I’ve swum with dolphins and bathed with elephants, but never before have I gone snorkelling with salmon. This latest craze is unique to Vancouver Island in the far west of Canada, where the salmon return to their spawning grounds in prodigious numbers: this year it is estimated that more than 350,000 will swim up Discovery Passage, on the shores of which sits Campbell River – the salmon capital of the world.
I’m here in late September, so the shoals are no longer as dense, but we’re still promised sightings of coho, humpback (or “humpies”, as they call them round here) and perhaps the odd gigantic chinook salmon, as well as steelhead, a kind of trout much prized by anglers. With us today are a family with four adventurous kids; the youngest a six-year-old girl. The oldest they’ve had, says our Destiny River Adventures guide Andy, was 95.
“We look like ninjas,” laughs the eight-year-old, as we all pull on black neoprene wetsuits with boots and hoods. Andy gives us some safety instructions, and then we’re off, paddling a raft to the foot of a two-and-a-half metre-high shelf of rock.
“The first thing you’re going to do,” says Andy, “is climb up there and jump into the river. That’ll get you used to the water real quick.”
The cold catches your breath at first, but the jump is a great icebreaker – not literally, fortunately, as the water turns out to be not too chilly once you get used to it. Migrating salmon need temperatures of between about 16 and 20 degrees. During the recent hot summer, sadly, many of the salmon in shallow streams overheated and died.
Now for the snorkelling. “If you’ve ever snorkelled in the Great Barrier Reef or the Caribbean, this is completely different,” says Andy. “You’ve got the force of the river current pushing you along. All you need to do is open your arms wide like Superman, relax, and let the water do all the work.”
It is an astonishing experience. The waters may not be as clear as the coral reefs of Egypt where I have snorkelled before, nor the fish so colourful, but the salmon are plentiful and beautiful to watch: athletic, graceful, with 5 to 10 kilograms of pure muscle behind every flick of the tail – enough to propel them high in the air when need be. To float with arms outstretched, buoyed by a lifejacket, looking down on the secret aquatic world below, is like a dream of flying made real.
The salmon themselves don’t have it so easy: they must fight their way upstream, dodging eagles, bears and fishermen, leaping waterfalls and weirs, all the way to where they themselves were first spawned.
We meet up with Andy downstream, and paddle awhile on the raft, passing a huge eagle’s nest. “One of those was blown down last year,” says Andy, “and they found more than a dozen cat and dog collars in it.” I laugh, thinking he’s joking. “No, seriously,” he says. “Those little handbag dogs, you gotta be careful.”
Ahead of us the water is flecked with white: the rapids. “Everyone up for this?” asks Andy. The six-year-old is definitely staying on the raft, but the rest of us nod uncertainly. We spit into our snorkel masks to stop the visors misting up, and slip off the raft into the churning water.
Now we’re flying downriver at speed, waving arms frantically to avoid the odd looming boulder, narrowly skimming over the stones in the shallower stretches, almost but not quite out of control. It’s a little frightening to be so exposed, but exhilarating.
The cold stops us after an hour or so, before we can swim all the way out to sea, and we raft down the final stretch to where thick blankets and a warm bus await our return. Snorkelling with salmon. Truly one to tick off the bucket list.
For more information, see www.destinyriver.com.
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