Explosions rang through the canyons lining the Klamath River earlier this year, signaling a new chapter in the region that straddles the Oregon-California border.
In October, the removal of four hydroelectric dams on the river was completed – the largest project of its kind in US history.
The recent dam burst was just the beginning. Work to restore the river that is collapsing 263 miles (423 km) from The Cascade Volcanic Mountain Range in Oregon is now being carried to the Pacific Coast of Northern California.
It was indeed among the most optimistic environmental stories in recent years. “It’s been more successful than we could have ever imagined,” said Ren Brownell, spokesman for the Klamath River Renewal Foundation, a nonprofit created to serve the cause. Supervising and implementing the removalAdding: “There is an incredible amount of joy.”
Radical change
The Klamath River was once an environmental powerhouse – the third largest salmon-producing river in the American West. Its basin covered more than 9.4 million acres (3.8 million hectares) and its network of wetlands was the largest in the region. The ecosystem was home to millions of migratory birds. Tribes, including the Hopa, Karok, Klamath, Modoc, and Yurok, have thrived in this abundant and beautiful watershed for thousands of years, with the river providing sustenance and rituals.
Over the past 100 years, this landscape has changed radically.
After the first dam became operational in 1918—one of four that would eventually be built in the Lower Klamath to provide hydroelectric power to nearby communities—the course of the river changed. Dams have impeded the migration of salmon and other native species, which help transport nutrients into systems from the ocean, to cascade effects.
They also preserved huge deposits of sediment that would have flowed downriver, and created shallow reservoirs that heated up quickly when the weather warmed. Increased water temperatures in the river have allowed toxic algae blooms.
In recent decades, the climate crisis has made droughts more severe, worsening droughts and increasing catastrophic fires as the region gets hotter than ever before. Impacts increased as more water was diverted to support agriculture and ranching in the area, and more habitat was altered by mining and logging.
Twenty-eight species of salmon and trout, which are viewed as indicator species representing the health of the ecosystems in which they live, were examined. Listed as threatened or endangered.
As the Klamath ecosystem deteriorated, there was growing recognition that removing the dams would be a critical first step in helping the region recover and build resilience in a warming world.
But in the face of strong resistance to change in communities rallying around the reservoirs and a long history of tough battles over water in the arid regions of the West, removing the dams seemed nearly impossible. Lands for dams were taken from tribes during the throes of colonization and development, and more recently have been subsidized by energy companies that had shareholders who took responsibility.
Then, in 2002, disaster struck. Algae blooms in the warm, shallow waters that year were exacerbated by dams and decisions by the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation to divert vital flows to farms, leaving little for fish. The event killed 70,000 salmon and thousands of other species, resulting in one of the worst die-offs ever to occur in the United States.
Layers of fish floating from the belly sent an important signal about the atrocities that could continue in the future if the dams remain. Forming a coalition, tribes from up and down the Klamath launched an aggressive campaign to educate the public, inform shareholders of the companies that own and operate the dams, and petition their boards. They protested, attended public hearings, and interacted with state and federal officials.
“A massive rollercoaster”
It took decades of advocacy to convince PacifiCorp, a subsidiary of Berkshire Hathaway Energy, to abandon aging infrastructure straddling the Oregon-California border. But in the middle of the last decade, stressed by shifts in public opinion and spurred by the high costs of relicensing the dams, the company agreed it was time to see them go.
In November 2020, nearly 20 years after his death, A The agreement was forged Among a long list of stakeholders that included tribal governments, state governments and federal agencies. The Klamath River Renewal Corporation was created to Supervising and implementing the removal.
The organization had to help bring residents near the reservoirs on board, navigate dozens of species management plans, and develop a model for how outdoor recreation enthusiasts could continue to enjoy the river. Ranchers, fishermen, environmental activists, farmers, locals and visitors all had connections to the basin and were keen to have their say.
“It’s been a huge rollercoaster,” Brownell said. “Having the health of the river in your hands is an incredible burden to bear.”
Brownell, who grew up on the river’s banks, was standing in the valley when the first dam burst released the flows, and the river that had been imprisoned for the past 100 years found its way back to itself.
“I was able to watch the water flow through the valley and reconnect with the river below. I watched the river re-establish itself there forever,” she said. It was the most exciting moment of the year.
