A Celebration of Hope

On a clear morning this past June, about 30 teenagers stepped into a rainbow of kayaks at the start of the Klamath River. They were about to embark on a journey that had not been made in more than a century—paddling from the river’s headwaters in southern Oregon all the way to the Pacific Ocean in Northern California.

It was a clear morning this past June. About 30 teenagers stepped into a rainbow of kayaks. They were at the start of the Klamath River. They were about to embark on a journey that had not been made in more than a century. They were going to paddle from the river’s headwaters in southern Oregon all the way to the Pacific Ocean in Northern California.

For weeks, the teens kayaked down the majestic river, which carves its way through the Cascade Mountains. Sometimes they dipped their paddles into calm water; other times they navigated fierce rapids. At night, they dragged their kayaks onto shore and pitched tents to sleep in. 

For weeks, the teens kayaked down the majestic river. It carves its way through the Cascade Mountains. Sometimes they dipped their paddles into calm water. Other times they navigated fierce rapids. At night, they dragged their kayaks onto shore. They pitched tents to sleep in. 

Their 310-mile trek was more than just a summer adventure. It was a victory lap for the teens, who are members of the Klamath, Yurok, Karuk, Quartz Valley, Hoopa Valley, Warm Springs, and Tohono O’odham Tribes. For decades, human-made dams had divided the Klamath River, interfering with Native life and killing off fish. But in recent years, the Tribes had successfully gotten most of those blockades removed.

Being the first people in so long to descend the full river was unforgettable, says Coley Miller, 14. She is part of the Klamath and Modoc Tribes. “It was an amazing experience for me and for everyone.”

Their 310-mile trek was more than just a summer adventure. It was a victory lap for the teens. They are members of the Klamath, Yurok, Karuk, Quartz Valley, Hoopa Valley, Warm Springs, and Tohono O’odham Tribes. For decades, human-made dams had divided the Klamath River. They interfered with Native life and killed off fish. But in recent years, the Tribes had successfully gotten most of those blockades removed.

Being the first people in so long to descend the full river was unforgettable, says Coley Miller. She is 14. She is part of the Klamath and Modoc Tribes. “It was an amazing experience for me and for everyone.”

Indigenous people have lived near the Klamath River for thousands of years, relying on it for water, transportation, and fish. The river once supplied the third-most salmon of all West Coast rivers. 

But from 1912 to 1962, four large hydropower dams were built on the Klamath to generate electricity (see “Turning Water Into Power” sidebar, below). Two smaller dams were added later. 

Indigenous people have lived near the Klamath River for thousands of years. They have relied on it for water, transportation, and fish. The river once supplied the third-most salmon of all West Coast rivers. 

But from 1912 to 1962, four large hydropower dams were built on the Klamath to generate electricity (see “Turning Water Into Power,” p. 9). Two smaller dams were added later. 

The dams overflowed parts of the Klamath, flooding much of the Shasta Indian Nation’s ancestral land. The overflow was turned into reservoirs—lakes where water is stored for use—on top of the Nation’s sacred sites. 

The dams also altered the river’s flow. Salmon, which migrate from the Pacific Ocean to the river’s upper reaches, were cut off from almost 400 miles of critical habitat. That included many of the freshwater streams where the fish lay eggs.

In the decades after the dams’ construction, the salmon population and the water quality both suffered—as did the Tribes that relied on both.

“The dams . . . stopped the flow of life, not just for the fish, but for our people too,” Ron Reed, a member of the Karuk Tribe, told a reporter last year. There were years when he caught only about 100 fish. “At the time, the Karuk Tribe had more than 3,000 members,” Reed explained. “That’s not enough for anything. Not even everybody gets a bite.” 

The loss impacted the Tribes’ ways of life. The Yurok Tribe, known as the “salmon people” because of how important the fish are to their culture, had to bring in salmon from another state for their annual salmon festival.

The dams overflowed parts of the Klamath. They flooded much of the Shasta Indian Nation’s ancestral land. The overflow was turned into reservoirs on top of the Nation’s sacred sites. Reservoirs are lakes where water is stored for use. 

The dams also altered the river’s flow. Salmon migrate from the Pacific Ocean to the river’s upper reaches. They were cut off from almost 400 miles of critical habitat. That included many of the freshwater streams where the fish lay eggs.

In the decades after the dams’ construction, the salmon population and the water quality both suffered. So did the Tribes that relied on both. 

“The dams . . . stopped the flow of life, not just for the fish, but for our people too,” Ron Reed told a reporter last year. He is a member of the Karuk Tribe. There were years when he caught only about 100 fish. “At the time, the Karuk Tribe had more than 3,000 members,” Reed explained. “That’s not enough for anything. Not even everybody gets a bite.” 

The loss impacted the Tribes’ ways of life. The Yurok Tribe is known as the “salmon people” because of how important the fish are to their culture. They had to bring in salmon from another state for their annual salmon festival.

