The people v. FERC
Eureka hearing-goers tell
agency to drop the dams
story and photos by HEIDI WALTERS
November 23, 2006
It seemed like everybody was there.
Some had driven the riverine, twisty highways out of the mountains of
the mid-Klamath region -- from Orleans, Somes Bar, Salmon River, Blue
Creek. Others came from the mouth of the Klamath. Some moseyed over
from their Eureka homes or from Arcata and McKinleyville, or traveled
up from southern Humboldt or Sacramento.
There were Yurok, Karuk and Hupa
people. There were non-Indians. Ocean fishers. River guides.
Congresspeople, or their reps. There were college students,
scientists, kids, conservationists, city people, river people and even
a sympathetic farmer or two.
It was Thursday night, and inside the
Red Lion in Eureka the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission was
holding a hearing on its draft environmental impact report for the
proposed relicensing of PacifiCorp's Klamath River dams, now owned by
billionaire Warren Buffett. The Klamath Hydroelectric Project's
50-year license expired in March, and FERC is considering relicensing
the project for another 30 to 50 years. This hearing was one in a
series being held across the region before the public comment period
ends Dec. 1.
But, just like the last time FERC came
to town for a Klamath River meeting, the agency had underestimated the
numbers that would show up. Even before the official start time of 7
p.m. arrived, the long, narrow room was already packed to the gills --
250 people, the maximum allowed. Further entry was barred in order not
to incur the wrath of the fire marshal or induce death by suffocation
among the attendees.
So for the next nearly five hours,
about 150 thwarted people wriggled up and down the long, tight, packed
hallway outside the hearing doors, waiting for a chance to be let in
as others left. Some of them gave up and went home. Many wandered in
and out of a room across the hall from the hearing that the Northcoast
Environmental Center had reserved for the anticipated stranded
attendees. There were speeches, protest signs -- "Un-dam the
Klamath!" -- and informational posters and a new video by the
Klamath Salmon Media Collaborative called "Solving the Klamath
Crisis: Keeping Farms and Fish Alive."
Inside the NEC room, biologist Pat
Higgins was explaining to a passerby the Klamath's water quality and
temperature problems and the dams and dikes that have caused them, and
how FERC's recommendations in the draft EIS fall short. He and other
critics, including the National Marine Fisheries Service, say FERC's
draft EIS analyzes the removal of just two dams, when it should
consider removal of all four of the lower dams -- Copco I and II, J.C.
Boyle, Iron Gate -- that have blocked fish from 350 miles of river for
decades. FERC staff, instead, recommend trapping and trucking some
Chinook salmon around the dams to repopulate a portion of upstream
river. Critics say such a plan is weak, and besides would do nothing
for the other species who once had passage to the upper reaches, such
as the coho salmon, steelhead, lamprey and green sturgeon.
"Trap and haul -- they tried it in
the `60s, when they built Iron Gate Dam, and it didn't work,"
Higgins said. "I think they need to take the [four main hydro]
dams out. They need to leave Link River Dam, which regulates water
levels in Klamath Lake, for the fish. And if they leave Keno Dam, they
need to restore the wetlands adjacent to the Klamath River in that
reach."
Back out in the hallway, the crowd
grew. Even Toxic Algae Monster was there, haunting a corner by the
kitchen doors in her green fuzzy hat, green-painted face and green
clothes and holding a big cardboard sign that said "Please don't
leave. Stay until your voice is heard!!!" Rani Rhoar, who's lived
in Orleans by the Klamath River for 12 years, said she was at FERC's
hearing in Yreka the day before and at a water quality board meeting
in Sacramento before that. But this was the first time she'd dressed
up as the toxic algae that has been increasingly plaguing the river
and its reservoirs.
"When I first moved to the Klamath
River, I used to swim in it," she said. "Today, I don't swim
in it, I don't raft in it, I don't touch it. They need to remove the
Klamath dams and restore the river. And make humane decisions."
Standing near the algae monster were
fellow Orleans residents Quentin Peterson, with blue and purple dyed
hair and earrings, and Richard Buhler, whose bright red dyed hair,
red-satin-lined black trench coat and kind young face made him look
like a friendly devil. (Unlike the algae monster, this is their usual
look.) They grew up in Orleans. Peterson's a firefighter, crab
fisherman and part-time river guide. He said he tries to make it to
every river-related meeting he can. "My dad was a river guide my
whole life, drift-boat guiding and rafting trips. I was raised in a
boat. I caught my first fish when I was 3 years old." He and
Buhler reminisced about the rope swing they used to play on that hung
from a bridge over the river. "Now I won't go in the
Klamath," Peterson said. "I won't let my animals in the
water. I took people out rafting a couple times this summer, but we
had to go to the Salmon River instead. We canceled a couple of trips.
I was there for the fish kills in 2002 -- there were so many dead
fish, we couldn't get the boat in the water. Also, half the reason I
go to the river is its beauty. Now it's gross. There's algae hanging
off the rocks, every pool is stagnant."
Buhler, who crews on salmon and crab
boats, said for this year's salmon season -- closed in Oregon and
California, for the most part, because of low salmon counts in the
Klamath -- he had to go to Alaska to work. "I would prefer to
stay here," he said. "But if you fish for a livelihood, you
can't skip a season."
