The day before we spoke, Brook Thompson had driven 350 miles to pick up a new fishing boat – hers had broken from years of disuse. Thompson, a PhD student at University of California Santa Cruz, is a member of the Yurok Tribe, whose reservation borders the tail end of the mighty 250-mile Klamath River in Northern California.
Thompson grew up on the reservation, and learned to fish as soon as she could stand. “Before that I was watching my dad fish. I got my commercial fishing license when I was 12 – so it’s not just a pastime, it’s a way of life.”
The Yuroks are known as the salmon people. Salmon is a primary food source for the tribe, who believe the Klamath is their lifeforce – and if the river is sick, so are they. And for almost as long as Thompson has been alive, the river has been sick. Three hydroelectric dams that were installed more than a century ago have contributed to low water flows, high levels of bacteria, and mass salmon die-offs.
In 2002, a catastrophic fish kill saw more than 34,000 salmon die in less than 10 days. Thompson, who is now 28, was seven when it happened. “Just imagine, the salmon were almost as big as me. It was apocalyptic. A whole generation of salmon we wouldn’t get back.”
Following the fish kill, fall chinook salmon numbers fell by more than 90% and spring chinook by 98%.
The event left an indelible mark on Thompson, who knew the dams were at fault. Along with her family, and many other members of the tribe, she began campaigning for their removal.
But Thompson didn’t just protest. She couldn’t study how to remove dams, but she could study how to build them. “There’s no classes on how to take down dams, only classes on how to put them up, but it’s one of those things – you have to know your enemy.”
Thompson has a BS in civil engineering from Stanford University with a focus on water resources and hydrology. “I’ve tailored my entire life to understanding dam removals and how the Klamath River works. And when I have meetings with politicians I see how much more respect I get because I have these degrees – just I’m using different wordage and have these fancy letters at the end of my name.”
The fight to remove the dams had already been underway for decades, but now the tribe ramped up pressure. And against the odds, after years of struggle, in 2022, the go ahead was given to remove the dams. In October 2023 the first dam fell, and almost one year later, at the end of August, the final dam was destroyed.
“The first dam came down so quickly,” she says.” It was just a pile of dirt. It was so amazing, like ‘wow, it really was this easy to remove them this entire time’.”
Thompson had hoped to be involved in the removal of the dams, considering her background, but never received a response from the construction firm contracted to take them down. It was a disappointment, but that didn’t deter her. Now she’s working as a restoration engineer for the tribe, serving as an integral member in the mammoth efforts to restore the landscape now the river is flowing freely again.
Tons of pounds of native seeds are being replanted over the 2,200 acres of land that’s emerged from underwater for the first time in a century. (Four reservoirs were emptied when the dams were removed.) For the tribe, it’s a chance to reconnect with traditional ways of knowing, says Thompson. “We have a lot of elders working on the project and you can see how they understand really specific things about plants, like ‘when does this plant bloom? When does it seed? When does it produce the most seeds?’
“Having that really in-depth understanding about how plants work is how we rebuild traditional ecological knowledge, which is so important to me.”
The fact that the restoration is indigenous-led is incredibly meaningful, too, she says. “When it comes to restoration, most people have this 5-, 10-year timescape. But when it comes to indigenous mindsets, it’s a 7- generation plan. How is planting this plant going to impact 100 years from now? We have such a strong tie to the land, we know we’ll still be here then. It puts a lot into perspective.”
Although the dam removal is estimated to have a positive impact on the salmon – projections show by 2061 the chinook salmon population will have recovered by an average of 81% – it’s not enough for Thompson.
Her PhD – and the reason she needed a new boat – is for the DNA sampling she’s been carrying out on spring and fall Chinook salmon. They’re currently classed as the same species by the US Fish and Wildlife Service. But Thompson is trying to prove otherwise.
“My grandfather was one of the last native speakers of our language, and I know that spring and fall salmon have two different words. Research shows that Native American designation of animal species is pretty close to the classification of the animal kingdoms. If we’ve had thousands of years of observations, there must be something special about these two salmon and a reason why we’re not just calling them one thing.”
According to tribal members Thompson has interviewed, the seasonal fish even taste different. Spring Chinook salmon are classified as endangered but fall salmon are classed as the same species as the Spring salmon. Thompson hopes her research will mean more research can go into how to protect and revive fall salmon numbers. On a wider level, Thompson also aims to change how state agencies incorporate indigenous knowledge.
“The Fish and Wildlife Service can’t take traditional ecological knowledge into account when they make policy decisions because it’s not one of the things they’re allowed to take into consideration. I want to change that.” ◼️