The very headwaters of the Klamath River, where crystalline springs emerge from the earth, represent the sacred ancestral territory of the Klamath Tribes, a confederation encompassing the Klamath, Modoc, and Yahooskin peoples. Tribal Chairman William Ray Jr. speaks with profound reverence and intimate knowledge of these origins, stating, "It comes right out of the ground. I know this because I see it. I’ve lived it. And I know where it comes out of." These pristine waters converge to form Upper Klamath Lake in southern Oregon, subsequently giving rise to the mighty Klamath River, which carves a path through Northern California before ultimately emptying into the Pacific Ocean. This expansive watershed has historically sustained an abundance of fish, species integral to the economies, traditional cuisine, and medicinal practices of tribal communities throughout the basin, including the Yurok Tribe, whose lands lie downstream where the river embraces the ocean.

In eras past, a time often referred to as "better times" by tribal elders, salmon constituted a significant portion—up to a third—of the Klamath peoples’ diets. Chairman Ray reverently describes salmon as a species of unparalleled resilience and power, capable of navigating both freshwater and saltwater environments, a testament to its divine creation "for all the Indians to enjoy." The Klamath River once stood as the world’s third-largest salmon producer, a testament to its ecological vitality. An ancient trade artery, known as the Klamath Trail, traversed what is now Oregon, linking these communities to Celilo Falls, a historically vital and now-submerged fishery and international trade hub on the Columbia River. Beyond sustenance, these fish were pillars of health and healing. When illness afflicted a Klamath person, specific types of fish, perhaps a c’waam or koptu from a particular bend in the lakeshore, or a certain anadromous species from the river, would be retrieved. Their gills might be eaten, or their heads boiled to create a potent medicinal broth, underscoring the deep interwovenness of culture, environment, and well-being.

However, this rich tapestry of life began to unravel with the advent of hydroelectric dam construction along the river, starting in the early 20th century. These monumental structures drastically altered the natural flow, temperature, and sediment transport of the river, critically impeding the migratory pathways of salmon and other anadromous fish, preventing their return to the upper basin. Even the lake-dwelling species, deprived of the ecological benefits of a healthy river system, suffered precipitous declines. The tribal communities, with their profound Indigenous knowledge, observed these changes with growing alarm. "We knew that there was something wrong beginning in the ’70s and especially the ’80s," Ray recounted. "It didn’t take Western science to tell the Indian with Indigenous knowledge that something was drastically wrong." Faced with the devastating decline of these culturally essential species, the Klamath Tribes endured emotionally fraught deliberations, culminating in the agonizing and tearful decision in 1986 to voluntarily cease fishing. This profound sacrifice was a desperate measure to preserve the remaining fish populations, but it came at an immense cultural cost. "It hurt us," Ray emphasized. "This was another issue that pecked away at our culture, the viability of it." The loss was not merely economic or nutritional; it was an assault on their identity, spiritual practices, and traditional way of life.

The gravity of this decision resonates in a question Chairman Ray once heard from a Umatilla elder: "How can you build a tribal traditional economy on species that are endangered?" This is not a hypothetical query for the Klamath people; it is a daily reality. Ray describes the heartbreaking challenge of having to tell an elder, afflicted by illness, that they cannot seek healing by the traditional method of retrieving a fish from the river. "How do you say that to somebody? How?" This underscores the profound ethical and cultural dilemmas arising from ecological degradation and the bureaucratic hurdles that often complicate Indigenous self-determination and resource management.

Yet, a new chapter of hope is unfolding for the Klamath River’s fish populations and the vibrant tribal cultures they underpin. The culmination of decades of advocacy and concerted efforts saw the historic removal of four outdated and environmentally detrimental hydroelectric dams on the lower Klamath River in October 2024. This monumental undertaking, marking the largest dam removal project in U.S. history, immediately yielded astonishing results. Almost instantaneously, species such as Pacific lamprey, steelhead trout, and fall Chinook salmon began their arduous journey, migrating back into the upper basin, territories from which they had been blocked for over a century. Jordan Ortega, an anadromous fish specialist for the Klamath Tribes, reported remarkable early successes, including some 20 coho salmon making it as far as Oregon before the year’s end. "Almost all the anadromous species are responding favorably to dam removal," Ortega confirmed, a powerful testament to the resilience of nature when given a chance. While the Kino Dam and the Link River Dam still persist in the upper Klamath River, both are equipped with fish ladders, which, though not ideal for all anadromous species, represent a significant improvement over impassable barriers.

