In late January 2025, Wild Salmon Center announced the hire of Greg Knox as our British Columbia Director: a new position within our international team of Pacific salmon policy and restoration experts. 

In the months since, Knox—the long-serving Executive Director of SkeenaWild Conservation Trust—has begun traveling the province, meeting with partners to hone his vision.  (He’s also been working with incoming SkeenaWild Executive Director Julia Hill Sorochan to ensure a smooth transition.)

Knox officially joined Wild Salmon Center in March. The timing for this new, province-wide role is fortuitous, he says. The coming months and years will bring big, possibly unprecedented challenges to salmon and steelhead conservation in B.C.—but also powerful opportunities. Key among the latter is the opportunity to build a shared base of power among conservation leaders across the province.

“There are important collaborations happening across the province to protect salmon and steelhead,” Knox says. “What there hasn’t been, so far, is one organization that’s truly dedicated to understanding the needs of conservation groups across British Columbia. Wild Salmon Center can play that support role.” 

“There hasn’t been one organization dedicated to understanding the needs of conservation groups across British Columbia. Wild Salmon Center can play that support role.”

Wild Salmon Center British Columbia Director Greg Knox

Knox says he’s ready to make this lift—and that it’s needed now, more than ever. He sees a united front as key to making conservation gains in the near future, given rapidly shifting politics and policies both in Canada and elsewhere in North America.

“At the federal level and beyond, we’re seeing new austerity, and a lot of uncertainty,” Knox says. “We’re really going to need to focus our collective attention and resources to make sure that B.C.’s wild salmon and steelhead are safe.”

Below, Knox shares how he’ll work to “raise all boats” across the province.

Wild Salmon Center: You led SkeenaWild for the past 18 years. What’s been the response from folks to your new role—and its focus not on one watershed, but an entire province?

Greg Knox: I feel pretty lucky in that everyone has been very supportive. They see the value in this move. Folks seem to feel that I can really help in this role. This position, and what it says about Wild Salmon Center’s commitment to British Columbia and its partners here—it’s just really timely. We’re entering volatile times. Wild Salmon Center can help ensure that critical work being done in the province can continue. Our goal is to raise all boats—to bring more resources to the work in BC. at a time when it’s more needed than ever. 

That’s what’s fueling my drive, is this incredible response I’ve gotten so far. I’m humbled, and also taking it really seriously. I understand that people are putting a lot of faith in me and I want to show that I’m up to the challenge. But it’s not going to be easy.

“We’re entering volatile times. Wild Salmon Center can help ensure that critical work being done in the province can continue.”

Wild Salmon Center British Columbia Director Greg Knox

What challenges are you anticipating?

We have some serious challenges right now with politics both at the federal level in Canada, and south of the border. It’s bringing a lot of uncertainty to our work. We’re likely facing reductions in spending from our federal government. So there’s austerity already starting to hit us. And there are more challenges on the horizon. In British Columbia, our recently reelected provincial government has committed to protecting salmon and protected areas. And yet, it also seems to be refocusing efforts more on the economy—and less on salmon and their habitat.

Do you see opportunities to make headway in salmon conservation, given these emerging challenges?

Absolutely.  One key opportunity lies in holding the provincial government to its 30 by 30 commitment by creating new protected areas in places like the Skeena, Nass, and Central Coast. We can work on both sides of the Canada-U.S. border to strengthen the Pacific Salmon Treaty in light of our climate challenges and the unpredictability of our salmon and steelhead returns. And we can continue to support Indigenous-led land use planning, like in the Skeena and Nass, as well as the work of First Nations to protect key salmon ecosystems like the Chilcotin River and Central Coast.

“One key opportunity lies in holding the provincial government to its 30 by 30 commitment by creating new protected areas in places like the Skeena, Nass, and Central Coast.”

Wild Salmon Center British Columbia Director Greg Knox

How do you think Wild Salmon Center—and you, personally—can help advance this work?

A good place to start is with the Indigenous communities who are leading the way in protecting salmon and steelhead habitat. This leadership isn’t just in how they’re reforming land use planning. First Nations are also doing really innovative work in selective fisheries, rebuilding plans, artificial intelligence, genetics, and other research. 

But there’s not a lot of opportunity for these communities to talk to each other, regionally or internationally. That’s where having an organization that can play a convenor role, like Wild Salmon Center, can be really helpful. We have the opportunity to help spotlight and scale this work.

“First Nations are doing innovative work in selective fisheries, rebuilding plans, artificial intelligence, genetics, and other research. We have the opportunity to help spotlight and scale this work.”

Wild Salmon Center British Columbia Director Greg Knox

Wild Salmon Center is really well positioned to help with that knowledge exchange, help showcase local heroes who are already implementing new fisheries management and habitat protection tools. Because these aren’t just ideas. These are real solutions that are already happening in rivers. And happening in a significant way here in B.C. 

You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, it sounds like. How are you preparing?

I’ve spent most of my life exploring the Skeena and Nass with friends, family, and colleagues. I’m really excited to now deepen my understanding in other salmon strongholds, and really understand them in a hands-on way. This spring and summer I’ll be getting out to the Chilcotin, Taku, Kimsquit, and maybe out to the Central Coast. I have a lot of relationship-building ahead of me with First Nations and other local partners. And, hopefully, the opportunity to learn firsthand from other communities in strongholds beyond B.C.

This incredible network of relationships is, I think, Wild Salmon Center’s true strength. We support local communities—the people on the ground who can protect their rivers over the long term. But this local support is part of a larger, global story of salmon. 

I feel really privileged to be taking on this challenge, and lucky to have so many colleagues and friends who want to work with me. I’m ready for this new adventure.

