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Thursday |
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Old folks and school kids on field trips, tourists speaking no english, all have come to watch the fish. Only one in 1,000 makes it from egg to ocean and back upstream to spawn. A single king among the sockeye, too early in the season for him but he knows he doesn't have much time. He's tired. Younger, sleaker fish wriggle past as he holds the line, never moving forward an inch the whole time. I overhear an old man say, "I could never be a salmon." But so far he's survived. |  |