Salmon Fishermen Feel Pain of Klamath's Troubles
By Jeff Barnard, Associated Press
March 19, 2006

Commercial fishermen were feeling good about salmon in 2004. As a result of aggressive marketing, prices for chinook caught by trolling the Pacific were up after years of being driven down by more plentiful farmed fish.

Those good times have gone bust this year. The third straight season of poor chinook returns to Northern California's Klamath River to spawn have federal fisheries managers considering closing 700 miles of coastline to salmon fishing for this year's May through October season, despite plentiful stocks elsewhere.

They have already closed this year's spring season, and forecasts for next year are not good. Because there is no way to harvest plentiful stocks from other watersheds without killing Klamath fish, fans of wild salmon expect to have a tough time getting troll-caught chinook, and salmon fishermen such as Snow will be scrambling to keep their boats.

The problems affecting salmon in the Klamath River -- aging dams, poor water quality, deadly parasites attacking young fish, and battles over allocating scarce water between farms and wildlife -- remain.

"For so many years we were told nobody wants your product, they just want it cheap," Snow said. "We finally turn the tide, and now this.

"I'm sure if we have a zero season or a severely restricted season, some people will go broke, and it doesn't really need to be," he said. "We need proper science and agreements with water users for habitat."

The Pacific Fishery Management Council makes its final decision the first week of April. If it shuts down sport and commercial salmon fishing from Cape Falcon on the northern Oregon Coast to Point Sur south of San Francisco, salmon won't disappear from supermarkets. Sixty percent of the world supply is farm-raised in Chile, Norway and Canada, and the bulk of the ocean catch -- pink and sockeye -- comes from Alaska.

The 668,000 chinook or king salmon caught by about 1,200 active West Coast trollers last year account for less than 1 percent of U.S. consumption. But it is the filet mignon of salmon, prized for superior taste and texture as well as heart-healthy oils.

The demand for wild salmon has encouraged fishermen to boost their prices by handling their fish carefully -- bleeding them before putting them on ice, avoiding bruising, and sometimes flash-freezing them at sea.

Some will still be caught off southeast Alaska and Washington, and small harvests may be allowed inside state waters off Oregon and California. But millions of pounds will be off the market.

Mark Newell, a salmon fisherman and wholesaler who serves on the Oregon Salmon Commission said the $3.18 per pound he was paying fishermen last year is likely to go over $4 this year if there is any fishing allowed.

"They're saying next year doesn't look any better than this year," said Newell. "If you lose this for two years, you'll lose a lot of these fishermen."

Commercial salmon landings last year were worth $13 million in Oregon and $23.3 million in California, according to the council. Recreational fisheries were worth another $5.2 million in Oregon and $17.9 million in California.

By the time that money runs through restaurants, seafood markets and gear stores, the overall losses from closing the season will be more like $150 million, said Glen Spain of the Pacific Coast Federation of Fishermen's Associations, which represents California salmon fishermen.

That money depends on healthy salmon in the Klamath River.

Cutting through the Cascade and Siskiyou mountains in southern Oregon and Northern California, the Klamath was traditionally the third-biggest producer of salmon on the West Coast, after the Columbia and Sacramento, which this year expect healthier returns than the Klamath.

During the gold rush of the 1850s, the Klamath suffered the ravages of hydraulic mining. In 1917, the first of a series of hydroelectric dams blocked hundreds of miles of spawning habitat. Political and legal wrangling continue over how much water goes to irrigating crop in the Klamath Reclamation Project and how much goes down the river for salmon.

In 2001 those farmers paid the price. Drought forced the federal government to cut back irrigation so there would be enough water for coho salmon, threatened species that shares the Klamath with chinook. An Oregon State University study put crop losses between $27 million and $46 million.

The Bush administration threw its support behind farmers, and in 2002 Interior Secretary Gale Norton and Agriculture Secretary Ann Veneman made a special trip to turn the valves that restored full irrigation. That September, low warm water led to the deaths of some 70,000 adult chinook returning to the Klamath to spawn, according to the California Department of Fish and Game.

The fish kill meant thousands of fish would not be spawned to return this year.

"The fix is obvious. It is the political will that is not," said Spain. "You've got to put more water in the river and you need to take down the four hydropower dams."

The Oregon Natural Resources Council, a conservation group, figures the Bush administration has put $100 million into the Klamath to boost flows for fish, help struggling farmers, and improve fish habitat, but problems remain.

