I arrived at the bridge and the valley hadn't yet woken up. The sun was still just a hint of brightness behind the hill. The fog clung to the river as I walked out onto the gravel bar. I heard them, the eagles as they called to each other. There were one or two in the trees the rest hiding. I wandered along the river in my knee high rain boots. I wore them so I could cross some of the shallow spots and venture further than if I just wore hiking shoes. The further away from the bridge the less eagles I heard. Thinking I had come to late in the season I started heading back to the car but I took my time just in case and in no hurry to head home. This was my therapy. My quiet time. I stopped and turned, marveling in the way the sun streamed through the trees as it cleared the hill. The illuminated fog took my breath away as it trailed along the ground. There was just magic out there in the quiet, the stillness of the valley waking up. Slowly I made my way back to the car and then it happened. The eagles, they started to emerge from the trees. They soared over head, looking for their first meal of the day. The spawning salmon carcasses were still available to these birds and they hadn't totally disappeared from the river.  There were fewer left than before and may be the resident eagles in this part but still just as impressive as ever.