“This incredible network of relationships is Wild Salmon Center’s true strength. We support the people on the ground who can protect their rivers over the long term. But it’s part of a larger, global story of salmon.” 

Wild Salmon Center British Columbia Director Greg Knox

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Ehor Boyanowsky was a gentleman angler. A “bon vivant.” A criminology professor who loved hunting, English setters, and a bottle of good scotch.

Above all, says Wild Salmon Center founder Pete Soverel (pictured above left, with Boyanowsky’s wife Cristina Martini, center, and Boyanowsky, far right), he was a steelheader with a passion for conservation.

“Ehor’s legacy was in forging and shaping the direction of Wild Salmon Center,” Soverel says. “He was a lifelong fly fisher who supported a holistic approach to salmon conservation.”

Boyanowsky, a longtime WSC board member, passed away in September 2024 at the age of 81. The child of Ukrainian immigrants, Boyanowsky was born in Toronto and largely raised in Ontario. It was only in adulthood, when he moved west to British Columbia to teach social psychology at Simon Fraser University, that he learned to fly fish—and fell in love with steelhead. He served as President of the Steelhead Society of British Columbia and other regional fishing organizations. In 1993, he joined the board of Wild Salmon Center, where he served as director until 2006.

“Ehor was a scholar, a writer of nonfiction, and profoundly dedicated to our work to protect wild fish and wild rivers,” says WSC President & CEO Guido Rahr. “He had an incredible sense of humor, and could successfully make the case for salmon conservation with a wide range of people.” 

“Ehor’s legacy was in forging and shaping the direction of Wild Salmon Center. He was a lifelong fly fisher who supported a holistic approach to salmon conservation.”

Pete Soverel, Wild Salmon Center founder

Over his lifetime, Boyanowsky built a powerful network of friends that included the poet Ted Hughes, about whom Boyanowsky wrote the book Savage Gods, as well as the grandson of Leo Tolstoy, and Jack Hemingway, son of Ernest.

Boyanowsky tapped these social connections to extend his advocacy work for salmonids. He didn’t hold back, Soverel says, noting that Boyanowsky was unequivocal in his opposition to salmon hatcheries and highly critical of unconstrained commercial fisheries.

Boyanowsky also took the time to sit with the natural world, and marvel in its gifts. For decades, Soverel remembers, he’d visit Boyanowsky at his family ranch on the banks of the Thompson River, where the two would sip Macallan scotch, pet the dogs, and talk fish.

“He devoted much of his life and conservation work to those goals,” Soverel says. “He shared our vision. That’s why he served on our board for a decade or so. And it’s why we were friends for more than 30 years.” 

On Boyanowsky’s passing this fall, the Vancouver Sun printed a moving tribute. We will miss him, and work diligently to honor his legacy in Pacific salmon conservation.

“Ehor was a scholar, a writer of nonfiction, and profoundly dedicated to our work to protect wild fish and wild rivers. He had an incredible sense of humor, and could successfully make the case for salmon conservation with a wide range of people.” 

Guido Rahr, Wild Salmon Center President & CEO

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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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Salmon know no borders. But humans do—and our border politics can have consequences for vulnerable wild fish. Case in point are transboundary salmon rivers like the Taku. Originating in the territorial homelands of the Taku River Tlingit (pronounced KLING-kit) First Nation, high in the boreal forests of British Columbia’s Stikine Plateau, the Taku crosses the Canadian border into Alaska near Juneau before entering Taku Inlet and the Pacific Ocean. 

For salmon traveling from freshwater to ocean and back, the invisible lines between jurisdictions bring complex human interventions. For Indigenous salmon communities like the Taku River Tlingit (TRT)—a key Wild Salmon Center partner—transboundary issues are also complex, spanning politics, culture, and climate change.

“Fisheries management on transboundary rivers like the Taku require a great deal of intergovernmental cooperation,” says WSC Senior Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas, who helped to advance our recent partnership agreement with the TRT First Nation. “The experiences and insights of the Taku River Tlingit can help inform how salmon management policies could and should evolve elsewhere in the Pacific.”

One challenge is the current harvest regime for the Taku’s wild fish runs. Alaska’s marine fishing fleets are the first to encounter Taku salmon as they return home to spawn. Currently, the Pacific Salmon Treaty allows for 82 percent of Taku salmon to be harvested in these mixed-stock U.S. fisheries. Yet more than 90 percent of Taku salmon spawning and rearing habitat is upriver in TRT Nation homelands—not Alaska. 

“The experiences and insights of the Taku River Tlingit can help inform how salmon management policies could and should evolve elsewhere in the Pacific.”

Wild Salmon Center Senior Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

But transboundary issues cut both ways. Alaskan salmon advocates point to the legacy of the Tulsequah Chief Mine, located upstream in B.C. For more than 60 years, the former copper, lead, zinc and gold mine has leached acid rock drainage into the Taku watershed just northeast of the river’s border crossing into Alaska—with no proposed plan of action, yet, that satisfies the Alaskan advocates.  

Then there are the more universal challenges of a warming planet. The Taku is one of vanishingly few salmon watersheds left on Earth with glacier cover that still surpasses 20 percent. Glacial influence profoundly shapes the Taku’s topography, stream flows, and temperatures, along with where salmon can currently access habitat. But as with glaciers across the North Pacific, the Taku’s ancient ice sheets are melting fast. 

The fact that the Taku is changing isn’t lost on the Taku River Tlingit. In response, the community is taking bold new steps to protect Taku salmon from the river’s headwaters to the U.S./Canada border. In 2023, the TRT Nation named 60 percent of the 1.8-million-hectare Taku watershed an Indigenous Protected and Conserved Area, declaring this area now off-limits to extractive industries like mining, and asserting the Nation’s primary stewardship role over the watershed.

For Mark Connor, the Nation’s Fisheries Coordinator, this land declaration introduces a new and hopeful chapter in regional governance issues. The B.C. provincial government has yet to formally acknowledge this new protected area, Connor notes—but the Taku River Tlingit aren’t waiting to advance their conservation vision for the region’s wild fish runs.

“TRT is working on resiliency on a couple levels,” Connor says. “When we talk about salmon resilience, part of it is science, but there’s also cultural and organizational resilience: reconnecting the Tlingit people with the land.” 

“When we talk about salmon resilience, part of it is science, but there’s also cultural and organizational resilience: reconnecting the Tlingit people with the land.” 

Taku River Tlingit First Nation Fisheries Coordinator Mark Connor

Supported in part by The Stronghold Fund, WSC’s impact fund for salmon, the TRT Nation is now working on a basin-wide vulnerability assessment to identify where climate shifts—from glacier retreat to warmer water—are impacting the Taku’s culturally and commercially important populations of sockeye, coho, and Chinook salmon, along with runs of pink and chum salmon. Factoring climate change into fisheries policies is another area in which the Nation’s approach to stewardship holds lessons for the broader salmon community.

“It’s crazy how fast things are happening in the Taku,” says Dr. Jonathan Moore, Director of Simon Fraser University’s Salmon Watersheds Lab and a member of Wild Salmon Center’s Science Advisory Board. Dr. Moore’s work often focuses on how climate change and human land uses impact salmon. He’s one of several scholars now working with the TRT Nation to advance its work on salmon resilience and climate change.

“It’s crazy how fast things are happening in the Taku.”

Simon Fraser University Salmon Watershed Labs Director Dr. Jonathan Moore

“The Taku has no roads, no dams, and very few direct impacts of human development,” Dr. Moore adds. “So as we watch this watershed transform, with new lakes and new floodplain forests, we know that climate change is the driver.”

Climate impacts are already complicating the Nation’s wild fish stewardship, Connor says. In 2018, wildfires merged into a megablaze one watershed south of the Taku in the Stikine watershed: a sobering reminder of the Taku’s own drought-enhanced vulnerability. In 2020, a massive landslide temporarily impeded sections of the Taku mainstem, smothering and scouring salmon habitat. In 2021, record low water flows blocked passage for nearly the entirety of one key returning sockeye population. 

“As we watch this watershed transform, with new lakes and new floodplain forests, we know that climate change is the driver.”

Simon Fraser University Salmon Watershed Labs Director Dr. Jonathan Moore

“We’re told that with climate change, we can expect more landslides and these kinds of extreme weather events,” Connor says. “And yet, the Taku remains about as pristine as you’ll find anywhere in this part of Canada. We’re a stronghold, the best of what’s left.” 

That assertion aligns with WSC’s stronghold approach, which aims to focus conservation resources on maintaining largely intact rivers systems like the Taku, as our best long-term strategy for protecting wild salmon and steelhead resilience across their range.

“We’re told that we can expect more landslides and these kinds of extreme weather events. And yet, the Taku remains a stronghold, the best of what’s left.” 

Taku River Tlingit First Nation Fisheries Coordinator Mark Connor

In the still largely-protected Taku, accelerating glacier retreat is another area that represents new challenges—along with a potential silver lining. According to research from a team of scientists including Dr. Moore and WSC Science Director Dr. Matt Sloat, glacier retreat could open up new spawning and rearing areas for salmon, as long as these lands remain safe from the impacts of future human development. 

Connor says that TRT is taking emerging science on glacier retreat seriously, and building the prospect of future salmon habitat into its conservation plans.  

“Glacier retreat does have the potential to create new habitat for salmon,” Connor says. “But these are also areas where the mining sector has a lot of interest. These are conversations we should have now. And the more we know about our fish, the better.” 

Gathering that knowledge is an ambitious task. The Taku drainage covers roughly 40,000 square kilometers, and its steep, alpine subwatersheds are primarily accessed by helicopter. Tlingit Land Guardians and technicians are now regularly monitoring returning sockeye and Chinook at three weir sites at King Salmon Lake, Kuthai Lake, and the Nakina River. They’re also sampling spawned-out carcasses at a third weir site for genetic sampling, and preparing to capture data on outmigrating smolts at a fourth site on King Salmon Lake.

“Glacier retreat does have the potential to create new habitat for salmon. These are conversations we should have now.” 

Taku River Tlingit First Nation Fisheries Coordinator Mark Connor

This information—along with river temperature data from 48 new loggers installed across the watershed—can help TRT better understand where and how wild fish thrive, today and into the future. 

From mixed-stock fishing and border politics to mining and climate change, the challenges for Taku salmon are complex—and growing. But fortunately for these cherished wild runs, the TRT First Nation’s proactive and evolving salmon strategy aims to meet this moment.

“Salmon habitat is changing across the Pacific Rim,” Dr. Atlas says. “The Taku River Tlingit and their science partners are helping the world learn how salmon—and humans—can adapt. What we learn in the Taku could help protect wild fish resiliency for decades to come.”

“What we learn in the Taku could help protect wild fish resiliency for decades to come.”

Wild Salmon Center Senior Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

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In the early 1980s, Ivan Thompson moved to Lake Babine, in British Columbia’s remote Skeena watershed, to teach at a school that served many children of the Lake Babine First Nation. But as he tells it, he’s the one who got actually schooled: by the parents and grandparents of his students.

“I learned how connected these folks were to the rivers, the salmon,” remembers Thompson. “Over the years, I watched local communities fight logging and mining companies that put these values at risk. I saw the power of people when they work together.”

“I learned how connected these folks were to the rivers, the salmon. I saw the power of people when they work together.”

Ivan Thompson, board member, The Stronghold Fund

It’s a lesson he never forgot in his second, much longer career as a salmon champion. A close Wild Salmon Center partner who’s now a board member of The Stronghold Fund—our impact fund for salmon—Thompson has devoted more than four decades to building community “immune responses” in salmon watersheds in British Columbia and beyond. 

It’s work that’s spanned roles with the Tides Canada Foundation, the Sage Centre, and the Gordon and Betty Moore Foundation’s Wild Salmon Ecosystems Initiative. There and as a three-term member of Wild Salmon Center’s Board of Directors (2015-2023), Thompson saw firsthand how communities mobilized quickly to respond to threats from the Lelu Island gas export terminal at the mouth of the Skeena to Pebble Mine in Alaska and the near-auction of Oregon’s Elliott State Forest. 

Key to all of these victories, Thompson says, was tireless grassroots campaigning, buoyed by outside support, the best science, and a great story. When all these elements are present to drive home a win, that’s not a coincidence, he says—that’s strategy.

“In the early days, there was no Wild Salmon Center to show us how the Skeena fit into a grand vision,” Thompson says. “The stronghold strategy does that. It uplifts the lonely work of championing your home river.”

“In the early days, there was no Wild Salmon Center to show us how the Skeena fit into a grand vision. The stronghold strategy does that. It uplifts the lonely work of championing your home river.”

Ivan Thompson, board member, The Stronghold Fund

How powerful can a good story be, in the hands of local champions armed with facts and funds? Thompson gives an example: in the early 1990s, friends of his began to champion an idea called the Great Bear Rainforest: an ambitious, if imaginary, 6.4-million-hectare “place” that’s since taken root in magazines, on movie screens, and deep in the popular imagination. WSC’s stronghold approach, Thompson says, carries that vision across oceans.

“No one else out there is telling the big-picture story of wild Pacific salmon,” Thompson says. “Wild Salmon Center has the best scientists on the planet, and the ear of privileged people who love these places.”

“No one else out there is telling the big-picture story of wild Pacific salmon. Wild Salmon Center has the best scientists on the planet, and the ear of privileged people who love these places.”

Ivan Thompson, board member, The Stronghold Fund

As a young teacher in the 1980s, Thompson found his place by accident, in one of the best wild fish rivers on the planet. Over the next four decades, Thompson’s story has helped to shape the course of salmon advocacy in the Skeena and beyond. Within WSC, Thompson’s knowledge and experience have guided our strategy for years.

Now, on the board of The Stronghold Fund, his work continues—connecting grassroots communities with resources, research, and a place within a story that spans the North Pacific.

“This work starts with neighbors talking to neighbors,” Thompson says. “Once we all see ourselves in the story of salmon, we truly build our power.”

“This work starts with neighbors talking to neighbors. Once we all see ourselves in the story of salmon, we truly build our power.”

Ivan Thompson, board member, The Stronghold Fund

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Right now, in rivers across British Columbia’s Central Coast, we don’t know how many salmon are actually returning. At least, not until fishing seasons are over.

And yet, fisheries managers still have to make decisions. They have to make forecasts, modeled on data from the past. They have to set harvest targets for commercial and recreational fisheries. And increasingly, they have to make the call on emergency closures, when things start looking grim.

“On the north and central coast of BC, we’ve seen really wildly variable returns of salmon over the last decade,” says Dr. Will Atlas, Wild Salmon Center Senior Watershed Scientist. “With accelerating climate change, every year is unprecedented now. Yet from a fisheries management perspective, we’re still going into most seasons assuming that this year will look like the past.”

One answer, Dr. Atlas says, is “Salmon Vision.” Results from this first-of-its-kind technology—developed by WSC in partnership with the Pacific Salmon Foundation, Gitanyow Fisheries Authority, and Skeena Fisheries Commission—were recently published in Frontiers in Marine Science.

“With accelerating climate change, every year is unprecedented now. Yet from a fisheries management perspective, we’re still going into most seasons assuming that this year will look like the past.”

WSC Senior Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

Combining artificial intelligence with ancient fishing weir technology, the Salmon Vision computer deep learning model leverages rapidly emerging artificial intelligence tools to identify and count fish species.

The goal is to enable real-time salmon population monitoring for First Nations fisheries managers and beyond. 

“Many of our First Nations partners are telling us that we need to automate fish counting to make informed decisions while salmon are still running,” Dr. Atlas says. “And underwater video technology can now help us literally see those salmon return to rivers.”

“We need to automate fish counting to make informed decisions while salmon are still running. And underwater video technology can now help us literally see those salmon return to rivers. ”

WSC Senior Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

The Salmon Vision pilot study annotates more than 500,000 video frames captured at Indigenous-run fish counting weirs on the Kitwanga and Bear Rivers of B.C.’s Central Coast. Early assessments show promising adeptness in tracking 12 different fish species passing through custom fish-counting boxes at the two weirs, with scores surpassing 90 and 80 percent accuracy for coho and sockeye salmon: two of the principal fish species targeted by First Nations, commercial, and recreational fishers. 

Salmon Vision is also running on a weir operated by the Heiltsuk Nation on the Koeye River.

For First Nations like the Heiltsuk, weirs represent more than a revitalization of an age-old fishing technology. Banned in the late 1800s by Canada’s Department of Fisheries and Oceans as a way to consolidate control of fishery resources, the rebuilding of weirs on rivers like the Koeye is a statement both of First Nations sovereignty and their seat at the table in fisheries management decisions. 

“The Koeye weir is a modern-day expression of not only Heiltsuk title and rights, but also an avenue for us to be a part of the latest science,” says William Housty, Associate Director of the Heiltsuk Integrated Resource Management Department. “And to make decisions not just for the betterment of this creek, but for the whole ecosystem.” 

Now, the Salmon Vision team is implementing automated counting on a trial basis in several rivers around the B.C. North and Central Coasts with partner First Nations, with a goal of providing reliable real-time fish count data to these partners by 2024. Ultimately, Dr. Atlas says, this groundbreaking A.I. technology could be in place in rivers across the North Pacific.

“We need information on how many salmon are returning everywhere that we’re fishing for salmon,” Dr. Atlas says. “You can’t tell me with a straight face that you’re having a sustainable fishery if you don’t know how many fish you have coming back. And that’s a problem right around the Pacific Rim.”

It’s a problem with a promising solution—one that’s just now coming into focus.

“You can’t tell me with a straight face that you’re having a sustainable fishery if you don’t know how many fish you have coming back. And that’s a problem right around the Pacific Rim.”

WSC Senior Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

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Want to see the world’s largest steelhead? Try the Skeena River, on the rugged North Coast of British Columbia.

“We’re talking about some of the most powerful wild fish on the planet,” says Greg Knox. As executive director of the nonprofit SkeenaWild—a core Wild Salmon Center partner—he would know. Practically every month of the year, Knox sees steelhead return to this vast, rugged watershed: salmonids that can still surpass 40 pounds, luring anglers from across the planet. 

“Skeena steelhead bring a lot of people here to our upriver communities,” says Knox. “But me, I don’t fish for steelhead much anymore.”

It’s not that he lost interest. Of all species in their genus, Knox finds Oncorhynchus mykiss the most fascinating: adventurous, unpredictable, and highly individualistic.

“Most salmonids return to freshwater on a mission to spawn,” Knox explains. “But steelhead are explorers. They’re magical, intelligent, resilient creatures that live beneath the surface, that you sometimes chase around with a fly.”

“Steelhead are explorers. They’re magical, intelligent, resilient creatures that you sometimes chase around with a fly.”

Greg Knox, SkeenaWild Executive Director

Once, steelhead magic felt everywhere; present in watersheds from Kamchatka to Southern California, even marking the start of fishing season for Indigenous communities like the Quileute Tribe. Over millions of years across the North Pacific, steelhead evolved a breathtaking array of adaptive behaviors, from how long a juvenile may linger in-river to how many times it might return home from the ocean to spawn. (Steelhead, unlike other salmonids, aren’t necessarily one-and-done spawners.) Some—rainbow trout—make the choice to never leave freshwater in the first place.

But resilience has limits. Over the last four decades, conservationists like Knox have borne witness to stunning declines in steelhead runs: downward trends that seem to be escalating and extend well beyond Canada. Few agree on the reasons why, driving a debate made even more difficult by a lack of both data and scientific research on the species. 

“The mysteries of steelhead add challenges for their conservation,” Knox says. “We know they’re in trouble. But they’re also not as well-studied as commercial fish like sockeye or Chinook. We really haven’t yet figured them out.”

As conservation scientists race to better understand steelhead—and hopefully find solutions—Knox says the least we can do is minimize harm in the meantime. On a personal level, that means keeping his flies in the box.

But he knows that the absence of one angler on an upper Skeena tributary won’t fix the problem. Not when steelhead must survive a lethal obstacle course just to get here.

“The mysteries of steelhead add challenges for their conservation. We know they’re in trouble. But we haven’t yet figured them out.”

Greg Knox, SkeenaWild Executive Director

Here’s what we do know about the great home migration of Skeena steelhead: they first show up on our radar heading east along the Aleutian Islands. These runs travel right through the commercial salmon seine and gillnet fleet off the coast of Southeast Alaska. Then they hit commercial gillnet fisheries at the mouth of the Skeena, followed by First Nations food fisheries on the mainstem. Finally, Skeena steelhead face the sport fisheries that beckon anglers to upriver towns like Terrace and Smithers.

“Skeena steelhead have to survive this gauntlet of dangers to get back home,” Knox says. “We think one of every two gets caught and dies on its home migration, mostly when they’re still out on the open ocean.”

Steelhead, he says, are reeling under this system of “mixed-stock” marine fishing. We don’t know how many steelhead are caught and discarded as bycatch; these numbers are underreported—or not reported at all—in Alaskan and Canadian commercial fisheries. But we do know that very few discarded fish survive to spawn: whether steelhead, sockeye, or chum.

According to Knox and others, collateral damage from mixed-stock marine fishing is a real contributor to the rapid decline of B.C fisheries. In the 1970s and 80s, the province’s total annual salmon catch averaged 24 million fish. Over the last decade, that average has dropped to four million fish or less. 

“Skeena steelhead have to survive this gauntlet of dangers to get back home. We think one of every two gets caught and dies on its home migration.”

Greg Knox, SkeenaWild Executive Director

As more scientists dig into steelhead declines, Knox thinks mixed-stock fishing will be spotlighted as a key culprit. Surprisingly, this gives him hope. Because unlike global warming, we can change the way we fish right now—and see results. Knox reminds us that human communities shift gears all the time; we’re adaptable, much like another magical, resilient creature.

“I think we know the future won’t be like the past,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t still have healthy steelhead populations, and even harvest them. We just need a different approach. And we’re already headed in the right direction.”

“The future won’t be like the past But that doesn’t mean that we can’t still have healthy steelhead populations, and even harvest them. We just need a different approach.”

Greg Knox, SkeenaWild Executive Director

Since the 1940s, Canada’s Department of Fisheries and Oceans has operated a fish counting fence on the Babine River, a main Skeena tributary flowing from the rich salmon spawning habitat of Babine Lake.

The fence wasn’t DFO’s idea. For at least 1,300 years, the ancestors of the Lake Babine Nation operated a vast fish weir exactly here. The fish weir, or fish fence, was constructed of painstakingly engineered wooden panels that enabled families to harvest sockeye on route to Babine Lake. 

Weirs, like many other gear types developed by the Indigenous people of the North American West Coast, are highly effective fishing tools. According to the Lake Babine Nation Fisheries, this weir supported an estimated annual harvest of 750,000 sockeye, sustaining a network of large villages while driving trade with other Nations. 

These tools also facilitated an intimate relationship between fish runs and the people they fed. Unlike the nets dropped into dark seas by a mixed-stock marine fishing fleet, fishers on a weir know where the salmon are going—and if enough have made it home to feed the community in the future. 

This weir supported an estimated annual harvest of 750,000 sockeye, sustaining a network of large villages while driving trade with other Nations. 

Lake Babine Nation Fisheries

For millennia, Indigenous selective fishing practices sustained diverse, abundant runs of salmon and steelhead. But in the 1880s, the federal government outlawed weir technology, forcing the closure of scores of First Nation fisheries. In 1905, federal fisheries managers finally dismantled the remote Babine Lake weir. This launched a dark era for the Nation—cut off from the wellspring of physical, economic, and community health, even as DFO appropriated the site for its own use in 1946.

 Nearly a century later, a swing toward reconciliation has seen the Lake Babine Nation regain significant control of their fisheries. Since 2007, co-management with DFO has meant the reopening of the Nation’s sockeye fishery, largely on its own terms. And once again, Indigenous fishing technologies are proving their worth.

“The Babine sockeye fishery was the largest in the province in 2022,” says Greg Taylor, a seafood industry and fisheries consultant with the Lake Babine Nation and other communities. “It shows the rest of the coast what’s possible—that you can have successful commercial fisheries and still meet your conservation goals.”

For Taylor, this work also feels personal. A former representative of B.C.’s commercial gillnet fleet, Taylor once rallied against calls for change. But like Knox, he’s also an angler who’s been moved to set aside his fly rod. 

“Over time, my views on conservation have certainly shifted,” Taylor says. “It’s been a journey. I used to fish the Skeena. But I’ve seen the steelhead declines. That’s changed as well.”

“The Babine sockeye fishery shows the rest of the coast what’s possible—that you can have successful commercial fisheries and still meet your conservation goals.”

Greg Taylor, fisheries advisor, FirstFirst Consulting

To save both steelhead and other salmon species, Taylor now believes that we must pivot to selective, in-river fisheries. It’s a shift that he says makes economic sense: the Lake Babine Nation sockeye fishery alone creates more than 50 jobs each season. It’s also highly practical.

“Really, let’s face it, all those fish are going to one place, and we know where they’re going,” Taylor says. “Why cast about in the ocean when we know where to catch them for sure?”

After a century of blind-hauling salmon from the sea, Knox and Taylor say we either change the way we fish, or lose the wild runs we love. From fish weirs to reef nets, beach seines to fish traps, some say the solutions have always been close to home. 

The future won’t look like the past. But according to Dr. Will Atlas, Wild Salmon Center’s Senior Watershed Scientist, the past can give us answers—particularly for steelhead.

For millennia, he says it’s likely that First Nations and Tribes harvested steelhead at much lower rates than other species: fishing practices in sync with the species’ lower overall abundance and heightened vulnerability. What we do know is that for millennia, steelhead thrived on the B.C. coast and beyond, evidenced in the rich genetic biodiversity that we’re just now beginning to comprehensively map. For thousands of years, wild fish runs thrived alongside the selective fishing technologies and practices used by Indigenous communities.

“Steelhead are highly adaptable, but they’re also perhaps the most susceptible of all salmonids to high harvest rates,” Dr. Atlas says. “Because their success hinges on repeat spawners, every steelhead that dies in a net at sea represents the loss of not one but multiple future generations.”

In the North Salish Sea, near the mouth of the Fraser River, the Lummi people built highly engineered reef nets. On the Klamath and Salmon Rivers of Northern California, Tribal elders still pass down the art of dip-netting to their children. And fish traps, like fish weirs, were widespread up and down the West Coast.

“These fishing techniques go back thousands of years,” Dr. Atlas says. “We know they worked, given the sheer abundance of salmon and steelhead at the point of Western contact. And they’re still here.”

“These fishing techniques go back thousands of years. We know they worked, given the sheer abundance of salmon and steelhead at the point of Western contact. And they’re still here.”

WSC Senior Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

And these traditional technologies are making a comeback.

The Lummi Nation, in partnership with local commercial seafood processors, is revitalizing reef nets in the North Salish Sea. On the Columbia River, an experimental pound net—a Western adaptation of traditional fish traps—is winning over chefs and fisheries managers alike. In Summer 2023, the Nuxalk Nation piloted a fish wheel to monitor and selectively harvest salmon on the Bella Coola River. And across B.C., Dr. Atlas and First Nations partners including the Heiltsuk and Gitanyow Nations are launching new artificial intelligence-enabled fish counting weirs that fuse traditional ecological knowledge with cutting-edge machine learning. 

“There’s a lot we still don’t know about steelhead,” Dr. Atlas says. “But a resurgence of Indigenous leadership in fisheries management across the North Pacific is now helping to fill in those data gaps, while giving steelhead room to recover.” 

“A resurgence of Indigenous leadership in fisheries management across the North Pacific is now helping to fill in data gaps, while giving steelhead room to recover.” 

WSC Senior Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

To save steelhead, Dr. Atlas says we should start with what’s worked for millennia: fishing selectively in rivers, closer to home. Knox agrees. It’s why, despite all the heartbreaking charts and  trendlines, he has hope.

“Steelhead are so resilient,” Knox says. “If we give them a chance, they can adapt. They can be here again in large numbers. And it might happen more quickly than we might expect.”

For that to happen, we first have to ask: is adaptation truly a trait we share with steelhead? If so, we’ll need to show it. Let’s fix the gauntlet of problems we’ve created for a magical species. Let’s fish smarter, as fellow creatures of coexistence.

“Steelhead are so resilient. If we give them a chance, they can adapt. And it might happen more quickly than we might expect.”

Greg Knox, SkeenaWild Executive Director

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In 1999, after stepping down as Chief Executive at Intel—the revolutionary semiconductor company he cofounded in 1968—Moore invited Guido Rahr, then Wild Salmon Center’s new Executive Director, to Silicon Valley for a frank talk about the future of wild Pacific salmon and steelhead.

“Gordon was an incredibly thoughtful, modest, and perceptive person,” Rahr says. “He was determined to use his wealth to protect biodiversity in a way that would carry it through the apogee of human population growth.”

This far-reaching vision aligned perfectly with WSC’s stronghold approach. Following these first meetings, Moore became a major backer of our work in the Russian Far East. With the 2001 launch of the Gordon and Betty Moore Foundation and its Wild Salmon Ecosystems Initiative, this support became truly transformational.

“To this day, our mission is built on the Moore Foundation’s 15-year commitment to the stronghold strategy,” Rahr says. “Gordon Moore’s leadership helped to usher in a new generation of salmon conservationists and win victories that remain firmly in place.”

Gordon Moore’s leadership helped to usher in a new generation of salmon conservationists and win victories that remain firmly in place.”

WSC President & CEO Guido Rahr

Under the guidance of Aileen Lee, Charles Conn, Ivan Thompson, and Pic Walker, the Moore Foundation supported a new generation of conservation leaders in British Columbia and local efforts to fight illegal fishing, while working with WSC to support Marine Stewardship Council certification across Kamchatka, establish the 544,000-acre Kol River Salmon Refuge—Russia’s first salmon park—and foster knowledge exchange among the world’s top salmon conservation scientists.“

Over the years, I spent quality time on the water with Gordon, including a trip down the Zhupanova in Russia,” Rahr recalls. “Gordon was inspiring: a long-term thinker who truly valued the role of science in salmon recovery. He made a tremendous impact on conservation across the Pacific Rim.”

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It’s been a busy six months since we partnered up with Watershed Watch Salmon Society (WWSS) to help end the use of open net-pens off the British Columbia coast.

We thought these months would bring progress toward a plan—expected out this summer by Oceans and Fisheries Canada (DFO)—to formally transition the province away from open-net pen salmon farms. But, of course, nothing ever goes as smoothly as you might hope.

“It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster for the campaign lately,” says WWSS Senior Scientist Stan Proboszcz. “We’ve seen that these problematic salmon farming operations are really trying to stymie this process. But we’re fighting back even harder.” 

For decades, wild salmon and steelhead from the Fraser and other key B.C. salmon rivers have had no choice but to run a gauntlet of parasites, viruses, and bacteria while traveling past these fish farms.

In 2019, DFO committed to transitioning open net-pens out of B.C. by 2025. But behind the scenes, industry allies have been working to delay and water down these commitments. And in January, some of these allies within DFO released a delayed and deeply flawed report in an attempt to undermine the connection between open net-pens and parasitic infections in vulnerable wild juvenile salmon.

“The salmon farming industry is fighting for its life on the West Coast,” Proboszcz says. “We have to keep the momentum going and end this, because the industry’s lobbying and campaign-style tactics are wasting time that B.C. wild salmon don’t have.”

“We have to keep the momentum going and end this, because the industry’s lobbying and campaign-style tactics are wasting time that B.C. wild salmon don’t have.”

Stan Proboszcz, Watershed Watch Salmon Society Senior Scientist

Despite industry obstructions, WWSS and our allies have scored several big wins in recent months. In February, following the uproar over DFO’s flawed report, Minister Murray recommitted to a ban on open net-pens around the Discovery Islands. And in March, the ‘Namgis, Kwikwasut’inuxw Haxwa’mis, and Mamalilikulla First Nations announced that the seven salmon farms still operating in their territory must shut down by the end of 2023. This victory adds new momentum to the shíshálh Nation’s November 2022 decision to remove eight fish farm sites from the Lower Sunshine Coast by February 2023. 

“It appears many First Nations are ramping up pressure on DFO to make good on its promises,” Proboszcz says. “We expect the next several months will be critical ones for our campaign. This positive momentum could make all the difference.”

To stay updated on the latest in the fight to end open net-pens in B.C., visit WWSS’s “Safe Passage” campaign page.

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This summer, Canada’s Department of Oceans and Fisheries (DFO) made gains toward a promise to end open net-pen salmon farming in British Columbia with the closure of 19 operations located near the Discovery Islands.

Within weeks, the positive impacts of this move were clear to an independent field sampling team as it conducted annual observations of juvenile wild pink and chum salmon passing through these waters. 

Monitoring these populations had been a sad task in the past, due to the salmon lice covering the young fish. But this time, things were different.

