In a warming world, the race is on to predict the future’s best salmon rivers. Dr. Jonathan Armstrong, for one, is holding onto his chips.

“When we talk about ‘climate smart planning,’ we often end up trying to pick winners and losers,” says Dr. Armstrong, a Wild Salmon Center Science Advisor and professor of ecology at Oregon State University. “But that’s a pretty harsh zero-sum game.”

And it might not play out well for salmon. A narrow conservation focus on “winners” could mean that we overlook many larger streams and rivers that play important roles in supporting migratory trout and salmon. 

“We can’t save it all,” Dr. Armstrong says. “But we also don’t want a future where we’ve only managed to protect a handful of cold mountain streams and the small trout that can live out their life-cycle without migrating.”

Salmonids need cold water, he notes. But they’re also hardy travelers with life histories that vary widely. This life history diversity is key to the overall climate resiliency of these species, like different stocks in a diversified investment portfolio.

“We can’t save it all. But we also don’t want a future where we’ve only managed to protect a handful of cold mountain streams.”

Dr. Jonathan Armstrong, WSC Science Advisor

To maximize fishing opportunities in a warmer world, Dr. Armstrong says we can’t lose sight of places some might call the “losers”—places like the Klamath Basin on the Oregon/California border, a centerpiece of his research for the past nine years. 

“Klamath Lake can get to almost 80 degrees in the summer,” Dr. Armstrong says. “And yet it still provides the vast majority of annual growth for migratory redband trout and the fisheries that target them. This doesn’t look like trout habitat, but it is.” 

Oftentimes, he says, rivers that some dismiss as too hot, like the Klamath, are only hot for a few weeks of the year. Most of the year, Klamath Lake is a rich growth environment for resident trout. When the lake does get too hot, trout here have the option to duck into cold, spring-fed upper tributaries: the kind of habitat connectivity that’s critical to life history diversity.  

Now, the Klamath’s habitat connectivity is expanding—and it could be a game-changer for wild fish. In fall 2024, the largest dam removal project in history was completed on the Klamath mainstem, enabling Chinook salmon and other species to reclaim miles of historic habitat for the first time in a century.

As salmon find their way higher in this system—including Klamath Lake and its upper tributaries in Oregon—Dr. Armstrong is among those wondering how they’ll navigate decades-worth of change wrought by agriculture, development, and big climate shifts.

Like the resident trout who’ve long thrived behind the dams, Dr. Armstrong has hope that salmon will find ways to adapt to the upper Klamath. He has to have hope. Right now, the Klamath Basin seems anomalous: a place of climate extremes that also supports salmonids. But in the future, challenging conditions could be the norm across the Pacific Northwest. 

“Klamath Lake can get to almost 80 degrees in the summer. This doesn’t look like trout habitat, but it is.” 

Dr. Jonathan Armstrong, WSC Science Advisor

“Being climate smart is not as simple as identifying places that have worse climate stressors and writing them off,” Dr. Armstrong says. “And that’s actually really good news. It means these areas can still contribute.”

Below, he shares more about the importance of big rivers, why salmon refuges aren’t “refugia,” and how we can put out the welcome mat for future Klamath Lake salmon.

“Being climate smart is not as simple as identifying places that have worse climate stressors and writing them off. And that’s actually really good news. It means these areas can still contribute.”

Dr. Jonathan Armstrong, WSC Science Advisor

A Conversation with Dr. Jonathan Armstrong

Wild Salmon Center: What’s your connection to the Klamath?

Dr. Jonathan Armstrong: I grew up in Ashland, Oregon, and I was into fishing. I would come over to Klamath Lake when I was a teenager and fish there. And I was kind of just fascinated by these giant migratory trout, and the diversity of habitats in the upper Klamath Basin. Here you have a lake that turns neon green in the summer because it’s so eutrophic. But you also have snowmelt-fed mountain tributaries, springs, and a hundred-kilometer river like the Sprague.

How did you go from fishing the Klamath to fishing for answers about salmon in the Klamath?

In graduate school, a lot of my work was about how fish and wildlife exploit habitat diversity. Specifically, I was looking at how coho salmon move to patches of warm water, because at the northern extent of the range, where I was, in Bristol Bay, they’re limited by cold water. 

Then when I got a job at Oregon State University and thought about local projects in the Pacific Northwest, and my proximity to the Klamath system. This just seemed like the perfect place to flip the question. Because here, at the southern portion of salmon range, the physiological constraint is oftentimes that it’s too hot instead of too cold.

So the question was what are the outer bounds of temperature? How hot is too hot for salmon, and how cold is too cold?

I started doing work on how trout exploit patches of cold habitat to get through summer. The Klamath redband trout move to these beautiful spring-fed wetlands and rivers. They are the places I fished for them when I was younger. We found the fish can do impressive migrations to quickly find the summer refuges. But we also found they weren’t actually growing in these cool tributaries of the lake. This was surprising because they are big chunks of habitat; the fish don’t appear crowded like they do in some thermal refuge examples. 

They were growing in the lake in spring and fall (when temperatures are optimal for trout). Virtually every trout we sampled in the lake had a full stomach. It reminded me of rainbow trout in Alaska when sockeye are spawning, but these fish were eating chubs, sculpin, and leeches. This led me to become more interested in how warm habitats contribute to cold-water fisheries. How much we might be missing if we only focus on the places that stay cold year-round?

Are you saying that focusing on cold water is overrated in salmon conservation?

Cold water is critical—whether it’s a smaller spring-fed habitat that helps migratory fish get through a stressful period or a larger portion of a watershed that is forecasted to stay cool under climate change. 

I think most folks recognize that salmon and trout need warmer downstream habitats to complement these cold habitats, but they assume that in a warmer future, cold water will be limiting and we can ignore the rest. I worry about this mindset, because warm habitats that are intact and functioning may be rare, based on how humans develop watersheds from the bottom up. 

Our research group is finding that it’s usually a small subset of warm habitats that salmonids take advantage of. For example, the giant redband trout in Klamath Lake use undeveloped shorelines, while juvenile redband trout in the Sprague River use steep canyons. 

So what do fish do when it gets too hot in the Klamath?

In the Upper Klamath Basin and in other areas, we see multiple strategies. The large redband trout that use the lake, they all go to cool refuges in summer. But just downstream, between the Keno Dam and what was J.C. Boyle Dam, trout stay in the mainstem river during summer and tolerate warm temperatures in oxygenated canyon waters. We see similar contrasts with coastal cutthroat trout in the Willamette River. It’s a neat example of life history diversity and how these populations can exploit surprisingly warm water if there is oxygen and food.  

