Hello everyone. This is Tomohiro Nakamichi. Here in Shibecha Town, where I live, the weather has suddenly turned cold, and autumn is now in full swing. Today, I'd like to talk about the salmon and trout run.

In early September, the cherry salmon (sakuramasu) began their journey upstream in Shibecha Town. Perhaps due to the heavy rain this year, many individuals managed to evade capture along the coast. In the river I observed, it was crowded with both cherry salmon and chum salmon making their way upstream.

A cherry salmon in its nuptial coloration

Cherry salmon are found from the coast of the Sea of Okhotsk to the Korean Peninsula and mainly in northern Japan, including Hokkaido. The term refers to the sea-run form of the yamame trout, which are born in rivers and migrate to the sea. Conversely, individuals that remain in the river for their entire lives are called the landlocked form. Cherry salmon journey from their birth river to the sea, survive countless hardships in the Sea of Okhotsk, and then return to their birthplace.

During the breeding season, the males, as shown in the photo, change to a cherry blossom-pink color known as nuptial coloration. This beautiful hue is also the origin of the name "sakuramasu" (cherry trout).

Around the same time as the cherry salmon, chum salmon also began their upstream journey. Chum salmon are what we generally refer to as salmon (sake), and they are often a size larger than cherry salmon.

A chum salmon

During this season, the river is a mix of chum and cherry salmon. Sometimes you can see them fighting, competing for spawning grounds. Both cherry and chum salmon males fight fiercely with each other, and their dorsal and tail fins gradually become tattered. It's a painful sight, but at the same time, I feel the beautiful brilliance of life.

A chum salmon on top, trying to bite. There's another salmon below it.

After breeding, the salmon complete their life cycle. An expert told me that once cherry salmon and chum salmon enter the river from the sea, they stop eating completely. Using only the nutrients stored in the ocean and their own bodies, they swim upstream, engage in fierce battles, and only the survivors can propagate their species.

In this way, they pass on stronger genes to the next generation and then perish. An ancient promise of the Earth was unfolding right before my eyes. I clicked the shutter frantically, wanting to witness the brilliance of their lives until the very end, and I returned to the river day after day.

Then one day, I came across a salmon that had died, its body battered and torn. It had likely been just a few hours since it perished. I put my hands together in respect and took a photo.

A salmon that has completed its life. Its battered body told the story of a fierce battle.

This life is never wasted. A few days later, it was gone without a trace. Foxes, bears, or birds of prey must have taken it for food. The leftovers then become nutrients for small insects and even microorganisms, helping the forest to thrive.

Life dwelling on the riverbank. Nature holds an unseen fragility and beauty.

They leave their birthplace for the sea, only to return to die for the sake of the next generation. I hope that I, too, can convey the scenery of today to as many people as possible for the next generation. Shibecha Town, where such sights are right at my doorstep, is truly a precious place for me.

Life being passed on. New life was sprouting even from a fallen tree.

What did you think? This time, I focused on my beloved nature and animals. Feeling the seasons and the daily changes in nature reminds us of the important promise that we are not just living by a calendar.

This series has now reached its 12th installment, marking about a year since it began. I am very grateful to everyone who always reads my articles. I look forward to your continued support.