In an effort to capitalize on this renewed ecological momentum, the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) jointly announced a competitive $5.9 million grant earlier this year, specifically earmarked for tribal salmon restoration initiatives. Chairman Ray recounted learning of this crucial funding opportunity from their downriver kin, the Yurok Tribe. He immediately reached out to the Oregon Governor’s office and the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife (ODFW), agencies with whom the Klamath Tribes had already established a working relationship, collaborating on a comprehensive post-dam-removal strategy for fish reintroduction and monitoring natural repopulation.

However, the path to accessing these vital funds was not without its familiar bureaucratic obstacles. Ray quickly encountered a perplexing roadblock: the BIA and NOAA grant, he was informed, was intended solely for "salmon restoration tribes." Due to the prolonged extirpation of salmon from Klamath ancestral territory—a period spanning over a hundred years—the federal government inexplicably deemed them ineligible to apply, as they were not officially recognized as a "restoration tribe" in the context of this specific funding mechanism. Ray’s frustration was palpable. "We’re trying to put salmon back into our territory, right? So how couldn’t we be a salmon tribe?" This administrative categorization highlighted a profound disconnect between federal policy and the lived realities and historical injustices faced by Indigenous communities. It exemplified how rigid definitions can inadvertently penalize those who have suffered the most severe impacts of environmental degradation.

Fortunately, the spirit of intertribal solidarity prevailed. The Klamath Tribes’ downriver relatives, the Yurok Tribe, stepped in decisively. Mike Belchik, the Yurok Tribe’s senior water policy analyst, immediately contacted the Bureau of Indian Affairs. "First thing I did was contact Bureau of Indian Affairs and said, ‘Can you add Klamath Tribes to the list?’" Belchik explained. However, the BIA asserted that it was too late in the application process for such an amendment. While the BIA did not provide a clear public explanation for its criteria in designating "salmon restoration tribes," it stated in an email that "this funding opportunity prioritized certain hatcheries that raise stocks of Pacific salmon," indicating a narrow focus that inadvertently excluded tribes whose salmon populations had been entirely wiped out. Undeterred, the Yurok Tribe took a proactive approach: they applied for the grant themselves and extended an invitation for the Klamath Tribes to collaborate and piggyback on their application. This act of profound generosity and strategic partnership proved successful. The BIA awarded the grant jointly to the Yurok Tribe, the Klamath Tribes, and the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. Belchik confirmed that the Yurok Tribe would serve primarily as an administrative pass-through, channeling the funds directly to the Klamath Tribes.

This collaboration stands as a powerful rebuttal to any perception of the Yurok and Klamath Tribes as rivals in the complex arena of water rights. While some external observers might frame their interests as competitive—the Yurok focused on restoring salmon in the lower basin, the Klamath striving to save c’waam and koptu alongside salmon in the upper reaches—Belchik firmly refutes this notion. "Our council, our leadership, pledged to help the Klamath Tribes in any way they could," he affirmed. "We made a promise to them. When this funding opportunity came up, that’s who we thought of." He rightly points out that both tribal nations stand to benefit immensely from a robust, expanded run of spring Chinook and other salmon species throughout the entire river system. "We have pushed, as have the Klamath Tribes, for the treatment of the entire basin as an ecosystem of which all parts are important," Belchik elaborated, emphasizing a holistic, interconnected approach to restoration. "It’s heartfelt," he added, "My direction from council is to make that real." This shared vision of ecological interdependence underscores the deep wisdom embedded in Indigenous stewardship practices and offers a vital model for global environmental governance.

