The approach, called the stronghold strategy, aims to proactively protect the world’s greatest remaining “strongholds”—a select group of salmon, steelhead, and trout systems that collectively comprise 119 distinct watersheds. According to Wild Salmon Center President & CEO Guido Rahr—lead author of the peer-reviewed study—salmonids center the strategy because they are both iconic and globally recognized as keystone species. For the past 25 years, Wild Salmon Center has deployed the stronghold strategy in rivers across the North Pacific, with impacts that ripple far beyond the rivers that salmon call home. 

“When you protect salmon, you protect the benefits of healthy watersheds,” Rahr says. “The science is clear that salmon rivers can safeguard food security, species biodiversity, and climate resilience. So we built a strategy centered on strongholds—some of the best salmon river systems in the world.”

“The science is clear that salmon rivers can safeguard food security, species biodiversity, and climate resilience.”

Wild Salmon Center President and CEO Guido Rahr

Strongholds are distinguished by their relatively high levels of wild salmon abundance, productivity and diversity, along with habitat quality capable of sustaining wild salmon for decades. They include vast and stunning places like Bristol Bay, Alaska, and the Skeena and Dean watersheds in British Columbia. According to the authors, strongholds can play a key role in advancing the world’s 30 x 30 conservation goals. As some of the planet’s last large, intact landscapes, salmon strongholds sequester 6.1 billion tons of greenhouse gasses—roughly equivalent to 3.5 years of total U.S. emissions.

“Strongholds are already working hard on our behalf,” says study co-author and Wild Salmon Center Science Director Dr. Matthew Sloat. “We can build on their benefits by scaling up our stewardship. But time is a factor. The window is closing in which we can protect these systems from the threats that are breaking so many other salmon rivers.”

“Strongholds are already working hard on our behalf. We can build on their benefits by scaling up our stewardship. But time is a factor.”

Wild Salmon Center Science Director Dr. Matthew Sloat

The authors note that the stronghold strategy aims to complement—rather than replace—different strategies to recover endangered salmon populations in systems degraded by development, harmful resource extraction, and other threats to wild fish. But in action, the stronghold strategy is uniquely proactive. In the decades since the strategy’s conception, Wild Salmon Center and a network of partners have protected 35.7 million acres of overall habitat and prioritized wild fish biodiversity in 89 rivers across the North Pacific.

The study provides multiple case studies on the stronghold strategy’s impact. In Oregon, for example, NOAA Fisheries noted an increase in coho salmon population diversity following the strategic expansion of coastal “wild fish zones.” Another case study tracks the 2006 designation of Russia’s Kol watershed as the first World Heritage Site dedicated to salmon, as led by Wild Salmon Center and a coalition of Russian partners. The Kol’s whole-watershed protections became permanent in 2015, and have inspired the creation of nine additional large-scale protected areas for wild salmon across the Russian Far East.

“The stronghold strategy is already sustaining local fisheries, slowing the pace of biodiversity loss, and helping to mitigate climate change,” Dr. Sloat says. “The long-term protection of strongholds is one of the smartest, most cost-effective investments we can make for the health and wellbeing of future generations.”

“The long-term protection of strongholds is one of the smartest, most cost-effective investments we can make for the health and wellbeing of future generations.”

Wild Salmon Center Science Director Dr. Matthew Sloat

The stronghold strategy aims to ensure that these systems will remain safe for decades, Dr. Sloat notes. For each system, success rests on achieving three pillars of durability: 

1. Layered habitat protection and restoration. Each stronghold needs policies that can protect land and water through shifts in politics and economic pressure. 
   
2. A fisheries management emphasis on wild fish biodiversity. According to Dr. Sloat, the rich genetic and life history diversity of salmon is the species’ superpower, enabling them to survive ice ages, floods, and dramatic climate changes. 
   
3. A culture of local stewardship. The enduring presence of local land and water guardians builds what Rahr calls a human “immune response”—community members who stand ready to defend a stronghold from threats.

“The stronghold strategy is about more than ensuring a future that we can share with these amazing wild fish,” Rahr says. “It’s about a legacy of wild rivers and wild places that we inherited, and that we owe to our children and grandchildren.” 

“The stronghold strategy is about more than these amazing wild fish. It’s about a legacy of wild rivers and wild places that we inherited, and that we owe to our children and grandchildren.” 

Wild Salmon Center President and CEO Guido Rahr

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The West Susitna is roadless for a reason. It’s a global salmon stronghold—home to all five species of salmon found in Alaska—and beloved by outdoor recreationalists of all stripes.

