SWIMMING UPSTREAM

I stood on the bank, transfixed by the timeless act of procreation. The constantly moving water made it difficult to clearly see the beautiful spotted fish with the deep red slash under her gills until she ventured too far into the shallows. Then, she flapped and twisted and scurried to get past this latest obstacle. Some undeniable force was drawing her further and further upstream – into the shallow riffles of the little streambed in which she would cement her species’ future.

My female seemed to be alone but as I looked more carefully, I realized that many female and male Cutthroat jockeyed for position in the riffles, four and five at a time, around rocks, around branches caught by the fast-moving stream.  The reflective scales of the trout glittered as their bodies writhed against the current.  Deep-seated instinct and the struggle for survival forced the beautiful fish further up against the current. The spawn was on.

I was watching one of the oldest procreation rituals on Earth. Spawning species predate our own migration to the North American continent. Spawning occurs when aquatic animals spread eggs over a certain area to be then fertilized by the male. The complexity of  spawning rituals varies greatly from species to species.

For the Cutthroat, spawning takes place only under certain conditions. We know this because the Yellowstone Cutthroat has been the subject of much research due to the need to constantly monitor this species which is threatened by extinction. Additionally, from its very beginning, Yellowstone has had a long history of scientific cooperation with Universities and the Smithsonian.

The Cutthroat's survival is threatened by habitat loss, predation by birds and bears and competition for resources by more opportunistic fish like lake trout. The very first struggle they face in following their instinctual patterns of procreation is to find the exact stream where they were first eggs themselves. Fortunately, Cutthroat have an unusual sense of smell and a long memory which help them detect the chemical differences in the streams leading upstream from the lake on which they live. And, as fish go, Cutthroat aren’t very enthusiastic travelers, preferring to spend their entire lives near their original spawning stream.

Generally trout will start spawning only after the water gets above 50 degrees. However, my boot happened to accidentally slip into the small stream that funnels the snow melt to Yellowstone’ very aptly named Trout Lake and the water seemed really cold. I now wonder if the Yellowstone Cutthroat might be precocious spawners since Trout Lake was surely colder than 50 degrees!

Of course, even more critical than water temperature and finding their native ‘hood’ for a successful spawn is the ability to struggle up to the shallower riffles. Instinct drives these fishy parents far upstream where the roe can remain undisturbed for a couple weeks in order to consume all the nutrition it can from its egg sac for its journey down to the lake below. And all of this - the to-ing and the fro-ing - is done only by instinct. No GPS or road maps here.

Once the Cutthroat finds the perfect spot in the steam, both female and male participate.  After her mighty struggle upstream, the female finds the best-looking patch of streambed in which to shovel the stream detritus away with her tail forming a little bowl, called a redd. She then lays her hundreds of eggs in the redd and waits for a studly male (often more than one) to saunter by, dropping fishy sperm called milt over the eggs to fertilize them.

Observing just the beginning of the spawn, this entire process seemed very energetic. Like an IronFish contest. To me, it was a beautiful but vigorous tango between Mother Nature and her children. Walking up and down the stream confluence with the beautiful high-country lake, I watched these determined bearers of their species' future for nearly thirty minutes. I found myself holding my breath as the trout met obstacles along their way. I willed them and wanted them so badly to make it. This instinct, this undeniable power, is more than just an invitation - it is a need. Without replaying this instinctive ritual over and over each year, the Cutthroat cease to exist. Somehow, I feel if the Cutthroat can make it, in spite of all their natural and other obstacles, perhaps there is hope for my own silly species.

I suspect we humans, too, have been born with natural instinct that we have come to believe is untrustworthy and suspicious.  We are 'rational' beings, relying on information we get from our books and observation more than our senses and our instinct. Our species, unlike the cutthroat, may have only one truly great predator and that is ourselves. The longer I am in Yellowstone, the more I realize how far away we have come from our own instincts. Perhaps it is time for our species to learn from the determined Cutthroat. Perhaps we will realize that our species, too, is not immune to extinction and that our planet will be here much longer than we will if we don't learn to respect the environment around us. We are still very, very new to this beautiful blue marble and are surely still evolving. Perhaps it is time for us to consider exactly how we wish to evolve. In concert or in opposition to Mother Nature? Surely Mother Nature will win.