Arron Troy Hockaday leaned over the highway railing to peer into the water below, where the Scott River empties into the Klamath near the Oregon border.
Beneath the bridge, dozens of threatened coho salmon rested on their journey back from the Pacific. It was the end of October, and they were waiting for rain to drive them to calmer creeks and streams where they could spawn, then die.
鈥淭here should be thousands of salmon in here right now,鈥� said Hockaday, a Karuk Tribal Council member and a fifth generation traditional fisherman.
鈥淚 tell my kids every time I stop by here and look at these fish to take a picture. They ask me why, and I say, 鈥楾his might be the last time you see them.鈥欌��
About 40 miles upriver, through the mountains of Klamath National Forest, lies the flat of the Scott Valley. Jim Morris鈥� pickup truck bumped past cattle grazing on bright green alfalfa stubble to a dry field covered in tumbleweeds.
鈥淚鈥檓 a little embarrassed by this one,鈥� he said, nodding at the weeds.
He had cut back on irrigating the field last year under state emergency drought measures that restricted water for farms, aimed at keeping water in the river to protect salmon. He thought it would grow back, but it didn鈥檛.
鈥淚鈥檓 still working on cleaning up the messes that I made through that process. If we have to cut back on water, we will. But this is the price we pay,鈥� he said.
Morris is still totaling up the costs of the state鈥檚 emergency regulations, but estimates that he fallowed 15% to 20% of his land when hay prices were good 鈥� cutting into his sales.
鈥淎g is not like having an 8-to-5 job,鈥� he added, 鈥淵ou need to make money when you can, because the next year, you won鈥檛.鈥�
Hockaday鈥檚 and Morris鈥� deep-rooted ties to the water are at the core of a battle that has roiled California鈥檚 far north over the Scott River and its neighbor, the Shasta, for years. These Klamath River tributaries provide vital habitat for struggling salmon and steelhead, and critical irrigation supplies for Siskiyou County farmers.
Now the State Water Resources Control Board whether to extend , which could restrict ground and surface water for farms for another year if flows in the rivers dip below minimum thresholds. State officials say those measures are likely to kick in next year.
The water board also is investigating the possibility of permanent requirements to keep more water in the rivers, after the Karuk Tribe and the fishing industry petitioned the state for stronger protections. That decision, however, could take years.
At the heart of the debate is a fundamental question underlying all of California鈥檚 water wars, old and new, and : Who must sacrifice when water demand outpaces supply, and nature shows the strain?
Tribes in the lower Klamath Basin, wildlife agencies and the fishing industry are all fighting for flows to support the rivers, their fish and the cultures and businesses that depend on them. At the same time, farmers and ranchers in the Scott and Shasta Valleys are vying for the water that supplies the cattle and crops that drive the Siskiyou County economy.
鈥淭hings are going to have to change,鈥� said Erik Ekdahl, deputy director of the water board鈥檚 division of water rights. 鈥�(There鈥檚) recognition that the status quo isn鈥檛 going to work. But what is the new approach? We need everyone鈥檚 voice at the table to figure that out.鈥�
California鈥檚 last salmon strongholds
The fight is coming to a boil as another battle cools: are being torn down across the California-Oregon state line, upstream of where the Scott and the Shasta rivers flow into its mainstem. Dam removal is expected to unlock hundreds of miles of habitat in the basin and bring back flows that can better wash away fish parasites and other disease.
Yet it鈥檚 not a cure-all for the Klamath and its tributaries.
鈥淒am removal should help the Scott and Shasta, but the Scott and Shasta are key pieces to make dam removal a success,鈥� Jeff Abrams, a biologist with the Klamath branch of NOAA Fisheries, said at a meeting with state regulators.
The Scott River is one of the last remaining strongholds for coho salmon in California; the Shasta has of the basin鈥檚 wild-spawning fall-run chinook salmon over the last five years.
But state and federal wildlife agencies warn that in the Scott and the Shasta cut off , imperiling the Klamath Basin鈥檚 fish.
鈥淭hat鈥檚 where these animals鈥� life cycles start and end,鈥� Abrams told CalMatters. 鈥淚f we don鈥檛 have suitable conditions in these rivers, then these fish really have no chance.鈥�
Spring-run chinook, , are already . Coho, listed as threatened at both the state and federal levels, are considered at of extinction in the Scott, and .
