Perhaps one of the most grisly sights I have ever seen was in late summer of '95, standing on the bank of the upper Nome River in Alaska. For as far as the eye can see, rotting salmon. The fish weren't dead yet, and they were rotting. You could see them in the stream, slowly swimming, their tails and fins barely connected to their bodies. The beachs were covered with millions of them, littering the tranquil vista with death and a smell the likes of which I haven't experienced since. Bears wouldn't eat them, so the flies would float like clouds near the banks of the river. A thousands tons of prize Alaskan Silver Salmon, rotting in the sun.