Latest news with #riverrestoration
The Guardian
3 days ago
- General
- The Guardian
The river that came back to life: a journey down the reborn Klamath
Bill Cross pulled his truck to the side of a dusty mountain road and jumped out to scan a stretch of rapids rippling through the hillsides below. As an expert and a guide, Cross had spent more than 40 years boating the Klamath River, etching its turns, drops and eddies into his memory. But this run was brand new. On a warm day in mid-May, he would be one of the very first to raft it with high spring flows. Last year, the final of four hydroelectric dams on the Klamath River were removed in the largest project of its kind in US history. Forged through the footprint of reservoirs that kept parts of the Klamath submerged for more than a century, the river that straddles the California-Oregon border has since been reborn. The dam removal marked the end of a decades-long campaign led by the Yurok, Karuk and Klamath tribes, along with a wide range of environmental NGOs and fishing advocacy groups, to convince owner PacifiCorp to let go of the ageing infrastructure. The immense undertaking also required buy-in from regulatory agencies, state and local governments, businesses and the communities that used to live along the shores of the bygone lakes. As the flows were released and the river found its way back to itself, a new chapter of recovery – complete with new challenges – emerged. Among the questions still being answered: how best to facilitate recreation and public connection with the Klamath while recovery continues. There are hopes for hiking trails, campgrounds and picnic spots. A wide range of stakeholders are still busy ironing out the specifics and how best to define the lines between private and public spaces. It's a delicate process. Not just the ecology is being restored; the Indigenous people whose ancestors relied on the river for both sustenance and ritual across thousands of years are also renewing their relationships with the land. More than 2,800 acres, some of which emerged from under the drained reservoirs after the dams came down, will be returned to Shasta Indian Nation, a tribe that was decimated when construction on the dams started in the early 1910s. Ready to be stewards, they are also now navigating their role as landowners in a recreation region. On 15 May, the first opening day for new access sites on the Klamath, visitors got the first real glimpse of the extensive restoration efforts since demolition began in 2023. It also served as an early trial for how the public and an eager commercial rafting community might engage with the river and the landscapes that surround it. As the sun broke through a week of cloudy weather that morning, rafters readied their gear near an access now bearing the traditional name in the Shasta language, K'účasčas (pronounced Ku-chas-chas). 'If we were here a little over a year ago, we would be standing on the edge of a reservoir,' said Thomas O'Keefe, the director of policy and science for American Whitewater, as he helped Cross and Michael Parker, a conservation biologist, ready their boat for a stretch of river above where the Iron Gate dam once stood. The Guardian joined them to try the section on opening day. O'Keefe has played a pivotal role in bridging recreation and restoration on the river. He hopes connecting people to the landscapes will encourage future care for them. 'The vast majority of people want to do the right thing,' O'Keefe said, describing the extreme care taken towards ecologically and culturally sensitive areas. 'We want to make sure we can define where that can happen.' There is still a lot of work left to do. Rustic roads that lead to the river's edge are minimally paved and laden with potholes. It's not immediately clear where visitors should park. Finishing touches are still being added on signs and infrastructure – from put-ins to picnic tables – with the completion of five new public recreation sites planned for 1 August. And for rafters, of course, the river itself must be relearned. Roughly 45 continuous miles were unleashed between the Keno and Iron Gate dams. Rapids long-dependent on artificial surges from the hydropower operations are at last being fueled by natural conditions. 'We are kind of writing the book on it,' said Bart Baldwin, the owner of Noah's River Adventures, a commercial outfit out of Ashland, Oregon, who has taken guests downriver for decades. While he admits the releases from the dams made for 'world-class' rapids, he says the loss has created new opportunities. 