LOST RIVER
Save Our Wild Salmon released Lost River, a limited-edition print with an essay by renowned author and conservationist David James Duncan, in 2005. Photographer Frederic Ohringer created the image, and Patagonia underwrote the project.
The words are as poignant today as they were 19 years ago.
𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, & 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘴𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘐 𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘥, 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 & 𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦, & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 & 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, & 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺’𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳.
𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘉𝘪𝘨 & 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘴 & 𝘔𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘸 & 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘴 & 𝘓𝘰𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘦 & 𝘌𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘵 𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘥 & 𝘒𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘍𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 & 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘊𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘭𝘰. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘯𝘪 & 𝘗𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘉𝘢𝘺 & 𝘚𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦 & 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 & 𝘉𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯 & 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 & 𝘒𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵 𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘴 & 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 & 𝘙𝘪𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘯 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘧. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘗𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘸𝘢, 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵.
𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, & 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘰𝘩𝘴, & 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 & 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 227 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 & 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥.
𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 & 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢, & 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘦’𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 & 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦.
𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘐 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘦 & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘰𝘩𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦, “𝘚𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘴.” 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘐 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥, & 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘥 & 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘳.
𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘐 𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘴, & 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, & 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘻 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘓𝘦𝘷𝘪, & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 & 𝘴𝘬𝘺, & 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘰𝘩𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, “𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥,” & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘴.
𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯, & 𝘓𝘦𝘷𝘪 & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘗𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘸𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, & 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺.
– 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐧