#downriver collective

[whoneedsgenderanyway]

fall is for finding small folk bands to obsess over

[macguffinandco]

Hi - we're on Tumblr now!

I'm sorry, who are you?

We're @sashasienna​ and @jonnywaistcoat​, and we make tabletop RPGs as MacGuffin & Co.!

Tabletop what-nows?

Immersive storytelling games where you and your friends can dive into weird worlds, play fascinating characters and have harrowing adventures!

What, like Dungeons & Dragons?

*sigh* Yeah. Like Dungeons & Dragons

Ok, so what have you made?

Well, we've got a collection of system neutral micro-settings called Odd Jobs - it's eleven small and fascinating worlds to play games in, each with a campaign you can play through in a month. They're not designed for any particular system, so you can play them with whatever game you like!

Oh, and it won the 2022 UK Games Expo award for Best Adventure and was nominated for Ennie Product of the Year. Just sayin'.

We've just released a tarot-themed magical river game called Upriver, Downriver with our dear friend Ella Watts, in which you play the crew of a ship sailing the Great River, either travelling upriver to the mythical Source with it's magic and revelation; or downriver towards the unending Sea with it's freedom and horizon.

We have KER-SPLAT! - a high-chaos, full nonsense cartoon RPG we wrote with Ross Barlow, where the players can't die and the GM can't stop them in a hilarious cascade of silly jokes. Also, not to brag, but this is the funniest RPG rulebook you'll ever read.

We also have smaller games, such as Zero Void - a no-prep one-shot zine game, where you play a bunch of desperate space criminals trying to escape a space station before the law arrives.

Is there any way to keep up with what you do?

Well, following our Tumblr is a great start. We also have a monthly mailing list you can sign up to from our website that will keep you updated on what we do.

We also have a Patreon.

What was that? You're mumbling!

Yeah, like all creators trying to eke out a living, we have a Patreon. If you sign up you get behind -the-scenes updates, small or prototype games, RPG resources, new micro-settings and our monthly TTRPG Gamesmasterclass, where we use our 35(!) combined years of GMing experience to help you run the best games ever.

But what if I want to see your faces?

Then I have great news! We stream boardgames and RPGs every Sunday at twitch.tv/macguffinandco! Jonny also streams videogames every Friday at twitch.tv/jonnywaistcoat, and Sasha steams their Jane Austen Bookclub every Monday at twitch.tv/sashasienna

Sounds cool - where can I find out more?

macguffinandcompany.com, baby!

Wait, so why are you on Tumblr?

Because social media is a nightmare hellscape and it's weirdly the chillest one left. We are on other social sites as well - you can follow us on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook - but this is our favourite.

[beck-a-leck]

Next chapter is up!

In which Bilbo earns the title Barrel Rider.

Have a Sneak Peak

Bilbo shivered in the water, but there was nothing to be done about getting warm. She looked skyward and saw it was a wonderfully clear night. The stars were out and shining with a crisp brightness she’d never seen before. She hoped the elves were enjoying their feast and wondered if their escape had been noticed yet. She worried for the others trapped in barrels, and hoped they were all right-side up and none of the barrels had sprung a leak. Given how dark it was and how loudly the river rushed about them, they wouldn’t be able to know if something had gone wrong until it was far too late. There was a moment when some of the barrels got caught up on some rocks that Dwalin was able to get Bilbo boosted up out of the water and onto one of the barrels. It wasn’t a comfortable seat, nor an easy ride – Bilbo could only compare it to riding a very round-bellied pony who would rather roll in the grass than humor a rider – but it got her out of the water, even if the night air kept her chilled to the bone. “I hope the others are all right,” she said aloud, watching one of the lower-floating barrels pass them. “Well, at the very least, they’re dryer and warmer than we are,” Dwalin said. He laughed humorlessly. “Almost wish I was packed into one of the barrels.” They drifted on all through the night and into the morning. The sun brought some comfort, as it was turning out to be an unseasonably warm day, and Bilbo was able to dry a bit and warm up after a cold night frozen atop her barrel. But it also brought much worry. They began looking in earnest for a place to make for land, but the section of the river they were in was running too swiftly and the banks were too steep and rocky. The longer they traveled, the more worried Bilbo got that someone was going to come out of the barrels completely drowned. And there was, of course, the worry that there might be elves or others along the river, watching for the barrels to come down. Someone had to collect them, after all. If they were seen by another party, they might be reported back to the elves. And there were the hair-raising moments when the river reached a split and some of the barrels broke away from the group and Bilbo feared that some of the Company was going to get swept away entirely and never be seen again, only to find a ways downriver the separated barrels rejoined their flotilla.

[shallliveoninsong]

Mercy Guides our Hand

"No! Please don't--"

Pleas were cut off by the dousing of the forbidden books oil. The Reader can't bear to look but the masked leaders hold them in place, kneeling on the floor of their hidden room that housed their collection of illegal books.

Despite all their screaming the sound of a match being struck still seems to echo throughout the small room.

In a blink of an eye, years of hard work, carefully smuggled priceless information that the Commonwealth went through great lengths to hide, compelling personal stories, and years of precious memories of the Reader are aflame.

"Stop! Those are mine! Please!"

They do not see the Reader's tears. Or more likely, do not care. The bone white masks of the leaders supply no response.

Save for one.

The figure says nothing, but the Reader recognizes the Archjustice. He gives some hand signal to the other leaders of the Commonwealth.

The Reader is yanked back and their legs held down. Wordlessly the Archjustice approaches, the base of his golden staff echoing taps on the wooden floor as he steps forward.

The Reader's turmoil of grief at the loss of their precious collection is interrupted, albeit briefly, by confusion. They expected to have been dragged off already to be cast downriver as an exile. Or at the very least thrown into a holding cell until the accommodations for the sentencing ceremony could be made for them to be cast into the Downside.

The Archjustice puts the criminal's questions to rest.

He brings the staff down upon the lower limbs of the guilty. Once. Twice. Thrice-- The Reader loses count.

The heavy round decorative piece cracks bone easily, leaving a bloodied mess of mangled swollen limbs behind.

The criminal, the danger to the prosperity of the Commonwealth pleads for him to stop. They cry out for mercy.

Mercy, upon which the Commonwealth is built.

This is mercy.

[polarwooly]

First Time for Everything

Ukko x Honeywort human!au that I've been writing for a while. This is about their first kiss.

Chapter 1

Cw: Gender dysphoria, slightly spicy flirting

A warm summer wind rustled through the bows of the eucalyptus trees and whistled softly among their ghostly white-barked trunks, carrying their sweet aroma up into the darkening sky. The sparse forest was quiet, the screeching parrots and singing birds having already retreated to their nightly perches and the sounds of other wildlife being drowned out by the babbling of the golden brown stream that ran through the forest, swelled from its normal lazy meander by the spring rains not so recently passed. A small group of antilopine kangaroos grazed by the edge of a thicket. With a thump of a foot, a reddish male alerted the others to the sound of a breaking twig nearby and a dozen pairs of ears perked in search of danger. Where they were pointed, a small, ambiguously humanoid shape descended warily from an apple-gum and hopped out of sight into the bushes. It blended into the backdrop of the forest floor as well as it had into the canopy, continuing its careful sprint further down the winding paths and prey trails that criss-crossed the woods, leaving the herd unbothered in their meal.

