TRIBAL NEWS
Tuesday, September 6, 2022
East Oregonian
A9
Hatching chinook to be wild
Why tribes
are pursuing a
controversial
salmon recovery
strategy
said. “It may take decades
to get those increases from
a conservation hatchery
program.”
The trouble with
supplementation
By COLE SINANIAN
Columbia Insight
ELGIN — Rick Zollman
stood at the edge of a rect-
angular, concrete pool and
peered into the water below.
Tens of thousands of juve-
nile chinook salmon rushed
toward him, their speckled
backs and silver bellies glis-
tening in the afternoon sun.
Zollman waved and
smiled at the fish as they lept
from the water to greet him,
conditioned to expect food
when they sense the presence
of their loyal caretaker.
Each of the 18 pools —
or raceways — at North-
east Oregon’s Lookingglass
Hatchery, outside of Elgin,
holds roughly 65,000 juve-
nile chinooks, totaling nearly
1.5 million fish.
The fish were hatched
here in January from parents
collected in one of five of
the region’s rivers, then
transferred to the raceways
in spring. They’ll remain
here for a year, growing and
maturing until ready for
release into the wild.
Shaded by towering
lodgepole and ponderosa
pines, Lookingglass Hatch-
ery sits along Lookingglass
Creek in the historic home-
land of the Nez Perce Tribe.
The Nez Perce have exclu-
sive fishing rights to Look-
ingglass Creek, one of the
tribe’s traditional fishing
spots. For centuries, Nez
Perce families have gath-
ered here to harvest salmon
returning from the Pacific.
The tribe uses the hatch-
ery to restore the area’s
natural population of wild
chinook, in the hopes they
may one day reach levels that
support consistent harvest.
The hatchery dilemma
In a controversial practice
known as “supplementation,”
Lookingglass managers take
mature wild fish from the
area’s streams and spawn
them at the hatchery.
The goal is to ensure that
the fish released from the
hatchery are from the same
genetic lineage as the wild
stock, so they can return to
spawn naturally, effectively
making their offspring a part
of the wild population.
Many scientists and
con se r vat ion ist s have
pointed to hatcheries as a
contributing factor to the
demise of wild salmon
stocks in the Pacific North-
west. Releasing hundreds
of millions of domesticated
hatchery fish into the water-
shed each year allows for the
rationalization of overfishing
and habitat destruction, they
say, and adds pressure on the
comparatively few remaining
wild fish by reducing their
genetic fitness and increasing
competition for resources.
But for tribes like the Nez
Perce, whose culture is inex-
tricably bound to salmon,
hatcheries may be all that
prevents their traditional
way of life from disappear-
ing entirely.
To supply fishing grounds
while minimizing the effects
of hatcheries on endangered
wild salmon, tribal-operated
hatcheries are employing
innovative but experimental
methods like supplementa-
tion to restore wild fish popu-
lations in the rivers where
they were lost.
“With hatcheries, they’re
not a solution, they’re a tool,”
said Zollman, who works for
Nez Perce fisheries but is
not a tribal member himself.
“The idea is that we still have
fish spawning so our grand-
kids can go watch them, and
still be able to catch fish and
have them on the table.”
At Lookingglass, the
spring chinook conservation
program operates for rivers
in the Grande Ronde and
Imnaha river systems.
Lookingglass is one of
five hatcheries among the
33 operated by the Oregon
Department of Fish and
Cole Sinanian/Columbia Insight
Northeast Oregon’s Lookingglass Hatchery, outside of Elgin, holds roughly 65,000 juvenile
chinooks, totaling nearly 1.5 million fish.
“WITH
HATCHERIES,
THEY’RE NOT
A SOLUTION,
THEY’RE A
TOOL. THE
IDEA IS THAT
WE STILL HAVE
FISH SPAWNING
SO OUR
GRANDKIDS
CAN GO WATCH
THEM, AND
STILL BE ABLE
TO CATCH FISH
AND HAVE
THEM ON THE
TABLE.”
— Rick Zollman, Nez
Perce, Fisheries Resources
Management
Wildlife that has a conserva-
tion program. Like Looking-
glass, the others — Cascade,
Ir r igon, Umatilla and
Wallowa hatcheries — each
have tribal co-management.
How supplementation
works
The Lookingglass
program uses supplementa-
tion — essentially removing
wild fish from rivers and inte-
grating them into hatchery
broodstock — to produce the
next generation of salmon.
