Snapping Salmon: A Biologist's Underwater Passion
A school of salmon swim in an Alaskan lake.
Mary Edwards is a fish biologist who loves salmon — especially if they're alive and swimming. She has studied their anatomy, life cycle and courtship rituals; even their afterlife as nutrients for trees.
But Edwards' greatest passion is to take portrait-style photos of fish underwater, in the remote rivers and lakes of the Pacific Northwest.
I catch up with Edwards in eastern Oregon, near her home in out-of-the-way Joseph, where she works for the Nez Perce fisheries as a research biologist. This being migration season, she's agreed to take me fishing — for pictures, that is.
Suiting Up For The Water
We spend an eternity getting into dry suits, loading up gear and driving to one of her favorite haunts, the even more remote Lostine River.
Once there, we waddle through brush as Edwards yells, "Hey Bear! Hey Bear!"
I listen to the rhythm, but I'm deaf to the meaning of her words.
The sun skips along the water as we reach shore and wade in, anticipating the first breathless moment of the day. Edwards lowers her camera into the rushing river and prays its waterproof casing holds.
"That's 3,000 bucks," she says, as we watch the camera casing for signs of dreaded bubbles. "And we look good!"
(Ketzel Levine/NPR)
I'll say. We're in a quintessential pinch-me-I'm-dreaming landscape, with a cinematic river running through it. It's a magical setting for the alchemy about to take place, as a research biologist sheds all professional detachment and loses herself in cold-water wonder.
"OK," she says, spitting water from her snorkel and adjusting her mask. "I'm going in."
The current's pretty swift and wants to take her body downriver. But Edwards anchors her feet against a large rock. She floats quite still for a while, then emerges.
"Young salmon. We call them parr," she says. "Big school, little fish. I want to see if there are larger fish around the bend."
Hunting For 'The Moment'
As we head upstream, Edwards talks about her work as a photographer. After eight years shooting underwater, she can spot a tiny fish camouflaged against a rock, or maintain her cool completely swarmed by thousands of fish. That won't happen here, but it does still happen in Alaska, when the sockeye salmon run.
Later, when she looks at the day's photographs on her computer, she will tinker with the truth a bit. She'll exaggerate minute details, saturate colors, and push her real-world photos to watercolor-like extremes.
"Some images are just perfect the way they are," she says. "But often I want to change them, maybe accent an energy that's there."
Suddenly, Edwards lights up and points across the narrow river. "There's a redd!" she says — "a clearing in the pebbles where salmon spawn."
That's why we're here now, during these few late summer weeks when salmon complete their journey, in this case traveling from an ocean 650 miles away to the very gravel where they were born.
Edwards looks closer. "In fact, there's a fish on! There's a fish on! Oh wow, that's hot!"
All I can see are two pieces of flotsam. But then one of them suddenly flips to its side and starts wriggling sideways in the river gravel.
"That's digging," she explains. "They're working up to what I love to call 'the moment'. That's when she'll actually let her eggs out and he'll express milt, or sperm, at the same time."
Edwards won't be photographing "the moment"; she will never risk interfering. We decide to leave the couple in peace and settle into what looks to be a promising pool.
Within minutes of submerging, Edwards pops back up again, smiling.
"There's a big male chinook hanging out underneath that log," she says. "He's probably 3 feet long, 4 years old. He looks pretty beat up, probably been fighting with other males. Towards the end of spawn, salmon do look terrible."
Determination's Reward: Survival
Edwards descends again to get more shots, and as I stand there with my microphone waiting for an update, I take my first good look at the mountains and wilderness around us. And I remember her calling, "Hey bear! Hey bear!"
Then it hits me: Oh man, we're in bear country during happy hour! What's with that?
Edwards resurfaces, beaming, and I have my answer: Passion. Risk. Reward.
Later, at home, Edwards will subtly manipulate the image of liquid light streaming through a big old chinook's ragged tail. She'll tweak the exposure, play with the black, punch minute details. It's a workmanlike process that belies her own awe during a day on the river, watching the beat-up bodies of near-death salmon coming home to spawn.
"All my science background says that spawning is governed by lots of things," Edwards says.
"But if I could take one-tenth of that determination and apply it to my life, what would I accomplish! What would we all accomplish?"
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RENEE MONTAGNE, host:
And now for a story about salmon and a biologist who loves them. She studied their anatomy, their courtship rituals, even their afterlife as nutrients for trees. Her greatest passion is taking their portraits underwater in the remote rivers of the Pacific Northwest. NPR senior correspondent Ketzel Levine has this profile of the floating photographer.
KETZEL LEVINE: She's an artist, a fish biologist, a cold water, dry suit junkie, but she is no fool. When Mary Edwards heads into the Oregon wilderness for a day alone on the river, she always lets someone know.
Ms. MARY EDWARDS (Fish Biologist; Photographer): Hey, Jeff. Come here. Listen, you're my call out today. If you don't hear back from me by six o'clock tonight... Yeah, the posse. OK. All right. Bye.