Some distance downriver, tents marked with the snarling wolf-head to the Northern Kingdom’s army had been set up behind the partial cover of  rocky outcroppings jutting above the woods. The figure popped its head up from behind a fallen tree and with one last nervous glance behind, took off its hood and approached the pair of guards keeping watch on top of a wind-rounded boulder. They both nodded a greeting as the sullen form of the company’s young healer, Hyoscyamus, or Ukko as he had quickly become known to all of camp, skulked past them. Recently, the skinny man had been running double-duty as a scout, supplementing the two they had already. He didn’t return the greeting, just made his way towards his own tent by the edge of camp and slinked inside. The space was small and had just enough room for three bedrolls arranged around the central pole. His own was in a perpetual state of clutter as always, covered in dry and drying leaves, collections of stones, bones and various clay pots filled with substances other people could only guess at because none were labeled. He tossed his bag among the bound-up branches of herbs and gave one of the other beds a nudge with his foot. 

“Wake up Vala! It’s sundown, your shift.”

With a mock protest, a lanky-limbed woman unfolded from under the covers, rolled over and got her long feet under herself with all the grace of a newborn moose. 

“Hnngh,” she groaned as she stretched out her arms out and grabbed her equipment in the same series of movements. “Hi Ukko. Bye Ukko.” With that, she ducked down and exited the flap, disappearing into the night as silently as he had arrived from it.