Four dams block salmon from hundreds of miles of habitat upstream. Their reservoirs warm the water, which carries high levels of agricultural runoff. Young fish migrating to the ocean run a gauntlet of parasites whose impacts are poorly understood, but may be exacerbated by the poor water quality and the lack of high flows.

The dams are up for relicensing this year by the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, which will decide whether they need to be modified or removed to restore salmon access to hundreds of miles of habitat. Indian tribes, fishermen and conservation groups would like to see them removed, but the Portland utility PacifiCorp wants to keep them.

Participants in closed-door negotiations report a growing spirit of cooperation after years of fighting.

Bob Kemp, who bought his first salmon boat in 1973, is planning to fill a cooler with crab and beer and head to the Klamath Basin to get to know farmers better. He is less interested in getting disaster relief than fixing the Klamath so he can fish for salmon.

He's already been working as a deck hand on a crab boat, putting out traps for black cod, and is a partner in an albacore canning operation, so figures he can survive a closure.

"I'm determined not to get angry," said Kemp. "And I'm not going to give up."

In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107, and as defined under the provisions of "fair use", any copyrighted material herein is distributed without profit or payment for non-profit research and for educational use by our membership.

Closures Force Fishermen to Troll for Disaster Relief
By Jeff Barnard, Associated Press
March 21, 2006

This year Woods and some of the skippers of 30 salmon boats at the Port of Brookings are hoping that instead of fish they can hook some federal disaster relief to get them through the toughest salmon closure they have faced in a lifetime on the ocean.

On Thursday, the Pacific Fishery Management Council voted to practically shut down commercial salmon fishing on 700 miles of the West Coast off Oregon and California to protect dwindling stocks of chinook out of Northern California's troubled Klamath River.

The seasons still must be approved by the secretary of commerce. But the outlook is grim for years ahead, given the long-running and bitter battles over dams, habitat, water quality and sharing scarce water between farms and fish on the Klamath.

"The feds should be mailing us checks," said Ralph Dairy, skipper of the Anita Lynn and a salmon fisherman for 26 of his 43 years. The fish they can catch on the restricted seasons "won't even pay for insurance and fuel bills. That won't pay for $2,000 worth of federally mandated safety equipment."

"This is the first time we are looking at no viable option to make money," said Gary Smith, skipper of the Migrant.

"I don't think I'll be alive to go salmon fish again," said Woods, 52. "I'll be 62" by the time anything improves. "I'll try to go reach over and gaff a salmon and pitch right off the boat."

Governors of Oregon and California and members of Congress from both states are pushing for federal disaster assistance for fishermen, as well as money to improve salmon returns to the Klamath.

But with a tight federal budget, the prospects are uncertain. A House bill is expected after the April recess. However, NOAA Fisheries denied a disaster declaration for last year's salmon fishing cutbacks.

Klamath chinook are not endangered, but the third straight season of poor returns to spawn in the Klamath prompted the council to close 400 miles of coastline around the river's mouth -- from Fort Bragg, Calif., to Florence, Ore. -- to all commercial salmon fishing this year.

From Florence north to the Columbia River there are staggered openings with limits of 75 fish per week. Similar restrictions apply from Fort Bragg south to Point Sur near Monterey. Recreational fisheries were also cut back, but not so severely.

Dave Bitts, a Eureka, Calif., salmon fisherman and secretary of the Pacific Coast Federation of Fishermen's Associations, estimated that the commercial salmon catch will be down 90 percent from a normal year.

"If I go out there and did everything just right I could land 675 fish by the end of August," Bitts said. "If they are 12-pounders and we get 4 bucks a pound ... $25,000 to $35,000 is about the maximum I can earn. That's gross. And fuel is three bucks a gallon. It will be doable for some people and not doable for others."

Dams on the Klamath have cut off 300 miles of spawning habitat since 1917. Fisheries managers allowed too much fishing in the 1980s. And bitter political and court battles continue over sharing scarce water between farms and fish since a drought in 2001 forced cutbacks on irrigation of 180,000 acres in the upper basin.

After irrigation was restored in 2002, about 70,000 adult chinook died in the river from diseases linked to low and warm water.

"The only glimmer of hope we see is we're hoping the problems in the Klamath River get fixed," said Scott Boley, a Gold Beach fisherman, seafood market owner and Oregon salmon commissioner. "We didn't have anything to do with this disaster. It wasn't our fault."