That uniqueness is why Alaskans have said no to past projects that put this area at risk. And it’s why they’re gearing up to say no to the West Susitna Industrial Access Road this spring, when the latest phase of this project opens for public comment.

This road would be devastating for the West Susitna region, says Wild Salmon Center Alaska Director Emily Anderson. For starters, it would run for 100 miles into the heart of the West Susitna backcountry, crosscutting and damaging at least 83 free-flowing salmon streams in the process. This damage would come at public expense: costing at least $600 million in public funding all to the benefit foreign mining companies.

“The West Susitna is one of the most visited areas in the state,” Anderson says. “West Su tourism supports hundreds of small businesses and thousands of jobs. This road risks all that, and puts Alaskans on the hook for hundreds of millions of dollars.”

Since 2014, the Alaska Industrial Development and Export Authority (AIDEA) has pushed for this road despite strong opposition from Alaska business owners, Tribes, hunters, anglers, mushers, and outdoor enthusiasts. The Defend the West Susitna coalition has been key to making Alaskans’ voices heard throughout this long process, Anderson says.

“Alaskans can’t afford to waste these public funds to subsidize foreign mining companies,” she notes. “Especially now, when state funding is sorely needed for essential services like education.”

Because the original road proposal has become so unpopular, some agencies are now trying to advance the industrial road through indirect means. In July 2024, the Alaska Department of Transportation (DOT) proposed what it said was an unrelated 22-mile “recreation” road—albeit one that ends exactly where AIDEA’s industrial road begins. Local business leaders called out the deception.

“West Su tourism supports hundreds of small businesses and thousands of jobs. This road risks all that, and puts Alaskans on the hook for hundreds of millions of dollars.”

Wild Salmon Center Alaska Program Director Emily Anderson

When scoping for the DOT road’s public review opened in August 2024 , thousands of Alaskans again spoke out in opposition. (Later this year, when DOT’s environmental assessment is released, the public will have another chance to speak up.)

Now, there’s a third road proposal in the works—one that aims to pick up at the other end of AIDEA’s industrial road. Australia’s Nova Minerals—one of the speculators that stands to benefit from publicly-funded access to its remote mining claims—has applied to build its own 12.4-mile road at an airstrip that marks the tail end of the 100-mile road. 

“Alaskans can’t afford to waste these public funds to subsidize foreign mining companies. Especially now, when state funding is sorely needed for essential services like education.”

Wild Salmon Center Alaska Program Director Emily Anderson

“Nova is banking on Alaskans to invest at least $600 million to subsidize its speculation,” Anderson says. “But state leaders need to listen to what Alaskans have been saying for the past decade: we don’t want the West Su to be privatized, let alone at public expense.”

The West Su is an Alaskan treasure, she says—a special place where the value of unparalleled fishing, hunting, and outdoor recreation clearly outweighs industrial development. 

That’s why this year, and for as long as it takes to stop this project, we’ll be there to hold state agencies accountable—alongside Alaska business owners, Tribes, hunters, anglers, mushers, and outdoor enthusiasts. 

“State leaders need to listen to what Alaskans have been saying for the past decade: we don’t want the West Su to be privatized, let alone at public expense.”

Wild Salmon Center Alaska Program Director Emily Anderson

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On a crisp mid-October morning on Northern California’s Klamath River, eight Mongolians peered over the rail of a ridgetop platform, taking in the spectacular view.

Far below the Mongolia delegation members—experts in aquatic ecosystems, biology, chemistry, and construction engineering—an arc of river flowed freely through a gentle gorge. Just months ago, the floor of this gorge had been 200 feet underwater.

It was a vista made possible by the absence of the 60-year-old Iron Gate Dam. The massive earthen wall once generated hydropower for thousands of households, but its usefulness had waned in recent decades. By the turn of the 21st century, Iron Gate—much like three even older dams immediately upstream—produced little energy. To stay in place, its private owners would need to invest in costly modern upgrades, including fish passage. 

And so, starting in 2023, Iron Gate Dam and its upriver counterparts came down as part of the largest dam removal in history. The $500 million project stemmed from decades of activism and leadership from Tribes including the Karuk and Yurok, the active support of multiple governors on both sides of the Oregon/California border, and the formation of a new nonprofit entity, the Klamath River Renewal Corporation, to oversee the massive undertaking. 

Far below the Mongolians, an arc of river flowed freely. Just months ago, the floor of this gorge had been 200 feet underwater.

With Iron Gate’s reservoir now gone, the Mongolian delegation could see the former dam’s namesake rock flanges on either side of the riverbanks. Sweeping up those banks, native seedlings were already taking root: willow and lupine, oaks and yarrow. 