Ukko considered the state of his own mat, now with the added bulk of his herb-filled bag, and elected to sit on the third one instead, neatly kept and arranged and lined with quite a few non-standard-issue pillows. This one belonged to Honeywort, an expert soldier and fellow scout, one of the best in camp. The best if you accounted for height, which Ukko was one to do for his own reasons. He kicked his feet up on the mess flooding in from his side of the sleeping arrangement and pulled his straw cape over himself. He would have preferred to have been asleep hours ago, when the sun had still been fully visible in the sky, but his dumb scout-shift had kept him awake. Now, laying down in the empty tent, he drifted off to muddle-dreamed sleep almost immediately.

~~~

"Scooch over?" 

Ukko's eyes snapped open as he felt the pressure of a light touch on his arm. Even in the gloom of the tent, he could make out Honeywort's face hovering above him. He looked about as tired as Ukko felt, his ruddy brown hair escaping from its ponytail in whisps and deep lines under his pale green eyes. Ukko sat up, instantly alert. He patted the mat and Honey dropped next to him. His shoulder smelled like cooking meat and spices as it settled near Ukko's head-height. 

"Got you on firepit duty again?" he inquired, trying not to look like he was smelling him on purpose. 

"Yeah, it took forever to get the fire going. Wet wood you know. I didn't see you all evening though?" He rubbed soot from his forearm, then looked at his shirt with an unhappy frown. The dark brown fabric had black smudges on it too.

Ukko licked the sharp canine that protruded from under his lip, dislodging a stubborn piece of root bark. "I ate while I was out," he waved a dismissive hand and leaned back to stretch, unintentionally highlighting the ribs pushing on his thin skin. He folded back down quickly when he noticed Honey was watching.

"Plants don't count as real food," he insisted. As long as Ukko had known him, Honey had been an avid carnivore in his diet. He always seemed to manage to come up with a near endless supply of small game or eggs or fish whenever it was his time to spice up the dry wheat rations of the camp. Thanks to that skill, he had that duty a lot.

"Oh?" Ukko cocked an eyebrow wryly. "I brought these all this way for nothing then? What a shame…" Crawling across the floor on his hands, he reached into the bag he'd thrown in the corner and pulled out a small cup made of a folded strip of bark. It was filled with wild strawberries, small and red and slightly soft from the heat. He wiggled it in the air and it was snatched away in exchange for a crooked smile. Honey poured some into his hand and downed them in one mouthful, savoring the taste as he chewed. Ukko watched as he practically squirmed with delight and turned down the offer to share under the pretense that he'd already had his fill. Really, his pleasure tasted sweeter than any berry could.

After the small basket was empty, Ukko took it back, unfolded and stuck it back into the bag for later use. Honey’s pale fingers were now dyed slightly red in addition to the soot. 

"Okay, some plants can be actual food. Thank you.” Ukko grinned like a self-satisfied fox. “You know…” Honey moved to sit closer to him. “Vala won't be back for a few more hours…" He walked a pair of stained fingers playfully up Ukko's arm. It was a familiar game between them. He would tease, the other would parry. But this time, instead of pulling away or making up an excuse to shift the topic, Ukko remained still under the touch. He turned his hand palm up towards Honey. The slightly taller man blinked, a little confused at first, before a smile spread to his eyes and he folded his fingers between the offered ones. Ukko marveled at the softness of his touch and wondered if his calloused and clawed hands must have felt like gravel in return. He didn't want to ruin such perfect skin, even inconvenience it in any way. He wanted to be gentle, for once. Bringing the intertwined fingers up to his mouth, he pressed a kiss on the back of the hand. The taste was intoxicatingly like the scent worn into everything Honey owned, from his clothes to the sleeping mat they sat on. In a moment of boldness, he brought his hand out of the embrace and clasped both of them behind Honey's neck, pulling their faces near. He was so beautiful, he wanted to tell him. How he admired him and the way he fought, his muscles and his beard and his sparkly eyes and his everything. The low light dancing on his face was like nothing he could describe. But he didn't say any of that. He couldn't. He lied so much, so readily. Honey would think he was lying again, there was no way he could understand how he felt. He would probably tire of this new game soon and pull away. His arms squeezed on the neck between them harder without his conscious input. 

To his surprise, he felt palms close around his own cheeks. Honeywort's eyes were soft like his touch and made the nerves in his stomach clench, but the rest of his body relaxed into the other man's hands. Suddenly, his face was very close. So close he could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke so softly it almost sounded like a purr.

"I like you, Hyos." There was no ulterior motive to the words. No hidden meaning of expected compliance. Just a pure, unfiltered declaration. Like they were two school-boys with crushes. There was something about them that made a red glow appear on the tips of Ukko's ears and spread all over his face. 

"I uh.. I like you too. A lot." 

It felt like nothing compared to how he was feeling. How he had been feeling for months now. Like a bucket of water compared to the ocean itself. He brushed a hair out of Honey's face, lingering in tracing the outline of his temple with his nail. It felt so right. He began to lean in, but lost his nerve at the last moment. He fumbled, blowing a sigh through his nose and clenching his teeth. He chose something that was a little less daunting than the radiant face waiting patiently for him with lidded eyes and kissed the curve of the cheek framing it instead. A hum vibrated through Honey's throat and against Ukko's arms.

"May I?" The husky whisper disappeared into Ukko's wild hair as a thumb rubbed small circles into his cheekbone.

What a terrible thing to ask, he thought. Ukko knew from experience he hated being touched, that slightest contact from anyone but a few select people could make his skin crawl and gut twist uncomfortably on a bad day. But it would be different when it was Honey. It had to be. So, he told a very wreckless lie right to the face of the person closest to him. "Please."

Soft fingers traced the line of his jaw, brushing along the light fuzz of his shadow of a beard. Ukko pressed his cheek deeper into Honey's hand. It was so warm. Leaving the other side of his face, Honey's right hand guided a curl behind an ear and drifted down, caressing his neck, gliding over his clavicle and under his straw cloak. The binding was undone and a weight shifted off Ukko’s shoulders as the only piece of clothing covering everything above his waist was half shrugged, half pushed off and fell behind him on the bed. His skin bristled against exposed air, sending a pleasant tickle down his body. Tensing slightly from the familiar sensation given new significance, he hazarded a glance at the man holding him so tenderly. His face was still level with his, but eyes were cast down, following and guiding the trailing touch. 

A pang of desperate love shot through his heart. How much he wanted to just hold him like this, forever. To wrap their bodies together until they melded into one. So no-one else could have him, take him away, even look at him. Because to look at Honeywort was to love him, to bind your very soul into his service until the second Surge wiped this pitiful island off every map, until the sun no longer rose in the East, until the seas boiled off at the end of days. And even longer. Truly, forever. And in this moment, this divine being whose very essence was love itself was looking at him. Touching him. The exploring fingers kept their downward path on his chest, noting every rib, every stringy muscle, and appreciating every single one with drawn out, languid strokes. Like he too had been watching from afar for ages, unable to touch, but drowning in curiosity. Just like him. It was getting to be too much for his heart to handle. A sigh escaped his mouth into Honey's palm. His next breath was shallow. And the next. 

His eyes closed again, so he didn't see Honey's gaze darting up to his face with dawning worry, then down to the binding that was beginning to constrict his breathing. The fingers wound down further, until they rested on the fabric and tugged at it, as if testing the surface of a pond frozen overnight. They moved around the base of the armpit, where the wrap was tucked in and secured with near-sadistic firmness, pressing red and raw into tan skin with every expanding of the lungs underneath. Ukko felt the touch moving back and disappearing over the cotton, then a slight tug and the pressure of a knot being undone. He didn't care at the moment. Honey could take off anything of his that he wanted, expose every bleeding inch of him, if only he kept looking at him. Kept seeing him. All of him. His eyes flew wide as a horrific realization ripped through the pleasant pink haze in his mind like a hunting knife through meat.

"HEY! Don't-" he yelped.

