Why I Belong to the Sea Run Brook Trout Coalition



Answering Why the Sea-Run Brook Trout Coalition…?
The bottom line is that there are still brook trout in an enormous number of our coastal streams from Long Island to Maine. They suffer from stream fragmentation and riparian degradation, but they’ve managed to hang on for this long. The Sea Run Brook Trout Coalition was formed because we could not idly stand by and watch these fish die. The death of each stream population of brook trout also marks the death of the stream that they had lived in. At the point at which the brook trout die, the stream itself has been dying for some time, and after their passing it becomes a tomb, a collection of memories that soon fade. There are things that we can do to stop this die off – things like dam removal, safe minimum flow requirements, stream buffers, land protection and increased public awareness… but we have to do these things now. This is not a situation where we can afford to just focus on the streams that are in the best shape. Along the east coast, if a stream is in decent shape, it is only because it has been taken care of for a long time. That population is probably least in need. To save salters, we have to become involved in restoring streams. Making the low hanging fruit and easy fixes a priority will not work for salters. Do that and you’ll witness the demise of most of what remains. The Sea Run Brook Trout Coalition is dedicated to trying to keep that from happening.


Two small poems for rivers at Christmas



Herring follow the Sea Path
Grazing on the Sun
Abiding the Moon
Sacrificial from their beginning

Thirty six cycles of the Moon and in that spring
The Mother River calls

At Namasakeesett
Bears once swayed with the brook song
Hind feet in the skunk cabbage
Swatting herring to the bank
Herring bringing the Sun up from the Sea
To ease the pangs of winter

Have we forgotten all of it?
That we were once bears
That we were herring


Who recalls Dogger Land?
The sea gives up its mammoth’s teeth and red deer antlers incised
With maps of the spirit worlds
The sea recalls
Rolling across the strands and poisoning the sacred oaks
Until they were crooked fingers standing in the surf
Pointing up at the angry, gray sky
Flooding the salmon rivers until their headwater lakes
Became estuaries and bays
Filling the valleys and flowing over the low hills
Until the stone circles that had tracked the movements of gods
Across the skies
Became the temples of cod

The sea recalls the change
And admonishes with its prophecies gleaned from our nets

Christmas is a time of hope, when we bring nature into our houses in the form of fir and other evergreen trees.We look to the lengthening days that give us sign of rebirth.In streams and rivers life grows in the gravel womb of the stream’s bottom.Join with all of life, and persist with faith and humility.