Fall-run Chinook populations 鈥� vital to commercial and tribal fishing 鈥� are collapsing across California, with numbers , where they have been declining even faster.
This year, all salmon fishing was canceled in California and in much of Oregon. The Yurok Tribe has canceled its commercial fishery , and this year closed down subsistence fishing, as well 鈥� a major blow to food security for the tribe.
Still, by the end of October, adult chinook salmon had fought their way up the Scott River 鈥� nosing their way through a fish counting station and into the valley to spawn.
鈥淭his is good to see,鈥� said Morgan Knechtle, Klamath and Trinity Rivers program supervisor with the state Department of Fish and Wildlife, as he counted off eight females in a stretch of the river where they hovered over their nests on the river floor.
Knechtle and his team are still tallying up the number of chinook and coho that returned to the rivers this year. To date, preliminary coho returns are trending above average on the Scott, but below average on the Shasta. Chinook, however, are looking below average on both.
The threats to salmon are many 鈥� ocean conditions, climate change, predators, drought, dams and more.
But state and federal officials have been warning for years that crops and livestock further sap the rivers鈥� flows. As agriculture exploded in the , late summer and fall flows in the river plummeted.
鈥淒uring the summer, large portions of the mainstem Scott River become completely dry, leaving only a series of stagnant isolated pools inhospitable to salmonids,鈥�
Nearby, on the Shasta, drops in flows during irrigation season , worsening conditions for fish.
Hockaday, the Karuk councilmember, said he understands that people depend on agriculture for their livelihoods and for the food that鈥檚 on his table, too. But there鈥檚 got to be a balance.
鈥淲e can鈥檛 take care of our fish because the farmers have taken all of our water. So the creator is telling us this is what you got to do. You know? One day, these ain鈥檛 going to be here,鈥� Hockaday said.
From his vantage point on the highway at the mouth of the Scott River, Hockaday watched a coho salmon lazily scrape itself on rocks rising from the water, trying to dislodge a parasitic lamprey trailing from its side.
鈥淚鈥檒l fight until I can鈥檛 breathe anymore for these fish,鈥� he said. 鈥淎nd I hope my grandson and my sons and even my granddaughter will keep up the fight until they鈥檙e protected.鈥�
A temporary stopgap
Two years ago, with drought tightening its grip on the region, the and both urged the water board to take emergency action to help salmon and trout 鈥渟urvive this dire situation.鈥�
The measures went into place near the end of the 2021 irrigation season. The board extended them as drought continued in 2022 鈥� curtailing diversions from the rivers when they dipped below minimum thresholds, and calling for groundwater pumpers to voluntarily reduce their use by 30% on the Scott and .
Then, this year, the Karuk Tribe, commercial fishing organizations and the Environmental Law Foundation for stronger, permanent flow requirements on the Scott River.
鈥淚鈥檒l fight until I can鈥檛 breathe anymore for these fish. And I hope my grandson and my sons and even my granddaughter will keep up the fight until they鈥檙e protected.鈥�ARRON TROY HOCKADAY, KARUK TRIBAL COUNCIL MEMBER
Though a wet winter has lifted the state out of drought, most of Siskiyou County 鈥� including the Scott and Shasta valleys鈥� . As soon as the emergency regulations expired by the beginning of August, flows on the Shasta River plummeted, with about half of the water diverted.
In August, the state board discussed the petition for permanent regulations late into the night. Though the board tasked staff with investigating the possibility of long-term restrictions on both rivers, the process would likely take years and require clearing the landmark California Environmental Quality Act鈥檚 requirements.
In the meantime, said 鈥渁 fish emergency鈥� remained on the rivers. 鈥淭ime isn鈥檛 our friend,鈥� he said. 鈥淭here is an urgency.鈥�
As a stopgap, the board is expected to vote Tuesday on new emergency regulations similar to the drought measures that expired over the summer. Among the changes is a requirement for certain producers to meter their groundwater pumping, following concerns that efforts in the Scott Valley . The board has also added more options to allow for ramping down groundwater pumping on a schedule.
They鈥檙e temporary measures that can only last one year unless the board renews them 鈥� and Tribes and conservationists are watching the clock: If Gov. Gavin Newsom lifts that remains in place in Siskiyou County, the board鈥檚 power to set such emergency restrictions evaporates.