Moments of shock
There were moments of shock along the way. Over the 100 years the dams have been in place, they have held back 15 million cubic yards of sediment. When the dams were removed, the heavy dead organic matter had to flow down the river, absorbing the oxygen in the water. Extensive modeling predicted a severe impact on aquatic life, but no one knew how bad it would get or how long it would take for the river to regain its health. Some models predicted the stifling conditions would last for up to a month.
“I was ready and prepared, but it was still very difficult,” Brownell said, recalling how the oxygen-free water looked like oil as it flowed across his banks.
“You can easily compare the health of a river to the health of an individual,” she said. “A lot of times when someone gets sick, their condition gets worse before it gets better. We basically did a quadruple diversion on the river last year – we knew there would be short-term impacts.”
“The whole time everyone was so excited because it felt like the start of something. I felt sick,” she said.
Leif Hellman, the ceremonial leader of the Karuk tribe who dedicated decades to seeing this project to fruition, helped keep hopes high with assurances that these were signs of healing.
“For me, it was beautiful,” he said, recalling how he felt even as the flowing water was covered in silt. “I could envision what it would look like — a restored river.”
In the end, the river lacked oxygen for only two 24-hour periods, a much shorter period than scientists had feared.
The real work begins
As 2025 begins, the real work begins as well.
“It’s a new era for us, there are good things coming,” Hillman said.
He looks forward to the work that lies ahead, especially working to ensure fish have access to “pristine habitat” in the tributaries above Upper Klamath Lake.
With 400 miles (644 kilometers) of habitat restored for salmon and other native species, and 2,200 acres made available after spending a century underwater, stakeholders envision a future for these lands and those who depend on them. Indeed, local seeds spread along the banks and in areas that were teeming with plants.
There were already strong signs of their success.
In late November, Endangered coho salmon have been seen in the upper Klamath River basin For the first time in more than 60 years, according to the California Department of Fish and Wildlife. Other animals benefit as well, including northwestern pond turtles, freshwater mussels, beavers and river otters.
Heavy winter rains also aided recovery. “The river is doing what rivers do, which is redistributing sediment,” Hillman said, calling the gift of wet weather “the icing on the cake.”
“We have a lot of work to do, but this is a good omen,” he added.
almost 2,800 acres of sacred land of the Shasta Indian Nation Those who drowned and were buried under the reservoir created by a dam were returned to them. The Kikachiki and Kotarawakso bands, who called the area their home, were wiped out by colonists in the 19th century, after the lure of gold, mining, logging and cattle ranching drew hordes of people to the area. The small tribe that remained were then driven from their homes across a salient to make way for the construction of dams to begin.
The Guardian was unable to speak to representatives of the Shasta Indian Nation on the record, but they recounted the painful history their ancestors endured and what the next chapter means for them.
“Today is a turning point in the history of the Shasta people,” Janice Crow, chief of the Shasta Indian Nation, told AZCentral. “Now we can return home, return to culture, return to celebration and begin to weave a new story for the next generation of Shasta, who will once again call our ancestral lands home.”
With successes, there may still be setbacks. The water remains murky as the river continues to cleanse itself of sediment. There is a lot of data to delve into and challenges to overcome. The effects of the climate crisis will continue to be felt.
Further up the river, Klamath tribal leaders are still waiting to see salmon that were lost to their homelands more than 100 years ago. Dams are still in place on the northern stretches of the river.
“It’s a river again”
But for supporters, the removal of the dams itself is a powerful reminder that change is possible.
Toz Soto, a fish biologist and director of the Karok tribe’s fisheries program, said with a laugh that he was skeptical until the moment the concrete exploded. But by convincing the public that removing the dams made sense, “not only as a social justice issue for tribal health but also from an economic standpoint,” the wheels of change began to turn.
As the work continues, Soto looks at him with a smile.
“There were moments, and those were behind me,” he said. He’s optimistic about the future, and excited to begin reintroducing spring Chinook salmon Otherwise there would be no chance. Water conditions will continue to improve over time and are already much better than they were a year ago.
“It’s very impressive,” he added. “I’m so programmed to go there to look at a funky reservoir. Now it’s like – wow. It’s a river again.”