Chinook spawned at the
hatchery eventually return to
their natal streams as adults
to spawn naturally, produc-
ing offspring that are both
genetically and behavior-
ally indistinguishable from
wild-origin fish.
The National Oceanic and
Atmospheric Administration
regulates hatcheries that take
endangered salmon popula-
tions — such as Columbia
River spring chinook — for
broodstock.
“For a conservation hatch-
ery, typically we have objec-
tives or goals that are solely
to restore the wild spawn-
ing populations,” said Lance
Kruzic, a NOAA fisheries
biologist. “It’s a very defined
program, with the intention
being conservation or recov-
ery.”
To prevent an overabun-
dance of hatchery-reared fish
on the spawning grounds,
which generally have greater
return numbers than wild-or-
igin fish, Lookingglass
managers employ an elab-
orate system of weirs (fish
traps) to maintain a healthy
ecosystem balance.
In what’s referred to as
the “sliding scale” method,
Cole Sinanian/Columbia Insight
Rick Zollman checks in on a pen full of broodstock at Look-
ingglass Hatchery, outside of Elgin.
Lookingglass managers use
the weirs to select how many
of each type of fish — hatch-
ery-reared or wild — reach
the spawning grounds. The
number of a given year’s
wild returns determines
the number of hatchery fish
allowed to reach the spawn-
ing grounds.
Lookingglass managers
also use the weirs to adjust
the number of wild-origin
fish taken for broodstock
based on that year’s wild
returns. During years when
wild returns are low, more
hatchery-origin fish — which
are marked by the removal of
a portion of their adipose fin
— are collected for brood-
stock, so as to not interrupt
the wild chinook population’s
recovery.
“The weirs allow every-
thing to be controlled,” Zoll-
man said. “We don’t inundate
the natural fish, but we don’t
leave the spawning grounds
empty.”
Once collected, brood-
stock are spawned at the
hatchery and their offspring
are incubated, then trans-
ferred to massive early-rear-
ing tanks.
Once the young fish reach
a few centimeters in length,
they’re segregated based on
the rivers their parents orig-
inated from — this prevents
biological connections from
being compromised.
After about a year of
maturing in the raceways,
the fish are trucked to accli-
mation sites (small pens near
the spawning grounds in
their home rivers) where they
spend their final four to six
weeks before release.
It’s here that fish internal-
ize the rivers’ unique chem-
ical and magnetic cues that
will one day guide them
home.
They also lose their
domestic tendencies. By this
point young fish no longer
swim toward humans expect-
ing to be fed.
In total, the fish spend 18
months at the hatchery before
release.
Low numbers, long
game
W hen Look ingglass
began its conservation
program in 1997, each of the
area’s watersheds had only a
few dozen fish returning to
spawn.
At Lookingglass Creek,
those numbers were in the
single digits.
Now, hundreds of fish
return to Lookingglass
Creek each year — enough
to support limited sport and
tribal fisheries.
W h i le ye a r-t o -ye a r
numbers fluctuate wildly,
average annual returns in the
nearby Lostine River now top
more than 1,000, according
to data from Zollman.
Salmon had a particularly
prosperous year in 2010,
when returns to the Lostine
were close to 5,000. Half of
2022’s returns to the Lostine
— which have yet to be fully
counted — were wild-origin
fish.
Factors that affect annual
fish returns beyond what the
hatcheries are doing include
ocean conditions, commer-
cial fisheries and habitat
accessibility.
“The success of a hatchery
program depends on good
habitat and good survival
conditions for the fish, just
like in the wild,” Kruzic
Supplementation
represents a shift in hatch-
ery management that began
around the turn of the
century.
But some scientists say
these programs are risky.
Studies have shown that
deliberately interbreeding
hatchery fish with natural-or-
igin fish can negatively affect
wild populations.
Salmon are biologically
linked to the rivers they come
from. Raising juvenile fish in
an artificial habitat can make
those fish less suited to natu-
ral environments, decreasing
the chances that they return
home to spawn.
This lack of biological
fitness carries on to the hatch-
ery fishes’ offspring, which
can genetically weaken the
local wild populations when
the two interbreed, accord-
ing to a recent report by the
Washington Department of
Fish and Wildlife.
“Hatchery fish are domes-
ticated, and that difference
is actually programmed
into the genetics of the fish
themselves,” said Jamie
Glasgow, director of science
and research at the Wild Fish
Conservancy, a Washing-
ton-based nonprofit conser-
vation organization. “If wild
fish interact and spawn with
hatchery fish, the next gener-
ation of offspring from that
hatchery and wild pairing is
much less likely to survive in
the wild.”
