"Ewwww."

"This is absolutely disgusting."

"Where do I take these buggers?"

"Gross."

The objections echoed loud and clear through the forest canopy at Lost Creek
campground. The stench of dead fish rose in the air. Gory blood trails tracked
over the sides of a pickup truck.

The scene was genuinely forbidding. The complaints were predictably
continuous. But the commitment was oddly undeniable.

The Sandy River Basin Watershed Council held its annual salmon toss on Lost
Creek Nov. 15. There were local volunteers, students from Sam Barlow High,
even an eager helper from Olympia, Washington.

Alex Troudt (of course, the "d" is silent), Barlow sophomore, said he was up to
the task as he pulled on his wet-weather gear.

"I’m looking forward to it," Troudt said. "Besides, I get extra (class) credit."
He then took a sniff at the odor wafting from the tubs of dead salmon. He
wrinkled his nose, but offered: "I can deal with it. It’s a good cause. It’s good
for the environment."

The idea behind the toss is to put adult salmon carcasses – brought from the
Sandy hatchery after spawning – into Lost Creek
to nourish the wild, juvenile salmon living in the creek, and to become food
for insects, birds and mammals.

The project objectives, according to Russ Plaeger, coordinator for the
watershed council, are varied and include:

— Increase production of naturally spawning populations of salmon and
steelhead in key tributaries of the Sandy River.
— Increase the production of cutthroat trout and other native species.
— Provide secondary benefits for terrestrial carnivores and birds.
— Engage the community in watershed stewardship through a hands-on
approach to learning about watershed ecology.

And these gritty volunteers indeed got their hands on.

Molly Burbach, another Barlow sophomore, held her hands in the air, rubber
gloves festooned with fish parts and donned a sour expression.

"All these fish guts and blood," she said. "This is not working for me."

Then she bent down and went right back to work. Minutes later she pulled a
15-pound salmon carcass off its string and sent it flying into the creek – a
look of personal satisfaction etched on her face.

The volunteers worked diligently as the thrill of tossing the fish became
paramount.

Declines in the number of returning adult salmon – 10 percent of historic
levels – prompts the effort. And the carcasses are essential to the
environment – far beyond providing instant nutrition.

Studies on some rivers in the Pacific Northwest have found a marine-derived
nitrogen isotope in old conifers growing near the river. The only sources for
that nitrogen were the bodies of adult salmon that had returned to those
rivers, Plaeger said.

As the work wound down, the tubs emptied, salmon carcasses bobbing in the
creek’s shallows, the volunteers trudged from the scene, shaking fish orts
from their gloves, jackets and pants.

One student, still clad in his messy garb, opened his arms to his terrified
classmates. "Anyone want a hug?"

There were enough to go around.