Idaho River Reflections

Video by Skip Armstrong.

Photographer Neil Ever Osborne of the International League of Conservation Photographers works to capture images of spring chinook salmon jumping at Dagger Falls in late-June. (Photo by Greg Stahl)

Neil Ever Osborne's tripod in the mud. (Photo by Greg Stahl)

By Greg Stahl, Assistant Policy Director

Neil Ever Osborne stood at his tripod in the mud and snapped the day’s final photographs of the most pristine salmon-spawning habitat on Earth.

A photographer with the International League of Conservation Photographers, Osborne traveled to central Idaho two weeks ago to document the clear, cold, pristine rivers and landscapes that constitute some of the world’s most well-protected wild country.

In the dim, diffused glow of a cloud-covered twilight near the banks of upper Marsh Creek, I looked at the vista and considered the blur that had been the previous four days, a wide-ranging tour of central Idaho’s intact wildlife habitat—the Salmon River, Redfish Lake, Middle Fork of the Salmon River, Bear Valley Creek, Marsh Creek and a dozen places between.

I’d seen almost all these beautiful landscapes before, some of them two or three dozen times, but the experience had been somehow different. I know this country, its people and its history, but seeing the landscape through the lens of a visiting photographer focused on the interconnected nature of a salmon-dependent ecosystem underscored the magnitude of the tragic decline of Idaho’s once-potent runs of anadromous fish.

It’s difficult to convey in words because we say it all the time: With thousands of miles of cold, clean rivers nestled by grass- and willow-covered riverbanks, Idaho has one-of-a-kind salmon habitat. With dams downstream on the lower Snake and Columbia rivers blocking the natural migration corridor, what it doesn’t have are self-sustaining populations of wild fish.

But that is the central purpose for the partnership between Save Our Wild Salmon and the International League of Conservation Photographers, for which IRU handled on-the-ground logistical and tour guiding support in Idaho. As part of a project called Tripods in the Mud, Osborne is photographing these postcard-perfect places, and his beautiful images tell the story of a rich landscape that has evolved with salmon, is dependent on salmon and is still capable of supporting healthy, self-sustaining runs of wild salmon and steelhead.

“Sometimes the story has to stop being about following the science or complying with the Endangered Species Act,” reflected SOS communications specialist Emily Nuchols. “This is about telling the story of the Snake River’s one-of-a-kind salmon—their strength, resiliency and the true miracle of life—as well as the wild place they return to.”

Save Our Wild Salmon Coalition Communications Manager Emily Nuchols and ILCP photographer Neil Ever Osborne review images at Dagger Falls. (Photo by Greg Stahl)

At 900 miles, the stretches of river between the Pacific Ocean and the Sawtooth Valley of central Idaho constitute the longest migration route for salmon and steelhead today in the Columbia River Basin. In the world of the massive Columbia River drainage, the Snake River once produced more than half of all the chinook salmon and steelhead. In that world of tributaries, the Salmon River alone produced 39 percent of all the spring and summer chinook and 45 percent of all the steelhead in the entire Columbia basin.

“The take-home message from that is, for the folks who like to de-emphasize the importance of lower-Snake dam removal, we’re missing the biggest single opportunity in the entire Columbia system,” said Tom Stuart, an IRU board member who hosted the team at his home in Stanley during the weeklong photo shoot. “The habitat is intact and protected, but we’ve got to deal with the bottleneck. There’s rearing habitat in the ocean, and there’s spawning habitat here in central Idaho.”

On the banks of upper Marsh Creek near Cape Horn, light continued to fade as raindrops began to spatter the sweeping meadow where the creek gently meandered over fist-size gravel. Satisfied with the day’s work—which included shoots at Redfish Lake, the headwaters of the Salmon River, Bear Valley Creek and Marsh Creek—Osborne packed his camera and tripod, and we trudged through the meadow back to a waiting car.

As we drove across the upper reaches of Marsh Creek, I shared a subtle personal revelation that had coalesced during the week. I’ve driven, hiked, camped and boated this landscape so many times, I said. But it seems like every time I arrive in central Idaho I’m on my way to some grand adventure. This trip was really good for me. I knew this habitat was here. Now, after a week of quietly sitting and looking, I can feel it.

