The next time you eat salmon, you may see an apparition: a barefoot warrior with conical spruce hat, grizzly-bear-tattooed chest, and mother-of-pearl-studded cape. He's no hallucination; he's a Haida watchman, standing guard over your dinner and, perhaps, our planet. How well I remember my encounter with this guardian spirit. We were sailing through dense fog on a drizzly night--farther north than I'd ever been. Cloud ceiling hung low enough to make you hunch. Cloud walls, held at bay by surging and dimming deck lamps, enclosed an eerie space.