LEVINE: We're eating dust for breakfast as we drive into the Wallowa Mountains heading for the Lostine River. The two of us are dressed like matching turtles in our waterproof drab greens. Mary Edwards grabs her gear. We waddle through brush. And she yells, "Hey, Bear! Hey, Bear!" I listen to the rhythm, but am deaf to the meaning of her words.
Ms. EDWARDS: OK, putting the gloves on.
LEVINE: The sun skips along the water as we wade in for the first breathless moment of the day as Mary Edwards lowers her camera into the rushing river and prays its waterproof casing holds.
Ms. EDWARDS: That's 3,000 bucks. And we look good.
LEVINE: No bubbles. No nothing.
Ms. EDWARDS: No bubbles. No nothing.
LEVINE: Oh, boy. That water is cold.
Ms. EDWARDS: Come on. I want to see you get in there already.
LEVINE: Let me get my mask.
Ms. EDWARDS: Too much prep. Let's go.
LEVINE: We've got a robin's egg blue sky capped by mountains and conifers on this "pinch me, I must be dreaming" morning with the proverbial cinematic river running through it, all part of the alchemy now about to take place as a research biologist sheds all professional detachment to lose herself in cold water wonder.
Ms. EDWARDS: OK. I'm going in.
(Soundbite of splash of water)
LEVINE: The current is pretty swift, but she's holding on to some large stones to keep herself anchored. She's just showed me how big they are. They're pretty tiny.
Ms. EDWARDS: Little fish. They're chinook salmon. Big school, little fish. I want to see if there are more fish up around the bend.
LEVINE: Mary Edwards lives pretty close to here in Joseph, Oregon, where she works for the Nez Perce Fisheries. But I'm with a very different woman now, an artist who toys with the truth, who will use computer tools to tinker with today's underwater images, often pushing her photos to watercolor-like extremes.
Ms. EDWARDS: You know, there are some images that I'll look at, and they're beautiful in and of themselves, just as is. And I don't need to add to it. There are other images that are beautiful, and, I don't know, it's like I want to change it, maybe accent a particular energy that's in the image.
LEVINE: And this is the place to be for energy. It's salmon spawn time, those few magical weeks every year when salmon complete their impossible journey, traveling, in this case, from an ocean 650 miles east to the very gravel where they were born. And there they nest in what's called a redd.
Ms. EDWARDS: So right on the far bank over there is a redd. In fact, there's a fish on. There's a fish on. Oh, wow, that's hot. There's two. There's two. Can you see them?
LEVINE: As never before, a pair of courting chinook salmon.
Ms. EDWARDS: That's digging. That's digging. See how it flips on its side and does that motion with the tail? And working up to what I love to call "the moment." And that's when she'll actually let her eggs out, and he'll express milt at the same time.
LEVINE: She won't be shooting the moment. She'd never risk interfering. And since this could take hours, even days, we leave the couple in peace and head to another promising pool.
OK. This is great. I just came out of the water to grab the machine because Mary just spied a huge salmon. She really wanted to shoot big salmon today, so this could be it.
What do you think?
Ms. EDWARDS: Well, I don't know its sex. But it was a chinook salmon.
LEVINE: How big?
Ms. EDWARDS: Large.
LEVINE: Three feet long and about four years old.
Ms. EDWARDS: He's starting to look a little beat up. He's probably fighting with other males. Towards the end of spawn, they look terrible.
LEVINE: Left holding the microphone as she descends once more, I take a deep breath and a long view of the wilderness around us. And then it comes to me, unbidden, but clear as a bell. "Hey Bear! Hey Bear!" We are in bear country during happy hour! Is this worth it? Mary resurfaces, and I've got my answer. Passion. Risk. Reward.
Ms. EDWARDS: So because his head is tucked up under the log, I can't get a full frame. But what's nice about this is that his tail was dancing out into the light, so it'd be more kind of an abstract shot. We'll see how it looks when we pull it up at home.
LEVINE: Later at home, Mary Edwards will subtly manipulate the image of liquid light streaming through the chinook's ragged tail. She'll tweak the exposure, play with the black, punch minute details. A workmanlike process that belies her own awe during a day on the river watching the beat up bodies of near death salmon come home to spawn.
Ms. EDWARDS: All my science background says, well, it's governed by all these other things. But if I could take one-tenth of that determination and apply it to my life, what would I accomplish? What would all of us accomplish?
LEVINE: Ketzel Levine, NPR News.
Ms. EDWARDS: Hey, Jeffrey. It's Mary. Had a great day on the river. So we're A-OK.
(Soundbite of music)
MONTAGNE: To see images by the floating photographer, and they include a few bears cavorting at happy hour, you can visit npr.org. This is Morning Edition from NPR news. I'm Renee Montagne. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright National Public Radio.