We drove past Marsh Creek’s headwaters, across the subtle divide between watersheds and continued along the upper reaches Valley Creek, another Sawtooth Mountain stream that historically supported huge runs of anadromous fish.

Everything a person can see from the mountains and valleys around Stanley, Idaho, is perfectly engineered by Mother Nature for salmon and steelhead. After a week of traveling the creeks, rivers and meadows of central Idaho, one can’t help but observe that the Gem State has what it takes to recover these precious endangered species. The land and rivers are all encompassing and pristine.

“It’s time for us to get to the heart of the matter, and through Neil’s inspiring and provocative images, I think we do just that,” Nuchols said. “On this trip we immersed ourselves in their habitat, the rugged mountains and rivers of the Sawtooth Valley. And later this summer we’ll be back, this time to welcome these iconic fish home.”

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Follow this link to the Save Our Wild Salmon Coalition’s blog, where a sampling of Osborne’s images can be viewed.

ILCP photographer Neil Ever Osborne looks for images on Bear Valley Creek at the headwaters of the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. (Photo by Greg Stahl)

In the midst of the catastrophic oil spill that is crushing wildlife in the Gulf of Mexico, the Obama administration is poised to make a decision tomorrow that could change the fate of endangered species in this country. On May 20, the administration will release a federal salmon plan that will do one of two things for endangered wildlife: protect the Endangered Species Act by calling for stronger measures toward salmon recovery or weaken it by embracing the scientifically and legally flawed approaches of the past 20 years. A decision to weaken the ESA for the West’s iconic Columbia and Snake river salmon could send an ecological ripple across the country and affect decisions regarding every endangered species in the nation.

The situation in the Northwest doesn’t look good. Instead of charting its own path, the administration is working from a biologically and legally inadequate Bush administration plan for endangered salmon.

Because they return to the biggest, highest and best-protected habitat in America, endangered Snake River salmon are considered the West’s best chance to save salmon for future generations in an environment threatened by climate change. These cold, crisp waters spanning three western states — Washington, Oregon and Idaho, will remain cold in a warming climate, protecting these one-of-a-kind salmon with one-of-a-kind habitat. Making the wrong decision on these rivers would effectively dam these salmon to extinction.

“The last cut at this plan largely ignored the impacts climate change will most certainly have on these salmon. And it ignored the unique habitat in the Snake Basin that these fish call home. The science tells us that getting these fish back home is the surest and perhaps only way to ensure salmon in the Columbia-Snake Basin under a warming world. Let’s hope that in addition to protecting the ESA, the administration prepares for the current and future harms caused to these fish from global warming. Let’s get these fish back to their habitat so we can ensure salmon in the Columbia-Snake Basin for generations to come.” — John Kostyack, Executive Director of Wildlife Conservation and Global Warming for National Wildlife Federation in Washington, DC. The federation is the lead plaintiff in the fight to protect Columbia-Snake salmon.

The Columbia and Snake rivers may not be in your own backyard, but the effects of this decision certainly will be. Take action today to save salmon and protect America’s endangered species.

These fish are fighting right now to survive — tackling a gauntlet of dams, escaping predators and climbing higher and farther than any other salmon on Earth. They’re doing their part. Let’s do ours.

Take Action Now.

Fisheries biologist Bert Bowler, founder of Snake River Salmon Solutions, brings Salmon Quest to Boise.

By Jeff Cole, Conservation Outreach Coordinator

Bert Bowler has been looking out for Idaho salmon longer than I have been alive.  Because I am a juvenile salmon advocate he looks out for me, too. Saturday morning I had the chance to see my mentor in action during a forward-thinking new event called Salmon Quest.

Few people are more qualified to talk about salmon than Bert.  He worked as a fish biologist for the Idaho Department of Fish and Game for 29 years. After retiring he worked at Idaho Rivers United for another six years.  In 2007 he founded Snake River Salmon Solutions.  His mission, as an independent advocate, is to engage the general public, stakeholders and politicians in the importance of Snake River salmon and steelhead restoration.

