*This is the title of a poem by Graham McGarva in Vancouver B.C. It speaks of the life and industry of the Duwamish River and the Seattle waterfront, especially as expressed through tidal mudflats. That mud, as was noted by esteemed Vancouverite Gordon Price in the recent Great Urban Debate: Seattle vs. Vancouver, was carried to Seattle from Vancouver by the glaciers, which came this far south and then receded. We are indeed one region. (Disclaimer: The firm I work for sponsored the debate, and Graham is one of the partners in the firm.)
Graham was reminded of the Turning Fish by a photo I took of Turning Basin, a salmon habitat restoration site at the upriver end of the channelized Duwamish Waterway. I have sort of adopted this site as a volunteer for People for Puget Sound, who manages the restoration and maintenance of this and other sites on the Duwamish. What does this have to do with citywalking, you might ask? A lot of dirty stormwater washes off of the pavements that I walk daily, for one thing. I advocate for better stormwater infrastructure (and fewer cars on roads) but it will takes time for that to happen. In the meantime I do my small part for mitigation by planting native plants at restoration sites and removing invasives. I get up close and personal with some of the creatures that share this region with us; salmon jumping, ospreys nesting, bald eagles, seals and sea lions, otters and beavers. And lots of birds of all kinds. I get to play in the mud, and at the same time worry about what toxins it contains.
Another tie to citywalking is that we will be making a new Central Waterfront soon, with a new seawall at minimum, and possibly many other changes besides, such as recreating more near-shore habitat for salmon and other creatures in our bay. This new waterfront design should take a fresh look at how we and our city interact with the resources we treasure. Think about how stormwater from the city reaches the bay, about creeks that disappeared so long ago that no one remembers where they were. How might those be reimagined and given a functional life in mitigating our stormwater flows? How would our waterfront look if it were penetrated by the flowing mouths of creeks? What if there were new places where people could touch the water, and would want to? Where the native life of the bay would appear close at hand because it was invited and made welcome and comfortable? Where the kinetic sculpture of cargo, cruise ships and ferries continued to delight the eye and the imagination and feed the economy? What if the salmon were to again return in such numbers that a person could walk across the mouth of the Duwamish on their backs, and the orcas were fat and happy and increasing in number?
This is what I think about when I go to pull weeds at the river, and relax into the meditative mindless rythms of work. It's what I think about when I draw maps of the waterfront, studying where things might change, and imagining what it might be like. I walk, in the city, on the waterfront, on the river, enjoying what's there, hoping for and dreaming of how it can be better. The Turning Fish is that dream of what could be.
