RUbie Williams' pink kayak pierced the fog that shrouded the mouth of the Klamath River and she began to paddle harder. She was flanked on either side by Indigenous youth from across the basin, and their line of colorful boats would make history when they reached the Pacific Ocean on the other side of the sand dunes—they were going to do it together.
The last of four hydroelectric dams was removed last year on the Klamath River in largest project of its kind in US history. The following July, 28 tribal teenagers made a 30-day journey of approximately 310 miles (500 km) from the headwaters of the Cascades to the Pacific Ocean. They were the first to kayak the entire mighty river in more than a century.
It marked a new beginning for the once-threatened river and its vast basin, which straddles the California-Oregon border, an important biodiversity hotspot and a region that has been at the center of local indigenous culture for millennia. It also served as a bridge to unite river advocates from around the world seeking to replicate the restoration taking place on the Klamath.
It was only a year without dams and the reservoirs they create, and there are already successes to share.
Just days after the dams were demolished Endangered Coho Salmon moved further up the river than in the previous 60 years. Shortly after the yearling mark, Chinook salmon were spotted in the upper waters. for the first time in more than a century.
Native seeds scattered along the river banks and adjacent hillsides began to bloom. A variety of birds and animals, from bald eagles to beavers and bears, have returned to the waterway. Insects, algae, and microscopic elements of the thriving systems that feed this ecosystem sprouted.
“These children will be the first generation to grow up next to a clean Klamath River,” said Ren Brownell, former spokesman for the Klamath River Renewal Corporation, a nonprofit organization created to control and carry out removal. “Now they can spread that momentum to other watersheds,” Brownell said.
This sentiment fueled the idea of the tribe's youth being the first to cross the river. The Puddle Tribal Waters program is part of Rios, Riversan advocacy organization that promotes environmental protection by connecting thousands of indigenous students in seven countries.
People from China and the Bolivian Amazon came to the finish line. There were Maori from New Zealand and members of the Mapuche-Pehuanche tribe living along the Biobio River in Chile. They were also joined by representatives of the Shoshone-Bannock and Nimiipuu (Nez Perce) tribes of the Snake River Basin in the western United States.
Bye Klamath youth cultivated a deeper connection to the revitalization of their wild river, and they also inspired Indigenous-led movements working to protect or restore other rivers around the world.
“It’s a great David and Goliath story,” Brownell added. “It turns out you can win.”
First year of Klamath
A project of this magnitude had never been attempted before the Klamath dams were destroyed, and even with plenty of hope and extensive modeling, there was uncertainty about how the river would recover.
Even with There are still years of work ahead, the speed of recovery surprised everyone.
Without large bodies of water to keep the water stagnant and warm throughout the summer, toxicity markers that used to consistently fall outside healthy ranges remained at safe levels throughout the season. Water temperatures have also returned to their natural range, keeping the fish cool enough to migrate.
“The river seemed to come back to life immediately after the dam was removed,” Damon Goodman, CalTrout’s regional director for Mount Shasta-Klamath, said during a meeting to mark the anniversary. “There are fish jumping everywhere, bald eagles and all sorts of wildlife.”
The unprecedented project required an equally unprecedented fish monitoring effort that relied on a range of tools, including sonar, boat surveys, nets and tagging, and video, to monitor adaptation, migration, spawning and habitat.
“The data is coming in so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the results,” Goodman said.
Barry McCovey Jr., senior fisheries biologist for the Yurok Tribe, warned local communities and the public about problems that still need to be addressed. There are two dams left on the river, and it will take decades to heal the “huge scars” left by the removed dams, McCovey Jr. said, adding that what may seem like a happy ending is just the beginning.
That doesn't mean he doesn't celebrate.
“We called them footballs, they were so strong and healthy,” he said, referring to the fish now making long journeys they haven’t been able to make for more than a hundred years. A year later, “the big picture is that the river continues to heal,” McCovey Jr. said. “Everything feels different now – and it will only get better.”
For McCovey Jr., the victory goes beyond giving fish a new chance to thrive alongside the ecosystems that support them. Having worked most of his life to restore this basin, his son, who completed the first run, now joins the river as it is restored.
“The river needed these kids—they are part of the solution,” he said. They will play an important role in carrying out the restoration work needed in the future. But they also help spread an important message.
“Part of our goal has always been to show people around the world that something like this is possible,” McCovey Jr. said. “You just have to look at Klamath to see that crazy things can happen.”
New story
Removing the four dams was still an abstract idea when Williams first began preparing for the adventure of a lifetime. She was one of about a dozen students in Klamath's inaugural Class of 2022, when she was a sophomore in high school.
Williams has mastered the kayaking skills needed to navigate the challenging and unknown rapids that arise from bodies of water, including harrowing and awe-inspiring ones. K'ika s'e ki: Canyon Runover 2.5 miles of class IV rapids through an ancient and steep basalt chasm, considered sacred by the Shasta Indian people. This race caused fear in even the most experienced guides.
She turned 18 at the start of the trip, her birthday falling on a grueling day in which she battled strong headwinds and bright sunlight that burned her eyes and skin. But memories of fatigue are outweighed by memories of camaraderie. Williams said she still talks almost every day with the friends she met during the program.
Weston Boyles, founder and director of Ríos to Rivers, said the program has forged connections among youth throughout the Klamath Basin: “Everyone in the basin has a connection to this river. Through the love of a shared sport like kayaking, you can bring communities together.”
Boyles and other members of his team developed a plan to help Indigenous youth lead the first launch of 2021 with Rush Sturges, a professional kayaker and filmmaker who has worked on a Klamath tributary, the Salmon River. The curriculum they developed not only gave the children the skills they needed to row on the river, but also helped them become passionate about what they were learning.
Students, including Williams, were also sent on trips around the world to meet other youth dedicated to fighting for their rivers. Among them were youth from the Bolivian Amazon, where dam construction will displace more than 5,000 indigenous people and flood parts of the biodiverse Madidi National Park.
“Our work on these rivers allows [people] to jump in a time machine and go into the future to see what could have happened—what their swimming pools would have looked like if the dams had been built,” Boyles said. “We have all the information and we know all the answers here. There are actually solutions that can be obtained.”
A group of students is heading to Cop30 in Brazil, asking the United Nations to stop recognizing dams as clean energy eligible for carbon offset funding. They were also the first to sign the so-called Klamath River Agreementagreement reached to protect rivers around the world, which “recognizes that the removal of these dams should serve as a model for future climate resilience efforts and a testament to the power of collective action.”
For Williams, a member of the Quartz Valley Tribe and a member of the Karuk Tribe, swimming that entire river was a protest in itself. She remembered the tears that filled her eyes when she reached the ocean and pulled the boat ashore, listening to the sounds of drums and the smiling generations of indigenous people who reached the sand that cool July morning.
“For a split second we stood and thought, what should we do now?” she said. “And then at the same moment we looked at each other and ran up that hill as fast as we could and jumped into the ocean.”
Williams, who started college this year as an environmental and land management major, is eager to lead the initiative. Along with the lifelong friendships she found on her first descent of the Klamath, she received a calling to fight for her river and other rivers around the world.
“All rivers should be free,” she said.