So what can we do to maximize the chances that rivers like the Klamath, down in the southern range of salmon, stand the best chance of continuing to support wild fish?

We may not be able to make downstream habitats suitably cool during the peak of summer, especially in the face of climate change. But what we can influence is the duration of the year that places are suitable, and how well they support fish during those periods. 

For example, Upper Klamath Lake will probably never be a great place for salmonids in July. And perhaps it never was, since it’s naturally warm and eutrophic. But groups including the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Trout Unlimited, the Klamath Tribes, and many others are doing process-based restoration to reconnect floodplains and capture nutrient-rich sediments that turbocharge algae blooms. This could prolong the portion of the year that the lake is suitable for salmonids, by influencing dissolved oxygen and pH. This could make a wider target for the timing of migration that allows fish to survive, or it could give fish more time to grow rapidly in the lake during spring.

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The results are in: this was a change election in the United States. A new Trump Administration and likely a Republican Congress will assume leadership in January. 

As jarring as these political moments can be, we’ve been here before. As we’ve transitioned from administration to administration through the years, Wild Salmon Center has learned a few things about running a durable organization capable of remaining laser-focused on our mission: protecting wild salmon and their home rivers. 

First, we’ve learned that it’s critical to have support from leaders across the political spectrum. We have carefully and deliberately built a network of board members, partners, and donors who know how to get things done in the halls of power. As we look to the future, we’ll be leveraging these connections to continue protecting the world’s most important wild salmon strongholds. 

Second: we see the power of a shared story, grounded in science. We marshal the facts to describe how the places we care about are meaningful to everyone—and to the planet as a whole. We’re less interested in the ideological battle between conservation and development and more passionate about the inherent value of healthy, beautiful wild salmon rivers. 

We know how much this shared story energizes you, our community. And we are going to need that spirit in the coming months and years. We don’t yet know the shape of the future, but it seems likely that we’ll face structural changes to environmental protection in the US. With large industrial projects and climate change already threatening stronghold rivers, we have to engage with this new administration—with every administration—to secure a better future for salmon. 

So, stay close as we build on our long experience to continue advancing our ultimate goal: delivering the world’s most stunning salmon rivers to our children and grandchildren. 

Onward,
Guido

Guido Rahr
President & CEO
Wild Salmon Center

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Glaciers are melting. Sea levels are rising. Just two more ways that climate change spells catastrophe for salmon—right?

Across the North Pacific, there’s no doubt that wild fish are struggling. But according to Dr. Jonathan Moore, a Wild Salmon Center Science Advisor and the Director of Simon Fraser University’s Salmon Watersheds Lab, we can still make a huge difference in how well some runs adapt to our changing world.

“The story of climate change is one of massive transformation, but also of agency,” Dr. Moore says. “The actions we take today will have a huge impact on the ability of salmon to adapt in the future.”

Case in point: rising sea levels. The same conditions that will elevate flood risk for communities will also inundate the estuaries that provide critical rearing habitats for young salmon.

But since we know these changes are coming, Dr. Moore says, we can be proactive—fixing or removing fish-blocking dikes and culverts, for example, and reconnecting estuary floodplains so they can continue to support salmon and fisheries into the future. Proactive planning can also benefit salmon and people in glacially-fed watersheds, Dr. Moore says—as with the Taku River Tlingit First Nation, which is exploring ways to safeguard future salmon habitat within its territory from extractive industries.

“We often hear about how the salmon journey is one of cumulative harms from humans,” says Dr. Moore. “But we can flip that narrative. Because it’s also possible for humans to provide cumulative benefits to salmon across their life cycle.” 

Below, we talk with Dr. Moore about the way forward for salmon in a changing climate, and the beauty of straying from the beaten path.

“The story of climate change is one of massive transformation, but also of agency. The actions we take today will have a huge impact on the ability of salmon to adapt in the future.”

Dr. Jonathan Moore, Simon Fraser University

A Conversation With Dr. Jonathan Moore

Wild Salmon Center: You’ve co-authored studies that look at how sea level rise, glacier retreat, logging, and mining could impact salmon well into the future. Why focus on the future?

Dr. Jonathan Moore: My early work focused on how salmon changed ecosystems—how amazing abundances of salmon can engineer landscapes and support so many other species. But over time, my work has gotten more and more focused on applied questions of how ecosystems are changing. And what we can do about it.

Climate change is unfurling across the salmon life cycle. It used to be a topic of, ‘oh, it seems like this might be happening.’ But the data is now rolling in on the impacts of oceans and estuaries warming, food webs shifting, stream flow changing. The loss of snowpack and ice. And the human impacts that keep chipping away at salmon habitat. 

The reality is that we’re asking too much of salmon and their ecosystems. There are so many ways where we can take action and lessen harms to salmon. And, because the world is changing so fast, we need to know what’s going to be important for salmon in the future. 

WSC: Salmon conservation often centers on protecting and restoring habitat right now. Is it doable to expand this work to habitat that hasn’t even been created yet?

Dr. Moore: It feels quite doable. The path forward aligns to some extent with what people are already doing. We just need to be a bit more holistic about how we think about salmon habitat. For example, large-scale dam removals like the Elwha River continue to showcase the ability of salmon to flourish if given the chance. 

We don’t always know  precisely how salmon ecosystems are going to change. This uncertainty just means that there is even more of a need to  protect large functional ecosystems and their different habitats. This approach, like the Wild Salmon Center stronghold approach, keeps in play more of the potential puzzle pieces of habitat that salmon might need in the future. 

“The path forward aligns to some extent with what people are already doing. We just need to be a bit more holistic about how we think about salmon habitat.”

Dr. Jonathan Moore, Simon Fraser University

In some cases, however, the science is actually pretty clear on what we can expect. For example, we estimated that glacier retreat will open more than 6,000 new kilometers of salmon rivers by about 2100, largely in the transboundary region and southeast and central Alaska. These new river miles mean new local opportunities for salmon to find habitat and flourish. But these future habitats are also at risk from mining companies that are already staking claims in these emerging ecosystems. 

WSC: What specific actions can we take now to protect the salmon habitat of the future?

Dr. Moore: One example that inspires me is the Gitanyow First Nation in the Nass Basin. They’ve experienced glacier retreat, and have seen salmon moving into these recently deeply glaciated regions. So they’ve expanded their Protected Area to steward future generations of salmon and fight back against mining companies. 

WSC: Let’s say we take the example of the Gitanyow and attempt to protect areas that we think might be great future salmon habitat. How do we know that salmon will even find it?