The Mongolian experts were here to ask big questions. As guests of a knowledge exchange hosted by Wild Salmon Center’s International Taimen Initiative, their presence here aimed in part to advance a global dialogue on how best to protect taimen, the world’s largest salmonids.

Mongolia is home to some of the most pristine and productive taimen rivers across Eurasia. But the nation is also looking for ways to sustainably develop and expand its domestic energy production. That drive for energy means that some of Mongolia’s most iconic taimen rivers are also now attractive locations for new hydropower dams and water storage infrastructure. 

Which is why, this October morning, the Mongolian experts wanted to see firsthand what it looks like to dam—and undam—a salmon river. As one visiting Mongolian scientist explained: “We have to inform the decision makers.”

They put their questions to another expert: Toz Soto, program manager for the Karuk Fisheries Program. For years, Soto advocated for the Klamath dams to come down on behalf of his employer, the Karuk Tribe.

With dam removal underway this summer, Soto helped advise the Klamath River Renewal Corporation on how best to protect fisheries during the complicated deconstruction process. Now, the project was complete. Looking down at the newly free-flowing river, Soto told the Mongolian delegation that the sight “still takes my breath away.”

“This is the largest dam removal to occur in the world,” Soto reflected. “I think it sets a good precedent for us as humans when infrastructure is built, lives its life, and is removed. Dams are not permanent. And that can give folks that love rivers and salmon hope.”

“This is the largest dam removal to occur in the world. I think it sets a good precedent for us as humans when infrastructure is built, lives its life, and is removed.”

Toz Soto, Karuk Fisheries Program Manager

Taimen and Salmon: Headwater Lessons

When the Klamath dams went in, salmonid conservation science was in its infancy. Researchers didn’t understand the genetics that drive spring Chinook to climb higher in rivers than their fall-run cousins. Few knew that some salmonids make use of vast stretches of freshwater very early in life. And we hadn’t yet experienced the full costs of cutting off wild fish runs from their natal streams.

From 1913 until dam removal, the majority of the Klamath River Basin had been blocked to salmon. Three of the four dams built on the Klamath mainstem—Iron Gate, Copco No. 1, and Copco No. 2—were built without any fish passage at all. In recent decades, as Tribes and conservation groups pushed for dam removal, some opponents argued that salmon never migrated above Iron Gate. They claimed it was a myth that salmon ever made use of spawning and rearing habitat higher up in Klamath Lake and its tributaries. 

When the Klamath dams went in, we hadn’t yet experienced the full costs of cutting off wild fish runs from their natal streams.

The Karuk and other Tribes, of course, knew this argument was false; they had oral (and photographic) history to prove that Klamath salmon migrated far into what is now called Oregon.

In 2017, genetic science caught up with Tribal knowledge. Research by current Wild Salmon Center scientists and others confirmed that both spring and fall Chinook did indeed travel hundreds of miles to reach the upper Klamath Basin—both in the distant past, and up until roughly the time of the dams’ construction. 

The Klamath River mainstem stretches some 260 miles from its estuary near Crescent City, California, to Klamath Lake in Oregon. That’s already an epic journey for salmon. But genetic data show that Klamath salmon traveled all the way to spring-fed upper lake tributaries like the Wood and Sprague—through salt marshes and pine forests, shallows and cascades, algae-rich lake expanses and cold, steep mountain streams. 

To take in the full scope of this vast pre-dam salmon habitat, the Mongolia delegation began their three-day tour 100 miles north of the Iron Gate. Here, in the uppermost reaches of the Klamath’s historic salmonid habit, Chinook salmon and steelhead haven’t been present for at least a century.

Standing by the banks of the gin-clear Wood River, Wild Salmon Center Mongolia Senior Manager Dr. Saulyegul Avlyush talked with other delegation members about conservation back home. In particular, they focused on how to balance the nation’s development needs with protections for Siberian taimen: an IUCN red listed species that international scientists are still struggling to understand.

The topic of wild fish conservation felt like a thread linking East and West. Like Klamath salmon, Siberian taimen and native species like lenok and grayling are long-distance travelers. And also like Klamath salmon, they rely on a wide range of habitats.

“We hypothesize that Siberian taimen make use of everything from headwaters and tributaries to large mainstem rivers, where they can hold in deep pools during iced-over winter months,” Dr. Avlyush says. “For taimen, I see parallels with Klamath salmon. It’s interesting for us to see how fish here used these systems before the dams, and how things changed for them when the dams went in.”  

The topic of wild fish conservation felt like a thread linking East and West.