Starting in the 1990s, Native communities lobbied for the dams’ removal. Their efforts rekindled in 2002, when low water levels in the river contributed to a massive fish die-off. About 60,000 dead salmon rotted along the shoreline.

Two more decades passed before the U.S. government approved a plan to demolish the four largest dams, in 2022. Over the next two years, workers dynamited and removed the blockades, opening up miles of river. It was the largest dam-removal project in U.S. history. 

And in 2024, California officials announced a plan to return more than 2,800 acres of land to the Shasta Indian Nation.

Starting in the 1990s, Native communities lobbied for the dams’ removal. Their efforts rekindled in 2002. That is when low water levels in the river contributed to a massive fish die-off. About 60,000 dead salmon rotted along the shoreline.  

Two more decades passed. Then in 2022, the U.S. government approved a plan to demolish the four largest dams. Over the next two years, workers dynamited and removed the blockades. That opened up miles of river. It was the largest dam-removal project in U.S. history. 

And in 2024, California officials announced a plan to return more than 2,800 acres of land to the Shasta Indian Nation.

Ríos to Rivers, a group that works with Indigenous youth, wanted to help local teens kayak the Klamath to celebrate the removal of the dams. In 2022, the group started teaching the teens the skills they would need. 

Coley, 14, wasn’t interested at first. “I thought I had better things to do,” she says. But after her family convinced her to get involved, she realized how powerful it was to connect with other Indigenous teens and with the river. 

During their 30-day journey down the Klamath, the teens shared stories about their families and their Tribes while they paddled through their ancestral waters. At night, they roasted marshmallows around campfires. “We’d all just have fun and chat around, do tricks off the kayaks,” Coley says. “That was probably my favorite part.”

Taeliah Eggsman is a 16-year-old from Chiloquin, Oregon, and a member of the Klamath and Modoc Tribes. During the trip, she came to appreciate the parts of the Klamath that are different from where she grew up. And she got to show off her ancestral homeland to the other teens. “The water is really important to me, my Tribe, my family,” she says. 

Ríos to Rivers is a group that works with Indigenous youth. It wanted to help local teens kayak the Klamath to celebrate the removal of the dams. In 2022, the group started teaching the teens the skills they would need. 

Coley, 14, was not interested at first. “I thought I had better things to do,” she says. But her family convinced her to get involved. And then she realized how powerful it was to connect with other Indigenous teens and with the river. 

During their 30-day journey down the Klamath, the teens paddled through their ancestral waters. They shared stories about their families and their Tribes. At night, they roasted marshmallows around campfires. “We’d all just have fun and chat around, do tricks off the kayaks,” Coley says. “That was probably my favorite part.”

Taeliah Eggsman is a 16-year-old from Chiloquin, Oregon. She is a member of the Klamath and Modoc Tribes. During the trip, she came to appreciate the parts of the Klamath that are different from where she grew up. And she got to show off her ancestral homeland to the other teens. “The water is really important to me, my Tribe, my family,” she says. 

Since the demolition, the river has shown promising signs, including the return of the salmon. Scientists spotted a Chinook salmon in an upper section of the Klamath River in October 2024. It was the first salmon documented there since 1912.

The health of other wildlife is improving too, including insects and algae that are important for the river’s ecosystem. And workers have planted billions of native seeds on the land that was exposed when the reservoirs were emptied. 

Still, experts estimate that it will take until 2061 for the salmon population to bounce back by more than 80 percent. And two smaller dams remain on the upper stretch of the river. (When the teens reached these blockades, they carried their kayaks past them.) 

Taeliah lives near the remaining dams. She says she will continue pushing for them to be demolished. Coley, meanwhile, is raising awareness about pollution and other issues that affect local waterways. Both teens hope to inspire other people to act. 

“Advocate for waters and lands where you live,” Taeliah says. “Figure out what’s important to you, what’s important where you are, and find a way to support it.”

Since the demolition, the river has shown promising signs. That includes the return of the salmon. Scientists spotted a Chinook salmon in an upper section of the Klamath River in October 2024. It was the first salmon documented there since 1912.

The health of other wildlife is improving too. That includes insects and algae that are important for the river’s ecosystem. And workers have planted billions of native seeds on the land that was exposed when the reservoirs were emptied. 

Still, experts estimate that it will take until 2061 for the salmon population to bounce back by more than 80 percent. And two smaller dams remain on the upper stretch of the river. (When the teens reached these blockades, they carried their kayaks past them.) 

Taeliah lives near the remaining dams. She says she will continue pushing for them to be demolished. Meanwhile, Coley is raising awareness about pollution and other issues that affect local waterways. Both teens hope to inspire other people to act. 

“Advocate for waters and lands where you live,” Taeliah says. “Figure out what’s important to you, what’s important where you are, and find a way to support it.”