Extreme river snorkeling: when crossing paths with a school of ovulating salmon, you have to learn to go with the flow.

As my boyfriend and I headed to the charming town of Campbell River, Canada, on Vancouver Island, the self-proclaimed salmon capital of the world, we pondered the existential question posed by the futility of the salmon's life journey: We were there to snorkel downstream as the salmon swam upstream on their Sisyphean voyage to spawn and then die in the same place they were hatched. Though we certainly didn't plan on spawning or dying on our trip, we wondered if we'd somehow reach a greater point of self-realization by communing with the salmon (rather than eating them as we normally did).

Having spent all of my childhood summers in the San Juan Islands, I already knew the beauty of the long-stretching archipelago that reaches from northern Washington State to the southern tip of Alaska, but I had never traveled north of Victoria and the southern Gulf Islands, a region which is covered with lush forests on rocky outcrops, trees filled with bald eagles, and waters containing pods of orcas.

A sleepy town, Campbell River has always been a popular fishing destination. Five types of salmon dominate the local rivers: chinook, coho, sockeyce, pink, and chum. Each of the five breeds peak during different parts of the spawning season, from early July through late October. During our trip in late September, the large chinook were expected to be in full force.

Jack and Dennis, our hosts at the Aider House Bed and Breakfast, whipped up a mean breakfast of salmon eggs Benedict the morning of our adventure. "How's the gay scene in Campbell River?" I asked. "That's pretty much just us." Dennis said.

At 10 A.M. we set out for Paradise Found Adventure Tours, where guides gave detailed background information on the salmon and their life cycles, including how to identify the different fish by their markings and coloring. The orientation was replete with bad salmon humor ("What did the salmon say when it hit the wall?" "Dam!" And "'Where does the salmon put his money?" "In the riverbank").

But snorkeling with salmon is no laughing matter. This is down-river snorkeling--extreme snorkeling, if you will. The water moves quickly, and the rocky river is no more than four feet deep in most places. The key is not to fight the current but to flow along with it. And the water, at all times of the year, is very cold.

There was one guide for every, three participants, and we stayed together as a group during the 15- to 25-minute journey down the river. Facedown in the water, a jolt of fear shot through me the first time I came face-to-face with a chinook, which aimed straight at me before veering sharply away. There were literally hundreds offish in the river at every turn. If we drifted into an empty section of the river, our guide would immediately lead us back into a teeming school. These fish were fearless in their journey upstream, and no pesky tourists were going to perturb them.

Although we flowed along with the river's current, the trip was physically exhausting because we had to control our position in the river, adjust to the water's temperature, and avoid rocks in the shallow water. By the end of the first run I was a bit more confident. Though short-winded, I was ready for the second pass.

The guides instructed us to keep our faces down and arms outstretched at all times in order to avoid obstacles. About halfway down I lifted my head from the water and turned around to look for my boyfriend, who was upriver. I felt a sharp pain in my leg. I hadn't been looking out for that large boulder! The pain from the hit was like a bad charley horse and lasted a good five minutes (and would linger another three days).

My first extreme-snorkeling injury triggered a sense of oneness with the river. Had I earned the respect of the great salmon by sharing in a bit of their flustration and pain? During that last half of my second pass on the river, my leg still wincing, I certainly felt humbled: I was but a visitor in a place the salmon have called home for thousands of years.

After the adventure the group returned to Paradise Found headquarters to warm up with hot chocolate. Later that afternoon we took a 10-minute ferry to neighboring Quadra Island, where we joined the Island Adventure Center at the Heriot Bay Inn and Marina for a covered boat tour through the islands. We were lucky enough to follow a pod of dolphins for 45 minutes as they played in our boat's wake. Thankfully, I didn't have to swim with them.

I limped away from Campbell River with an immense respect for the salmon. Like human beings, they travel great distances en route to discovering their lives' purpose, only to return home at the end of their journey. And without their self-perpetuating sacrifice, what would we eat-I mean, commune with--next year?

JUMP IN! The Salmon Snorkeling Trip is offered by Paradise Found Adventure Tours (800-897-2872; adults $79, kids $62.) and includes two runs down the river (three to four hours). Island Adventure Center (250-285-2007), which offers whale watching and salmon fishing, operates out of the Heriot Bay Inn (800-605-4545, $70-$125) on Quadra Island, a tranquil renovated lodge. The only gay-owned lodging in Campbell River is Alder House B&B (250-287-8000; $63-$71). Getting there: HeliJet (800-665-4354) offers nonstop service to Campbell River from Washington State and other parts o British Columbia. Or you can drive: Washington State Ferries (888-808-7977) leaves from Anacortes, Wash., and continues to Victoria, Canada. B.C. Ferries (888-223-3779 leaves from Vancouver and continues to Victoria or Nanaimo.Web links for the above at OutTraveler.com.