The grant funding is now strategically supporting the expansion and innovative deployment of "remote site incubators," as detailed by Ortega. These ingenious devices, sets of panels approximately the size of a natural salmon redd (nest), are strategically placed in the water. They meticulously mimic the ideal environmental conditions required to support several thousand fertilized salmon eggs, providing crucial protection from predation and other environmental threats during their vulnerable early stages. "The goal is to establish these remote site incubators across a wide range of thermal and flow regimes," Ortega explained, "That way there’s as much life-history diversity as possible." He elaborated that "life-history diversity" is a hallmark of Chinook salmon’s evolutionary strategy, signifying their ability to employ diverse tactics to achieve the common goal of successful reproduction and species survival, an essential trait for resilience in changing ecosystems.

The immediate post-dam removal period has already demonstrated the remarkable adaptability of salmon. Typically, salmon exhibit philopatry, a strong tendency to return to their natal spawning grounds, with only about 5% venturing into new territories. However, the Klamath River fish have dramatically defied these conventional statistics. Out of an estimated 60,000 to 70,000 returning fish, an astonishing 13,000 migrated past the former dam sites, exploring the newly accessible upper basin. "So we’re talking about a much larger fraction than you typically see in the literature," Ortega noted, indicating an unprecedented response to habitat restoration. The efficacy of the remote site incubators was further validated when the Klamath Tribes conducted a pilot program using 10,000 fertilized eggs sourced from the Trinity River Hatchery, achieving an impressive hatch-success rate exceeding 99%.

A truly historic moment unfolded just last month when the first spring Chinook salmon in over a century successfully returned to the upper basin. While most of the returning salmon thus far have been the more numerous fall Chinook, the return of springers holds particular significance. Spring Chinook, often considered the most flavorful and culturally prized salmon, are typically more narrowly distributed, with their strongholds historically located in the lower basin rivers like the Trinity and Salmon, closer to the ocean. Their smaller population size means that "springers," as they are affectionately known, require a more targeted boost to successfully recolonize the upper basin, a role precisely addressed by the strategically deployed incubators.

Chairman Ray also highlighted a persistent historical challenge: the long-standing denial by many non-Native locals that salmon ever historically populated the upper Klamath Basin. "There’s a lot of naysayers all over the place saying that we trucked them around the dams and that they were never here. Well, they’re here," Ray asserted, underscoring the undeniable evidence now swimming in the river. This re-emergence confronts a narrative that has long undermined tribal claims and historical ecological knowledge. Ray recounted a recent experience in a restaurant, overhearing non-Native individuals expressing excitement about the salmon’s return, seemingly unaware of the profound irony. "They said, ‘Do you know how awesome it is to have these salmon back? We can’t wait to fish them.’ Well, wait a minute. Let’s back up here a minute. This is a treaty protected resource under the Treaty of 1864," Ray stated, emphasizing the inherent rights of the Klamath Tribes. "We’re the one that’s been harmed here." The return of the salmon, he concluded, is "a blessing by Creator, because now it’s undeniable." Belchik echoed a similar sentiment regarding the ultimate vision, noting that the "ultimate purpose of dam removal, whether you’re talking fall or spring or steelhead or anything, is that there’s a harvestable surplus for all."

Phil Milburn, a wildlife biologist with the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, tempered immediate expectations, acknowledging the long road ahead. "Everybody’s excited about the return of the fish and what that could ultimately mean," he said, "But we are probably years away from having even initial discussions about harvest, because the goal is re-establishment of these species in Oregon." The tribes are set to install the new remote site incubators next year, with adult spring Chinook salmon anticipated to return as early as 2030, marking another significant milestone in this multi-generational restoration effort.

Chairman Ray underscored a unique aspect of the Klamath watershed restoration: its feasibility is largely attributed to the absence of a major municipality within its upper reaches. "There’s an opportunity for us to set a new standard, to show America that we can restore, as humans, a watershed that’s been degraded for the last 100-plus years," he proclaimed. He expressed immense pride in the fact that tribal nations are at the forefront of this groundbreaking endeavor, demonstrating Indigenous leadership in environmental stewardship and climate resilience. "There’s a lot of positive things going on, and we’re fighting like heck," Ray affirmed, conveying the urgency and dedication driving this historic undertaking. "We have to be very speedy. We have to have all cylinders going." The Klamath River restoration is not merely a local success story; it offers a powerful global blueprint for ecological recovery, demonstrating how Indigenous knowledge, persistent advocacy, and intertribal cooperation can reverse decades of environmental damage and forge a more sustainable future for both nature and humanity.