Skagit Notes

Story by Saul Weisberg

These four poems originate from 20 years of canoe tripping on the Skagit River from Ross Lake to the Salish Sea. The Skagit is a river, a watershed, a cultural identity, a place of spirits, and a home. As a guest on native land, I acknowledge the people whose longhouses and seasonal camps bordered the river from the mountains to the sea since time immemorial. Their descendants include the Upper Skagit Indian Tribe and the Swinomish Indian Tribal Community.

Hozomeen

Mare’s tails fill the sky, sweat runs into our eyes, we pull into the wind.

Six-hour paddle up the East Bank, steady wind and whitecaps. We stand in knee-deep waves to unload the canoe.

Summits rise above cloud-shrouded mountains, pale October sky.

Many trails linger below the surface of the lake.

Some day the dams will be gone –old campsites emerge.

River Notes

Skagit mist rises spring floods fill Newhalem Gorge it was all like this before.

People name things even if they already have names that’s not the worst we do.

Far belowDiablo Lake a silver thread late morning sun.

Sunset beach broken paddle yesterday’s rapids.

The waterfall is full of good intentions and pools of abundance.

Diablo Gorge narrows the river turns on its side salmon wait.

Valley of the Spirits

Skagit River –a dark ribbon of moving light.

Spring rain brings flowers, summer rain feeds the people, fall rain quenches fires, winter rain calls the salmon home.

Paddling through this land, your stories witnessed by trees, we know the stars by different names.

In the calm between storms, the night is alive with the cries of migrating geese.

Downstream

We paddle through green valleys, listening for the calls of small birds. 18 miles on the river today, past Sauk Delta rocks and snags.

In the long twilight of a summer afternoon we build a fire in rocks by water, camp on narrow sand spit in tall grass.

Tomorrow, downstream, the day after, downstream.