Hello everyone. My name is Tomohiro Nakamichi. It is getting colder and colder in Shibecha, where I live, and autumn is finally in full swing. Now, I would like to talk about the salmon trout run.

In early September, cherry salmon came back to Shibecha. This year, due to the heavy rainfall, many of them were not caught at the coast, so I saw a lot of cherry salmon and salmon running up the river.

Cherry salmon in nuptial color

The cherry salmon lives mainly in northern Japan, from the coast of the Sea of Okhotsk to the Korean Peninsula and Hokkaido. They are "descending type" individuals, meaning that "landlocked salmon" born in rivers descend to the sea. Conversely, individuals that remain in the river for the rest of their lives are called "landlocked" individuals. Sakura salmon depart from the river where they were born to the sea, overcome numerous difficulties, survive in the Sea of Okhotsk, and then return to their birthplace.

During the breeding season, males change to the color of their nuptial plumage (nuptial color), as shown in the photo. This is the origin of the name "sakura trout," and is a very beautiful color.

At the same time as the cherry salmon, chum salmon also migrate upstream. Chum salmon are what we commonly call salmon, and many of them are one size larger than the cherry salmon.

Chum salmon

Chum and chum salmon mix together in the rivers at this time of year, and at times there are even fights between chum and salmon, as they compete for spawning grounds. Both males and females fight each other so fiercely that their dorsal and tail fins gradually become tattered. The sight of this is very painful, but at the same time it is a beautiful reminder of the brightness of life.

A chum salmon rides up to bite. There is another salmon below.

When the breeding season is over, the salmon have completed their life. Experts tell us that the salmon and chum salmon leave the sea to enter the river and never eat any food after that. They migrate upstream using only the nutrition they have accumulated in the ocean and their own bodies, and only those who remain after a fierce final struggle are able to procreate.

Only those who remain will be able to have offspring. In this way, they leave stronger genes to future generations, and then they themselves will be scattered. The promise of the earth, which has been going on and on for a long time, spread out before my eyes. I went there day after day, eager to witness the last sparkle of their lives, clicking the shutter button.

Then one day, I came across a battered salmon that had been dead for only a few hours. It had only been dead for a few hours. I put my hands together and took a picture.

A salmon that had ended its life. His battered and bruised body told us how fierce the battle had been.

This life was not in vain, and a few days later, it was gone without a trace. It must have been taken as food by foxes, bears, and birds of prey. The leftover food is also used as nutrients for small insects and microorganisms, and the forest flourishes.

Life on the riverbank. There is a fragility and beauty in nature that no one can see.

They fly out to the sea from where they were born, and finally die for their next offspring in the place where they were born. I wish I could do something like that myself and convey the current scenery to as many people as possible for the sake of the next generation. Shibecha, where such a scene can be seen so close at hand, is still an important place for me.

Life is connected to life. Life was sprouting even from fallen trees.

How was my visit to Shibecha? This time, I focused on my favorite nature and animals. Being able to feel the seasons and daily changes in nature reminds us of the important promise that we are not living on a calendar.

We have counted 12 issues in the series, and it has been about a year since we started. We are very grateful to all of you who continue to read our articles. We look forward to your continued support.