Editor’s note: This column was originally published in 2015. It has been tweaked with just a few updates, in honor of this year’s “Alaska Wild Salmon Day.”

In 2015, Gov. Bill Walker proclaimed April “Bear Awareness Month;” at the time I thought, “Great start, but what about Alaska’s other indigenous animals? Where’s their awareness campaign? At the very least, let’s designate a ‘Ptarmigan Empowerment Week’ or something.”

How refreshing to learn, then, the following year when the state honored another local wildlife icon by passing House Bill 128, thereby establishing Aug. 10 of each year as Alaska Wild Salmon Day.

Yes! Congratulations, Alaska wild salmon —you’ve come a long way, baby.

Seriously, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer genus of the family Salmonidae. Okay, so you didn’t get a whole month. But in 2018, Aug. 10 fell on a Friday, so Wild Alaska Three-Day Weekend! Okay, so you’ll have to share the date with International Biodiesel Day, but honestly, I bet Alaska Wild Salmon Day quickly achieves greater popularity, simply for ease of celebration. I mean, try throwing a slab of biodiesel on the barbecue and see what happens.

Point is, it’s about time someone recognized Alaska’s most abundant resource (next to drive-through espresso).

In addition to its economic importance, cultural significance and surprising deliciousness when made into jerky, Alaska wild salmon serve as what biologists call “keystone species,” supporting a wide range of life from birds to bears to marine mammals to Whole Foods shoppers in the Lower 48. Also, they transfer tons of nutrients from the ocean to the forest, both as carcasses and in predator feces; it’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it. In many ways, salmon are the reason why humans settled in Alaska in the first place (well, except me; my girlfriend was moving up here and it was just easier to pack up all our stuff than separate it out).

Obviously, Alaska wild salmon come in five distinct species:

Chinook, also known as king, blackmouth or 50-rod-hours-and-I-still-haven’t-bagged-one-damn salmon. The largest of all Alaska wild salmon, kings frequently exceed 30 pounds, except in stories about ones that got away, in which they weigh 80-90 pounds, easy.

Chum. Despite their plenty in Alaska, chum salmon are the least commercially valuable. Perhaps it’s time for a new marketing name? How about “Salmon Ultra”? Or get KFC to offer it with bacon, melted cheese and secret sauce pinched between two fried chicken filets — the Chum Salmon Double Down (or Chumble Down, for short). Can’t miss.

Coho. Also known as silver salmon, or “the cute one,” coho is an important commercial, sport and subsistence species, regarded as excellent table fare. Unless you get distracted checking baseball scores on your phone and leave it on the grill too long. Again. You really should put that thing away when you’re working with fire.

Pink. Often called “humpies,” pink salmon rank as the smallest Alaska wild species and most abundant — like the Honda Accord. As such, pink salmon is a mainstay of the commercial industry — also like the Honda Accord. When spawning, male humpies turn reddish in color and develop humped backs and hooked jaws. They also start using cheesy pickup lines like “migrate here often?” and “your fish weir or mine?”

Sockeye. Also called red salmon for the deep orange color they take on during spawning (as well as their communist political ideology). Unlike Alaska’s other wild salmon species, sockeye feed on zooplankton instead of other fish. This diet may be responsible for the striking color of sockeye meat, as well as its firmer texture and stronger flavor — the same reason why zombies prefer vegetarians.

Regardless of species, all Alaska wild salmon are “anadromous.” They are born in one of the state’s numerous freshwater streams or rivers, where they spend six months to three years, leaving home for the ocean to become sexually mature — sort of like salmon Rumspringa. Alaska wild salmon then return to reproduce, often to the exact same stream they, themselves, were spawned. A growing trend, most salmon opt for a “water birth.”

Scientists believe this remarkable homing behavior, in which salmon find their way across vast expanses of ocean, depends on olfactory memory. This makes sense — you can smell a spawned-out salmon stream a thousand miles away. And it emphasizes a simple truth: the best part about leaving Alaska is coming back to Alaska.

Anyway, only 363 shopping days left until next Alaska Wild Salmon Day, so better start prepping now. This past year I was up all night putting the finishing touches on my salmon nativity scene — the roe looked great, but I had a little accident with the white paint I was using for the, um, “fertilizer.” Oh, well. You know what they say: no use crying over spilled milt.

Of course, I also carved up a bunch of salm-o-lanterns — fish heads with the eyes gouged-out and lit candles in their mouths — while sipping salmon nog and waiting for a visit from the Salmon Bunny. And you should see my costume. I went as the superhero Salmon Man, or, as he’s known in Jamaica, Salmon Mon.

Happy Alaska Wild Salmon Day, everyone. And let’s not forget the reason for the season: it’s a lot easier to proclaim holidays than fix a perpetual budgetary deficit.

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• Geoff Kirsch is an award-winning Juneau-based writer and humorist. “Slack Tide” appears every second and fourth Sunday.

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