Dr. Moore: Remember that salmon evolved and adapted over millions of years in landscapes and watersheds that were always changing. Salmon are renowned for finding their way back home. But they’re also great at finding new habitats. Usually, a small percent of a run strays so they return to somewhere other than their home spawning grounds. Scientists think that straying is an evolutionary strategy—so that salmon don’t literally put all their eggs in one basket. 

This combination of homing and straying is really powerful. Homing means that over time salmon can fine-tune their life histories and biology through local adaptation. And straying means that salmon can also find new landscapes. They can tap into those future promises. 

WSC: So as glaciers melt, we can act now to protect potential emerging salmon streams from extractive industries and development. What other opportunities do you see?

Dr. Moore: One project I’m really excited about is called the Estuary Resilience Project, led by the Nature Trust of British Columbia and many coastal First Nations. The project’s collaborative research and monitoring looks at how estuaries will rise with sea change—to inform and catalyze large-scale, forward-looking estuary restoration projects. 

The urgent concern is “coastal squeeze”—where coastal habitats like marshes and estuaries will be squeezed between coastal development and a rising ocean. Estuaries are critical habitats for young salmon. Young salmon can grow fast in estuaries—growth that bolsters their future survival in the ocean. In one intact estuary, we discovered that estuary growth and residence can boost ocean survival for coho salmon by more than 40 percent. 

Because we have a sense of what’s coming, there are real opportunities for us to help these habitats remain productive for salmon even with coastal squeeze. For example, we can pursue the large-scale removal of dikes and culverts to restore the natural connectivity of estuaries as sea levels rise. We can make smart decisions now to build resilience—for salmon, for fisheries, and for coastal communities.

“We can make smart decisions now to build resilience—for salmon, for fisheries, and for coastal communities.”

Dr. Jonathan Moore, Simon Fraser University

WSC: With so much at stake—and so many factors that could still shape the future of salmon in unknowable ways—how do you stay motivated in your research? What keeps you going?

Dr. Moore: Well, I feel so fortunate to work in these watersheds. The people I work with are amazing. From scientists to Indigenous Guardians, there’s something very special about spending a long day with a small team of folks, with rain and mosquitoes and bears, wading through rivers. I love listening to the people and places where I get a chance to work. It’s deeply inspiring. And the fish themselves are amazing. 

One moment that really stuck with me: I was in the Nass watershed at the base of a waterfall. I got into the river in a drysuit and a mask, and found I was surrounded by dancing salmon. I struggled to not get swept downstream and was holding hard onto a boulder, but the fish looked effortless. It was beautiful clear water, and the bubbles looked like shining diamonds. It made me think about how this moment was part of something so much bigger: a migration that started with these fish traveling out to sea, and then returning back again. Swimming up these cascades and this water that melted from ice fields hundreds of kilometers upstream. Everything was so big and so connected. It was hard to wrap my mind around. 

After that, I sat on the banks and watched these fish try to make the leap up the falls. I think I counted 500 before I saw one make it up. And they just kept trying.

Learn more here about Wild Salmon Center’s Science Advisory Board.

“I watched these fish try to make the leap up the falls. I think I counted 500 before I saw one make it up. And they just kept trying.”

Dr. Jonathan Moore, Simon Fraser University

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Maybe you’ve heard about the mangroves of Florida, Jamaica, and Indonesia: gnarled, hardy tropical trees that thrive in salty tidal waters. 

Mangrove swamps are prized for their carbon-storing superpowers—spurring international calls to protect them—as well as for the cool, shady refuge they create for fish and wildlife species.

“A lot of people know about mangrove swamps,” says Cyndi Curtis, Wild Salmon Center Oregon North Coast Manager. “But not so many know about Sitka spruce swamps—another forested wetland that’s totally unique to the Pacific Northwest.

Like mangroves, Curtis says, Sitka spruce swamps can sequester massive amounts of carbon, and also act as important storm surge buffers for lowland communities. A century ago, these tidal spruce swamps hugged estuaries and rivers up and down the Oregon coast. Today, just a few remnant forests remain—and vanishingly few larger than 20 acres. 

A century ago, tidal spruce swamps hugged estuaries and rivers up and down the Oregon coast. Today, just a few remnant forests remain—and vanishingly few larger than 20 acres. 

The disappearance of Oregon’s spruce swamps stems from two practices brought by white settlers—both of which made life much harder for juvenile salmon. In the early 20th century, timber drives sent massive logs barreling down rivers to sawmills, scouring any bankside trees left unlogged, along with mainstem habitat for wild fish. Then, these cleared coastal lowlands were diked and drained—converting marshes and wetlands into pasture and cropland, and eliminating key salmon nurseries in the process.

“The irony is that diking to create agricultural lands actually blocked sediment inputs from winter floods,” Curtis says. “And regular flooding was what brought in the nutrients and sediment that made these lands rich. Now, many of these diked lowland areas are actually subpar for farming, and some are even sinking.”

Private owners still hold the vast majority of land that once nurtured Oregon’s spruce swamps. But today, some are starting to explore alternate uses for these unproductive lands, including tidal reconnection. For Curtis, it’s an opening—to bring back the Sitka swamp for threatened species like Oregon Coast coho, and also for coastal communities facing an increasingly swampy future. 

It’s an opening—to bring back the Sitka swamp for threatened species like Oregon Coast coho, and also for coastal communities facing an increasingly swampy future.

On a perfect sunny June afternoon, Curtis navigated a kayak into the log-jammed mouth of Coal Creek. The creek, which meets the Nehalem River just a few miles from the bay, is tidally-influenced—but high enough in the system for a special balance of freshwater and saltwater.

“There’s a sweet spot for Sitka spruce swamps,” Curtis explains. “They need the tidewater, but not too much. They like a slightly higher elevation within the floodplain, just a bit higher than where you find marshes and mudflats. Too low and a big surge of saltwater can kill off the spruce, making what we call ghost forests.”

Coal Creek is right in the sweet spot—and still home to one of the largest intact spruce swamps on the Oregon Coast. In recent years, wetland ecologist Laura Brophy startled conservationists with estimates that Oregon has lost 95 percent of its spruce swamp habitat since the 1870s.

“Thanks to Laura, we have a much better idea of what these coastal landscapes looked like at a time when salmon were still truly abundant,” Curtis said. “Her work has helped make Sitka swamps one of the top conservation priorities on the Oregon Coast. It’s bringing the restoration community together.”

Coal Creek is one example. In 2009, the North Coast Land Conservancy acquired 75 acres here: a purchase made specifically to steward old-growth tideland spruce. Protecting existing spruce swamps is a particularly popular topic among salmon conservationists, Curtis notes—given emerging research on the importance of estuaries and tidelands for rearing juvenile salmon. 

“Spruce swamps often border larger streams, which make them important refuges for juveniles all year long,” Curtis says. “In the winter, fish are looking for calmer waters away from raging streams where they can eat and rest. In the summer, the dense vegetation in these swamps mean they stay dark and cool—and that can mean life or death for fish, given our increasingly hot summers.”

“The dense vegetation in these swamps mean they stay dark and cool—and that can mean life or death for fish, given our increasingly hot summers.”

WSC Oregon North Coast Manager Cyndi Curtis

Curtis hopes that this momentum within the restoration community is just the beginning of a larger conversation with local landowners and other stakeholders. Like mangroves, the benefits of tidal spruce swamps go well beyond wild fish, she says. They’re also huge carbon sinks that, if established with rising sea levels in mind, could enhance climate and flood resiliency for coastal communities, as well as cleaner air and water.

This long-term vision is why Wild Salmon Center and coastal partners are now working with Brophy to identify places where the conditions might be right to establish future Sitka spruce swamps. 

“Sitka spruce swamp can be a little picky,” Curtis says. “They need tidal influence, but like being at a higher elevation. They can tolerate a little saltwater, but too much and the spruce trees will die. With Laura, we’re now working to develop maps that can help us find locations that could be ideal for spruce swamp restoration.“

“We’re now working to develop maps that can help us find locations that could be ideal for spruce swamp restoration.”

WSC Oregon North Coast Manager Cyndi Curtis

To build these maps, WSC and our partners are using elevation mapping, historic vegetation mapping, salinity data and climate change models. Curtis says the next step is to share this data-rich picture with interested landowners and other local stakeholders: places where, together, we might nurture the Sitka spruce swamps of the future.

“The hope is that we can start this restoration work now, so that in 30 or 40 years, when sea levels are higher, we can still have these habitats that provide so many benefits for people and fish,” Curtis says.

Not least among these benefits, Curtis notes, is togetherness. Can conservationists and scientists, farmers and private landowners unite to bring back Oregon’s Sitka spruce swamps? If yes, that bodes well not just for salmon, but for coastal communities navigating other rising tides. 

“The hope is that in 30 or 40 years, when sea levels are higher, we can still have these habitats that provide so many benefits for people and fish.”

WSC Oregon North Coast Manager Cyndi Curtis

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A new study published in Fish & Fisheries offers a comprehensive look at the state of North American wild Chinook salmon. Its findings hold new insights for fisheries managers looking to address wide-ranging declines among Chinook stocks.

The study, led by Wild Salmon Center Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas with a team of leading salmon researchers from NOAA Fisheries, Fisheries and Oceans Canada, the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, and Simon Fraser University, analyzed abundance trends for more than 80 Chinook populations extending from California’s Sacramento River north to the Fraser River in Canada. 

Analyzing time series data, the team found that more than 70 percent (57 of 81) of studied populations have experienced declining abundance in the last 50 years. 

But these trends also varied across the region: a signal that the species’ diverse strategies for migration and spawning—also known as life histories—are aiding their success in some rivers.

Taking a close look at these strategies, the team found a strong link between Chinook abundance trends and time spent in relatively cold freshwater and marine habitats. The life histories of Chinook stocks can vary widely even within the same river system. A key example of this diversity is run timing: whether a population returns to freshwater in spring, summer, or fall.

“While most populations declined, some increased in abundance,” Dr. Atlas says. “Chinook populations are stable and even recovering in certain systems. Our research indicates that Chinook life history diversity has been key to the ability of some runs to thrive in the face of climate change.”

Particularly notable declines occurred in California Chinook populations—including most Sacramento and Klamath river stocks analyzed by the team—as well as interior spring Chinook returning to the Fraser, Columbia, and Snake River watersheds. Southern and interior stocks have been heavily impacted by climate disturbances in recent years, suffering through both lower, hotter flows in their natal river systems as well as warmer conditions in areas of the North Pacific where they spend the ocean portion of their life cycle. Some are even the focus of pending petitions for listing under the U.S. Endangered Species Act.

“Our research indicates that Chinook life history diversity has been key to the ability of some runs to thrive in the face of climate change.”

WSC Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

However, the team also found that in recent decades, some fall and summer Chinook populations, including those in the Fraser and Columbia, have increased in abundance. These fall and summer stocks travel north along the continental shelf to areas west of Northern British Columbia and Southeast Alaska where marine waters have been slower to warm.

Some spring Chinook populations also remain strong in watersheds where cold water is reliably accessible—as well as in other systems where habitat restoration, dam removal, and fish passage improvements are protecting and enhancing access to intact habitats. 

An example is the relative abundance of wild spring Chinook in Butte Creek, a tributary of California’s Sacramento River that has benefited from flow augmentation and extensive ecosystem restoration. In Oregon’s Clackamas and Sandy Rivers, spring Chinook have also made a remarkable recovery following dam removals and other fish passage corrections. 

“This study strongly supports the case for maintaining a diverse portfolio of wild Chinook runs across the region,” says Dr. Matt Sloat, WSC Science Director and a study co-author. “As environmental conditions get tougher, it’s increasingly important that we understand and maintain the different survival strategies that Chinook have honed over millions of years.”

The study’s publication follows an unprecedented ocean Chinook fishing closure by the Pacific Fishery Management Council, running through spring 2024 and extending from California’s southern border to Oregon’s North Coast. The council moved to curtail fishing in anticipation of near-record low return rates for Klamath and Sacramento fall-run Chinook. (Because the latter stock is dominated by hatchery Chinook, it was not analyzed in this study.)

“As environmental conditions get tougher, it’s increasingly important that we understand and maintain the different survival strategies that Chinook have honed over millions of years.”

WSC Science Director Dr. Matt Sloat

According to study co-author Dr. Nate Mantua, research scientist at NOAA Fisheries Northwest Fisheries Science Center, the study’s findings show the direct connection between unreliable fisheries and the many ways that humans have made it increasingly difficult for wild Chinook to survive all the way through their life cycle.

“Salmon are naturally resilient, but we’ve curtailed river flows, cut off much of their spawning grounds with dams, reduced the wetlands where juveniles grow on their way to the ocean, and further simplified their populations through hatchery and harvest practices,” Dr. Mantua says. “These changes have reduced the capacity of wild Chinook to respond to climate impacts in their freshwater, estuary, and ocean habitats. As a result, they careen between booms and busts.”

“We’ve reduced the capacity of wild Chinook to respond to climate impacts in their freshwater, estuary, and ocean habitats. As a result, they careen between booms and busts.”