鈥淚s it climate change? Is it habitat change? Is it agricultural use? It鈥檚 probably some of all of those things,鈥� said Knechtle, with the state Department of Fish and Wildlife. 鈥淏ut we鈥檙e also interested in trying to turn the dial on something that actually can have an effect, in a short amount of (time).鈥�
Even one year could have lasting consequences on ranchers and growers, said Ryan Walker, president of the Siskiyou County Farm Bureau. 鈥淐urtailments are almost a certainty,鈥� he said. 鈥淥ne year with no water could push a substantial number of farmers out of business.鈥�
Walker said many worry that the emergency measures will be renewed 鈥� a gateway for long-term restrictions.
Ranchers revolt: 鈥榊ou shut us down, take our water.鈥�
At the end of October, dozens of farmers and ranchers gathered in . They were there, packed onto folding chairs and standing in the back of the old railroad town鈥檚 community hall, to talk about the fate of the rivers.
One by one, in two meetings over nearly six hours, residents told state officials what they thought of the regulations.
Some stressed the financial toll. Pamela Tozier Hayden, a Scott Valley rancher, tallied a 35% cut in hay production and the loss of fall forage for livestock, a $22,000 conversion to a more efficient irrigation system, cows sold off and pasture overtaken by weeds.
鈥淚 would like to see us work together for reasonable solutions and local people not be pitted against one another by outside powers,鈥� she said.
Selling off cows 鈥渢o become hamburger鈥� is not 鈥渟omething we can come back from very easily,鈥� Walker said. 鈥淲e can鈥檛 fallow cows. We can鈥檛 let our cows go dry and hope they鈥檒l come back next year.鈥�
In Siskiyou County, where environmental regulations have long affected local industries from gold mining to timber, many chafed against the state鈥檚 authority. One association of ranchers, facing dry stock ponds and rising costs of hay, 鈥� diverting water from the Shasta River in spite of the state鈥檚 orders.
鈥淲e can鈥檛 fallow cows. We can鈥檛 let our cows go dry and hope they鈥檒l come back next year.鈥�RYAN WALKER, SISKIYOU COUNTY FARM BUREAU
Many saw the newest round of emergency regulations as another example of state officials meddling unnecessarily, when California is no longer in drought. They say there are other serious threats to salmon, beyond the rural valleys of Siskiyou County.
鈥淥ur governor doesn鈥檛 have the knowledge to know when we鈥檙e in a water emergency. Neither does the state water board,鈥� one attendee, Jess Harris, said. 鈥淎re we going to be under emergency regulations forever to fit these biased desires, whether it be tribes or environmental groups?鈥�
Speaker after speaker questioned the state鈥檚 modeling, asked whether the flow requirements were even feasible, and called for more limited restrictions and opportunities to recharge the groundwater so tightly connected to the rivers鈥� flows.
Farmers and ranchers wanted to know why they were being singled out when mining, flood control projects, and forest management past and present also played a part.
The most heated vitriol, though, was directed at community members of Hmong descent who grow cannabis in Siskiyou County, where it is illegal.
It was dark outside before the meeting began wrapping up. As agency staff discussed their next steps, one man in the audience yelled out, 鈥淚 can鈥檛 believe you think you have this power over us. Who gives you this power over all of us?鈥�
Erin Ragazzi, assistant deputy director for water rights, tried to respond: 鈥淚 don鈥檛 feel that I have power over you. The question was 鈥斺��
鈥淵es you do,鈥� the man said. 鈥淵ou shut us down, take our water, take our property.鈥� He stood up and walked out.
The next day, Jim Morris stood by the Scott River where it runs through land that鈥檚 been passed down through five generations of his wife鈥檚 family. He hopes his daughter will be the sixth, but he thinks that regulating flows in the rivers will make it that much harder for her to succeed.
He worries that everyone is fighting over 鈥渟craps鈥� of water, and that the state rules will drive wedges between communities that could take generations to fix.
鈥淲e all have a stake in this, and we need to work together,鈥� he said, the river gurgling beside him. 鈥淚f we鈥檙e going to work against each other, we鈥檙e probably going to cause problems. We鈥檙e definitely going to blow up our communities, and we鈥檙e going to harm the resources. We鈥檙e going to harm the fish.鈥�
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