'The scenery is stunning and I think it's going to be special.' The waters of the Klamath have burst back to life in recent weeks, spurred by melt-off from strong winter storms. The Iron Gate run bumps and sways through a mix of class II and class III rapids, enough for a fun ride that's manageable for most experience levels. Upriver, the exciting and challenging K'íka·c'é·ki Canyon run winds through more than 2.5 miles of class IV rapids, beckoning those with more expertise. As he called out paddling orders to navigate his boat's small crew through splashy sections, Cross was relieved. In the years before the dams came out, he'd worked to outline the new river and its whitewater potential, armed with historical topographic maps, old photos and bathymetric data that showed depth and underwater terrain. Rooted in science, it requires a bit of guesswork. The volcanic geology here often comes with surprises. 'I spent the first six months sweating bullets watching the water recede and the channel scour and wondering if there was going to be a waterfall I didn't predict,' he said. Even with strong flows, there was space to breathe between more challenging sections. There were spots to beach boats for a picnic lunch, places to quietly float through the vibrant scenery. Vestiges of the recent past are still visible. Gradients of green shroud a scar left by the high-water mark of the reservoir. Columns of dried mud, remnants of the 15m cubic yards of sediment held behind the dams, are clumped along the river's edge. But there are also signs of nature's resilience. Swaying willows stand stalwart from the banks. Behind them, rolling hills splashed with orange and yellow wildflowers and ancient basalt pillars stretch to the horizon. Far from the hum of highway and roads, the silence here is broken only by the purr of the river as it rolls over rocks, accented with eagle calls or chattering sparrows who have already claimed sites along the water for their nests. Years before the dams were demolished, as teams of scientists, tribal members and landscape renovation experts tried to envision how recovery should unfold, there wasn't a guidebook to go by. There weren't records for how the heavily degraded ecosystems should look or function. 'Creating the mosaic we are currently seeing out there has been a work of educated estimation,' said Dave Coffman, a director for Resource Environmental Solutions (RES), the ecological recovery company working on the Klamath's restoration. 'There's nothing in that watershed that hasn't been touched by some sort of detrimental activity.' In less than a year's time, a dramatic reversal has taken place. Some spots have bounced back beautifully. Others had to be carefully cultivated to mimic what could have been if the dams never disrupted them. Native seeds were cast across the slopes, some by hand and others from helicopters. Heavy equipment trucked away mounds of earth. Invasive plants were plucked from around the reservoir footprint before they could spread across the barren ground. 'We are giving nature the kickstart to heal itself,' said Barry McCovey Jr, the fisheries department director for the Yurok tribe. What he calls 'massive scars' left by the dams 'aren't going to heal overnight or in a year or in 10 years', he added. Giving the large-scale process, time will be important – but a little help can go a long way. In late November last year, threatened coho salmon were seen in the upper Klamath River basin for the first time in more than 60 years. Other animals are benefiting, too, including north-western pond turtles, freshwater mussels, beavers and river took mere months for insects, algae and microscopic features of a flourishing food web to return and sprout. 'It's amazing to see river bugs in a river,' he said. They are good indicators of water quality and ecosystem health. It might seem like a happy ending. McCovey Jr said it's just the beginning. 'We are going to have ups and downs and it will take a long time to get to where we want to be,' he said. Ongoing Yurok projects will focus on making more areas 'fish-friendly' and closely monitoring aquatic invertebrates in coordination with the other tribes, researchers and advocacy organizations, and the Klamath River Renewal Corporation that was created to oversee the project. There are also far-flung parts of the watershed they are still working to restore. Close to 47,000 acres of ancestral Yurok homelands in the lower Klamath basin will be returned to the tribe this year after being owned and operated for more than a century by the industrial timber industry. Considered the largest land-back conservation deal in California history, the work there will complement and benefit from what's being done upriver. Even as recovery on the river remains perhaps at its most fragile, most people who have been part of this enormous undertaking are looking forward to welcoming the public. 'I think one of the biggest fears of this project is that it wouldn't work,' Coffman said. 'I am excited for more folks to get out here and see what we are capable of.' The work goes beyond the water line. The lands that hug this river have had their own transformation, along with the people who once called them home. 'People are really focused on dam removal and fish and recreation – and those are all great things – but it is a very personal story for us,' said Sami Jo Difuntorum, cultural preservation officer for the Shasta Indian Nation. As the tribe returns to their ancestral lands, they are envisioning ways to introduce themselves to a largely unfamiliar public. Their story is laced with tragedy, but also resilience. Shasta Indian Nation is not federally recognized, largely because they were massacred in the mid-19th century when gold-seeking settlers poured into the region. Their villages and sacred lands were drowned in the damming of the river. But the people tied to these lands have largely remained close by; many still reside in the county. As the waters of the reservoirs receded, it revealed a place held at the heart of their culture for thousands of years. 'The return of our land is the most important thing to happen for our people in my lifetime, for the generation before and the generation ahead,' Difuntorum said, standing on a quiet overlook watching the river course through the sacred K'íka·c'é·ki Canyon. This steep basalt chasm was left dewatered while the river was rerouted to the hydroelectric plant. 'There are so many things we are learning, like how to coexist as future landowners with the whitewater community, the local community, the fishermen – and then all the tribes,' she added. 'It's a lot – but it's all good stuff. It's huge for our people.' Looking ahead, plans are being made both for public use and for tribal reconnection. There will be access trails across their lands and efforts to plant traditional medicinal and ceremonial plants. Old buildings that provided electricity from the plant will be converted to an interpretive center. Places have been picked for sweat lodges, an official tribal office and the area where the first salmon ceremony will be held in more than century. Difuntorum's grandsons – ages nine and six – will be dancing in that ceremony this year. For the tribe, reconnecting to the river has provided an opportunity to reconnect to their culture and history. Part of reconnecting comes through reintroducing their language. James Sarmento, a linguist and tribal member, is helping Shasta people learn and use pronunciations for recovered places as they were once known along with the stories of creation tied to them. The public will learn them, too. 'It's about making a relationship and having conversations with the land,' Sarmento said. 'These are landscapes that we are not only working to protect – we are working to speak their names out loud.' The darker moments in the tribe's history live on. Remnants of the now-inoperable hydroelectric plant still sit solemnly on the embankment: coils of metal, enormous pipes, nests of wires that connect to nothing. A cave, tucked into the steep slopes among ancient lava fields where 50 or so Shasta people sought refuge in the mid-1800s, still bears the violent marks of a miners' raid that left five people, including women and children dead. Difuntorum said it used to be hard for her to see it all. 'I don't feel that now,' she said. 'Of all the places I have been in the world, this is where I feel the most me – out here at the water.' Cross, O'Keefe and Parker pulled up their paddles to ease into the final float of the run, gliding through the channel that once propped up the Iron Gate dam. Overhead, an osprey settled into its nest with a large fish as a throng of small birds scattered into the cloudless sky. There are sure to be challenges ahead. The climate crisis has deepened droughts and fueled a rise in catastrophic fire as this region grows hotter. Habitat loss and water wars will continue as city sprawl, agriculture and nature increasingly come into conflict. For now though, the river's recovery is a hopeful sign that a wide range of interests can align to make a positive change, even in a warming world. 'I never thought I would see the run under reservoirs be revealed,' Cross said, smiling as he packed up his boat. As a new chapter begins, the Klamath has already become a story of what's possible, fulfilling the hopes that the project could inspire others. And, after decades of advocacy and years of work, 'we have salmon and beaver and poppies,' he said. 'This river will go on forever.'