Salmon Quest, hosted by Bert in the second floor Ivory Room of the Owyhee Plaza in downtown Boise, was designed as an educational event about Idaho salmon and the challenges they face to survive.  Guests of all ages browsed calligraphy featuring hopeful salmon messages scribed on wood and paper that were displayed around the room before the presentation.

Those attending Salmon Quest in Boise on Saturday found a standing-room-only crowd.

As Bert began, 70 curious attendees watched as he described the unique biology and lifecycle of salmon.  Idaho salmon travel farther and higher than any other salmon species in the world.  Their odyssey begins in the sterile alpine environments of central Idaho, then follows the Salmon, Snake, and Columbia rivers to the ocean where they swim to Alaska, past the Aleutian Islands, often to Russia and Japan before heading home.  To culminate their journey they battle 900 miles of rivers and 6,500 feet of elevation to the exact riffles where their lives began.

Bert also outlined the reason for their decline.  Outward migrating juvenile salmon called smolts don’t actually swim to the ocean as many people think.  They rely on spring runoff to flush them down tributaries and rivers to the ocean.  Eight dams block the flow of the river between Idaho and the Pacific, thus vastly impeding smolt migration.  But the four dams on the Lower Snake River in Eastern Washington are particularly deadly because of their cumulative impact with the Columbia dams and lower flow volume.

Bert finished by plainly describing the politics restricting salmon recovery.  Even though the majority of scientists agree that removing the four dams on the Lower Snake River is the best method to save endangered salmon, special interests block the path.  The Bonneville Power Administration and Port of Lewiston both stand to lose money if the dams are removed.  These interests have advocates in Washington, D.C, where they block the necessary legislation required for salmon recovery.

A historical Snake River photo presentation followed Bert’s multimedia salmon discussion.  Jerry White, Snake River Landscape Coordinator, from Save Our Wild Salmon presented antiquated photography of the Lower Snake River before the construction of dams.  In the presentation, called “Working Snake River,” White urged the audience not to view the photos as dusty relics but as a vision of what the future could hold.  The photos depicted abundant salmon and steelhead along with recreation on white sand beaches and a free flowing Snake River.

When the presentations concluded the crowd appeared passionate, heads swirling with new information and ideas about salmon and salmon recovery.  There was a hopeful air as people lingered to review the artwork and consider what a restored river could mean to the people of the Northwest.  For my part, I left with a greater appreciation for the man who taught me almost everything I know about salmon and some new ideas for my own salmon presentations.

Bert hopes to take Salmon Quest on the road and give similar presentations throughout the Pacific Northwest.  I wish him the best luck, but hope he comes home from time to time so I can continue to learn about salmon.

Kenneth C. Balcomb is principal investigator for the Washington state-based Center for Whale Research. He’s been tracking, researching and publishing research since 1976. His above remarks center on southern resident orcas’ dependence on salmon stocks.

By Phil Lansing, IRU member

The innocuous sounding Pebble Partnership is a mining operation getting its knickers in a twist over the motion picture Avatar. One can easily see why. Pebble seeks to dig a vast mine complex in the best part of wild Alaska. Avatar is a make-believe story about the depredations of a soulless mining company on a really nifty far away planet. Pebble’s problem is that if you substitute normal Alaskan Aleut and Yup’ik people for Avatar’s 10-foot blue aliens, the movie pretty much tells the Pebble Mine story. Take out the love interest and gun violence, and you practically have a documentary.

The place Pebble plans to stomp is Alaska’s Bristol Bay region, at the base of the Alaska Peninsula. You’ve heard of the area: Katmai National Park, Brooks Camp (source of photos of bears fishing in a waterfall) Lake Iliamna (Alaska’s biggest – complete with freshwater seals) and Bristol Bay itself. The area’s sockeye salmon run is the world’s largest and best managed: 40 million fish in 2009, 50 million expected in 2010. The sport fishing is world-class. The region lacks spiritually cool blue aliens but really does include good-natured Yup’ik and Aleut communities, still living subsistence-based lives by choice. It also supports a $320 million per year commercial salmon industry that is a world model for sustainability. Alaska natives own a fair chunk of that industry, making subsistence a little more comfortable.

