other day, I drove down to two different streams. One held a strong pink salmon run, just beginning to gather momentum, while the other was alive with chum and coho pushing upstream. At the mouths of the streams, schools of salmon shimmered and surged together, filling the water with life. I sat there for a moment, just watching, and found myself pondering the deeper story unfolding before me.

These runs have been happening for centuries—long before I was here, long before any of us. And to see it still going on today, against the odds, feels poetically beautiful. Nature’s persistence has a way of humbling us. The salmon return, generation after generation, as if carrying the heartbeat of this place.

Of course, things have changed. The salmon fisheries for commercial harvest are not what they once were. I can remember stories of the 70s, 80s, and 90s, when the runs were stronger, the harvests larger, and the docks busier. Will it ever return to those days? Probably not—or at least, I don’t know. What I do know is this: a handful of commercial boats, both gillnetters and seiners, still work these waters today. Their efforts provide jobs, income, and a thread of economic impact for the community.

This is a salmon-run community, through and through. Generations of fishermen and women have made their living on these runs, and that tradition continues, even if the scale looks different now. The sight of those salmon pressing upstream reminded me that while times change, the core of this place—its connection to the salmon—remains the same.

It’s more than just a run of fish. It’s history, tradition, and survival, all swimming together in the current.

For me, standing by those streams was more than just an afternoon stop. It was a reminder that I too am part of this cycle, part of this tradition. Even if I’m not on a boat, even if I’m not casting a net, I carry the stories, the memories, and the gratitude for what the salmon represent. Observing their return ties me back to my roots, to the community I belong to, and to the generations before me who lived by these same waters. In that way, the salmon’s journey upstream mirrors my own journey—returning, remembering, and carrying forward what truly matters.

0

“Fading Light, Rising Words: How the Wilderness Inspires the Page”

“How the Evening Wilderness Awakens the Writer Within”

It’s late evening now. The kind of late that’s still not quite dark, not in Southeast Alaska. The light recedes slowly here, like a shy guest at the end of a long gathering, lingering near the doorway before slipping out unnoticed. Above the forested slopes and jagged ridgelines of the Prince of Wales-Hyder region, the sky burns with soft fire—rose golds and dusky lavenders blending into a cobalt sea overhead. The sun has dipped, but its memory lingers, casting long blue shadows across the spruce trees, across the tidepools, across me.

This is the hour that often sparks something in me—the quiet ignition of an idea, a phrase, a scene I didn’t know was waiting. It’s as if the land itself is whispering: Are you ready to write now?

And it begins with sound. The world hushes in the absence of engines and voices. A raven croaks from somewhere unseen, its echo bouncing off the cliffs like an old drum. The breeze carries the faintest tremble of the ocean—distant, steady, like breath. And then there’s the intimate rustling of leaves, the kind that almost sounds like a conversation between the trees. The wind moves through alder and cedar, stirring branches like fingers running over old piano keys. Nature, at this hour, becomes composer and orchestra both.

The air—what a strange, wonderful thing it is. Sometimes in July, it holds a ghost of warmth, especially inland. But more often, as night sets in, it breathes cool across your skin, reminding you that summer here is always borrowed time. It smells like salt and sap and earth—like wet moss, like a tide gone out, like rain that hasn’t fallen yet. I close my eyes, and it feels like a sigh against my face, a promise of another morning just beyond the trees.

My boots press into a forest trail damp with dew, the ground soft but solid beneath me. I run a hand across the rough, flaking bark of a cedar tree—the kind of tree that has seen more sunsets than I’ve seen seasons. The moss at its base is thick and bright, spongy like it was made to remember the shape of your step. Stones along the trail are slick and smooth, worn down from years of storms and glacier-fed runoff. Everything out here holds history, even if it doesn’t tell it outright.

And then, there’s this one small thing.

A single wildflower—monkshood, I think—growing from the edge of a rock. Its hooded purple bloom glows like a secret in the fading light. Most would walk by without noticing. But something about it stops me. The way it leans just slightly toward the west, catching the last amber sliver of sunlight. The way it holds its space—fragile, maybe, but not weak. That’s a story, I think. Not the flower itself, maybe. But the way it stands alone, defiant and delicate, in the dying light. The way it refuses to be swallowed by shadow.

This is how inspiration works for me. It starts outside. It starts with watching and waiting and listening. It starts in the fading light.