Irish Times
4 days ago
- Health
- Irish Times
Ireland's plan to weaken legal protections for waterways will push many of them beyond recovery
If I went to my doctor with a cancerous tumour that was treatable and curable, and he shrugged it off and told me to accept it – knowing that without treatment, it would eventually kill me – I'd think he had lost his mind. Yet this is how the Irish State plans to treat some of our most treasured rivers, lakes and estuaries. According to a proposal from the Department of Housing , certain iconic stretches of waters on the likes of the Shannon, Boyne and Blackwater rivers will no longer be viewed as needing restoration. Instead, they will face a future as engineered channels. In the 1980s and '90s, Europeans began to recognise that their rivers were in severe decline due to decades of neglect. Naturally meandering waterways were straightened, drained and dammed; chemicals, pesticides and untreated sewage poured into them unchecked. The problem was cross-border: the Danube, which flows through 10 countries, became saturated with pollution. In 1986, a fire at a chemical warehouse near Basle, Switzerland, caused the Rhine river to turn red with mercury and dyes, as vast amounts of toxic waste flowed hundreds of kilometres downstream into Germany and the Netherlands. Drinking water supplies were shut off, and aquatic life, such as European eels, was decimated. What was clear was that Europe needed a unified, legally binding approach to water protection that set out common rules, clear responsibilities and shared goals. By 2000, a plan was in place that aimed to safeguard waterways not only for aquatic life but also as a source of drinking water, transport and leisure for humans. This law, known as the Water Framework Directive, has a clear objective: to ensure all waterbodies reach at least 'good status', meaning they are clean, healthy and safe for swimming and drinking. Built into the plan is a legal recognition that some waterbodies, especially in highly industrialised countries such as Germany, have been altered so extensively that returning them to their natural state would be impossible or potentially harmful to human interests and security. These are placed in a special category, called 'heavily modified water bodies', and are legally exempt from the requirement to achieve 'good' status. They include reservoirs supplying drinking water, canals designed for navigation or drainage, urban rivers confined within concrete channels or culverts, ports, harbours and rivers drained for agricultural use. READ MORE While they cannot be used as dumping grounds for pollutants, the law accepts that these waters will never be restored or naturalised. For that reason, the principle guiding 'heavily modified' designation should be balanced and factor in whether it serves the widest possible interest: their number should be kept to a minimum, and where ongoing engineering and management is necessary – for example, in a reservoir or port – they must deliver significant benefit to the public. Ireland has 33 heavily modified water bodies, including Poulaphouca reservoir, which provides drinking water to Dublin; Cork Harbour for industrial activity; and New Ross Port in Wexford, run by the council as a transport route. But under the department's proposal, released in March, this number will increase by 1,312 per cent. It includes 122 waterbodies that run through some of Ireland's unique natural areas. It includes stretches of the Nore, Brosna, Maigue, Liffey, Fergus, Mulkear and Carrowbeg rivers; lakes such as Lough Corrib and Lough Derg; and estuaries like Lower Suir. [ Pollution on the Liffey: Algal blooms at Blessington a threat to Dublin's drinking water Opens in new window ] Why does the State want to all but give up on these waters? The problem stems from a law dating back to 1945, the Arterial Drainage Act, which gives the State sweeping powers to carry out large-scale drainage works, such as deepening, widening, dredging and straightening. Eighty years ago – when we knew nothing about climate warming – the law was viewed as progressive; today it clashes with the Water Framework Directive because this extent of drainage causes severe damage, irreversibly stripping rivers of their natural life and course. Ireland cannot abide by one law with the other. As long as these waters are drained, they will never meet the standards set by EU water law. Reservoirs, ports, canals and harbours must be operational, and as such, designating them as 'heavily modified' is in the public interest, as their functional demands cannot be fulfilled while simultaneously attempting restoration. But in the future, who'll benefit from the continual dredging of the Clare river in Galway, once one of our most natural rivers and now, in many parts, a canalised channel? Or the river Brosna, whose waters followed a meandering course through Offaly before its curves were straightened and its channel deepened? And how is it justified in the public interest, given that drainage makes our towns and cities more – not less – vulnerable to flash flooding? Instead of reshaping drainage policy so that it's fit for the critical challenges we face – not least, the chaotic mix of water shortages and drought, extreme weather events and rapidly warming waters – what's proposed is simply remove these waters from any hope of being restored to full health. Never before have our waterways needed climate and nature-proofed policies more. Our waters are warming at levels never seen before – for example, in Lough Feeagh in Mayo, the heat in the water has been above the long-term average (recorded since 1960) since January. Sea temperatures have soared. This is the future for which we need to rapidly prepare. Under the Nature Restoration Law, we're required to restore at least 20 per cent of our land and sea areas by 2030, increasing to 90 per cent by 2050. That includes rewetting organic soils, like those at the headwaters of the river Boyne, which are currently drained. Instead of giving up on our waters and relegating them to a lower standard – all for the sake of an outdated, 80-year-old law – now is the time to put energy into nature-based solutions, which are proven to be effective and cheap as a way to reduce flood risk, improve soil health and meet climate, nature and water goals without abandoning the land. We can't ignore the facts: our waterways are facing immense pressure, and some are already critically ill. Even if our only concern was water security, the urgent need for restoration is clear. This proposal to weaken their legal protections will only speed up their deterioration. Across Ireland, communities are volunteering to revive the life in their local waters. If this legal loophole is allowed, their efforts will be in vain. In effect, the State would be like a doctor unfit to practice – turning its back on the patient instead of providing care. As a result, many of our most treasured rivers and lakes will, without question, slip beyond recovery.