Dr. Nate Mantua, NOAA Fisheries Northwest Fisheries Science Center

The authors note that a range of habitat protection and restoration actions are underway to improve habitat and flow protections for salmon. Across the Pacific Northwest, the NOAA Restoration Center is boosting funds to improve salmon habitat. In Oregon, following improvements to private forestry practices, agencies are now contemplating a comprehensive habitat conservation plan for state forestlands that would protect 600,000 acres for salmon and other species. In Northern California, the largest dam removal in U.S. history will reopen a vast area of historical Chinook habitat. And several state, Tribal, and federal agencies are now recommending that four dams come down on the lower Snake River. 

“Chinook are vitally important to Indigenous cultures, fisheries, and the health of the environment in the Pacific Northwest,” says study co-author Charles Parken, salmon habitat assessment biologist at Fisheries and Oceans Canada. “This study should prove foundational for communities looking to further accelerate the salmon ecosystem restoration work so critical to ensuring that this species rebuilds across its range.”

“This study should prove foundational for communities looking to further accelerate the salmon ecosystem restoration work so critical to ensuring that this species rebuilds across its range.”

Charles Parken, Fisheries and Oceans Canada

But Dr. Atlas also notes that reforms will need to extend beyond habitat to fisheries management. Mixed-stock ocean fisheries pose conservation risks to weak stocks, and low abundance of some populations can close entire fishing regions, limiting opportunities for fishers to catch more abundant overlapping stocks. He cites this year’s California and Oregon closures—driven by Klamath and Sacramento stocks—as cases in point. 

According to Dr. Atlas, one responsive move would be a shift toward terminal and selective fisheries, which harvest salmon from known populations, minimizing impacts on non-target populations and species. With terminal and selective fisheries, he says, management regimes can more nimbly adjust fishing opportunities to target healthy stocks, while reducing impacts on at-risk or endangered populations. 

“That’s one example of the climate-smart paradigm that we must begin to move into,” Dr. Atlas says. “When combined with the trends evidenced in our study, the recent closures show that the current system isn’t the resilient approach we need—both for fishing communities and for long-term maintenance of salmon biodiversity.”   

“The current system isn’t the resilient approach we need—both for fishing communities and for long-term maintenance of salmon biodiversity.”   

WSC Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

MEDIA CONTACT:

Oakley Brooks
Wild Salmon Center Communications Director
obrooks@wildsalmoncenter.org

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It’s an oppressively hot day in late August, but for two dozen people gathered on a stretch of Northeast Oregon’s Lostine River, talking about Woody Wolfe’s precision sprinkler system brings sweet relief. 

On the surrounding acreage, Wolfe’s 16 new center pivots soak the soil only when needed and can be managed remotely, from his smartphone. Because of this new ease of use, Wolfe—a sixth-generation Wallowa County grain, alfalfa, and grass hay farmer—was able to do the impossible earlier this month: take ten days off in the height of summer to celebrate his wedding anniversary. 

“First time that’s happened in, oh, about 20 years,” says Wild Salmon Center Water Program Director Caylin Barter, one of the water tour’s co-hosts. “Am I right, Woody?”

The joke gets knowing grins from those present—many with local roots, and familiarity with farm life in arid Eastern Oregon. Circled around Barter and Wolfe are tour co-hosts from Trout Unlimited, representatives of the Nez Perce Tribe and the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation, staff from Governor Kate Brown’s Natural Resources Office, hay farmers, ranchers, conservation groups, a state representative, a county commissioner, and Wallowa County’s watermaster, as well as state agency staffers with deep knowledge of Oregon’s increasingly precious water resources. 

Also in the circle are Wolfe’s sons and other family members—some now hearing the origin story of this special irrigation project for the first time.

For everyone here today, saving time, energy, and water is a key goal. But today’s refrain is even more nuanced: to get toward those goals in today’s water reality, you also have to be willing to give.

That’s the story Barter and her co-hosts are here to tell. It’s the story of the unlikely partnership that brought Wolfe’s next-generation water management system to life: a union of farmers, fish advocates and water conservationists, enabled by new state funding—and hopefully intriguing to Wolfe’s neighbors on the Lostine and beyond.

“More people need to hear that there’s a path forward for both Oregon farmers and the salmon in our rivers, even with the pinch of our new water normal,” Barter says. “Woody’s project shows that we’re more resilient if we work together.”

“More people need to hear that there’s a path forward for both Oregon farmers and the salmon in our rivers, even with the pinch of our new water normal.”

WSC Oregon Water Program Director Caylin Barter

The Lostine River traditionally supported large runs of coho salmon, along with Chinook, summer steelhead, and bull trout. 

For the Nez Perce Tribal members who lived here near the confluence of the Lostine and Wallowa Rivers—tributaries of the Grande Ronde and then the Snake—the fishing was so good that the site supported an annual fishing camp.

Chief Joseph, Wolfe notes, wanted to be buried on a hill overlooking this place—because he knew that as long as there were fish, his community would return here.

But the Lostine’s salmon-rich epoch nearly ended three decades ago. In the 1990s, those tracking Chinook spawners saw numbers drop from the tens of thousands down to mere dozens. Coho salmon entirely disappeared from the basin until being reintroduced in 2017.

One of the most critical factors for salmon survival is healthy summertime water levels in rivers and streams. At the hottest times of the year, migrating fish need enough water flowing to find cold pockets to hold in, at least until the river rises enough to let them climb higher and complete their life cycles. But increasingly, Oregon’s oceangoing fish find themselves left literally high and dry at the tail end of their home migration. (A journey that, for Lostine salmon, means the navigation of at least 600 freshwater miles and eight dams.)

That’s because July, August, and September are not only when certain salmon runs return to spawn; these months are also when agricultural water demands peak, drawing down streams across the state. This is when Wolfe would have filled his irrigation ditches with water from the Lostine to flood his fields. After Wolfe, who holds the river’s senior water rights, neighbors with more junior water rights would tap the river, and so on.

“There’s that old adage, ‘whiskey is for drinking and water is for fighting,’” Wolfe says. “In most watersheds, in the drier parts of the year, the state has issued more rights than there’s water, and that’s increasingly true, with water supplies becoming less predictable.”

A few years back, Wolfe realized that water, in fact, was his most valuable asset—more than his land and all the equipment on it. 

With that realization came another: that his farm’s long-term success currently hinged on two now-risky assumptions from earlier generations. The first was that Wolfe’s status as a senior water rights holder meant his water needs would always be met—an assumption drying up as fast as the aridifying West. The second was also increasingly uncomfortable: that the century farm’s traditional water-intensive irrigation practices would continue to avoid scrutiny by state regulators.

“My view was, it’s only a matter of time before they come for you. I wanted to find a way to figure out how to be in compliance with the rules of the state, while I still had a say in my water future.”