What about you?

What places stir your thoughts into motion? What time of day helps you find your voice? Do you wait for silence, or do you write amid the noise of life?

Here in Southeast Alaska, in the stillness between the tides, I find mine.

And if you’re ever searching for yours, maybe come stand in the hush of this wilderness. The story might already be waiting for you.

0

“Refilling the Cup: A Journey of Spiritual Renewal and Listening”

Finding Strength and Renewal in Moments of Stillness

There are moments in life when we all feel like we’re running on empty. The relentless pace, the constant demands, and the unending responsibilities can drain our energy and spirit. Such was the case for me as I found myself feeling utterly depleted, wondering how I could continue to move forward.

One quiet evening, as I sat by the window watching the world outside, I felt a gentle nudge in my heart. It was as if my Creator was whispering to me, urging me to pause, to wait, to listen, and to watch. I realized that in my frantic pace, I had forgotten the importance of stillness.

I decided to embrace this call. I slowed down, allowing myself the time to reconnect with my Creator and to listen to the whispers of my heart. I spent time in reflection, seeking solace in the peaceful moments that I had been missing. I watched the sunsets, marveled at the beauty of the stars, and felt the gentle breeze on my face. Each moment of quiet brought a sense of renewal.

In this period of waiting, I began to understand the depth of my Creator’s message. I needed to fill my cup again, not with the busyness of life, but with the things that truly matter. I found joy in simple pleasures, gratitude in daily blessings, and strength in the knowledge that I was not alone.

The more I listened, the more I felt my energy return. My heart was being healed and my spirit rejuvenated. My Creator was filling my cup with hope, love, and purpose. It wasn’t about the destination, but the journey of rediscovery and renewal.

As I moved forward, I carried this lesson with me. Whenever I felt the pull of exhaustion, I remembered to wait, listen, and watch. I allowed my Creator to guide me, to fill my cup, and to remind me that in the stillness, I would find the strength to continue.

And so, with a heart renewed and a spirit restored, I stepped back into life, knowing that I was never truly running on empty, but rather waiting to be filled with the divine love and grace of my Creator.

0

The Whisper of the Waves: The Legend of the Metlakatla Killer Whale

The Whisper of the Waves: The Legend of the Metlakatla Killer Whale.

In the deep waters off Metlakatla, Alaska, lived an orca unlike any other. Known to the locals as Kaskae, which means “strong” in Tsimshian, this magnificent killer whale was renowned for both its size and intelligence. Kaskae’s sleek black and white form glided effortlessly through the icy currents of the Pacific, its dorsal fin slicing through the water like a blade.

But Kaskae was not just another orca. It was a legend among its kind, whispered about in hushed tones by fishermen and elders alike. For years, Kaskae had roamed these waters, a silent sentinel of the sea. It was said to possess a cunning intellect, able to outwit seals and salmon with calculated precision.

One chilly autumn morning, as the fog hung low over the cliffs of Annette Island, Kaskae’s presence was felt more acutely than ever. The small fishing village of Metlakatla stirred with anticipation as news spread of a pod of humpback whales migrating nearby. It was an unusual sight so close to shore, and the villagers watched from the rocky coastline, marveling at the majestic giants breaching the surface.

Unbeknownst to them, Kaskae had also sensed the arrival of the humpbacks. With a primal instinct honed over years of hunting, the orca recognized an opportunity. Silently, it slipped away from the safety of the deeper waters and approached the unsuspecting pod.

Under the surface, Kaskae moved with stealthy precision, its powerful tail propelling it closer to the humpbacks. The larger whales seemed oblivious to the danger lurking beneath them. With a sudden burst of speed, Kaskae surged forward, jaws snapping shut around the flank of a young humpback.

The ocean erupted into chaos as the humpback pod scattered, their mournful cries echoing through the mist. Kaskae’s attack was swift and efficient, a testament to its prowess as a predator. Blood stained the water as the orca dragged its prize deeper into the depths, away from the prying eyes of the villagers.

In Metlakatla, whispers of Kaskae’s latest feat spread like wildfire. Some spoke of awe at the orca’s hunting skills, while others whispered of fear and reverence. For the villagers, Kaskae was not just a killer whale; it was a symbol of the untamed wilderness that surrounded them, a reminder of the delicate balance between predator and prey.