Beyond genetic risks,
some scientists and conserva-
tionists see using hatcheries
for conservation as a back-
ward approach to wild fish
recovery. Excessive hatch-
ery production is often cited
as one of many contributing
factors to the rapid decline
of Pacific Northwest wild
salmon over the past century.
Since the region’s first
hatcheries were built in the
late 1800s, the majority of
hatchery programs have
operated under an agricul-
tural model of fish produc-
tion.
This approach relies on
the sheer volume of fish
produced to sustain runs
and support fisheries with-
out consideration for habi-
tat restoration or the fishes’
genetic fitness, said Jack
Stanford, a retired professor
and fisheries ecologist at the
University of Montana.
“There’s this mantra out
there that you can replace lost
catch because of the demise
of wild fish with hatcher-
ies,” he said. “And it does not
work.”
The net result is the entire
Pacific Northwest salmon
fishery being reliant on a
system that may be contribut-
ing to the decline of the very
fish it’s intended to save.
“It’s like we’re trying to
save this patient, but we’re
standing on their throat while
we’re doing it,” said Glasgow.
‘Museum-piece
fisheries’
While hatcheries may
have historically used an
ecologically irresponsible
management approach, some
members of the Columbia
River Plateau Tribes view
them as essential to keeping
ancient traditions alive.
They see supplementa-
tion as necessary to not only
saving the fish from extinc-
tion, but to keeping salmon
in the rivers and streams in
tribal homelands that once
served as sacred fishing
grounds.
The lives of the indige-
nous people who inhabit the
plateaus and valleys of the
Columbia River Basin once
completely revolved around
salmon. The seasonal returns
of salmon to natal streams
are integral to their cultures.
“We’re a salmon people,”
said Joe Oatman, a member
of the Nez Perce Tribe and
director of the Harvest Divi-
sion of its fisheries program.
“Our whole identity and
our whole view of the world
revolve around salmon. And
to be salmon people, we need
to have salmon in the rivers.”
Construction of hydro-
electric dams throughout
the 20th century brought the
elimination of more than 40%
of historic salmon habitat and
the destruction of culturally
and economically significant
tribal fishing places.
This was devastating to
the Nez Perce, who histor-
ically consumed more than
300 pounds of salmon per
person per year, according
to Oatman. Now a tribal
member might be fortunate
to catch two or three fish a
year.
With historic fishing
places either inaccessible or
lacking fish, many Nez Perce
families now must travel long
distances to harvest their
yearly catch. The result-
ing economic burden forces
many to make difficult deci-
sions about whether to prior-
itize finances over cultural
preservation.
“These days, it’s a really
tough choice for many tribal
families to decide where they
want to go harvest fish to try
and meet their needs through-
out the year,” Oatman said.
This is why hatcheries are
essential, despite their ques-
tionable history, said Mike
Matylewich, fisheries and
management director for
the Columbia River Inter-
Tribal Fish Commission,
which coordinates fishery
management policies for the
Nez Perce, Umatilla, Warm
Springs and Yakama tribes.
Closing hatcheries alto-
gether would leave huge
portions of the Columbia
River Basin salmon-free, and
greatly reduce tribes’ ability
to harvest on their historic
fishing grounds.
“If you took hatcher-
ies out of the mix, you’d get
pockets of wild fish,” Matyle-
wich said. “You’d have muse-
um-piece fisheries.”
Fighting chance
Lookingglass is consid-
ered to be among Oregon’s
more successful conservation
hatchery programs.
W hile nu mbers are
nowhere near enough to
sustain a fishery robust
enough to supply the Nez
Perce year-rou nd, the
program has prevented the
region’s spring chinook
salmon population from
disappearing entirely.
Zollman said for the fore-
seeable future it’s unlikely
numbers will reach a point
where the hatchery program
is no longer needed, given the
many factors contributing to
the fishes’ mortality that are
beyond his control.
But in terms of giving
salmon a fighting chance at
survival, Zollman is confi-
dent the program is working.
For Oatman, the fact there
still are fish in these rivers at
all is a sign of a successful
supplementation program.
The region’s Nez Perce
may not be able to harvest
enough salmon to sustain
their total dietary needs as
they once could. But they
can still fish in the traditional
places used by their families
for generations.
“It’s more than just
catching a few fish to bring
home,” Oatman said. “It’s
about finding a place where
we can pass on these tradi-
tions that have been there for
countless generations.”