Down the hall, Nat Pennington wanted to
talk about the Salmon River, where he lives. It's un-dammed, and the
cleanest major tributary to the Klamath River. But it has had
"the three lowest runs of spring and fall Chinook in record
history," said Pennington. "So we feel like the water
quality issues created in the Klamath are a major impact on our salmon
runs."
Near him stood Jason Reed, who'd just
been interviewed by a TV station. Like many of the young men there
that night, he wore a knit cap with traditional tribal designs. Reed,
a College of the Redwoods student, is Karuk and Hupa. "Salmon is
like a family to us," he said. "What are we going to do when
the salmon is gone? I was raised on the river. I remember there being
lots of fish. I remember packing -- in gunny sack's -- like, five fish
at a time. And this was just one round. Pack 'em, clean 'em, and go
back to the river again for more. Today, we're lucky if we get
five."
Back at the other end, Hoopa Valley
Tribal chairman Clifford Lyle Marshall and the tribe's senior
attorney, Grett Hurley, stood talking. "I'm surprised that there
aren't more people here," Marshall said. "[But] this
is a healthy showing. It's a reflection of the widespread concern.
It's not just Indians and it's not just fishermen. It's people from Eureka.
And other places."
Finally, some space opened up inside
the hearing room. There, rows and rows of people -- including several
children, holding large salmon puppets on sticks, from the American
Indian Academy Charter School in McKinleyville -- faced a table at
which sat three FERC men. One after another, the people stood and
delivered lengthy speeches, some fact-filled, others emotional. The
FERC men, their job here simply to listen, sat silently -- white,
gray, impassive, eyelids fluttering shut. They hadn't taken a break,
and no doubt were weary. Even so, the scene seemed like the
personification of a choked river full of desperate salmon leaping at
an immovable concrete wall.
Right: Rani Rhoar, toxic algae monster
State Senator Wesley Chesbro was just
getting up to speak. "You can hear the frustration in the
voices" of these people, he said. The draft EIS, he said, was
flawed, and FERC should tear down not two dams, but four -- and the
state would be there with the cash to help restore the river..
Then a familiar figure took the floor.
As he spoke, the crowd tensed and glared at him. "My name is
Dennis Mayo, I'm a native Humboldt County boy," he said. He
warned that he might offend some people. "I'm here tonight to
make comments from the farming and ranching community, and also as a
recreational fisherman and a past commercial fisherman and an avid
duck and goose hunter. I have farmed and ranched throughout the
Klamath Basin and I currently have stock on feed in the upper Klamath.
My community is sick and tired of the almost xenophobic way the
environmental groups have attacked us and our livelihood. It has to
stop. In the past we have been played off against the native and
fishing communities in every conceivable way."
Mayo accused environmentalists of
hurting "working folks" and helping destroy rural
communities. He told FERC they were not to be trusted. But then he
said: "We want FERC to know that we don't need these dams for our
irrigation, or flood control, and that we are getting no benefit from
the meager electrical output. We want FERC to know that the Klamath
dams have not only lived out their usefulness as electric generators,
they might have also lived out the life blood of the river: the
salmon. If that happens and the salmon die, also dies the life blood
to the soul of the Klamath's native peoples. That cannot be allowed to
happen. We want to tell FERC that we will see to it that our neighbors
are not stomped on, broken or bankrupted as we make sure these dams
are decommissioned."
He implored the by-now confused "enviro
community" to "get off the superiority trip," and he
asked the Northcoast Environmental Center to pull from its website
"the discriminatory caricature of a fat cowboy/potato farmer with
his pockets stuffed full of cash."
After that, a Yurok man remembered
three kids who'd gone swimming in the river, even though they were
told not to, and came out covered in bumps. A commercial fisherman
said he's fished for 30 years in the ocean, and though he's suffered
from the
recent
restrictions, his "heart goes out to the Indians" more. Lyn
Risling, Karuk-Yurok and a Hoopa Valley Tribe member, likened the loss
of traditional foods such as salmon, deer, acorns and berries to a
continued genocide of her people, ravaged now by diabetes and other
ills.
Back out in the hallway, Dale Ann Frye
Sherman -- half Yurok, half Tolowa -- and Yurok Tribe members David
Gensaw, Sr. and Willard Carlson, Jr. were getting ready to leave. They
hadn't had a chance to give their comments yet, but midnight was
approaching and some people had to work the next day. They seemed
deflated.
"They're going to do it
anyway," said Gensaw about the FERC team. "Their attitude --
they don't even want to be here. They're falling asleep. And why are
we pleading? We should be demanding!"
"They don't even live here,"
said Sherman.
"If they don't tear those dams
down, and they get relicensed, the writing's on the wall," said
Gensaw. "The salmon will be gone."
"And, in essence what that means
is, we as a people will be gone," added Sherman.
"You can't convince me it wasn't a
conspiracy," said Gensaw. "If they kill the system, if they
kill the fish, then they won't have a fight for the water. The water's
like oil. We've got a war on because of oil. But you can live without
oil."
They talked about the fish wars in the
1970s when the federal government showed up in the Indian river
communities wearing riot gear while the Indians fought for their
traditional fishing rights.
But there was a glimmer of hope, they
admitted. "This is the first time I've come to the Red Lion [for
a hearing] in years that the people didn't say, `The Native Americans
overfished with their gill nets,'" said Carlson, who lives on
Blue Creek, a tributary to the Klamath.
"They used to be our
enemies," said Gensaw about all the non-Indians at the hearing.
"Now they're our allies."
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Source: http://www.northcoastjournal.com/112306/news1123.html