BBC News
7 days ago
- General
- BBC News
River Breamish rerouting in Northumberland to be reversed
Work has begun to restore a river's traditional course after centuries of re-routing straightened it to create historic meandering of a 1km (0.6 mile) section of the River Breamish on the Harehope Estate, south of Wooler in Northumberland, will be are excavating and diverting the river into its historic channels, installing silt traps, shallow ponds, wetlands, embankment breaches and constructing new woody Breamish restoration is expected to be completed by late Summer, the Life Wader project said. It is part of a wider River Till Restoration Strategy, named after the river the Breamish flows from its floodplain has led to a decline in freshwater species, reduced biodiversity and an increased risk of flooding, Life Wader work, which has been in development since 2019 and received planning approval in 2024, got under way late last week. Phil Kearney, project manager at Tweed Forum which is involved in the restoration, said: "We should be hopefully complete within about eight to 10 weeks."Jim Heslop, from the Environment Agency in north-east England, said the scheme will give "a boost for wildlife".It is part of a five-year, £5.8m nature recovery project co-funded by the European Union and due for completion in December 2026. Additional reporting by James Robinson, Local Democracy Reporting Service Follow BBC North East on X, Facebook, Nextdoor and Instagram.
BBC News
29-05-2025
- General
- BBC News
Hemel Hempstead chalk stream rerouted at Gadebridge Park
A rare chalk stream has been rerouted to improve wildlife habitats and reduce the risk of localised flooding. The River Gade, at Gadebridge Park in Hemel Hempstead, has been returned to its natural course after it was moved to supply water to the former Bury Mill. The river restoration project in the Hertfordshire town was completed by the Environment Agency (EA) who worked with Dacorum Borough Council and Affinity Bromham, Liberal Democrat portfolio holder for neighbourhood operations at Dacorum, said: "The return of the River Gade to its natural course not only restores an important ecosystem but also enhances the park experience for our residents and visitors." The council was previously told the Gade was one of the "very few" chalk streams that exist around the artificial channel that had been cut caused the river to become disconnected, which the EA said led to water quality issues and limited new footbridges, a gauging station, and an ultrasonic structure that allows fish and mammals to move freely were installed as part of the project. Former Undertones singer Feargal Sharkey has been involved in a long-running campaign to preserve chalk "We've destroyed our chalk streams," says SharkeyListen: Sharkey's 'river ramble' with Clare BaldingThe Chiltern Society said chalk streams played host to water vole, endangered in the UK, and brown was created along the banks to provide habitat for different species including trout, water vole and Wilson, area director at the EA, said: "Getting to this stage marks the huge collective effort of a large number of people."I'd like to thank everyone involved for their perseverance and commitment to bringing such a complex and ambitious project to completion." Follow Beds, Herts and Bucks news on BBC Sounds, Facebook, Instagram and X.
