Schools of little fish properly called eulachon or more often hooligans, have arrived, just as they have every Alaskan spring since time in memorial. Yet the date they show up, the length of the run, and even the strength of their numbers remains a mystery. Einstein said that the fairest thing we can experience is the mysterious. This is where my faith lives on a cold May morning: in the hearts of those little fish who haul spring up to the Chilkat and the Chilkoot with birds and sea lions,seals and whales– and people– all in their wake, like the battle of God’s bands, every spring, more or less about now. Ready or not, here comes summer, the season we’ve been waiting for all winter. Take a deep breath. It does not smell like a daffodil. It smells like a greasy little fish.