The closure comes as consumers have shown they will pay more for troll-caught fish compared with the farm-raised salmon that dominate the market, Boley said. He expects short supplies could drive prices at the market to $10 a pound for filets.

In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107, and as defined under the provisions of "fair use", any copyrighted material herein is distributed without profit or payment for non-profit research and for educational use by our membership.

Life at Sea Approaching the Shoals
By Eric Bailey, LA Times
March 26, 2006

HALF MOON BAY, Calif. — Aboard his weatherworn fishing boat, Duncan MacLean has pulled a livelihood from the high seas. He takes pride in putting seafood on dinner tables. He loves his workday on the roller-coaster swells.

But that storied way of life is at risk for West Coast fishermen. The culprit is a sick river and its dwindling salmon runs.

Environmental woes on the Klamath River, once among the nation's mightiest chinook spawning grounds, have prompted federal regulators to move toward an outright ban on salmon fishing this year along 700 miles of Pacific coast.

In ports from Monterey to Astoria, Ore., the grim prospect of losing the industry's most prized commercial catch — the filet mignon of fish — has denizens of the docks predicting economic ruin.

Grizzled fishermen talk of bankruptcy, of losing the only job they have ever known. Worries ripple from the docks to bayside pubs, bait-and-tackle shops, sportfishing charter businesses, motels that fill each summer with recreational fishermen, even grocery stores that boom during salmon season.

Believing they are being unfairly targeted for a problem they didn't cause, fishermen are vowing to jam hearings Monday and Tuesday in California and the Pacific Northwest on the possible ban. The Pacific Fishery Management Council, an advisory body, will make a final recommendation to federal regulators April 7 in Sacramento.

By some estimates, a canceled salmon season could domino into a $150-million hit on local economies that still depend on fishing as a financial cornerstone.

A salmon ban would also turn away countless sport fishermen drawn by the prospect of hooking a chinook. Recreational saltwater fishing contributes $1.7 billion to the California economy, and a year without salmon could cost plenty.

Economists say it is hard to predict how a salmon ban would affect prices on the West Coast, but they don't expect them to rise much more than a dollar per pound for commercial catch.

"The ripple effects, how far can you say they'll go?" wondered MacLean, a small, wiry man with work-roughened hands as big as paddles. "Right now, the whole infrastructure for this industry is fragile. This could turn it belly-up."

Commercial fishing's travails are the flip side to the disaster suffered by farmers who depend on the Klamath, which flows from Oregon's Cascade snowmelt to the coast north of Eureka, Calif.

A drought in 2001 prompted federal regulators to slash Klamath River irrigation deliveries to 1,400 farms straddling the California-Oregon border. As summer wore on, angry growers ceremoniously busted open irrigation canal gates.

The Bush administration, which counts agribusiness among its most loyal constituencies, responded in 2002 by approving a Klamath water diversion plan applauded by farmers. Fishermen and environmentalists predicted doom for the Klamath's declining salmon runs.

Within months, more than 70,000 returning adult chinook succumbed to disease blamed on low river flows. But the bigger threat was to baby fish. With four hydropower dams blocking the Klamath's natural currents and its flows reduced by irrigation deliveries, biologists say a lethal parasite flourished, triggering a devastating wave of juvenile salmon deaths.

The last two years have seen the number of returning Klamath chinook adults drop far below the 35,000 floor set by federal regulations to maintain healthy stocks. This year looks no better.

Several options are being weighed, including a shortened fishing season like last year's — 11 weeks instead of the usual six months — and a prohibition on any salmon catch from Point Sur near Monterey up to northern Oregon.

"Overall, it is a gloomy future for salmon fishing," said Brian Gorman of the National Marine Fisheries Service.

A quarter-century ago, more than 8,000 fishing vessels plied the waters off California and Oregon. Today, there are fewer than a thousand as catch restrictions and competition from farmed fish imported from Chile, Scotland and Canada squeeze the commercial fleets.

Income from salmon caught off California and Oregon fell from a high of $243 million in 1988 to last year's $57 million.

Robust commercial fleets in cities such as Crescent City and Fort Bragg are now shadows from the past.

"In some ways the cultural aspect is now much more a significant factor than any economic loss," said Steve Hackett, a Humboldt State University economist. "They want to hold on to what's left of their commercial fleet because it's part of their identity and part of their past."