Rail-thin arms shot to Honey's chest to shove him off, but the other man had already recoiled as if the skin he'd been admiring with his touch had turned into molten copper. He fell back, scrambling until he stood, still half-crouched, at the other end of the small hide tent. His beautiful green eyes shone wide and frightened in the dark. Ukko's heart ached with regret, the night feeling suddenly very cold though the weather had been baking hot for weeks. Then another emotion overpowered that one and he fumbled for the thin blanket to pull up over his shoulders. Reaching under his arm, he re-attached the loose fabric. A quick pat confirmed it hadn't come undone any further. His whole body folded involuntarily into a hunch, knees coming all the way up to his chin and arms folding under the moth-eaten fabric to pull it tight. Honeywort seemed to be caught between two instincts. His hands were raised towards his partner like he wanted to replace the comforting embrace of the blanket with his own, but his feet didn't let him move forward towards someone who had so clearly rejected his advances.

"I'm… I'm so sorry. I thought… I'm sorry." He  swayed back and forth with indecision and clenched and unclenched his soft hands like a nervous cat. Guilt eclipsed the unnamed feeling twisting Ukko's insides. How could he have startled him like that? Yelled at him? Like a simple gesture wouldn't have been enough. Like he wasn't the gentlest, kindest man he'd ever known. Ukko reached out a hand from under the cover and it was immediately grasped between two others. Honey sat down on his knees but still remained the taller one of the two.

"I didn't mean to shout," Ukko apologized in a low voice. He pressed his chin on the tangle of fingers without kissing them. The moment was gone, he had shoved it away. Like he always did. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just let people touch him? Be normal about it all? He always, always snapped at them and hit them and chased them away, and for what? Looking at him? Seeing who he really was? But it didn't feel like that. It seemed the more they, all of them, looked, the less they saw. Hot tears burned at the edges of his eyes and he tried to blink them away.

Honey's breathing was fast now too.

"No, no, please. It's my fault, I didn't mean to go too far, I'm so sorry. I just… wanted to-" 

"You don't have to pretend." Ukko didn't mean for words to sound as pointed as they came out as. He tried to soften his tone, but only managed to make it quieter. "I know you only like men. I overheard you talking with Xyris about it." Hah, he laughed in his mind. 'Overheard.' As if he hadn't been eavesdropping on purpose. Like he hadn't been sore with envy at how easily his brother had spoken about the topic. How little it meant to him.

"Aren't… you a man?" Honey gave an odd look, seemingly frantically combing over every conversation he'd ever had with or about the thin figure sitting on his bed.

"Yes!" Ukko blurted out, almost offended. He took his hand from Honey's and rubbed it through his own hair. "But what I'm saying is, I don't really look… I mean… You wouldn't like some parts of me. I wouldn't." I don't. The thought remained unspoken. There was nothing to be done. Not with oils and herbs or magic words and charms. His body had been wrong since his birth and it would continue to grow crooked for the rest of his life.

"That doesn't matter to me, silly!" Their eyes met in the soft light of the campfire shining through the tent’s seams. "I like men. You're a man. I like you. The whole you."

Ukko stared at Honeywort. His face held nothing but openness and honesty… and love. He wasn't lying to save his feelings. He really did… like him. He was willing to accept all of him. Ukko blinked. He searched for the feeling of joy that was supposed to be blooming in his chest. He should have been grateful. He should have embraced his lover like he was in danger of flowing out from between his fingers like morning mist, like the most precious jewel in the world, like a steady stone in a hurricane. He wanted to want that. But instead, the miserable little man sat on the bed, shaking. Shaking with anger, frustration and bitterness. Trembling because his most beloved didn't want to share his enemy, if that enemy was his own body. Because he didn't understand. A raspy gasp ripped from his throat. He really was broken, incapable of accepting a good thing when it was handed to him. Why couldn't he just be happy? Just let Honey touch him like he wanted to? Tears dripped into his lap as the hunch deepened and he tried to become just as small as he felt.

Honey was still sitting across from him in the dirt, looking no less panicked than when he'd been shoved away, afraid to even move for fear of shattering his lover completely. Hesitantly, gentler than brushing the wing on a butterfly without breaking it, he reached out a hand and placed it on the head of the weeping lump. Hearing no protest, he began to stroke the messy dark hair. He leaned in and pressed his body on the other's, enveloping him in his comforting warmth. He searched for words for a while before speaking.

"I won't ever touch you like that again. I'm sorry. Just say the word and I'll stop. Always. About anything. But please, just… let me hold your hand?"

A head of frizzy hair rose slowly from between Ukko's hands, eyes like saucer-plates looking directly into Honey's. The tears were still falling like rain, but the choked sobs mixed with gasping laughter. Ukko turned and grasped both sides of Honeywort's face, cupping his cheeks roughly, yet with so much love he could never hope to put it into words. So he didn't try. He simply yanked the jaw in his hands forward and laid a full, deep kiss right on the lips of the most wonderful man he had ever known. He tasted like wild strawberries.

[airlinestravelnews]

Must-Visit Hidden Gems in New Orleans, Louisiana in 2024

Introduction:

New Orleans, Louisiana, a city brimming with culture and history, has more to offer than its famous French Quarter and lively Bourbon Street. In 2024, explore the lesser-known treasures tucked away in the city's neighborhoods, promising an authentic and enriching experience. Let's uncover the must-visit hidden gems waiting to be discovered in New Orleans.

1. Faubourg Marigny:

Introduction to Faubourg Marigny:

Just downriver from the French Quarter lies Faubourg Marigny, a neighbourhood exuding charm and vibrancy. Its colourful streets, adorned with Creole cottages and murals, invite exploration.

Frenchmen Street: The Heart of Faubourg Marigny:

Frenchmen Street serves as the pulsating heart of Faubourg Marigny, offering an authentic glimpse into New Orleans' music scene. Dive into intimate jazz clubs and eclectic bars, where live performances captivate audiences.

Exploring Creole Cuisine:

Indulge in a culinary adventure in Faubourg Marigny, where cozy bistros serve up innovative Creole fare. From classic dishes with a modern twist to tantalizing seafood creations, savor the flavors of New Orleans in every bite.

2. City Park:

Overview of City Park:

Escape the hustle and bustle of the city and find tranquility amidst the sprawling greenery of City Park. Spanning over 1,300 acres, this verdant oasis offers a variety of attractions for visitors to enjoy.

Botanical Garden: A Tranquil Retreat:

Meander through the Botanical Garden, where exotic plants and serene water features create a peaceful ambiance. Take in the beauty of lush landscapes and vibrant blooms, providing a refreshing respite from city life.

New Orleans Museum of Art: A Cultural Haven:

Delve into the world of art at the New Orleans Museum of Art, home to an impressive collection spanning centuries. From classical masterpieces to contemporary works, immerse yourself in the rich cultural heritage of New Orleans.

3. Algiers Point:

Crossing the Mississippi: A Journey to Algiers Point:

Embark on a scenic journey across the Mississippi River via the historic Algiers Ferry, transporting you to Algiers Point. Step into a bygone era as you wander through its streets lined with picturesque Victorian homes.

Exploring the Historic District:

Discover the Algiers Point Historic District, where meticulously preserved architecture tells the story of the neighborhood's storied past. Admire the intricate details of historic landmarks and learn about the area's fascinating history.

Savoring Southern Flavors:

Indulge your taste buds in Algiers Point, where Southern hospitality meets culinary excellence. From traditional Creole dishes to mouthwatering seafood specialties, experience the flavors of the South in every bite.

4. Bywater:

Introduction to Bywater:

Venture to Bywater, a bohemian enclave bursting with artistic flair and creative energy. Its vibrant streets, adorned with colorful murals and eclectic storefronts, offer a glimpse into the city's thriving art scene.

Immersing in Art at Studio BE:

Immerse yourself in the world of art at Studio BE, a sprawling warehouse-turned-gallery showcasing thought-provoking works by local artists. Explore the diverse range of artistic expressions, from graffiti murals to multimedia installations.

Craft Breweries and Hip Cafes:

Unwind with a cold brew at one of Bywater's craft breweries or hip cafes, where the laid-back atmosphere invites leisurely conversations and creative inspiration. From artisanal coffee to locally brewed beers, savor the flavors of Bywater's burgeoning food and drink scene.

Conclusion:

In 2024, venture beyond the tourist hotspots and uncover the hidden gems that make New Orleans truly special. From the lively streets of Faubourg Marigny to the tranquil beauty of City Park, each destination offers a unique glimpse into the soul of the city. Embrace the spirit of exploration and discover the magic of New Orleans off the beaten path.

Unique FAQs:

Q:1 Is Faubourg Marigny safe for tourists?

A: Like any urban area, it's essential to remain vigilant, especially at night. However, Faubourg Marigny is generally considered safe for tourists, particularly in well-travelled areas like Frenchmen Street.

Q:2  Are there any guided tours available in Faubourg Marigny?

A: Yes, several tour companies offer guided walking tours of Faubourg Marigny, providing insights into its history, architecture, and cultural significance.

Q:3  Is there an admission fee for City Park?

A: While admission to City Park is free, certain attractions within the park, such as the Botanical Garden and the New Orleans Museum of Art, may have separate admission fees.

Q:4  Are there any family-friendly activities in City Park?

A: Absolutely! City Park boasts a range of family-friendly activities, including playgrounds, pedal boat rentals, and the beloved Carousel Gardens Amusement Park.

Q:5  How frequent are the Algiers Ferry crossings?

A: The Algiers Ferry operates regularly throughout the day, with crossings every 30 minutes during peak hours and hourly service during off-peak times.

[thesefevereddays]

Borrow

By Sarah McCartt-Jackson

We borrow from the land what we can but cannot

return to it: bluestem, coneflower, boneset, broomcorn,

a ring-necked pheasant tied to a pole, a flat stretch of land

we strip and tar and pave, a creek that gets deeper

as it downrivers, its edges spoiled with runoff.

We collect seeds from the sunflowers and sow them

like quilt pieces, a little scrap of prairie rose here,

scrap of meadowlark feather there. Tamp down

the soil with plodding hooves, steel-toed boots.

Listen as the tallgrass rattles its dry stems,

cottonwood leaves quake as they remember mountain

lakes. Listen to the grain trucks rumble the highway.

We startle at the deer who startle at our footsteps.

A tree frog croaks from its harddark hole in

the otherwise empty change slot of a vending machine.

[heart-songs]

Borrow

by Sarah McCartt-Jackson

We borrow from the land what we can but cannot return to it: bluestem, coneflower, boneset, broomcorn, a ring-necked pheasant tied to a pole, a flat stretch of land we strip and tar and pave, a creek that gets deeper as it downrivers, its edges spoiled with runoff. We collect seeds from the sunflowers and sow them like quilt pieces, a little scrap of prairie rose here, scrap of meadowlark feather there. Tamp down the soil with plodding hooves, steel-toed boots. Listen as the tallgrass rattles its dry stems, cottonwood leaves quake as they remember mountain lakes. Listen to the grain trucks rumble the highway. We startle at the deer who startle at our footsteps. A tree frog croaks from its harddark hole in the otherwise empty change slot of a vending machine.

[xtruss]

The World's Best Destinations For Bird-Watching! Slow Down For Epic Spectacles of Nature in These World Wonders For Birding.

SOUTH GEORGIA 🇬🇪 ISLAND — Half a million king penguins, each standing three feet tall, pack shoulder to shoulder in mesmerizing colonies on this hundred-mile-long, glacier-studded island–reached by two days of sailing east of Chile’s Cape Horn. Millions of smaller seabirds nest on the island’s tussock-covered slopes, partly thanks to the largest-ever rat-eradication effort, completed on South Georgia in 2015. While drinking in the abundant birdlife, raise a glass to Ernest Shackleton at his final resting place. Photograph By Eric Chen, Getty Images

CAPE MAY, NEW JERSEY, USA 🇺🇸— The narrow peninsula at Cape May acts as a bird funnel, bringing in songbirds during their spring and fall migrations. At dawn on a good day, legendary Higbee Beach offers front-row seats to a feathered fashion show: A steady procession flies by, each bird intent on finding a place to rest as it encounters the natural barrier of Delaware Bay. With a little luck, you can see 20 species of warblers, each in its own colorful costume. Photograph By Jay Cassario, Getty Images

PANTANAL, BRAZIL 🇧🇷 — Everyone gets spoiled by nature’s extravagance of Brazil's Pantanal, especially during the July-to-August dry season when three-foot hyacinth macaws and hulking jabiru storks seem to lurk around every corner. Cruise the famous Transpantaneira road or hop a boat downriver where, amid oodles of birds, you might glimpse a jaguar lounging on an exposed bank. Photograph By All Canada Photos/Alamy Stock Photo

BROOME, WESTERN AUSTRALIA 🇦🇺 — Roebuck Bay, on the coast of Australia’s enormous Kimberley wilderness, might be the shorebird capital of the world. More than 100,000 sandpipers, godwits, knots, tattlers, plovers, curlews, greenshanks, and turnstones gather here each year before embarking on a marathon journey northward: Many will not touch down until reaching China five days later. In early April, you can relax on the beach at sunset to watch flock after flock take to the skies. Photograph By Luc Hooganstein, Buiten-Beeld/Minden Pictures

NEW GUINEA 🇬🇳 HIGHLANDS — The jungly interior of New Guinea, largely unmapped until the 1930s, astonished early explorers with its birdlife—and the area remains a birdwatcher’s wonderland. Dazzling birds-of-paradise appear to have sprung from a modern artist’s wild imagination. A courting male Raggiana bird of paradise looks like a quivering, pastel-colored feather duster caught in an invisible pinball machine. Photograph By Tim Laman, National Geographic Image Collection

KAKUM NATIONAL PARK, GHANA 🇬🇭 — A series of hanging walkways, draped 130 feet above the ground, gives bird’s-eye views of Ghana's pristine West African rain forest for those brave enough to sway into the canopy. Seven treetops are connected by spans totaling 1,150 feet—almost a quarter mile of vertiginous crossings. It’s possible to find 300 species of birds in the park, including the little-known Fraser’s eagle-owl, the wide-ranging melancholy woodpecker, and nine different hornbills. Photograph By Wietse Michiels, Alamy Stock Photo

MINDO, ECUADOR 🇪🇨 — Embraced by cloud forest almost a mile above sea level, the enclave of Mindo in Ecuador is a honey trap for hummingbirds. Spend a morning at one of the valley’s many sugar-feeder stations to admire these turbocharged gems—with evocative names like shining sunbeam and glowing puffleg. While you’re at it, indulge your own sweet tooth with a bar of heavenly, shade-grown local chocolate. Photograph By Karine Aigner, National Geographic Image Collection

HULA VALLEY, FOREVER PALESTINE 🇵🇸 (ILLEGALLY OCCUPIED BY THE FASCIST WAR CRIMINAL ZIONIST 🐖 🐷 🐖 🐗, ISRA-HELL) — At the geographic crossroads of Eurasia and Africa, upwards of a billion birds may pass through Israeli airspace each fall before crossing the Sahara Desert. Wetland restoration projects have been so successful that many birds now spend the winter, too, and “The Terrorist , Fascist, Apartheid Illegal Regime of the War Criminal Isra-helli 🐖 🐷 🐖 🐗 Government” feeds corn and seeds to tens of thousands of common cranes in the Hula Valley to decrease crane damage to agricultural fields. A movable hide lets viewers sneak into the midst of this real-life spectacle. Photograph By Doron Horowitz, Redux

KRUGER NATIONAL PARK, SOUTH AFRICA 🇿🇦— On safari, the birds are just as outrageous as other, furrier wildlife. Behold the secretarybird, a terrestrial eagle that uses its exceptionally long legs to stride across the African savanna and stamp on venomous snakes. Or the lesser jacana, equipped with such spindly toes that it can balance on floating lily pads. While others pursue the Big Five in South Africa, set your sights on the tiny Southern cordon-bleu—and, bonus, you’ll spot all the megafauna along the way. Photograph By Mdumbleton, Getty Images

NAGALAND, INDIA 🇮🇳— Several years ago, when conservationists visited the remote province of Nagaland on the border of India and Myanmar, they discovered more than a million Amur falcons gathering in dense roosts near Doyang Reservoir—apparently a launching point for the falcons’ nonstop, 13,000-mile migratory flight to Southern Africa. At its peak in October, this stopover may hold the world’s largest concentration of raptors. Photograph By Caisii Mao, Nutphoto/Getty Images

[sanhsbatch2006]

A Journey of Growth and Gratitude: Our Valedictory Address from 2006

Introduction

Join us as we explore on a heartfelt journey through our high school experience. San Antonio National High School has been our home for the past four years, molding us from children into the young ladies and gentlemen we are today. In this valedictory address, delivered by our esteemed valedictorian during our high school graduation in 2006, we extend our deepest thanks and gratitude to those who have played a significant role in our journey. We reflect on the challenges, triumphs, and cherished memories that have shaped us and celebrate the collective achievements of our graduating class. Let us reminisce on the transformative power of education and the bonds that have formed within the walls of our beloved alma mater.

The Original Valedictory Address Manuscripts from 2006

These are photographs of the original valedictory address manuscripts delivered during our high school graduation in the year 2006. These manuscripts hold great significance as it represents the heartfelt words capturing the essence of our high school journey.