Enter the Pebble Partnership, with controlling interest split between a Canadian outfit and Anglo American of Great Britain. Anglo’s Chairman is Sir John Parker, a Cecil Rhodes wannabe who appears typecast for the villain role. Pebble seeks to mine an estimated $350 billion — not a typo, billion — in gold, copper and other minerals right smack on top of Bristol Bay’s Iliamna and Nushagak watersheds, the most important for salmon, bears, people, caribou and other users. It’s not Avatar’s Sacred Tree House, but it’s close enough. The proposed complex may include North America’s largest open pit and largest tailings lakes, with earthen dams totaling more than 9 miles in length. And all of this is in the earthquake prone Pacific Ring of Fire. The region’s soils carry a high natural content of mercury, arsenic and other nasties. When the soils are undisturbed all is well. When the soils are disturbed (by giant Star Wars-ish mining machines, for example) wind and waterborne grit can contaminate the water and whack the salmon. Salmon sustain the region and are sacred to most area inhabitants.

With such a huge project and a $1.5 billion investment, Pebble is soulless but canny. At the outset it hired most of the expert environmental consultants in Alaska to gather and sort data. As Pebble owns the data it can junk what it dislikes. Now scientific criticism can only come from outside companies that don’t know the territory. In other words, Pebble bought “good science.” Next, the company poured money into the area, hiring community leaders as consultants for obscene fees and renting housing at exorbitant rates, anything to buy support and divide opinion. It even set up a foundation to buy thoughtful gifts for villages: ambulances and soccer uniforms are two examples. Fortunately, Bristol Bay natives have known about white guys with gifts for generations. The City Council of Dillingham, Bristol Bay’s largest community, recently voted to reject all gifts from Pebble. Debate centered not on whether they might want the mine — all were opposed — but on whether they should still take the bribes.

Sounds more and more like the movie, doesn’t it? It’s the part where the annoyed aliens reject the mine company gifts.

Pebble has been busy with this project for 10 years, drilling holes and massaging data. The company did a dance with its seismic scoping to show that an area with earthquakes doesn’t really have earthquakes. Miles of earth dams will contain toxic tailings in perpetuity, thank you, and the prophets of Salmon Armageddon are denounced as luddites. The company’s cleverest move, however, is how it copes with criticism. Pebble is shocked, shocked that anyone might criticize it without reviewing its permit application. Since the actual application is years down the road, the company is asserting it should not be criticized for years. This is ludicrous. Avatar meets Catch 22.

Meanwhile, repeating the mantra that it’s too early to critique Pebble is a great diversion from the reality of the company’s proposal. It gets people off substance and on to process. From there it’s a short step to criticizing the critics, a topic even more diversionary and one where Pebble’s public relations spinners are most comfortable. In the movie version, the company muzzles exo-biologist Sigourney Weaver by locking her up.

Pebble is happy, however, to tell a made up story about the jobs and benefits the mine will bring. It seems Sir John is just aching to help those poor Alaska natives. No need to wait on permits to tell that fairy tale.

Thus there’s a certain irony in Pebble’s upset with Avatar. Their two key constructs: diversionary criticism of their critics and a fictive narrative about area economic benefits, just can’t compete with the far more imaginative and entertaining Hollywood version. Pebble’s own failure to participate in responsible dialogue on how it actually plans to mine has left it vulnerable to a fiction-based assault. The company is getting negative publicity, and executives don’t have a response. What can they say, that the stories aren’t analogous? They are.

Pebble won’t be defeated Hollywood style, with a big shoot ’em up launched from the backs of simpatico flying reptiles. But the movie version might set in motion national scrutiny of the real Pebble Mine. If that happens the peaceful villagers may yet triumph over the soulless corporation – just like the movie.

Phil Lansing lives in Boise. He and his family run a seasonal commercial fishing boat on Bristol Bay. Lansing is a member of Idaho Rivers United, where we are continuing to scrutinize mining proposals in the headwaters of the Boise River. Mosquito Consolidated Gold is proposing a massive open-pit molybdenum mine at the headwaters of Grimes Creek, and Atlanta Gold is proposing a large gold mine on the Middle Fork Boise River, near Atlanta.