What on Earth25:29Ghosts in Fishing Nets (a story from Overheated)
It’s almost dinnertime in the home James MacDonald shares with his wife and two children. His five-year-old son, Sye, is helping MacDonald open a can of salmon.
As a citizen of the Ta’an Kwach’an Council — one of several First Nations known as the “Salmon People” — MacDonald’s ancestors have fished for black salmon for millennia.
Yet this way of life seems farther away than it is now.
“A few weeks ago, my wife and I were at Costco in Vancouver … and we bought $300 worth of canned sockeye salmon. And, you know, that’s the only way we can get salmon at home,” said MacDonald, a member of the federally appointed Yukon salmon subcommittee.
MacDonald says that in order to protect the declining population of black trout, he has not fished the Yukon River since he was a boy.
“Culture doesn’t come in a can, but when we prepare it with our kids, we can still talk to them and tell them what salmon means to us.”
CBC Radio What the hell In the summer I went to the Yukon to investigate how global warming affected endangered chinook salmonthreatening not only species but also the cultural pillar of these indigenous communities. It said an unprecedented seven-year moratorium on fishing ordered by the Canadian federal and Alaska state governments, combined with other conservation efforts, could yield some success.
This summer, about 24,000 chinook salmon have been counted moving up the Yukon River on the Alaska border. That compares with historic lows of 12,000 and 15,000 the past two seasons, said Elizabeth MacDonald, a biologist and fisheries manager for the Council of Yukon First Nations.
The fishing moratorium has only been in force for five months.
“I don’t want to sound too happy because if we were talking about the series we have now, five years ago, we would have been devastated by the numbers,” said MacDonald, who lives in Whitehorse. “But it’s better than it’s been in the last few years. I’m really grateful for that.”
When salmon migration data was first collected in the 1980s, between 100,000 and 200,000 chinook salmon entered the Yukon River, MacDonald said. Between a quarter and more than a third of those were expected to cross into Canada.
Why Chinook Salmon Are in Trouble
Canada’s north is warming faster than the rest of the country, with temperatures rising on average by two to four degrees since 1950compared to an average of 1.9 C from 1948 to 2021 across Canadaaccording to Environment and Climate Change Canada.
MacDonald said warmer temperatures were having a number of negative effects on blacktip salmon.
The migration they make to return to their spawning grounds is the world’s longest salmon run, stretching some 3,000 kilometers (1,900 miles). The journey lasts two months, during which the chinook go without food—all while doing what MacDonald calls the fish equivalent of an uphill marathon.
We definitely need cold oceans if we want salmon.– Elizabeth MacDonald, Fisheries Manager
Ocean conditions in the months and years preceding a fish’s journey have a decisive influence on its fate.
“As the ocean gets warmer, salmon don’t survive as well and you see fewer of them. And when they come back, they’re usually smaller,” she said.
She explained that this is because metabolism is faster in warmer waters, allowing them to conserve less energy for the journey.
“So we definitely need cold oceans if we want to have salmon.”
If hot, dry conditions cause water levels to drop after the black trout enter the river, the water in that location will also become warmer, she added.
“To travel the same distance, you now need more energy or more food, which means you use up your reserves faster, which is one reason why some fish die before they can spawn.”
Warmer rivers also mean lower oxygen levels in the water, making it harder for fish to meet their fishing needs, she added.
In addition, a common and often deadly marine parasite that infects chinook salmon has become more prevalent in warmer conditions.
“Infection levels have increased significantly over the last few years and it is probably one of the main factors contributing to the salmon die-offs in the river,” MacDonald said.
It’s not just climate that influences the black salmon population.
In the past, some Yukon First Nations have blamed overfishing in Alaska in order to reduce the number of individuals reaching spawning grounds. Mining disasters have spilled pollutants into streams where salmon live, and forestry industry practice It has been proven that floating wooden dams along the river are harmful to fish.
While they were not a driving force behind the population decline, some First Nations people contributed to the overfishing of black trout by also working as commercial fishermen, said James MacDonald.
Loss of fishing camps
For First Nations people who traditionally rely on salmon as a food source, the catastrophic decline in fish stocks has left them without access to the beloved practice of gathering in fishing camps by the river late summer.
There they caught salmon in nets, filleted them, and dried them to store them over the winter.
“Those were happy times, happy memories,” MacDonald said, recalling his childhood experiences at fishing camp and the excitement of checking the nets early in the morning. “As a boy, I can tell you it was an endless amount of fun. … It’s a deep sadness that I can’t share that joy with my family.”
Recently, some communities have begun hosting fishing camps, bringing in frozen salmon. This way, young people can learn from their elders how to fillet and hang fish—and connect with their cultural heritage.
Bêlit Peters, 22, had never experienced salmon camps like her parents. But a few years ago, she had a summer job with the Ta’an Kwäch’än Council in Fox Creek, as part of a salmon recovery project. That’s when something magical happened, she said.
Her group reached a body of water that opened onto a lake, “and there was a huge salmon…the size of my arm. And I thought, what is that? And I remember my boss, Deb Fulmer, saying, ‘That’s a salmon.’ And we were all so happy because we hadn’t seen one…And I spotted it. It was so bright red in the water.”
Peters is currently the Youth Community Coordinator for the How We Walk with the Land and Water project, which aims to create a unified First Nations vision for how regional land and water planning is managed in the Southern Lakes District, which encompasses 24,753 square kilometres surrounding Whitehorse, with the lower boundary being the British Columbia border.
She said she once thought protecting salmon was something she had to do.
“Now it feels more like an ‘I want to,’ like it’s my duty, like it’s always been my job,” she said.
“I hope the salmon come back…. I wish for it.”
Yukon officials said in an email that they recognize the “enormous impact that the decline in the Yukon River salmon population is having on the vital fisheries, culture, food security and traditional practices of the Yukon First Nation.”
“For years, Yukon First Nations have voluntarily reduced or ceased subsistence salmon fishing to help restore the species and work to build territory where future generations can fish for salmon.”
While it has no formal role in salmon management, the territorial government is “committed to working with partners to conserve and protect wild Pacific salmon for future generations,” the statement said.
In an email to CBC from the Department of Fisheries and Oceans Canada, it said, among other things, the department is working with the Yukon First Nations, the territorial government and the Yukon First Nations Salmon Conservation Alliance to develop a recovery plan for the Yukon River black trout population.
It also said the department is working with the United States “to highlight concerns about the continued declines in Pacific salmon populations and the factors contributing to those declines.”
This story is part of our Overheated series, a collaboration between What on Earth, Quirks & Quarks and White Coat, Black Art, examining how heat is affecting our health, our cities and our ecosystems.