A Salmon Stronghold Dammed, then Free

Wild Salmon Center’s stronghold strategy holds that where salmon rivers are still healthy and intact, we must protect them as they are, before we lose ground. But across the West, many salmon rivers lost ground to development long ago. Direct intervention—habitat restoration and dam removal, for example—become necessary tools for salmon recovery. Profoundly altered rivers like the Klamath offer a powerful case study.

It’s been generations since Chinook salmon have made the journey all the way back to lake headwater rivers like the Wood and Sprague. And even with dam removal, the Klamath River remains altered. Above the 38-mile former reservoir chain, salmon still need to make it past the Keno and Link River dams at the lake outlet, and then across the vastness of Klamath Lake itself. But now, at least, that journey is possible.

“It’s exciting to think that salmon could make it back to places like the Wood River,” Dr. Avylush says. “But it’s also a good reminder for us in Mongolia to keep the needs of fish in mind from the very beginning when we consider our own development projects. That’s just one lesson we can take back home.”

Already, she says, conversations held during this knowledge exchange have catalyzed new plans for Wild Salmon Center and its partners in Mongolia, from habitat protections to fisheries management improvements.

“It’s exciting to think that salmon could make it back to places like the Wood River. It’s also a good reminder for us in Mongolia to keep the needs of fish in mind from the very beginning.

Wild Salmon Center Mongolia Senior Manager Dr. Saulyegul Avlyush

Proactive steps, and a growing body of conservation science, could help Mongolia improve the health outlook for salmonids and many other cherished aquatic species—along with the full diversity of habitats these species require for long-term survival. 

In the Klamath Basin, a source of much of this new, internationally-cited science, there is growing consensus that to rebuild, salmon here must reclaim historic freshwater habitat above the dams. High on the list of potential game-changing salmon nurseries are the cold, clean, climate-resilient tributaries of the upper Klamath. 

On the banks of the Wood River, standing next to Dr. Avlyush, Wild Salmon Center Science Advisor Dr. Jonny Armstrong—an influential expert in salmonid behavior and landscape ecology—pointed to a rich abundance of coarse gravel in the riverbed. One day soon, a Chinook hen could find her way here. And she might decide, like her ancestors did a century ago, that it’s the perfect place to build a redd. 

History won’t repeat itself in a river system as altered as the Klamath. But with time and healing, it’s now possible that it could rhyme.

To rebuild, salmon will need to find their way back to historic freshwater habitat like the cold, clean, climate-resilient tributaries of the upper Klamath. 

Global Questions: Development, Dams, and Decisions

From the Iron Gate viewing platform, on the exchange’s final day, the really big questions came into stark focus. Over the past two decades, as aging, fish-blocking dams come down across the American West, Mongolia is advancing the development of its own water infrastructure, including hydropower dams.

But as the Klamath dams illustrate, unforeseen and unintended consequences can accompany these river-altering infrastructure projects. In the Klamath, dam-building contributed to the near-extirpation of Klamath spring Chinook, a sharp drop in local fishing tourism, and water contamination from the reservoirs’ frequent toxic algal blooms. Dams can also create new anxieties; as they age, downriver communities must live with the increasing possibility of catastrophic dam failure.

As the Klamath dams illustrate, unforeseen and unintended consequences can accompany river-altering infrastructure projects.

Every development project has trade-offs, says Dr. Avlyush. She notes that time has brought improvements to hydropower, from more ecologically-informed project siting to better fish passage. And she hopes that Mongolian scientists and other experts can help expand the conversation to include the welfare of species like taimen, as well as Mongolia’s nascent ecotourism industry. There are also questions to consider about livestock, which can be sensitive to the water quality issues of some dams.

“In Mongolia, more than 90 percent of our rivers are free-flowing,” Dr. Avlyush says. “As scientists, part of our role is to take best practices from around the world and share them with decision-makers, including those who are planning to expand hydropower development in Mongolia.”

“In Mongolia, more than 90 percent of our rivers are free-flowing. As scientists, part of our role is to take best practices from around the world and share them with those who are planning to expand hydropower development.”

Wild Salmon Center Mongolia Senior Manager Dr. Saulyegul Avlyush

Local communities, she says, must also be part of these decisions. In Mongolia, taimen are revered by many. Across the Pacific, for Tribal communities including the Karuk, the century-long decline of salmon—and Chinook salmon in particular— has been devastating, bringing anxiety, health risks, and heartbreak.

For communities whose core identities center on wild fish and rivers, the impacts of long-ago decisions can last for generations. But that day on the Klamath, Toz Soto shared some exciting news. As the morning sun warmed the platform, members of the Mongolian delegation clustered around Soto to watch a stunning few seconds of video on his phone.

Sonar monitoring equipment had just caught images of a Chinook salmon swimming above the Iron Gate Dam site—possibly the first to do so in more than eight decades. (Soon after, salmon were confirmed migrating above all four dam sites, and even spawning in Oregon’s Spencer Creek.)

It was a breath of hope for this once mighty salmon river—one that, Soto shared, had felt like it might never come. 

Sonar caught images of a Chinook salmon swimming above the Iron Gate Dam site—possibly the first to do so in more than eight decades.

So yes: common sense and science still hold that it’s better to protect a healthy salmon river than try to fix a broken one. But as one grainy video of a wriggling fish made clear that October morning, it’s not by chance that wild salmonids have survived for millions of years. Salmon can recover from some of the harshest things we can throw at them—if we give them a fighting chance.

“I think the message to folks that are coming from around the world to see this is that you as people that live on your river, you can protect it,” Soto says. “You can take ownership of your river and protect it. And if you have to, you can restore it.”

“The message to folks from around the world to see this is that you can take ownership of your river and protect it. And if you have to, you can restore it.”

Toz Soto, Karuk Fisheries Program Manager

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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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An expanded fishing season off the Oregon Coast. Early fishing at the Columbia River’s Buoy 10. Record returns above Willamette Falls. For Oregon coho salmon fishers, an exceptionally good 2024 fishing season has been a welcome surprise. For salmon conservationists, takeaways are a bit more complicated.

“When we have strong returns like this, we want to understand what’s going well, so we can do more of that, if we can,” says Wild Salmon Center Watershed Restoration Director Jess Helsley. “But in salmon recovery, there’s an ocean of factors at play.”

“When we have strong returns like this, we want to understand what’s going well, so we can do more of that.”

Jess Helsley, Wild Salmon Center Watershed Restoration Director

Starting with the ocean itself: the biggest single factor shaping Pacific salmon returns. According to experts, recent favorable marine conditions are likely why 2024 steelhead runs have been strong across the Pacific Northwest and Canada. Oregon Coast coho, Helsley says, are benefitting from that same good fortune. 

“We know that coho have a hard time during warm ocean cycles,” Helsley says. “The coho runs now making their way into our stronghold rivers had the luck of cooler ocean conditions, and we’re very happy about that. But when ocean conditions shift—and they will—there won’t be a whole lot we can do about that.”

“The coho runs now making their way into our stronghold rivers had the luck of cooler ocean conditions, and we’re very happy about that. But when ocean conditions shift—and they will—there won’t be a whole lot we can do about that.”

Jess Helsley, Wild Salmon Center Watershed Restoration Director

Another factor is likely boosting coho runs this year, however—one that’s very much in our hands. Since 2017, the WSC-led Coast Coho Partnership has actively restored miles of coho habitat up and down the Oregon coast. And this work is accelerating, thanks to unprecedented waves of state and federal funding for restoration and climate resilience. As of this year, we’ve launched science-based, watershed-specific restoration plans for a dozen coastal salmon systems (and counting), from the Elk River to the Nehalem.

And this work is paying off. According to a 2022 report from NOAA Fisheries, significant habitat restoration could be why Oregon’s ESA-listed coho populations are a “bright spot in salmon recovery”—remaining comparatively stable over the past decade, as other West Coast salmon species have declined.

“We’re still too early in the game to measure how, exactly, this work impacts wild coho,” Helsley says. “But we do know that this kind of targeted habitat restoration is the smartest investment we can make to keep coho population trends going in the right direction.”

“We know that this kind of targeted habitat restoration is the smartest investment we can make to keep coho population trends going in the right direction.”

Jess Helsley, Wild Salmon Center Watershed Restoration Director

If we can’t control the ocean, we can make sure that Oregon coho have access to more cold, clean, off-channel habitat during their time in freshwater. Right now, Helsley says, coho are limited by a lack of quality habitat before they even make it to sea. And that’s a bottleneck we can fix.

“Over the past century or so, we blocked off a lot of the best places for juvenile salmonids to rear and grow strong,” Helsley says. “We can’t fix everything, but we can target the most strategic, high-yield projects in each river system. And that’s exactly what we’re doing now with projects like Tioga Falls and Cedar Creek.”

From removing fish barriers to reconnecting floodplains, the Coast Coho Partnership has already made life better for wild fish in systems like the Elk, Siuslaw, Coos, and Nehalem. Over the next decade, Helsley says we can build on the promise of strong coho years like this one—provided that federal investments continue, and state agencies make good on commitments to better steward forestlands and estuaries across the Oregon Coast. 

Will we seize this opportunity to shift a “bright spot in salmon recovery” into true light at the end of the tunnel? For coho—a cherished species still teetering on the brink—what we do next will show our commitment to their recovery.

“We can’t fix everything, but we can target the most strategic, high-yield projects in each river system. And that’s exactly what we’re doing now.”

Jess Helsley, Wild Salmon Center Watershed Restoration Director

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By late August, sighs of relief echoed across the Skeena Basin. Numbers were in from the Tyee Test Fishery: more than 33,000 steelhead had passed the lower Skeena—up from 2023’s run of 10,000 fish, and the 13th best return on record.

“We’re happy that returns are strong,” says Greg Knox, Executive Director of SkeenaWild, a core Wild Salmon Center partner. “But one year doesn’t make a trend.”

Knox’s note of caution holds water. After all, we’re just three years distant from the river’s lowest steelhead returns on record—when just  5,400 steelhead passed the test fishery. For at least the past five years, Knox says, the reality is that Skeena steelhead returns have remained stubbornly low. 

“There can be a sense, with a strong year like this, that everything is fine again,” Knox says. “But we’re not. If we’re serious about the long-term health of these fish, we have to consider the bigger picture.”

“There can be a sense, with a strong year like this, that everything is fine again. But if we’re serious about the long-term health of these fish, we have to consider the bigger picture.”

SkeenaWild Executive Director Greg Knox

An Ocean of Unknowns

2024 hasn’t just been good for Skeena steelhead. Numbers are up elsewhere in North and Central British Columbia rivers like the Nass, and even down in the Columbia River Basin.

For scientists like Dr. Nate Mantua—a WSC Board Member, Science Advisor , and head of the Salmon Ecology Team at NOAA’s Southwest Fisheries Science Center in California—broad patterns like this indicate that something may be happening at sea. 

Steelhead are intrepid ocean travelers, covering distances that can surpass 4,000 kilometers (roughly 2,500 miles) in their multi-year marine journey. Across a broad expanse of the North Pacific Ocean, different steelhead runs overlap, resulting in shared life experiences. The trajectories of steelhead can also overlap with other salmonids—pink salmon, most notably.

“Steelhead tend to stay in the top few meters near the surface, where they’re subject both to warming water and fierce resource competition from much more abundant species like pink salmon,” Dr. Mantua says. “Growing evidence suggests that these factors are helping to drive long-term declines in West Coast steelhead.”

“Evidence suggests that warming water and fierce resource competition from much more abundant species like pink salmon are helping to drive long-term declines in West Coast steelhead.”

Dr. Nate Mantua, NOAA Southwest Fisheries Science Center

But sometimes, if rarely these days, shifts in marine conditions can prove temporary boons to salmon and steelhead. Though in a system as vast as the ocean, Dr. Mantua is reluctant to guess where or how things might have gone right.

“When you see returns like this year’s, it’s an indicator that 2024 steelhead didn’t get knocked down by tough ocean or stream conditions—that a lot of things lined up in their favor,” Dr. Mantua says. “It shows that these populations still have a lot of potential, when ocean and stream conditions aren’t sharply limiting.”

“Returns like this year’s, it’s an indicator that 2024 steelhead didn’t get knocked down by tough ocean or stream conditions. It shows that these populations still have a lot of potential.”

Dr. Nate Mantua, NOAA Southwest Fisheries Science Center

If ocean conditions can arguably take the bulk of credit for boosting 2024 steelhead returns, Knox says that means fisheries managers should be careful about reading too much into their own last-minute pivots. 

For him, one comparatively good year doesn’t change the need for humans to keep reducing pressure on steelhead. He notes that over the past six decades, the Skeena’s annual summer runs have rarely left the escapement “concern zone”—when it’s estimated that too few fish are making it to spawning grounds to sustain future runs. 

“Ocean conditions in the North Pacific are widely variable,” Knox says. “Next year, we could easily be right back in a place where ocean conditions shift, and we’re again having to consider closing fisheries.”

Knox says that while we can’t control the ocean, we still can make a difference for steelhead, both near shore and in freshwater. For the past few years, SkeenaWild and other organizations have been pushing for reforms to Southeast Alaska’s marine salmon fishery, where Skeena steelhead can be caught alongside target pink salmon and other species. A solution, Knox says, is to move the fishery closer to shore. It’s an idea that’s taking root across the Pacific, as a growing body of science points to the promise of selective, terminal fisheries in building more sustainable fisheries. 

“We strongly support the expansion of Indigenous selective fishing practices in the Skeena,” Knox says. “This is the future of fishing.” 

He points to the Kitselas First Nation’s new fish wheel, as well as dip-netting at the Gitanyow Fish Camp at Lax An Zok—where Knox and partners at Watershed Watch Salmon Society recently saw firsthand the efficiency of these selective practices in action.

If one good year doesn’t make a trend, perhaps sustained action can get us there: doing everything we can, every year, to get more Skeena steelhead upriver.

When that happens, Knox says, he just might be ready to break out the confetti.

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The Secretary of the Interior today announced full protections for tens of million acres of public lands across Alaska, safeguarding them from extractive industrial development. 

You spoke up and Washington listened!

These rich landscapes, including millions of acres around the Bristol Bay, Yukon and Kuskokwim regions support all five species of Pacific salmon, three of North America’s largest caribou herds, abundant moose populations, and vast numbers of migratory birds. 

Protecting these places from industrial development will help buffer vulnerable fish and wildlife populations from the effects of climate change and provide future food security for Alaska Native Tribes in over 100 communities. On behalf of Alaskan communities, fish, and wildlife: Thank you!

Keeping Critical Landscapes Intact

Since January 2021, we’ve been working with our partners to stop five Public Land Orders prepared by the Secretary of the Interior under the Trump Administration. The orders would have opened up some 28 million acres of public lands and waters to extractive industrial development. (See these 5 maps that help tell the story.) 

The salmon- and wildlife-rich federal lands named in the orders are located in the Bristol Bay, Bering Sea Western Interior, East Alaska, Kobuk Seward, and the Ring of Fire regions.

Known as “D-1” lands, these acres have been considered off-limits to mineral, oil, and gas extraction since the passage of the 1971 Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act (ANCSA). 

Alaska’s BLM-managed D-1 lands (50.1 million acres in total) cover roughly 13 percent of the state. These large swaths of unfragmented habitat represent some of the nation’s largest remaining intact ecosystems, from high alpine tundra to the pristine estuaries and wetlands in places like Bristol Bay, home to the world’s most abundant wild sockeye runs.

These landscapes support migratory birds and roving herds of caribou, while their undisturbed watersheds deliver the cold, clean water that wild fish need to weather accelerating climate impacts. For Alaska Native communities that rely on subsistence fishing and hunting, D-1 lands are critical to supporting food security and maintaining a way of life that has endured for millennia.

These protections are arguably more important than ever, given the pressures of climate change on Alaska’s natural systems, fish and wildlife populations, and human communities.

When Congress enacted ANCSA five decades ago, it expressly withdrew unreserved lands in Alaska to allow the Secretary of the Interior time to determine whether opening these lands to resource extraction served the public interest. 

The Bureau of Land Management’s environmental review process, launched in 2023, brought a chance for communities, hunters, anglers, and conservation groups to make the case that strong D-1 land protections—not resource extraction—best serve the public interest.

Public Support

And make the case, you did. Over 100,000 Americans spoke out in favor of keeping full-fledged protections. That included over half of Alaska Native Tribes and hundreds of businesses.

People across Alaska and the country understood the value of these large landscapes. You understood how this land use decision could impact fish and wildlife habitat, and cultural and subsistence resources for thousands of people.

You understood this campaign was a historic opportunity. Now, we can rest easier, knowing that the future of some of our last, best undisturbed public lands is more secure.

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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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Today, Wild Salmon Center and our Bristol Bay Defense Fund coalition partners celebrate the introduction of the Bristol Bay Protection Act in Congress. 

The bill—sponsored by Representative Mary Peltola (D-AK)—marks a big step forward for our coalition’s decade-long campaign to permanently safeguard the world’s greatest sockeye salmon fishery. 

Rep. Peltola’s bill would layer protections on top of a 2023 decision by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency to invoke Clean Water Act (“404c”) protections for the headwaters of Bristol Bay. The agency’s decision made this area off-limits to the Pebble Mine project, which would have been the world’s largest open pit mine.

“This bill would ensure that the headwaters of Bristol Bay stay off limits to Pebble and mines like it,” says WSC Alaska Director Emily Anderson. “Given mounting pressure from extractive industries, an act of Congress can make sure that Bristol Bay can withstand future development threats.”

“This bill would ensure that the headwaters of Bristol Bay stay off limits to Pebble and mines like it. An act of Congress can make sure that Bristol Bay can withstand future development threats.”

WSC Alaska Director Emily Anderson

If signed into law, the Bristol Bay Protection Act would codify EPA’s 2023 final determination. That move—which followed years of relentless advocacy by Bristol Bay Tribes, our coalition partners, and more than four million letters of support to EPA—was spotlighted last spring in the White House Rose Garden. 

“Bristol Bay and its irreplaceable fishery deserve the strongest possible defense from shifting politics and beyond,” Anderson says. “This bill is a big step in the right direction.”

“Bristol Bay deserves the strongest possible defense from shifting politics and beyond. This bill is a big step in the right direction.”

WSC Alaska Director Emily Anderson

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From headwaters in Lassen National Forest, Butte Creek runs some 110 miles southwest through steep canyons and farmland to its confluence with the Sacramento River near Colusa, in California’s Central Valley. A slender thread for much of its length, Butte Creek nevertheless boasts wild spring Chinook runs that rival much larger rivers like Oregon’s Rogue.

“Butte Creek spring Chinook are the reason why Sacramento springers overall aren’t yet considered to be fully endangered under the Endangered Species Act, only threatened,” says Wild Salmon Center Senior Manager John Kober. “We all should be paying attention to this special salmon run.”

“Butte Creek spring Chinook are the reason why Sacramento springers aren’t yet considered to be fully endangered. We all should be paying attention to this special salmon run.”

WSC Senior Manager John Kober

In recent decades, Butte Creek springers have proven to be surprisingly resilient: rebounding from heat waves, disease outbreaks, warm water, and water management mishaps. Meanwhile, other Central Valley wild spring Chinook populations have all but disappeared.

The decline of Central Valley salmon has many analogues: natural resource extraction and human development have changed, dammed, and degraded countless salmon and steelhead rivers up and down the West Coast. 

But the story of California’s Central Valley is particularly dramatic. A century ago, the rivers of this vast drainage may have seen spring Chinook runs as large as 700,000 fish. In recent decades, good years rarely top 30,000 across the entire valley. And many of these fish are headed to Butte Creek. In some recent years, nearly 15,000 spring Chinook have reached spawning grounds in Butte Creek—though these numbers fluctuate widely.

Why Butte Creek? Kober says scientists are still studying the secrets of this erratic standout. But in a region where most salmon streams were beheaded by dams decades ago,  Butte Creek’s own dams—collectively, the PG&E DeSabla-Centerville hydroelectric project—are now managed to release cold water in summer to an 11-mile downstream stretch of habitat utilized by holding and spawning adult salmon. Lower Butte Creek, meanwhile, represents some of the Central Valley’s last functional rearing habitat: refugia where juvenile spring Chinook can bulk up to better their odds of surviving their perilous journey to the ocean. 

But given the volatility of the Central Valley’s last, best spring Chinook run, Kober says that banking on comparatively good conditions isn’t enough to keep Butte Creek’s springers protected.

“What we need is a long-term plan for Butte Creek,” he says. “Because losing the Central Valley’s one remaining healthy spring Chinook run isn’t an option.”

With this urgency in mind, WSC helped to launch a partnership in 2022 with local conservation partner Friends of Butte Creek and a growing list of allies including CalTrout, American Whitewater, the California Sportfishing Protection Alliance, and the Mechoopda Indian Tribe. With Kober coordinating, the partners are now crafting a comprehensive plan to ensure Butte Creek’s health for decades to come.

“What we need is a long-term plan for Butte Creek. Because losing the Central Valley’s one remaining healthy spring Chinook run isn’t an option.”

WSC Senior Manager John Kober

It’s an approach modeled on a series of WSC-led strategic action plans for salmon watersheds across coastal Oregon. These plans—four and counting—have drawn praise from federal agencies like NOAA for laying out clear, science-driven restoration strategies and leveraging funds for locally-led projects. 

For a Butte Creek plan, the partners will focus on three main goals: improving fish passage, maintaining sufficient water quantity during fish migrations, and restoring habitat, particularly in the creek’s agricultural lowlands. By necessity, Kober says the plan will diverge from its Oregon counterparts in a few ways: most notably in factoring in the need for ongoing human intervention.

“Within California, Butte Creek is absolutely a stronghold in some years,” Kober says. “But the reality is that any effective plan for Butte Creek salmon must go beyond habitat restoration.”

Kober points to the heavy human handprint already on Butte Creek: three dams and multiple canals from the Feather River and other water sources. Sometimes, this infrastructure can prove helpful: providing cold water in summer, maintaining fish-friendly stream flow. But it can also be a liability. In 2019, insufficient water releases from the Centerville project led to the deaths of 20,000 spring Chinook holding below: nearly the entirety of that year’s spawners.

“One day, dam removal could be on the table for Butte Creek,” Kober says. “But until then, we must find ways for this infrastructure to not only avoid harming but actively help its spring Chinook.”

In the year to come, WSC and our partners will dig into that work. And with your help, we hope to bring to light the secrets of Butte Creek—so it can continue to sustain wild springers in the heart of California.

“One day, dam removal could be on the table for Butte Creek. Until then, we must find ways for this infrastructure to not only avoid harming but actively help its spring Chinook.”

WSC Senior Manager John Kober

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