Woody Wolfe, Wolfe Century Farm

“My view was, it’s only a matter of time before they come for you,” Wolfe says. “I wanted to find a way to figure out how to be in compliance with the rules of the state, while I still had a say in my water future.”

What Wolfe ended up working out back in 2016 came to be known as the Lostine River Conservation Project. Conceived in partnership with Aaron Maxwell and his colleagues then at nonprofit The Freshwater Trust (including Barter), the project transferred a portion of Wolfe’s senior water rights to state ownership to benefit fish in exchange for a 75 percent financial subsidy for Wolfe’s new, high efficiency precision sprinkler system: a system that now allows him to irrigate his fields on-demand and with less water. 

“Even my highest concentration of problems with the pivots doesn’t equal one typical day of issues with flood irrigation,” Wolfe says. 

Also built into the project is a monitoring system that enables Wolfe to easily track and report water use across his 1,100 irrigated hay and alfalfa acres. This transparency, a requirement of the grant conditions, gives Wolfe peace of mind, knowing he’s now fully compliant with state rules. The information also fills crucial data gaps for understanding his water needs.

“It was a leap of faith on both sides,” he says, referring to his partnership with The Freshwater Trust. “We had to put ourselves in a position of trust. The certainty that I was able to create around water is valuable on so many levels. And I didn’t have to give up much to do it.”

“The certainty that I was able to create around water is valuable on so many levels. And I didn’t have to give up much to do it.”

Woody Wolfe, Wolfe Century Farm

Construction of the new system was completed in 2017. Five years later, Wolfe’s crop yields are up, and his operational costs are down. Meanwhile water levels on this stretch of the Lostine have increased by up to 30 percent. 

According to Maxwell, the ability to keep even a relatively small amount of extra water in the river has already proven critical to the survival of migrating Chinook salmon. This summer, more than 700 returning spring and summer Chinook were counted at the nearby Nez Perce fish weir by June 22, according to a Tribal update. That positive trend is expected to continue later this fall for returning coho. 

“The Wolfe Farm helped to convince the state that funding for water conservation projects like these is money well spent,” says Maxwell, Wolfe’s original project collaborator, and now a Trout Unlimited Project Manager.

This past year, the story of the Lostine River Conservation Project helped build legislative support for and ultimately pass Oregon’s first-ever $25 million drought resilience package: legislation that allocates an additional $10 million in grants for voluntary water deals that increase streamflow, including irrigation efficiency projects like Wolfe’s.

With WSC, Trout Unlimited was part of a core group of water conservation advocates that worked behind the scenes to achieve this historic investment: a down payment, the advocates hope, in a water future that works for people, farms, and fish.

“This kind of project has the potential to show other agricultural producers that these incentives can really pencil out,” Maxwell says. “But what we’re learning is that our tools to help farmers adapt are still limited. What worked for Woody won’t necessarily work for his neighbor.”

Oregon’s water reality is changing fast, he says, and the pathways available to irrigators must adapt just as rapidly. Still needed are more legal tools and funding assistance to help farms and rivers weather drought, along with better data and improved water planning support for communities across the state. 

“When it comes to keeping enough water in streams for fish, we know that even small gains are worth it,” Maxwell says. “We need more farmers to follow in Woody’s footsteps. To make that happen, we’re going to need more options on the table.”

“When it comes to keeping enough water in streams for fish, we know that even small gains are worth it. This kind of project has the potential to show that these incentives can really pencil out.”

Trout Unlimited Project Manager Aaron Maxwell

For salmon and steelhead conservationists, the connection between healthy rivers and healthy fish likely feels crystal clear. Traditionally, given the heavy impacts that agriculture can inflict on river levels and water quality, fish and farm advocates have often found themselves locking horns over dwindling water supplies. 

Yet even as these conflicts play out in other forums, WSC, TU, and other conservation groups are increasingly focusing on policies to help farms bridge the widening gap between old irrigation methods and our new water reality. 

Barter points to a startling number that directly impacts salmon streams: 85 percent of Oregon’s surface water use goes to irrigated agriculture—more than five times all other sectors combined. Also concerning, she says, is the fact that much of the water drawn from these rivers and streams never makes it to crop roots, thanks to leaky ditches and outdated irrigation infrastructure.

“If we want a future in which Oregon farms can grow food, Oregon rivers can grow fish, and Oregon communities can support our growing population, we absolutely have to find ways to help agriculture more effectively use our limited public water supplies,” Barter says.

It can be an uncomfortable topic, she concedes, both for tight-knit rural communities built around traditional farming methods, and for conservationists who might not have a working knowledge of those methods. 

But these are conversations we need to have, Barter says. Because eventually, they can lead to collaborations like the Wolfe Farm project, where water saved through 21st-century irrigation systems is now staying in Lostine, helping salmon make it through the hot days like this one.

“Compromise can feel uncomfortable if you focus only on what you’re losing,” Barter says. “But we’re all losing from a system that ensures there’s not enough water for anyone. It’s time to work together for policies that support more wins for all of us.”

“We’re all losing from a system that ensures there’s not enough water for anyone. It’s time to work together for policies that support more wins for all of us.”

WSC Oregon Water Program Director Caylin Barter

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But for too long, people in the state have viewed it as an endless resource. Population growth, a warming climate, and increasing water demands make this misconception more outdated by the day. 

If wild salmon are to have a chance to survive and thrive in this unfolding century, we must change how we understand and manage the water supplies that sustain us all. And fast.

Finding Flow, WSC’s Oregon Water Policy Director Caylin Barter heads to southern Oregon to document the current state of rivers and streams in this rapidly changing region, and to talk about the paradigm shift we need toward responsible, science-based water management. WSC’s Oregon water initiative is working to make that change happen.

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In July, Nicole Rasmussen paddled the Quillayute River in a kayak, clocking the fishing boats and swimmers. She and teammate Caroline Walls were looking for just the right spot, away from the action, in the rushing water beneath their boats.

Rasmussen and Walls—Water Quality and Habitat Restoration Biologists, respectively, for the Quileute Tribe—had an intricate set-up to install in this wild Olympic Peninsula river. They stacked multiple water sensors in the riverbed to monitor temperatures and exchanges between ground and surface water. Other sensors they suspended in the water column itself, both in deep pools and in faster-moving water. Some were tethered to cables from the river banks, others floated, and still others were attached to buried cords and hid inside logjams, safe from human disturbance.

“It’s hard to work from a kayak in a tidally-influenced river,” Rasmussen says. “We got rolled a few times.”

