There are a number of taboos that have been passed down through the generations of editors and publishers who have worked at Alaska over its 75-year history. One involves salmon on the cover.

	Andy Hall

Prior to her retirement, long-time senior editor Jill Shepherd warned me never to put a spawning salmon on the cover.The rule was passed to her in the form of an edict by former Alaska magazine owner and publisher Bob Henning, who said spawners, with their bright red sides and dark green heads, aren’t suitable to eat and therefore aren’t suitable for editorial consumption either.

I took Jill’s warning to heart for many years, but in reviewing images for the cover of this issue with editor Tim Woody,one stood out—the one you see on this month’s cover featuring two spawning salmon.I suspect some fishermen might agree with Henning and wrinkle their noses when they see spawners on this, the annual fishing issue.who wants to catch a salmon in that condition?Such fish are inedible for all but bears, eagles and opportunists like foxes, seagulls and ravens, who gorge on the summer’s bounty regardless of its condition.

Alaska magazine March edition cover

But, consumption aside, the sight of a stream choked with the bright red fish is remarkable and, for me, thought provoking.Those bright backs are harbingers of the end of the fishing season, the end of summer and a precursor to the explosion of golden leaves and multi-hued tundra plants that come in the wake of spawning salmon.

Their colorful presence also is a reminder that another season is done, one more under my belt, one less ahead of me.To watch salmon move up their natal streams, running a gauntlet of bears, waterfalls and unforeseen obstacles to get that one last task done is not so unlike our own individual journeys.

With all due respect to my predecessor, I think this cover is a fine one and appropriate for the issue, because I don’t see spawning salmon solely as food that is foul and dying, but representing renewal of the species, the promise of runs to come and as a reminder to seize the day because the seasons are passing, whether we notice or not.