Saltwater grasses shushed in a slough deep enough at high tide that a VW Bug-sized baby humpback swam up, chasing a silver school of tiny herring

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Saltwater grasses shushed in a slough deep enough at high tide that a VW Bug-sized baby humpback swam up, chasing a silver school of tiny herring. The baby bubbled the water like a toddler in a bathtub. His bumpy dark skin glistened like the wetsuit of a scuba diver_ His mother called a long, mournful sound in the deeper waters of the Douglas Channel. The baby spouted, the mist shot through with a rainbow and a slightly rotten fish smell. He zipped back to her as I stood in my parents' backyard by their smokehouse. The lowering sun shone molten gold on the calm water so I saw the whales as dark shadows as they swam away, flukes and fins with the occasional geyser of breath. 1 walked down to the soccer field located a few minutes away. The Douglas Channel is rimmed with mountains. Evergreens blanket their sides like dark green velvet, shot through with brown seams of logging roads and the new industrial road that leads to Bish Creek_ The humpbacks steamed south along the shoreline. Seagulls complained as they hovered over the beach_ A bald eagle landed on a giant stump that had washed ashore_ He flapped at an entourage of crows that circled him like dark thoughts. 
We haven't seen whales like this since the whalers killed off our resident pod back when whale oil was a big thing. The Douglas Channel is ninety kilometers long from the head to the mouth, where the Inside Passage begins. I live near the head, on a reserve that faces the ocean, a small plot of alluvial flatness in a landscape dominated by granite mountains and surging tides. Nearby, eleven kilometers away by a twisting, steeply graded road; is the town of Kitimat, built by Alcan Aluminum Limited in the sixties to house their workers. Our population on the rez is about six hundred to eight hundred people. Town has about eight thousand, which fluctuates according the rise and fall of commodity prices. Down the channel near Coste Island. is a whale rock. Close to shore et dee 
The coastal First Nations were like the ants in the children's story, working all summer so we could eat all winter. When the snow fell, our sacred season began. We held feasts to pass our culture to the younger generation through dance, song and story. These potlatches went for days and sometimes weeks, a celebration, a reaffirmation of our cultural bonds, a legal case for the chief's and clan's rights. We had dedicated writers, musicians, weavers and carvers who were commissioned to make high-status treasures for the chiefs who hired them. The chiefs gifted their guests with these treasures or threw their treasures in the fire to show their contempt for hoarding wealth. Everyone was fed. If we all worked hard, our life was good. 
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The First Nations on the coast of British Columbia have built our cultures around salmon. Our sacred season is in the winter and our ceremonies are only possible with the food wealth that salmon bring us_ To say that we like salmon is such an understatement, it would be like saying the Arctic can be chilly or Toronto has traffic. When we're protesting things like pipelines or fish farms, what we're protesting is a threat not just to our food security but to our identity_ Imagine France without cheese. Greece without olives. Germany without beer. 
Dad used to set his net near the point He had a small boat, a fishing net lined with corks at the top and weights at the bottom and an anchor. One end of the net was tied to shore and the rest of the net stretched into the ocean, held up by the corks and a large buoy. Each species of salmon requires a different size netting to catch their gills. Nets can cost up to $1,000. Food fishing means you fish for your family and your extended family_ Some families chip in for the fisherman's gas and boat expenses. Others don't. Traditionally, the chief of a clan would decide when the Haisla could fish. A certain amount of fish had to swim by before he'd allow fishing_ We used to set at the mouth of the rivers, but a series of laws after Contact meant we had to set in the ocean, which was less effective_ Usually, fishermen watch for signs or troll around with fish finders. Once a salmon run starts, people stake out their spots and a certain amount of clearance is given between nets. This isn't as much of an issue, because food fishing is labour-intensive_ You need to check your net every three to five hours_ Dad would start checking his net at sunrise and finish at sunset. When the fish were running, sometimes it would be hourly_ If you have a regular job: you need to take days off or vacation time. You need a boat and gas money_ If you set in the wrong place, you have to re-set, or risk getting skunked_ There's nothing more discouraging than going through all the work to set a net and then pulling up seaweeds and logs. 
When I first moved home. I helped Dad check his net in the mornings. As your boat nears the net. you can usually tell if you've been skunked if all the corks are floating. If they're sunk down, you hope it's not a log, which you have to untangle leaning over the side of the boat_ You pull the net up and then pull yourself along the net to the shore. Your arms get very buff. The net is very heavy, even without fish. You pick seaweed and jellyfish off as you go. If you have caught fish, you pull them onboard and untangle them. If they're alive, you club them to death first or fight them as they thrash around your speedboat. Sometimes all that's left is salmon heads and tails_ Harbour seals cruise along the nets and pick the bellies clean. Their dark heads poke above the water.

write a literary essay on "the salmon eaters" by eden robinson What does eden robinson say about the value of land in her story "the salmon eaters " it has to be between 500 and 800 words