At Pillar Point Harbor, north of Half Moon Bay, dejection abounds. Most years, the harbor would be buzzing with spring cleaning in anticipation of the traditional May 1 opening of salmon season.

These days it's mostly quiet.

"You don't see the enthusiasm," said MacLean, sitting on the aft deck of the 41-foot Barbara Faye as gulls flew overhead and a few solitary tourists wandered by.

Fishermen here are forlorn, he said, in what should be the best of times. The salmon runs on the Sacramento River are robust, thanks to several decades of preservation efforts. But those fish mingle in the ocean with the Klamath's depleted stocks. Mac Lean might catch one Klamath fish for every 100 from the Sacramento River, but that's enough to prompt a proposed ban.

Wild salmon could be off-limits just when the market is hottest. Recent years have seen a rising demand and higher prices for line-caught fish, deemed both tastier and healthier than farm-raised fish.

Salmon fishermen like Mac Lean bring home that catch the old-fashioned way: slowly trolling with hook and line. "It's my 7-mile-per-hour world," he said. "And on a rough day, I get for free what people pay good money for at an amusement park — the ride of your life."

Harbors like Pillar Point, an oval of flat water separated from the Pacific by a boulder breakwater 20 miles south of San Francisco, have survived by becoming boutique markets for tourists, with some fishermen selling to the public off the back of their boats.

If there is no salmon to market, the tourists who buy fresh fish will disappear, MacLean said. "It'll hit the gas stations, the restaurants, the bars, the little gift shops."

Like others in his ocean-going fraternity, MacLean worries not just for the commercial fleet but also for the dockside businesses that pack and ship fish to market, fuel his boat and pump its hold full of ice to keep the catch fresh.

Pillar Point has three small seafood distributors, and Mac Lean figures at least one will vanish along with the season.

David Mallory, owner of Morning Star Fisheries, isn't about to concede defeat. After two decades in the business, he expects to fill any void with other fish, black cod perhaps. Wild salmon can be shipped from Alaska to keep customers happy. His four employees might see their hours cut back, but he'll hustle to keep customers on board, some from as far away as Los Angeles, Atlanta and Boston.

"I'm pretty industrious," he said, standing beside saltwater tanks filled with Dungeness crab. "We'll tighten up the ship and take it one season at a time."

On the other side of the pier, business is slow at Keet Nerhan's commercial fuel and ice dock.

Nerhan has $1 million invested in his automated ice plant and diesel fuel pump. For the last three years, he has operated in the red. With a salmon ban, business could fall another 40%, he said. "It's going to be rough."

Near the foot of the pier, Peggy Beckett and her husband, Bill, say a lost salmon season would dry up 85% of the business at their bait-and-tackle shop, Huck Finn Sportfishing. "I can't survive selling a sweatshirt or a T-shirt to an empty parking lot," she said.

Longtime friend Roger Thomas leaned on a glass display case and shook his head. Thomas, 71, is juggling hats these days. He owns and captains the 56-foot Salty Lady, a recreational charter boat moored up the coast in Sausalito. He's also president of the Golden Gate Fishermen's Assn. and an appointed member of the Pacific Fishery Management Council.

Tuesday night in Santa Rosa, Thomas will act as chairman at a hearing on a salmon ban that he expects will be packed with both commercial and recreational fishermen.

He welcomes the crowd — and hopes that at a minimum, federal regulators will permit a shortened season or provide disaster relief. If not, he said, "you're going to see a lot of people go out of business."

A couple of doors down, the pre-happy hour crowd at the Harbor Bar lamented their fate over Budweisers and highballs.

"We are the endangered species," Gary Christensen, a longtime deckhand, said from his bar stool. "I'm looking at unemployment. And the public is looking at eating farm fish. Real salmon don't eat rabbit pellets and red dye No. 4."

MacLean doesn't like the look of his future aboard the Barbara Faye. He is 56 now and has been fishing for more than three decades.

He can fix anything on the old boat, but can't imagine what marketable skills he has outside his 7-mile-per-hour world.

"This could force me to liquidate and move," he said. "This could force a new lifestyle on me. This is the only thing I've ever done."

The feeling doesn't sit well, the prospect of seeing this life at sea unravel like a trawl net snagged on a jetty.

In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107, and as defined under the provisions of "fair use", any copyrighted material herein is distributed without profit or payment for non-profit research and for educational use by our membership.