“Researchers had been sampling juvenile salmon out there for years,” says Stan Proboszcz, Senior Scientist with Watershed Watch Salmon Society, a B.C.-based charity focused on wild salmon conservation. “And these fish were the cleanest they’d ever seen.”

“Researchers had been sampling juvenile salmon out there for years. And these fish were the cleanest they’d ever seen.”

Watershed Watch Salmon Society Senior Scientist Stan Proboszcz

For decades, wild salmon and steelhead from the Fraser and other key B.C. salmon rivers have run a gauntlet of parasites, viruses, and bacteria while traveling past open net-pen fish farms. And because these farms operate in open marine waters where many wild salmon stocks mingle, these negative effects also travel beyond B.C. to fisheries from Alaska to Oregon.    

“There are at least a dozen papers in top science journals on how open net-pen farms negatively impact wild salmon,” Proboszcz says. “The fact of the matter is that many migrating fish have no choice but to pass by these farms.”

These threats can be particularly lethal for wild salmon at the start of their marine life cycles, with potentially devastating effects on population health. Coho and Chinook runs in southern B.C. have been in sharp decline since at least the 1990s, when salmon farming operations first launched. And that trend extends to many other salmonid populations, including Interior Fraser River steelhead, the subject of the latest campaign for listing under Canada’s federal Species at Risk Act.

While the decline of wild Pacific salmon stems from a suite of factors—among them, human development, overfishing, ocean conditions, and climate change—there’s no question that open net-pen salmon farms contribute.

“Open net-pen fish farms pose well-known risks to wild salmon,” says WSC Salmon Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas. “For the last three decades, their waste, parasites, and pathogens have had serious impacts on wild salmon throughout southern B.C., with far too little government oversight.”

“The fact of the matter is that many migrating fish have no choice but to pass by these farms.”

Watershed Watch Salmon Society Senior Scientist Stan Proboszcz

Even with clear science and strong public pressure, DFO has been slow to act in the best interests of the nation’s wild fish. In 2019, the department made a public commitment to transition away from open net-pens by 2025. Yet this October, public statements from Minister of Fisheries Joyce Murray appear to walk back some or all of that promise.

That’s why Wild Salmon Center is joining forces with WWSS to permanently end the use of open net-pens in B.C. Grant support from WSC’s The Stronghold Fund aims to supercharge efforts to raise awareness of the dangers of open net-pens, along with DFO’s reluctance to act.

“The Stronghold Fund was created specifically to meet moments like this,” says David Finkel, TSF’s Executive Director. “This is a fight that’s playing out right now in the public sphere. We need to make sure that the federal government knows that people want this promise upheld, and in the timeframe originally outlined.”

“This is a fight that’s playing out right now in the public sphere. We need to make sure that the federal government knows that people want this promise upheld, and in the timeframe originally outlined.”

The Stronghold Fund Executive Director David Finkel

According to Dr. Atlas, the continued operation of open net-pen farms in B.C. just doesn’t pencil out—not for the province’s commercial, recreational, and subsistence fisheries, nor for the federal government itself.

“The Canadian government has committed to spending hundreds of millions of dollars on salmon recovery,” he says. “Meanwhile, we know that removing these farms is a tangible and impactful action that we can take right now for wild salmon.”

The swift and dramatic reduction in parasite levels following the Discovery Islands shutdown shows the immediate benefit of open net-pen closures for wild salmon.

On the issue of open net-pens, Canada is a regional outlier; none operate in the U.S. states of Oregon and Alaska. In Washington State, where the disastrous Cooke Aquaculture farm collapse, made headlines in 2017, the state Department of Natural Resources has banned finfish net-pen aquaculture outright. 

“We know that removing these farms is a tangible and impactful action that we can take right now for wild salmon.”

WSC Salmon Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

“The fundamental problem with open net-pens is the technology itself,” Proboszcz says. “You simply can’t control for negative impacts if the system is open.”

And yet, despite widespread consensus that these risks are irreconcilable with salmon recovery efforts, DFO now seems to be stalling on progress to phase out the province’s remaining salmon farms. 

Part of the problem, Proboszcz says, lies in DFO’s contradictory mandate to protect wild fish stocks while also promoting the aquaculture industry. In a series of public events in late October, Minister Murray all but abandoned specific language banning net-pens. It’s a disheartening twist, Proboszcz says, but more reason for conservation and fishing groups to stay the course.

“Now we really have to keep the pressure on the government to keep its commitments,” Proboszcz says. ”Backsliding isn’t a good look for DFO. And we have facts on our side, along with international partners like Wild Salmon Center joining the fight.”

Our pressure campaign aims to hold DFO to its original promise to end the use of open-net pen salmon farms in B.C. coastal waters by 2025. That includes making sure that the agency doesn’t renege on steps already outlined for public engagement, including opportunities for public comment following the anticipated spring 2023 release of a formal transition plan for phasing out open-net pens.

Our pressure campaign aims to hold DFO to its promise to end the use of open-net pen salmon farms by 2025. That includes making sure that the agency doesn’t renege on steps already outlined for public engagement in spring 2023.

“There is still time for Minister Murray to course-correct and steer her agency back on track,” Proboszcz says. “DFO must keep its promise to remove B.C. salmon farms by 2025. Anything but that is simply unacceptable.”

With southern B.C. wild salmon and steelhead on the brink—and the benefits of closing fish farms newly reinforced by the Discovery Islands closures—Dr. Atlas says we have little time or reason for more delay.

“The technology and expertise is there to transition to a closed containment or land-based model,” Dr. Atlas says. “It’s time for the government to step up and do its job of protecting wild salmon.”

“It’s time for the government to step up and do its job of protecting wild salmon.”

WSC Salmon Watershed Scientist Dr. Will Atlas

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