Rasmussen has been a Quileute Tribe biologist for ten years; enough time to see shifts in the river that sustains this coastal salmon community. Some are literal. In the Quillayute’s upper reaches, its once-meandering path is straightening, creating high-energy erosion downstream. That means that one winter high-flow event might be all the river needs to jump its banks and flood the Tribal village of La Push: a threat that’s prompted an ambitious restoration campaign.

Meanwhile, the Quillayute’s ten salmon runs—particularly Chinook and steelhead—are well below their historical baselines for abundance: a heartbreaking trend across coastal Washington, one stemming from factors that include fish passage barriers, failing roadways, the loss of large wood in rivers, and changing climate and ocean conditions.

She’s also seen the river’s temperatures tick up over the years. As a key indicator of the health of the river, that’s further bad news for salmon. Both fish health and reproductive success are negatively impacted by heat spikes and long-term warming.

“We know that anything above 22 degrees Celsius is lethal for salmon,” she says, noting that one water temperature check after June’s historic heat dome clocked 23 degrees Celsius (about 73 degrees Fahrenheit). “You could tell from the kayak, just by putting your hand in the river, that things weren’t good. The water was as warm as a pool.”

According to Rasmussen, it’s one thing to take a river’s temperature on a single hot summer day. It’s another thing to know how—and where—river temperatures are changing over time. 

You need long-term water temperature data, Rasmussen says, to know whether a restoration project—like an engineered logjam—is actually working to reduce warm water impacts. It’s data that can help pinpoint the best location for that logjam in the first place. And it can help biologists like Rasmussen and Walls identify where a river is already benefiting from natural cold-water inputs from tributaries, springs, or groundwater upwellings: places high on their list for habitat conservation.

“You have to know where your cold water is,” says Rasmussen. “If you don’t know that, you don’t know where in the river to target your efforts. Where you can work to enhance that cold water habitat for fish.” 

What Rasmussen and Walls are doing on the Quillayute River is groundbreaking, says Wild Salmon Center Salmon Habitat Specialist Betsy Krier. (Wild Salmon Center, along with the US Geological Survey and Coast Salmon Partnership, are aiding parts of this project through field assistance and funding grants, including support from the Wallace Research Foundation.) Along much of the Washington Coast, river temperature data is spotty—in part due to the labor-intensive nature of sensor installation, and in part due to the limited funds to support such work by Tribal governments and local municipalities. According to Krier, there’s little time to waste in filling this data gap.

“We already know that the Olympic Peninsula is going to be one of the last, best places for salmon and steelhead in the Pacific Northwest,” says Krier. “We absolutely need solid temperature data to make sure we’re paying attention to the right trends. Nicole and the Quileute Tribe are approaching this work with a level of precision and motivation that shows what’s possible in watersheds up and down the Washington Coast.”

“We absolutely need solid temperature data to make sure we’re paying attention to the right trends,” Krier says. “Nicole and the Quileute Tribe are showing what’s possible in watersheds up and down the Washington Coast.”

The Quileute Tribe has ample reason to want to get this work right, Rasmussen says. The Tribe’s small, low-elevation reservation is hemmed in by the Pacific Ocean and Olympic National Park. As such, the Quileute are keenly aware of what climate change could mean for their lands—threats ranging from floods and landslides to hot, salmon-killing water. 

“Most people just do the restoration work,” she says. “But the Quileute Tribe wants to know without a doubt that these big projects are working. We need to make sure that the restoration work we undertake can really change things for the fish and the community.”

“Most people just do the restoration work,” Rasmussen says. “But the Quileute Tribe wants to know without a doubt that these big projects are working.”

That’s why they’ll be back in their kayaks next summer—and for seasons after that—battling tidal currents to reinstall sensors in the exact same places. 

For Rasmussen, Walls, the Quileute Tribe, and supporters like Krier, having this data will allow them to pinpoint where and when conservation actions on the river help to break the Quillayute’s  seasonal fevers.

And that, Rasmussen says, would indeed be very cool.

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Summer 2021 continues to be another tough one for wild salmon across the Pacific Northwest and British Columbia. Struggling, heat-stressed runs in the Columbia and Sacramento river systems are making national news, with climate change-induced drought and heat waves called out as the main culprit. 

It’s true that cyclical drought, combined with the onset of a drier, warmer climate regime in the Northwest, are stretching salmon rivers to the breaking point. We may also still be seeing the effects of “The Blob”—a slab of warm ocean water that frequented Northwest waters and the Gulf of Alaska between 2014 and 2019, altering ocean food webs including salmon forage. 

But we need a reality check. One hundred and fifty years of poor human decisions are what has brought salmon runs to the brink of collapse. And if we want to help salmon adapt to a changing climate, we must reverse those decisions quickly. Given the space to adapt, wild salmon can survive and even thrive in the face of change. As a species, they’ve proven remarkably resilient over the last 18 million years.    

Given the space to adapt, wild salmon can survive and even thrive in the face of change. As a species, they’ve proven remarkably resilient over the last 18 million years.

Earlier this year, Wild Salmon Center released “Ready for Change,” a framework to drive priorities and actions for resource managers and others who want to help salmon adapt to climate change. This approach requires resilience-building on two fronts: 1) restoring and protecting watersheds in a way that makes them less sensitive to climate impacts like heat waves and drought; and 2) protecting and expanding wild salmon’s natural adaptability and built-in survival mechanisms—mechanisms, like the ability to find and hold in cold water, that are driven by their genetic diversity. 

By reversing harm to watersheds and restoring healthy natural functions like cold water flows, stream shading, and connectivity to wetlands and estuaries, we give salmon populations the space they need to adapt to changing conditions. 

And by restoring salmon genetic diversity, along with a diversity of life histories—wild salmon’s varied ocean life cycles, run timings, and other adaptations—we help wild salmon leverage their full suite of survival strategies, honed through millions of years of evolution. 

If this summer’s climate events lay bare the challenges for salmon survival, they also expose our slowness to take the concrete actions that we know will improve salmon adaptation. For years, we’ve known exactly what the Northwest’s wild salmon need to survive and adapt. And yet, we’re still not doing this work on a scale or pace that matches our rapidly changing climate. We must accelerate the restoration of rivers and wild salmon diversity. And we must act now.

EIGHT THINGS WE CAN DO RIGHT NOW

By refocusing salmon habitat and fish management on the things most important for wild salmon resilience, we can make meaningful difference for this keystone species in the face of climate change. Among the many local and regional actions we can take, here are eight high-leverage decisions that will make an outsized impact for wild salmon right now. 

1. Remove the Lower Snake River dams.

Restoring the lower Snake River replaces 140 miles of lethally hot reservoirs with free-flowing cold water habitat. This action also fully opens 30,000 stream miles of upriver habitat to diverse populations of Chinook and steelhead.

