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SALMON WATERSHEDS LAB
Ecology & Conservation of Aquatic Systems
Jonathan Moore and Team
The Story of the Keogh
Stumbling to and fro
Walking in a stream
Some rocks like oiled bowling balls
Others loose as pins
Two hands around a tote to grope
the precious instruments within
Two hundred tags and needles too
To mark the fish that swim
Upstream downstream, to and fro
Darting past our nets
Causing us chagrin
But when we catch them
They will tell
The story of their lives
Through tiny pieces of their skin
Extra Keogh Critters
Sometimes the streams
Will give us extra treats
From four legs to none
A deer so close
You could hear it drink
As if your head were in the sink!
Or,
The pylon orange
Of not a bird
But a mushroom named akin
The Banks of Koeye
Walking down a path
Barely a person wide
You often wonder
Who else might pass
Who doesn’t really mind
Making that path more wide
One break of dawn we walked
Twisting with the roots
The air was damp
(As we were too)
As too the sounds by rain
I had a startle
By two bounding beasts
That turned out to be
Man’s best friend!
But regardless,
In the bushes was where I lay
The Bays of Koeye
Who knew that smolts
Liked bladder wrack
In the back of bays
I guess it’s better
Than most things
For smolts to spend their days
Hiding from Kings and Stags
Who would catch them
Like it was play
The Coding Condition
Sometimes you’ll find yourself sitting
For hours at a time
Looping a song on repeat
To the rhythm of your code
You tell yourself,
“At least I’m in Bamfield”
The beauty of that place
never gets old!
When “Simulate to stimulate”
Becomes your mantra
You know somethings gone wrong
Or has it gone, completely right?
Maybe you’ve finally got it
Diving into code headlong!
Until your warnings are too many
To even fit without a prompt
And tears begin to brew
But laughter follows quickly after
And you know
That “12” is not for noon
Because
Sometimes you’ll find yourself sitting
For hours, until very late
Knowing that at least around
Are friends,
in the same state
The March of Koeye
Falling asleep, POP
The fire crackles and burns hot
Cradled by a cot
Falling asleep, TAP
Tap, tap, scurry goes the mouse
Running in our house
Falling asleep, SNAP
The steps of the mouse fall flat
Food is safe tonight
Morning, waking up
My face cold and body hot
Bundled in a bag
Morning, waking up
Wood stove is creaking open
Karl cracking kindling
Morning, woken up
Hot tea brewing in my cup
Toasting through my mug
Quickly, on the march
Mist on the stream is rising
Crisp green horizons
Quickly, on the march
Making our way on the path
Misty breaths, I gasp
Slowing, on the march
Sounds from the trap get louder
Groaning in water
Sitting at the trap
Scooping salmon by hundreds
Silver, orange, and blues
Sitting by the bin
Hands slowly getting colder
Weigh, measure, tag, repeat
Sitting back at camp
Breakfast for us a frying
Day just beginning