Valedictory Address

San Antonio National High School has been our home for the past four years. She has brought us up from being children into the young ladies and gentlemen we are today.

First of all, we want to extend our warmest thanks and gratitude to Governor Leo Ocampos, City Mayor Reynaldo Parojinog, ex Barangay Captain Deborah Tan, Barangay Captain Danilo Batchar, Barangay Council for their help and to the late Mr. Luansing and family for their kind heart to purchase the lot for the school site in a low price and to all who helped in the planning for this school.

To the principal of this institution, who is ever active and determined, Mrs. Jovita B. Saquin, Mr. Pat Rara TIC Labo NHS - San Antonio Annex B, Mrs. Lilibeth Abamonga our TIC. To our TIC, dear faculty members, parents, guests and to my fellow graduates, good afternoon! We made it!

It is of great honor and privilege to be standing here in front of you all and teling you our story. It was year 2002 when we started our freshmen years in this school. The feeling of success still runs fresh in our memories. Graduation means more than just getting that piece of rolled paper from our school head. It is more on feeling the attainment of success after years of hard work.

We came from different schools and gathered at San Antonio. We were like water from different streams meeting at the same big river. Through our four years in high school, we've encountered many challenges, obstacles and problems. Those ups and downs of high school life formed new bonds and strengthened old men. They were the main ingredients that made us who we are in front of you now.

Now we've reached the river mouth. We've completed our journey through the river. This is it, my dear classmates and friends. It's time to part ways and we wish each other luck to whatever path he/she will take. Soon we will be in our own with new friends, new school and a new life, but remember this, we all came from one big river Labo National High School - San Antonio, Labo Annex – B. Remember the four years that we've flowed together downriver to this day. I'm glad in the time given to us; we became friends and made memories that cannot be erased. Wherever each of us will go, the memories we share will make us connected to one another.

During our grade school days, everybody tells us that high school is the best stage of our lives. Indeed, they were correct and have proven it right. This is the stage wherein there is a radical change within us. From being ordinary students, some stand out to be great leaders. From being boys and girls, you'll learn how it is to ladies and gentleman. Teenage life will make you want more freedom and independence, free from the shadows of adults and your parents. You'll be choosing between what you want and what you have to do. And yes, we have experienced these things.

Now is the time to move on, face more obstacles and meet more new people. We should aim high; we should be encouraged to utilize our God given talents and privileges as we take our steps into the real world.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the people who are very much responsible of bringing us here.

To our parents who brought us to this world and have not left us alone these years. They have been with us every step of the way. And now when we are, yet again, on another stepping stone to a new stage of our lives, they are here to witness and experience this memorable event with us.

To our mentors who have taught us more than just the lessons from the books but the lessons of life as well. They have given us a peck at the real world and how to live in it.

To our friends who have been there by our side like a shadow. They have never left our side even in the most difficult times. In the time given to us, we formed a bond which for my part, will always be attended by me, and most importantly to our Lord Almighty for guiding us that we may pass the right path. Thank you for helping us become better persons than what we were yesterday. Every single day meant something and we every victory we achieved made us realize that nothing is gained by merely waiting for it. Work for it and ask God's guidance. Nobody can give it to you.

With hardwork, determination, diligence and prayers, we will succeed in our endeavour. After this day, Our path will separate. To my fellow graduates, let us stick to the values, our mentors taught us and we will not get lost. Thank you and good afternoon!

[loftydreams101]

Escape Downriver

There's motion in the ice 

Crumbling to a collective rush, 

Charging out to sea 

With years of walled-away rage 

-

The river overflows 

Out of its mountain prison,

Sending the walls crashing down 

Into a riverbed of skeletons

-

Replenishing the valleys 

On its homeward voyage

Giving back what's been stalled 

In the snow for too long 

-

It builds and destroys 

On its well-meaning journey, 

In its heartfelt revolt  

Through a wilderness of ashes 

[ahungeringknife]

365: June 20

God Relora's so cool. Like her story isn't something I'm super interested in writing in full but she's one of my fave side characters in the Alliance.

------

It was the middle of the night when Relora woke up from a dream of the desert. She stood at the top of a great mountain dune in the Amber Sea and across from her was a sphinx with a face that looked like her mother's. In the rippling mirage beyond the sphinx was the towering Dehvask tree all glittering pastel colors, leaves like ten thousand knife blades. Her brow was covered in sweat and she'd soaked her side of the bed. Behind her Spayar breathed heavily in sleep, his thick arm curled around her waist.

Carefully she extracted herself from her husband and stood in her nightgown that clung to every inch of her skin from the sweat. She left the room and stepped onto the small balcony. Downriver was quiet and asleep for the night but the sky was gray from the light of other neighborhoods still illuminated long into the night. The air outside was humid and cloying in the late spring air. She gripped the banister in her hands and looked down below at the street, eyes going out of focus, trying to make sense of that dream.

They'd escaped. They'd escaped. The rebellion nor the Monarchy could reach them across the Sea. The Raja wouldn't come looking for a lone rebel in a country they had rocky politics with. The rebellion didn't care about a single hexite. Her children were safe.

Then why did she feel like she was being stalked by a chimera in the reed fields?

She went back into the house, significantly more comfortable in humidity and temperature thanks to the extensive spell weaves all over the house. Spayar hadn't even roused from her leaving the bed, simply rolled over away from her side of the bed. She didn't blame him for that.

She rubbed her arms and couldn't shake the feeling of knowing there was a crocodile in the water you were swimming in but didn't know where they were. She wasn't usually an anxious person but something was getting to her. She left the room and went to check on the other rooms. She cracked open Calli's room and the little girl was sleeping on her thick mat on the ground all spread eagle amid her extensive soft toy collection. Relora smiled gently seeing that. Then she went across the hall and checked on Spayar. He was also sleeping but the Dehvask tree in her dream loomed in front of her as an impossible promise.

Quietly as a shadow she stole into her son's room, not locking the door, and went to Spayar's bed. Her sweet boy. Her mazuk, treasure, who she'd stolen right from under the nose of the rebellion and the Monarchy. A powerful mage child. That is what Sevok had said. That was why Sevok wanted him. Why had she allowed a crocodile god to claim her son as his patron?

"Amma?" he mumbled in his sleep when she crawled into bed with him and hugged him.

"Shhh, just sleep mazuk," she shushed him gently. He made some other noise but just snuggled against her. She held him, petting his wavy black hair, staring at the wall. His small body breathed against hers. Not for the first time she wondered what a crocodile god wanted with her son. Whatever it was it was somehow better than whatever had been in his future in Dirin. Somehow. She had to hold onto that. That he'd never be a mage for the Monarchy but still a slave for the Raja all the same. That he'd never be a tool to the rebellion if he expressed as a hexite. She didn't even teach him such things. She let his father teach him how to whistle instead. The pieces of themselves they'd left in Dirin would stay there. Her sweet boy Spayar would be free. Just like everyone in the Alliance.

She clung to that thought and her son as sleep eventually pulled her under once more.

[spellscribe]

Word Find Challenge

thank you for the tag @winterandwords​! I’ve been tasked with finding the following words in my story: dead, down, didn't, and deal

Dead:

If you want to train up a ghost hunter, you might think the best place to do that would be in a graveyard. That’s bollocks. Graveyards are full of black-clad teens with nine-inch boots, too many baubles hanging from their ears (and other places) and more to the point, phones. Phones and ring lights and selfie sticks and aesthetic backgrounds, in fact. All that paraphernalia tends to scare off the haunts and spirits, and no spectre worth the salt that binds it would caught dead hanging around a graveyard.

Down:

