Salmon Spawn
It was one of those October mornings that feels held in suspension—just before winter really begins.
The air was well below freezing but warming fast. The water temperature hovered at 51 degrees. No wind, thankfully. The lake lay still and mirror-like, thick and placid, as mist lifted slowly from the surface. Everything felt quiet, intentional, almost ceremonial.
That morning, our little homeschool posse joined volunteers from Colorado Parks and Wildlife for a day on the water during the kokanee salmon spawn. We were guests—bundled, attentive, grateful—to step into the working rhythm of fisheries and wildlife biologists doing careful, physical, essential work.
On the floating dock, a salmon trap had been set at the inlet that must have signaled stream to the salmon. Guided by nets arranged like arrows, the salmon swam into a series of netted tarp-lined pools submerged in the lake. Overnight, the traps had filled. The estimate for the day: roughly 750 fish.
From there, the work began.
Using a large net, a volunteer lifted clusters of salmon—ten, twenty at a time—into a holding sink filled with water. Each fish was quickly assessed: male or female. ‘Ripe’ females were gently stripped of their eggs into clean containers. Males were milked, then both (except unripe females, who do not have eggs) were set aside for public distribution. They normally die after spawning. Unripe females were returned to the lake. The eggs were fertilized immediately, washed in a decontamination solution, and prepared for transport to hatcheries across the state.
Those eggs would eventually become fingerlings, restocking this reservoir —Wolford Mountain Reservoir, as well as others around the state like Blue Mesa Reservoir on the Gunnison River, and the East River near Roaring Judy Fish Hatchery—continuing a cycle that supports ecosystems, anglers, and communities throughout Colorado.
My kids, aged 11 and 15, stood quietly, watched closely, followed instructions, and helped when invited. It was cold. It was early. It was unforgettable. One of those days that lodges itself deep and stays.
That evening, we brought home salmon—more than enough. Together, the three of us cleaned and processed fish late into the night, shared a fresh salmon dinner, froze the rest, and simmered the heads and bones into broth. It was messy and tiring and deeply satisfying. A full-circle day, from water to table.
So… how did we get to do this?
That’s the question I get most often from other homeschool families.
The honest answer is: preparation and a little bit of luck.
Sometimes Colorado Parks and Wildlife needs extra hands during peak work—especially during spawning season. The folks who show up regularly are hardy, task-oriented, good listeners, and strong team players. Relationships matter. Reliability matters. And being ready to stand on a freezing lake in October absolutely matters.
We came prepared for the conditions, followed directions closely, stayed out of the way when needed, and said yes to the work as it was given. That, and good timing, opened the door.
For us, it became one of those rare learning days that can’t be replicated in a book—science, stewardship, food systems, teamwork, and gratitude all braided together in the cold morning air.
I’m so glad we said yes.