Irish Times
24-05-2025
- General
- Irish Times
Ireland has 33 species of mayfly. Even under immense pressure from humans, they adapt
Shucks and spinners, imagos and duns, clingers and burrowers ... You would need a dictionary to decode the language of the mayfly and the many terms describing its life stages. These insects spend years as juveniles on the beds of streams, rivers and lakes – some pressed flat beneath rocks – before transforming into winged adults, swarming above the water with a single, urgent goal: to mate. One evening last week, after attending the launch of Take Me to the River at the Solstice Arts Centre in Meath – a collaboration of artists, scientists and local communities working to restore the river Boyne and her many tributaries, now rapidly dying – I took to the banks of the river as she meanders through Navan and walked the banks. The evening sun bathed the fields and water with a golden light, revealing the insects darting through the air. They looked like specks of dust flitting back and forth, occasionally scattered apart by swallows which darted through them at speed. As I walked along the mown path beside the river, the adult mayfly stood out, pulsing through the air. Known as 'spinners' and technically named 'imagos', this final stage of the mayfly's life is fleeting, sometimes lasting only a few hours. In times of abundance, adult mayflies emerge in synchronised hatches in May in such huge numbers that they rise in dense clouds above the water. Years ago, over the Corrib, I watched so many lift off at once it looked as though smoke was drifting across the water from an unseen fire. On my recent walk along the Boyne, only a few hundred were dancing in the air, their wings like transparent sheets of rice paper, carrying their slender bodies upwards. Mayflies are easy to spot by the long, hair-thin tails trailing from the base of their abdomen, which appear to weigh the mayfly down, as if dragging it back into the water. READ MORE [ Irish hares are unique but the law of the land is against them Opens in new window ] For the likes of trout and salmon, mayflies are protein-rich power snacks, devoured at every stage of their life cycle. As underwater nymphs (think of it as mayflies' childhood phase) this insect clings to stones or burrows into the riverbed, living unseen for years. In their teenage stage as sub-imagos, known by anglers as 'duns', they rise to the water's surface, shed their outer skins, or 'shucks', to emerge as hairy-winged adults. Finally, as fully mature imagos, they take to the air. Adult mayflies don't have mouths and so cannot feed. So they must use all their stored energy to complete their final job: to reproduce. During this burst of aerial activity, males and females rise for their first and only nuptial flight, seeking one another to mate. The females lay eggs in the water before joining the males and falling lifeless on to the surface. As developing eggs, mayflies are vulnerable to water pollution. Sediment can smother and block the flow of oxygen to the eggs, which is vital for survival. Excessive phosphate levels in the water will fatally disrupt their development due to excessive algal growth. Yet even under immense pressure from human activities, mayflies can adapt. In 2023, fisheries scientist Dr Ken Whelan led a study of mayfly populations in the western lakes – Carra, Conn, Corrib and Mask. They discovered profound changes in the ecology of these lakes. Where once there were two distinct peaks of mayfly emergence (in May and August), mayflies now appear continuously throughout the summer. The deeper parts of the lake beds of Corrib, Mask and Carra are becoming increasingly unsuitable for nymphs to survive. However, in Lough Sheelin in Cavan, where mayfly numbers have grown recently, Dr Whelan discovered nymphs burrowing in the empty shells of invasive zebra mussels on the lake bed – a striking example of adaptation. 'No matter what Nature or Man throws at them,' he writes in this month's Trout & Salmon magazine, 'warming water, storms affecting egg-laying adults, the appearance of invasive species, new predators – apparently, our beloved mayfly can adapt, survive, and thrive.' The olive mayfly The pressures are many. Pollution and record-high water temperatures in rivers are already taking a toll. Two weeks ago fisheries authorities closed multiple fisheries including the iconic Erriff and Moy fisheries after water temperatures exceeded 20 degrees Celsius twice within 24 hours - an alarming situation. For some mayfly species, the warmer waters lead to stunted growth and leave them more susceptible to early death. Unlike many other European countries, Ireland still relies heavily on rivers and lakes as a source of drinking water – a practice that can worsen rising water temperatures. On top of this are other threats: invasive species such as non-native shrimps and snails that feast on juvenile mayflies; lethal pesticide use; and physical disturbances such as dredging, which can devastate the delicate habitats these insects depend on. So, how are Ireland's 33 mayfly species faring overall? By the end of this year, we will have a much clearer picture when Dr Jan-Robert Baars, an insect scientist at University College Dublin, publishes his nationwide assessment. With a bit of help from citizen scientists, from anglers to schoolchildren, Dr Baars is gathering data to track mayfly populations across the country. There are small signs of hope: last summer, a pupil from Scoil Bhríde in Kilcullen discovered a mayfly species in the Liffey that hadn't been recorded there in nearly a century.