2. Improve Oregon’s streamside logging protections.

Salmon start and end their lives in small forest streams. Oregon continues to have the weakest streamside logging rules on the West Coast. Right now, timber and conservation groups are at the table negotiating new rules right now for 11 million acres of private land—which represents a crucial potential turning point for wild salmon.

3. Enhance streamflow protections in key Oregon river systems and approve 59 new instream water rights.

All summer long, Oregon’s oversubscribed water system fails salmon. In some watersheds, there are more rights to water than water in streams, leaving both fish and newer water users high and dry. Meanwhile, Oregon has yet to invest the resources to form the state’s water resources “strategy” into an actionable plan that prioritizes restoring cold flows and groundwater in the highest impact areas for salmon. We can start by winning approval for 59 new instream water right applications for southern Oregon salmon rivers like the Rogue.

4. Accelerate the removal of Washington culverts.

Washington has thousands of barriers blocking hundreds of miles of high value, cold-water habitat on the Olympic Peninsula. Right now, WSC and partners are developing 50 shovel-ready top-priority projects that would open more than 100 stream miles on the Washington Coast—projects that could be accelerated with new funding under the federal infrastructure bill.

5. List spring Chinook under the Endangered Species Act in Oregon, and California.

Springers have thrived for hundreds of thousands of years by climbing high up into watersheds before low, hot summer flows. But for the past 150 years, they’ve been increasingly blocked by dams and hurt by management actions across their range. Federal agencies should follow the lead of California Fish and Game, which recently protected spring Chinook in the Klamath and Trinity river systems.

6. Manage wild steelhead for resilience in Oregon and Washington.

A more conservative salmonid management approach—one that allows small wild steelhead runs room to recover as we gather data—is needed in Oregon’s South Coast Multi-Species Plan. And on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, we must do a better job of managing fishing pressure on wild populations to give fish the chance to rebuild and adapt to changing conditions.

7. Implement more selective fishing techniques.

The wave of the future in commercial salmon harvest is the use of old fishing techniques that protect a diversity of runs and wild salmon’s natural ability to adapt. We must learn from successful revitalization of traditional selective fishing practices, including the Columbia River’s fish trap, Lummi Island reef netting, and Harrison River beach seining. Each of these models hold promise for live capture of salmon close to their home rivers in a way that allows vulnerable populations to escape commercial harvest.

8. Permanently Protect Bristol Bay.

In our new climate reality, climate resilient strongholds have become even more important. Bristol Bay’s diverse wild sockeye populations—which approached near-record runs this year overall—give us more evidence of the ability of salmon to adapt to current conditions and even thrive. That’s why it’s more important than ever that we protect this place from the threat of Pebble Mine.

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Oregon’s water is one of the state’s most precious assets, and it’s never been more stretched. Below, we spotlight some of the core structural challenges we face in adapting Oregon’s water system to a new climate reality—and how Wild Salmon Center is working to build a pipeline of smart solutions that benefit all water users, including our wild fish. 

Water from Oregon’s creeks, streams, and rivers sustains towns and industries, farms and ranches, and fish and wildlife. By law, all of this water belongs to the public. But the water rights system that governs this resource was built during a time that valued water only after it was taken from a stream. 

We now know more about the benefits of healthy streams and rivers, like the vital habitat they provide for salmon. In 1987, Oregon created instream water rights to help protect the flows that fish need. And since then, the Oregon Department of Fish & Wildlife has applied for more than a thousand of these rights on streams across the state. These “rights for the river” hold the line against new withdrawals that could otherwise draw down flows below what’s needed for healthy fish habitat. Yet because older rights get first dibs on available water, these new instream water rights—and the fish they protect—can be left high and dry during times of shortage.

As our climate changes and our rivers face greater stress, we increasingly need 21st century solutions that reflect the needs of all water users. Wild Salmon Center’s Oregon Water Initiative was launched in 2020 to help adapt this system for a changing world, and address the growing threats to Oregon’s streams and the wild fish they support.

According to the U.S. Drought Monitor, as of August 17, 2021, 99 percent of Oregon is in severe drought, with nearly three-quarters suffering through extreme or exceptional drought. These sweltering times are hard for everyone, from farmers and anglers to cities and industry. And for wild salmon and steelhead entering the freshwater rivers of Oregon’s seven coastal counties—all in severe drought—this summer’s low streamflows and high water temperatures bring a wide range of threats, including reduced coldwater spring inputs due to heavier groundwater pumping.

Compared to the historical record, these conditions are extraordinary. Yet there is broad scientific consensus that our region’s climate is warming and drying. If droughts like this are becoming Oregon’s new normal, it’s in everyone’s interest to adapt our water management framework to this complex reality.

Supporting research and monitoring on the streamflow needs of Oregon salmonids is a key goal of our new Oregon Water Initiative. We are working to protect and restore streamflow in the state’s stronghold rivers and help wild salmon capitalize on their built-in adaptive strategies. With better information, we can boost policies, investments, and actions that enhance wild fish resiliency.

Under Oregon law, all water belongs to the public. But of the roughly 93,000 water rights that are currently held in Oregon—rights that allow people to draw water from rivers, lakes, streams, reservoirs, and aquifers—just 15,000 require holders to monitor and report water use. And even within this smaller group, not everyone is playing by the rules. Right now, the Oregon Water Resources Department receives data from just 12,000 holders: just 13 percent of all water rights in the state.

This means that the agency that stewards Oregon’s water resources doesn’t have the data it needs to do its job effectively. WSC’s Oregon Water Initiative is advocating to boost OWRD’s data collection capacity and also expand water-use reporting requirements among rights holders. Oregon’s recently-passed budget provides some help, but more is needed, and fast.

Between climate change and population growth, it’s plain that all Oregonians need better data on how much water we use—especially in those precious places where wild salmon still thrive.

In Oregon, water rights have always operated on a “first-come, first-served” basis. This means that those with older water rights have first dibs on the water source. These senior holders can legally withdraw their full quota, even when streams and rivers are running low. In drought years, this creates obvious problems. But even in “normal” water years, this system can leave newer water rights holders—and wild fish—high and dry. This is because many of our streams are overallocated, meaning more water rights have been issued than water exists to satisfy them.

Two-thirds of Oregon’s water needs are met with surface water sources like rivers, streams, lakes, and reservoirs. But increasingly, demand exceeds available surface water, and climate change is further testing this outdated system. WSC’s Oregon Water Initiative works with legislators and water stakeholders to develop 21st century solutions that work for all of us—including Oregon’s prized wild salmon.

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