As the seasons changed and the waters grew colder, Kaskae continued to patrol the shores of Metlakatla, its presence a constant in the lives of those who called this rugged coastline home.

And though tales of the killer whale’s exploits would be told for generations to come, the mystery and majesty of Kaskae would forever remain intertwined with the soul of this remote Alaskan village.

0

The Eagles Gift

Title: “The Eagle’s Gift”

Once upon a time, in the coastal village of Metlakatla, nestled on Annette Island, the Tsimshian people lived in harmony with nature. Their lives were intertwined with the rhythms of the sea, the whispering forests, and the soaring eagles.

Among the villagers, there was a young girl named Kaya. She possessed a special gift: the ability to communicate with eagles. Whenever she stood on the rocky cliffs overlooking the ocean, the majestic birds would circle above her, their wings catching the sunlight like silver.

One day, as Kaya sat by the shore, an injured eagle landed at her feet. Its wing was broken, and its eyes held a plea for help. Kaya gently cradled the wounded creature, whispering words of healing. She splinted its wing, fed it fish, and sang ancient songs to ease its pain.

Weeks passed, and the eagle regained its strength. It would perch on Kaya’s shoulder, its feathers brushing against her skin. The villagers marveled at this bond—the girl and the eagle, connected by an invisible thread of compassion.

One stormy night, Kaya dreamt of the Spirit of the Eagles. It appeared as an old man with silver hair and eyes that held the wisdom of ages. He spoke to her in a voice that echoed through the winds:

“Kaya, you have been chosen. The eagles are our messengers—they carry our hopes, fears, and dreams. But they are fading. Their wings grow heavy with sorrow, burdened by the troubles of humankind.”

Kaya woke with a sense of purpose. She climbed the highest peak on Annette Island, where the eagles nested. There, she raised her arms to the sky, calling upon the spirits. The wind carried her plea across the ocean, reaching the heart of every eagle.

And then, a miracle unfolded. The eagles gathered—a sea of wings, eyes gleaming with determination. They soared higher, their cries merging into a symphony of hope. Kaya danced among them, her steps echoing the ancient rhythms of Metlakatla.

From that day on, the eagles became protectors of the village. They guided fishermen to abundant waters, warned of storms, and carried messages between distant shores. Kaya’s gift had rekindled their purpose—to bridge the gap between earth and sky, between humans and nature.

And so, in Metlakatla, the eagle’s cry was no longer a lonely sound—it was a song of resilience, a reminder that healing begins with compassion and connection.

Remember, my friend, that we all carry gifts within us. Sometimes, it takes a broken wing to discover our true purpose. 

Metlakatla, Alaska: A Saltwater Passage

Metlakatla, also known as Maxłakxaała in the Tsimshian language, is a census-designated place (CDP) located on Annette Island in the Prince of Wales-Hyder Census Area, Alaska, United States. Here are some key points about this unique community:

  1. Origins and Settlement:
    • In 1887, Anglican missionary William Duncan led a group of 826 Tsimshian people from British Columbia, Canada, to establish a new settlement in Alaska.
    • They sought a place where they could practice their faith and maintain their cultural identity.
    • The U.S. government granted them Annette Island after a Tsimshian search committee discovered its calm bay, accessible beaches, nearby waterfall, and abundant fish.
  2. Annette Islands Reserve:
    • Congress officially established Metlakatla as the Metlakatla Indian Community, Annette Islands Reserve in 1891.
    • Annette Island remains the only federally recognized reserve in Alaska.
    • The community opted out of the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act (ANCSA) of the 1970s, retaining rights to their land and waters.
  3. Community and Membership:
    • Membership in the Metlakatla Indian Community is primarily based on lineage.
    • It consists mainly of Tsimshian people, but also includes members from other Alaskan Native tribes who wish to join.
    • Bona fide membership is granted upon approval by the Metlakatla Tribal Council and Executives.
  4. Cultural Significance:
    • The name “Metlakatla” itself reflects its Tsimshian roots, meaning “saltwater passage.”
    • The community’s connection to nature, eagles, and the sea is deeply woven into its history and identity.
  5. Legacy and Resilience:
    • Metlakatla stands as a testament to resilience, faith, and the pursuit of cultural preservation.
    • Its people continue to honor their heritage, bridging the gap between earth and sky, just as the eagles do.

Remember, Metlakatla’s story is one of strength, adaptation, and the enduring spirit of its people.

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