“Here, ghosty ghost,” I called softly. “Feeling snacky? I’ve got some prime Australian ribs here for you if you show yourself.” “You never said you’d be using me as bait,” Quinn muttered. “Are you denying you’re tasty?” “I’m not the one marinated in whisky and…” Quinn froze and motioned for us to hush. “That way.” Ollie pointed downriver, towards the plip-plop of something dropping into water. “Light?”

Didn’t:

Any buidseach with half a brain would do his absolute and utter best to avoid any attention turned his way by the mighty Collective. As it turned out, I don't even have half a one. My antics in the Necropolis had attracted the attention of one or two people. And by people, I mean powerful organisations I would rather didn't know I existed. And by one or two, I mean all of them.

Deal:

"It wasn't my fault" I flipped a bird at Ollie, who stuck her head out of the kitchen for the sole purpose of bestowing an overly skeptical look my way. Fife peeled off the the first lot of forms and slid them over to me. "Well it sure as hell wasn't me who summoned a nine-foot tall demon to deal with a horde of zombies, then let half the bloody city know it was there."

These words are from Sweet Zombie O’ Mine, the second book in The Chronicles of Henry Mack. This one is still being written but book 1 is available on most platforms :) 

Anyone want to piggyback off this? Open tag. My words are: Day, Deliberate, Descend, Dump. 

[walkonandtwo]

When the salmon disappear

Chinook aren’t just food to First Nations in Yukon, they’re a way of life. But 2022 has the lowest run ever recorded.

Teri-Lee Isaac and her family would look for cues that have long dictated it was time to get ready for fish camp.

The phone lines, or more recently, the Facebook group chat, would start to light up — “What day are we leaving? Who’s bringing the hotdogs?” — when the soap berries and salmon flies were out and there were bubbles on the river, the smell of salmon wafting on the current.

They also relied on another millennia-old indicator the fish were on their way: word of mouth from downriver, where the chinook had already arrived.

“It’s kind of like smoke signals,” Isaac, a Selkirk First Nation (SFN) citizen, said from Pelly Crossing, a primarily Indigenous community of about 380 people in central Yukon, about 300 kilometres north of Whitehorse. Her family’s fish camp is among those sitting along the Pelly River, a tributary of the Yukon River where chinook salmon come streaming up every year.

Left: Teri-Lee Isaac and her family brought frozen chinook salmon provided by their First Nation to their fish camp this year. Selkirk First Nation asked its citizens not to fish for chinook during the 2022 season because the run was critically small. Right: William Smith, Isaac's partner, pulls a chinook salmon from a net in 2021. (Submitted by Teri-Lee Isaac)

While chinook once ran so thick that elders described feeling like they could walk across the backs of the fish, and Isaac’s family could pull their nets from the river over and over without worry, recent runs have been more akin to a trickle; 2022 is the smallest run ever recorded.

The decline has happened dramatically, in less than a lifetime — Isaac is only in her 40s. This year, for the first time in its history, Selkirk First Nation asked its citizens to refrain from harvesting due to the critically low number of fish.

That meant that instead of pulling them from nets, Isaac’s family members collected their salmon from freezers this year, purchased from down south by their First Nation so citizens could have something.

“We kind of knew that the salmon was depleting in the last five years, but we never thought there would be a day where we’d never be allowed to fish,” Isaac said.

“And this was the year…. I am scared about the future of the salmon.”

As the fish swims

Yukon River chinook salmon make one of the longest freshwater migrations on Earth. The river stretches more than 3,000 kilometres from the Bering Sea, across Alaska, into Yukon and south to the headwaters, located on the northwestern edge of British Columbia, near the Yukon border.

Among the markers of the chinook salmon’s nearly Sisyphean ordeal is a physical transformation — a spawning fish trades its silvery blue-green scales for reddish-bronze ones instead, and males grow a sharp beak while females have blunt, rounded heads.

Historically, up to 450,000 fish would enter the Yukon River, with anywhere from a quarter to more than a third destined for Canada. For the better part of the past two decades, though, the total figure has been closer to around 150,000 to 200,000 — still enough to feed people on both sides of the border, but a decline that has raised conservation concerns.

As Yukon River chinook disappear, so does a way of life

20:05

Under an international agreement between Canada and the U.S., at least 42,500 chinook — the minimum number managers believe are needed to sustain the population — are supposed to reach their Yukon spawning grounds. However, that goal hasn’t been met for four years in a row now.

Preliminary counts from the Alaska Department of Fish and Game say only 44,581 Chinook entered the river in total this year, the smallest number on record. Only 12,025 salmon made it to Canadian waters — not even a third of the spawning minimum.

Salmon people with no salmon

The situation is a sore spot for many Yukon First Nations along the river system. While First Nations have the right to fish regardless of the rules authorities may place on other anglers, many have asked citizens to voluntarily refrain from harvesting chinook for years.

The Tr’ondëk Hwëchin, for example, entered their ninth season of a voluntary fishing closure in 2022. The First Nation, whose traditional territory includes the area in and around Dawson City, had hoped what was supposed to be a temporary sacrifice would mean more salmon in the future — the opposite of what’s actually happened.

“It’s actually quite depressing,” Chief Roberta Joseph said.

“We’re not able to carry out our traditional lifestyle, our culture and our spiritual identity with land…. We’re starting to begin to have a whole generation, and I know some other First Nations may have two generations, who have not been able to harvest.”

A Gwich'in fish and culture camp located along the Porcupine River, near Old Crow, in 2019. Yukon First Nations with connections to the Yukon River and its tributaries have held these camps for decades as a way to build cultural connections, especially with youth, and to celebrate fish as a form of sustenance for the rest of the year. (Kanina Holmes/Stories North)

The Tr’ondëk Hwëchin, like a number of other Yukon First Nations, are salmon people to their core.

Salmon feature prominently on their crest and is even in their name: Tr’o is a reference to “a special rock — hammer rock — used to drive salmon-weir stakes into the riverbed,” according to the website for the First Nation’s cultural centre.

Other salmon people who have stopped harvesting chinook — some for more than two decades now — include the Carcross/Tagish First Nation, Teslin Tlingit Council, Vuntut Gwitchin First Nation and Kwanlin Dün First Nation. Others, like Selkirk First Nation, have asked citizens to limit or reduce their harvest.

“It’s heartbreaking,” said Brandy Mayes, a Kwanlin Dün citizen and operations manager for her First Nation’s lands department.

Mayes, in her 50s, has never harvested a chinook and fears she never will. Her First Nation’s territory includes areas in and around Whitehorse, which is also home to a fish ladder meant to help salmon get past the Whitehorse hydroelectric dam.

Left: Brandy Mayes is a Kwanlin Dün citizen and operations manager for the First Nation's lands department. Right: A board at the Whitehorse fish ladder indicates to visitors how many chinook salmon have passed through, as of Aug. 30, 2022. (Kanina Holmes, Jackie Hong/CBC)

Many problems, few fish

What exactly is causing the decline of chinook on the Yukon River is a matter of heated debate, with possible causes in two categories: problems in the river and in the ocean.

In the river, climate change has made water conditions both warmer and more unpredictable. Heavy rains or record snowpacks rapidly melting in the spring can raise water levels and increase debris in the water, which in turn can impede already-stressed migrating salmon and harm smaller, weaker fry.

Chinook are also sensitive to heat and will slow down or even die if the water gets to 18 C or warmer — something, according to a 2020 study in the Canadian Journal of Fisheries and Aquatic Sciences, that’s happened almost annually in the Yukon River since the 1990s.

More recently, biologists on both sides of the border have raised concerns about a parasite called ichthyophonus that’s prevalent in Yukon River chinook. In 2020, approximately 30,000 fish counted using sonar at Pilot Station, near the mouth of the river, “disappeared” before reaching the U.S.-Canada border, suggesting something was killing them en route.

Top left: Kwanlin Dün First Nation land steward officer Cheyenne Bradley drives a boat on the Takhini River. Top right: A boat used by Kwanlin Dün First Nation to access its sonar camp on the Takhini River. The sonar counts migrating chinook salmon. Bottom left: A log of the salmon coming through on the Takhini River sonar station. Bottom right: Bradley, front, looks at a screen displaying information collected by a sonar station in the Takhini River. (Kanina Holmes/CBC)

