I was returning home from running the dogs when, as I climbed the gentle slope to my home, I spotted activity along the eastern perimeter of my yard, several vehicles, people milling about. Then, as I got closer, it was clear to me who they were. It was a salmon-stocking crew from the Connecticut River Coordinator’s office in Sunderland, solid individuals chasing the honorable dream of restoring Atlantic salmon to the Connecticut River valley.

What an ironic twist of fate. Of all places in our expansive valley to set up shop, they had chosen the yard of a man many of them consider Public Enemy No. 1 of their program. Myself, I was humored by the development, determined to hospitably greet my guests once I kenneled the dogs, and that’s exactly what I did on a bright, pleasant, cheerful spring morning.

As I walked across my front yard toward the crew, two women were standing on the bed of a khaki-colored U.S. Fish & Wildlife truck, transferring tiny salmon fry from what was probably a 500-gallon circular tank into rectangular, five-gallon white pails, which were being walked to the banks of Hinsdale Brook for stocking. I reached the crowd, met eyes with a tall, light-curly-haired, approachable man wearing dark glasses and exchanged brief pleasantries before asking a simple question.

“Is it possible that Jan Rowan is among you?”

“Yes she is. That’s her standing right there on the truck.”

I moved close enough to lean on the truck, looked the Connecticut River Coordinator herself square in her shade-covered eyes and said, “I thought I’d come out to introduce myself. Do you know who I am?

“Yep, I do. I see your picture in the newspaper.”

So there we stood, political adversaries of sorts, but reasonable souls with nothing personal between us, meeting face to face for the first time. It was beautiful. Lo and behold, not only did I have the head honcho of the Connecticut River Atlantic Salmon Restoration Program on my turf, but she was accompanied by none other than MassWildlife Anadromous Fish Project Leader Caleb Slater, the tall, pleasant man I had first spoken to. With them was a dedicated mixed-gender crew that probably curses me in their sleep for my unpopular opinion that their program is doomed to failure through no fault of their own. They know the numbers support my position but resent me nonetheless for making it public. But I’m not a promoter, I’m a newsman, and however you want to spin it, the news about salmon restoration in New England is not good. After more than four decades of stocking immature, hatchery-born, Connecticut River-strain salmon progeny into tributaries up and down the valley like the one that flows through my back yard, all they have to show is a hundred or two annual returns, certainly nothing to write home about.

It’s not the story I want to report now, or wanted to tell nearly 30 years ago, when I began tracking anadromous-fish-migration numbers for print. No, to be honest, I’d much rather sing praise of a success story akin to the turkey and bear and deer and striped-bass restorations we’re so familiar with. But those success stories bear absolutely no resemblance to this salmon-restoration effort, and if I’m worth my salt as a reporter, that’s what has to be written. I have no choice. It comes down to simple credibility, a newsman’s lifeblood. Without it I’m dead.

So, it was nice to meet the shepherds of our salmon program, to strike up a friendly conversation about a subject we cannot, for professional reasons, agree on. But it’s not personal. I hope they understand that.