Gratification For The Alewives

As I watched the alewives battle up the bay of Patten’s Pond Stream against all the odds, I wondered whether either virtue, as humanly considered, had anything to do with an alewife's endeavor. Was it not rather, desire that led them up the stream—overwhelming desire possessing the fish physically and, as much as may be, mentally? Watching them, I hoped so. Courage and patience seemed too inadequate, too pathetic a vista through which to view them. It needed something more fundamental, more relentless, more unwavering and less sad to explain a struggle like this. There must be, to guide them, desire, sufficient in itself, its gratification its own reward.

I could not believe that Nature forced such an annual issue without inherent compensation. And, though the alewife must mount the stream or die in the attempt, there was no reason why I should mix human psychology with its journey. It must be that each movement of its splendid body was made in physical enjoyment of even the struggle. And once up the rapids the quiet water above was a comforting place for resting. The alewives gathered in such placid stretches after their initial triumph, their numbers increasing until their black dorsal fins showed a fleet filling the quiet water.

After a respite they swam on and through a second series of rapids a few rods up stream. They rested again near Surry Bridge and thousands of the fish went no farther on their journey. A fate more potent, if less spectacular than the gulls met them here. Mankind took a large economic toll. I liked to note that, while his livelihood was linked with his catch of alewives, the captain who directed their affairs at the bridge looked kindly at such of the fish as were permitted to pass on. He moved lodged bits of wood to give them easier passage. He shifted stones to widen a resting pool. When tormenting youngsters were inclined to disturb the fish he prevented them, saying, "Don't do it, boys. They have a hard enough time as it is."

Indeed, the whole course looked to a bystander like an obstacle race; though I surmise that had the alewives voices they would have gone up stream singing. It helped me, somehow, to listen to the bobolinks that had concluded their migration as I watched these other voyagers still with a long, long way to go. Not long as miles are measured, for it is about three miles from Surry Bay to Patten's Pond. But long in hours when the weather is cold, for it took the fish a week to climb the half-mile between Surry Bridge and Six-foot Falls.

By: davidbunch

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