Tensions have run high at the twice-yearly Yukon River Panel meetings between Alaska and Yukon. Yukon delegates have accused Alaska of poor management and chronic over-harvesting; Alaska, until recently, had emphasized the need to allow the residents of the dozens of remote villages with no road access to fish for basic food needs whenever possible.

However, harvest hasn’t been a major factor for at least two years now. Besides Yukon First Nations voluntarily refraining, Alaska imposed a total ban on fishing for chinook in both 2021 and 2022 due to how critically small the runs have been.

“On a personal level, I think all of the salmon users are doing their part,” said James MacDonald, chair of the Yukon Salmon Sub-Committee, which helps develop recommendations for the territory’s salmon management strategy.

“Whatever’s happening to these salmon stocks is likely happening in the ocean, the Bering Sea and elsewhere, and you know, that’s such a vast area — it’s not really clear what’s taking place out in the high seas.”

The number of juvenile chinook in the Bering Sea has steadily declined for the past two decades, according to surveys by the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, though the reasons for that are also murky. Climate change, increased competition for food and chinook being scooped up as bycatch in commercial fisheries, especially for pollock, have all been floated as contributing factors.

Right now, we cannot manage it successfully because it’s coming back too small.Holly Carroll, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Yukon River

“There’s a lot of fact and a lot of opinion and a lot of varying opinion in the research community as well,” said Marc Ross, Fisheries and Oceans Canada’s manager for treaties, fisheries and operations for the Yukon River.

“However, on a good note, I think we would say that salmon have that ability to turn around in a few lifecycles, which is good.”

For now, he said, the federal agency was using “fishery management techniques” — i.e. not allowing commercial or recreational angling for chinook — as its primary tool for conservation.

On the other side of the border, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Yukon River fisheries manager Holly Carroll said besides closing fishing, resources are being thrown into research.

“Right now, we cannot manage it successfully because it’s coming back too small. There’s not enough fish by half and we have to understand why that’s happening to this river in particular.”

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‘We have forgotten how to call them back’

About 350 kilometres south of Dawson City sits the traditional territory of the Little Salmon/Carmacks First Nation (LS/CFN), which, in August, co-hosted a salmon gathering and ceremony with the Council of Yukon First Nations, among other organizations, at the site of an old fish camp at the confluence of the Yukon River and Tatchun Creek.

(Tatchun in Northern Tutchone, the language of the region, means a salmon’s back — specifically, the portion that sticks out of the water as a fish makes its way upstream.)

Council of Yukon First Nations senior analyst Ed Schultz, himself a LS/CFN citizen, said the event was meant to serve as a “counterbalance” to other salmon meetings that often put Western science — studies, sonar stations, statistics — at the forefront.

The return of the salmon — or anything, for that matter — was never taken for granted, Schultz explained.

“If one was to look at the history of our peoples, the connectedness between us and salmon has been so intertwined for thousands of years that the salmon really influenced our languages, our behaviour, our values and traditions, our customs,” he said.

All those things, Schultz continued, were passed down from generation to generation at fish camp, where practical skills like setting nets or gutting a fish were inextricable from larger, more philosophical teachings.

But as the number of salmon have declined, so have the fish camps. While the fact that LS/CFN and other First Nations didn’t fish in 2022 was a “disaster,” Schultz said the issue was far larger than the number of salmon, or lack thereof, hung up in smokehouses.

“What’s more of a catastrophe,” he said, “is the practices that we’ve had for thousands of years that are now compromised and are going to be weakened by not having those annual gatherings at the fish camp.”

The gathering at Tatchun Creek, he said, was meant to carry on at least the spirit of fish camp — people gathered, shared knowledge, sat around campfires while laughing and eating.

Left: Dancers from Selkirk First Nation perform at the salmon gathering at Tatchun Creek on Aug. 26, 2022. Right: Little Salmon/Carmacks First Nation citizen Joseph O'Brien kneels by the Yukon River near Tatchun Creek after performing a salmon calling-back ceremony at the gathering. (Jackie Hong/CBC)

A precarious future

Depending on who you ask, the 2022 Chinook salmon run on the Yukon River can either be interpreted as a death knell or a final wake-up call before the point of no return.

“Some people say we’re fighting a losing battle. And I say, well, we have to fight harder,” said Steve Buyck, the acting fish and wildlife officer for the First Nation of Na-Cho Nyak Dun in central Yukon.

“We have to do everything we can. We need to do more, and I keep reminding that to some of our people. No one should be fishing. We all need to step up to the plate.”

MacDonald, the chair of the Yukon Salmon Sub-Committee, agreed.

“It certainly feels like it’s a slow-motion extinction process, but I do have hope,” he said. He’d like to see the Yukon trial more small-scale conservation hatcheries and local habitat restoration and protection efforts.

Left: Visitors to the Whitehorse fish ladder take pictures of a salmon in a holding tank. Right: A chinook salmon swims in a holding tank at the Whitehorse fish ladder. (Jackie Hong/CBC)

Shawn Bruce, a citizen of the Vuntut Gwitchin First Nation in northern Yukon, who travelled the territory learning fishing techniques from local First Nations, was more blunt.

“I have hope for it,” said Bruce, who hasn’t fished for 20 years now. “What’s life without hope?”

Others, like Sebastian Jones, are less optimistic. Besides being the fish and wildlife analyst for the Yukon Conservation Society, Jones is a longtime fisherman himself; he’s personally seen the salmon slow to a trickle from his home in West Dawson, across the river from Dawson City.

“What’s happening this year is far worse than I think even the most gloomy person predicted,” he said. “This is just awful.… Up until this year, I would have said, yes, I think we do have a chance.”

But for Isaac, the Selkirk First Nation citizen who brought frozen salmon to her fish camp this year, said she felt no choice but to believe the chinook would return; the alternative, for her, is nearly incomprehensible.

“It is scary to think that this may not be something, maybe, my grandchildren will experience,” she said. “And I feel like we need to fix it now or it’ll forever be gone.”

[nurtureliterary]

Diluvial

Jack B. Bedell

How can you not love a hard rain for the breeze it brings, even when you live downriver and know one day soon all that water will swell beyond the river’s banks, crawl over the levee to settle just below your roofline, washing over the school where you learned to read and the grocery store that served warm cracklins after Easter every year and the plot where your folks are buried, all of it left clean now by this storm and hushed like wind through a stand of pine?

Jack B. Bedell is Professor of English and Coordinator of Creative Writing at Southeastern Louisiana University where he also edits Louisiana Literature and directs the Louisiana Literature Press. Jack’s work has appeared in HAD, Pidgeonholes, Okay Donkey, Heavy Feather, Cheap Pop, and other journals. His latest collection is Color All Maps New (Mercer University Press, 2021). He served as Louisiana Poet Laureate 2017-2019.

[hclib]

Hennepin History: My Great-Grandfather, A 13-year-old in the Civil War

"My mother sent me after the cows," he declared. "That was my evening job and I was getting tired of it. There was much talk of the war among the men and it had come to my ears every day. I had the urge to join the army. Because of my youth, I was not permitted to join a company. But that night I did not return to the cows. I got on a boat which was going downriver instead and I went to Fort Snelling. There I hung around the old Minnesota Third, and after a few weeks found myself with Sherman's army marching to the sea." - George Swift describing his enlistment, published in the Minneapolis Daily Star, February 21, 1925

Special Collections volunteer Will Craig recently took a deep dive into his family's history and discovered the story of his great-grandfather George Swift, alias Stringer. In 1861, at just 13-years-old, George unofficially joined the army as a drummer boy, then officially joined the Ohio 69th a year later. George returned to Minnesota after the war, raised a family, and operated a drugstore in Robbinsdale. George was a founding member of the Morgan Post GAR Fife and Drum Corps (pictured above).

Read more of George's story, as discovered by his great-grandson, in the latest issue of Hennepin History Magazine. Hennepin History is published three times annually by the Hennepin History Museum. Read past issues online.

Photos of George E. Swift from the Minneapolis Newspaper Photograph Collection in the Hennepin County Library Digital Collections. Top: George is 3rd from left. Bottom: George is 4th from left.