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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
Last year, the final of four hydroelectric dams on the Klamath River were removed in the largest project of its kind in US history<\/a>. 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.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n As the flows were released and the river found its way back to itself, a new chapter of recovery \u2013 complete with new challenges \u2013 emerged.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n It\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n 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>, 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.<\/p>\n Bill Cross takes a small crew down the Iron Gate run of the restored Klamath River on 15 May 2025. Photograph: Gabrielle Canon\/The Guardian<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n 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\u2019\u00fa\u010das\u010das (pronounced Ku-chas-chas).<\/p>\n \u201cIf we were here a little over a year ago, we would be standing on the edge of a reservoir,\u201d said Thomas O\u2019Keefe, 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.<\/p>\n O\u2019Keefe 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.<\/p>\n \u201cThe vast majority of people want to do the right thing,\u201d O\u2019Keefe said, describing the extreme care taken towards ecologically and culturally sensitive areas. \u201cWe want to make sure we can define where that can happen.\u201d<\/p>\n Animated map showing the removal of dams leading to the reshaped flow of the Klamath River<\/a><\/p>\n There is still a lot of work left to do. Rustic roads that lead to the river\u2019s edge are minimally paved and laden with potholes. It\u2019s not immediately clear where visitors should park. Finishing touches are still being added on signs and infrastructure \u2013 from put-ins to picnic tables \u2013 with the completion of five new public recreation sites <\/strong>planned for 1 August.<\/p>\n And for rafters, of course, the river itself must be relearned. Roughly 45 continuous miles<\/a> 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.<\/p>\n \u201cWe are kind of writing the book on it,\u201d said Bart Baldwin, the owner of Noah\u2019s River Adventures, a commercial outfit out of Ashland, Oregon<\/a>, who has taken guests downriver for decades. While he admits the releases from the dams made for \u201cworld-class\u201d rapids, he says the loss has created new opportunities.<\/p>\n \u201cThe scenery is stunning and I think it\u2019s going to be special.\u201d<\/p>\n \u2018Giving nature the kickstart to heal\u2019<\/p>\n 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\u2019s manageable for most experience levels. Upriver, the exciting and challenging K\u2019\u00edka\u00b7c\u2019\u00e9\u00b7ki Canyon run<\/a> winds through more than 2.5 miles of class IV rapids, beckoning those with more expertise.<\/p>\n As he called out paddling orders to navigate his boat\u2019s small crew through splashy sections, Cross was relieved. In the years before the dams came out, he\u2019d worked to outline the new river and its whitewater potential, <\/strong>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.<\/p>\n \u201cI 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\u2019t predict,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n Noah\u2019s River Adventures, a commercial rafting company, took the first group of guests down a restored section of the Klamath River on 15 May. Photograph: Gabrielle Canon\/The Guardian<\/p>\n 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\u2019s edge.<\/p>\n But there are also signs of nature\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n 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\u2019t a guidebook to go by. There weren\u2019t records for how the heavily degraded ecosystems should look or function.<\/p>\n \u201cCreating the mosaic we are currently seeing out there has been a work of educated estimation,\u201d said Dave Coffman, a director for Resource Environmental Solutions (RES), the ecological recovery company working on the Klamath\u2019s restoration. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing in that watershed that hasn\u2019t been touched by some sort of detrimental activity.\u201d<\/p>\n In less than a year\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n \u201cWe are giving nature the kickstart to heal itself,\u201d said Barry McCovey Jr, the fisheries department director for the Yurok tribe. What he calls \u201cmassive scars\u201d left by the dams \u201caren\u2019t going to heal overnight or in a year or in 10 years\u201d, he added. Giving the large-scale process, time will be important \u2013 but a little help can go a long way.<\/p>\n In late November last year, threatened coho salmon were seen in the upper Klamath River basin<\/a> for the first time in more than 60 years. Other animals are benefiting, too, including north-western pond turtles, freshwater mussels, beavers and river otters.It took mere months for insects, algae and microscopic features of a flourishing food web to return and sprout. \u201cIt\u2019s amazing to see river bugs in a river,\u201d he said. They are good indicators of water quality and ecosystem health.<\/p>\n Bill Cross and Thomas O\u2019Keefe stand in the footprint of what was the Iron Gate Reservoir looking out at the newly restored Klamath River. Photograph: Gabrielle Canon\/The Guardian<\/p>\n It might seem like a happy ending. McCovey Jr said it\u2019s just the beginning. \u201cWe are going to have ups and downs and it will take a long time to get to where we want to be,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Ongoing Yurok projects will focus on making more areas \u201cfish-friendly\u201d 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.<\/a><\/p>\n