The Facts of Life

155

You take the good

You take the bad

You take them both and there you have

The facts of life

If you are around the age of 50 then you might just have an earworm now; you’re welcome.

Today was a bit anxiety inducing, or at least it was last night when I was worrying about today. A little over a year ago there was a massive slide in the Fraser Canyon that makes the canyon impassable at certain water flows, which unfortunately coincide with the migration of a number of stocks of salmon that are already in dire straits for low returns. Last summer a number of early returning sockeye salmon, which have a distinct run timing that allowed them to be fairly easily resolved from later returning populations, were captured at the slide and transported to a science lab in the Fraser Valley.

The hope was that we could spawn them and release their progeny this year to compensate in some measure for the loss of fish that were unable to get past the slide. But, in addition to the slide, nature was against us and the river temperatures were scorching as far as fish physiology is concerned. The fish were taken out of a river that was above 20C, a temperature that leaves fish with a massive oxygen deficit, and then they were transported to a facility where the water temperature was far, far lower.

The fish just didn’t do what they were expected to do. They wouldn’t mature. And they started dying before we could spawn them.

To say that it was devastating to the morale of our normally merry little band that volunteer their time each year to work with the Cultus sockeye….that is an understatement. It felt like every fish that died without spawning was a stake in our collective hearts.

And then the Cultus sockeye program was another disaster, the fish simply didn’t show up. You can’t do much to help a stock when you have nothing to work with.

Last summer/fall was not a good season for our sockeye crew.

And now we are faced with COVID, and an entirely new set of challenges to juggle on top of the normal challenges. Field work for those of us that travel to multiple sites was suspended and the crews on the sites themselves were faced with curtailing some of their programs and a need to figure out how to manage crew health and safety in circumstances that make physical distance between people nearly impossible.

The hatchery crews are, largely, their own little work bubbles and they, presumably, communicate well regarding health and safety. Myself and my colleague work with a number of facilities, and that presents a different health risk, both for us and for others. I had largely assumed that I would be doing no field work this fall at all, because of that risk, which is a devastating consideration. So when this program was put into motion again, and the two of us were asked to help, it was both an easy and a difficult decision.

This year a larger number of the Early Stuart sockeye were targeted, but they didn’t show up on time…the heavy rains all spring and early summer turned the Fraser into a raging torrent and the fish simply couldn’t get upriver to even try to pass the slide, where many people were waiting to intercept and try to help the fish either by passing them above the slide using a vacuum pressure soft tube system, or truck and transport if necessary. The river was so filled with silt that the fish were probably swimming in the equivalent of liquid sandpaper.

When the sockeye finally did show up, approximately 400 were collected over a couple of weeks, and transported to the lab in the Fraser Valley. Although the water flows have been high, the upside has been that the temperatures have been much lower, and that helps the fish immensely.

Today was the first sort. I imagine that I wasn’t the only one driving to the lab with a bit of anxiety, and not just about seeing people for the first time in five months.

The last time I laid eyes on my fellow biologist from the office, was March 12th. I saw a few of the hatchery in February at an all-staff meeting that occurred just before the lock-down. Other than that, it’s been five months of working from home.

When I arrived at the lab, the first thing my fellow biologist said to me was “So, how strange did it feel to get into a work vehicle and point its nose towards the Valley?“

Weird.

It’s really weird to feel weird about seeing the people you love working with. But it’s a different world right now, and none of us have any immunity to a pathogen that has been fairly well controlled but is starting to creep out into the community again, largely because some people are just being stupid about it. Those people need to grow up and act like mature adults instead of entitled little children without any concern for anyone other than themselves.

We had a little circle chat in the parking lot, outlined procedures and expectations, and everyone geared up and put on a mask.

I have zero sympathy for people who are unwilling to put a little piece of cloth on their face for a few minutes when they enter a shop. The seven of us spent 8+ hours working in close proximity, much of it outside in the heat of the day, with face masks on the entire time.

And it kinda sucked.

But you suck it up and you do what needs to be done, because you take the bad with the good.

And today was good.

Really good.

The first female fish that was netted and checked…was ripe. And so was the second, and the third. We expected a few ripe fish, but I don’t think any of us expected to spawn 35 females and generate 140 distinct genetic crosses today. I don’t think any of us expected to fertilize close to 100,000 eggs, and only having gone through two of the four tubs on day one. No one expected roughly 30% of the fish we handled to be ripe.

100,000 eggs doesn’t seem like much in some respects; some sites I work with process up to 1 million Chinook eggs in a day…fish that are five to ten times larger than these sockeye. But the attention to detail, the fertilization matrices, the biosecurity, the genetic management, adding cryopreservation into the mix… it all adds a level of complexity that requires more people involved, more thinking effort, and a lot more time to process to ensure the fewest (ideally no) mistakes.

We work slowly and carefully.

I had packed a lunch, the first lunch I’ve packed in five months, something that I used to do without much thought but which took longer than usual because I hadn’t done it for so long….. and then I didn’t even have time to eat it, we were that busy.

The eggs were clean, the females were full, the males produced….it was an almost perfect day.

And as I drove back from Yarrow to North Vancouver, exhausted mentally and physically, I was thinking of a title for today’s post and I was thinking about the win, and the masks, and COVID, and the theme song for The Facts of Life popped into my head.

So… you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have, the facts of life, …. because good and bad, up and down, that’s life…and that’s what we were busy perpetuating today…more life.

Most days I like what I do for a living. Some days I really love it. Today was one of those days.

We really needed a win, and we got one.

COVID may have taken away my ability to do my usual field season activities and travels, but I am very grateful to be able to participate in something this summer/fall. My life is always more complete when I get to touch fish. And this is a pretty good “something”.