Photo by Leah Wilson
Photo by Leah Wilson
I live near Jones Bar, west of Nevada City, and nearly every day, rain or shine, I hike in the Yuba River Watershed. On rainy days, each rivulet beneath my boots makes its way downhill to the unnamed stream I hear rushing on its way to Deer Creek and on to the South Fork of the Yuba. On sunny days, the water stops running and soaks into the saturated earth. The reddish clay will be bone-dry dust by July.
The Yuba River is one of California’s most important natural resources. The watershed embraces 1,300 square miles of oak-strewn foothills, fir-lined ridges, sculpted granite canyons and the mile-high mountains of the Sierra Crest — home of some of the thickest snowfalls in the country. Dear, bear, mountain lions and endangered bald eagles are pivotal species in the region.
Three headwater forks of the Yuba (the South, Middle and North) serve as the prongs for the watershed, which covers the west slope of the Sierra Nevadas. To the north: the basins of the Feather. To the east: the Truckee, headed toward Nevada. And in the south: the Bear and American, bound for Sacramento and the sea. The three forks converge north of Marysville, before joining the Feather River.
Most who know of the Yuba River think of it in summer. During the hottest months, July and August, tourists and natives alike journey to the 39-mile stretch that is dedicated Wild and Scenic. At Bridgeport State Park, intergenerational families from our growing Hispanic population unfold elaborate picnics. At the Highway 49 bridge, teenagers jump off rocks and hang out on the shore. And at hidden swimming holes off the beaten path, naked hippies preen their young and rest in the shade of black oaks.
But that is only one season of the river; only one face of the watershed.
The Yuba River Watershed in winter is exquisite — a kaleidoscope of greens, from the moss and ferns at ground level to the conifers, manzanita, and cedar stretching toward the sky. Beneath the ruddy madrones, the earth floor is blanketed with decaying oak leaves. Water is always at hand: dripping, rushing, standing, and evaporating by mid-morning in a steamy mist.
As my boots traverse those rushing rivulets on rainy winter days, I know where the water is going — the long journey through rivers to the ocean that I visit several times a year. But on sunny summer days, the water standing in impromptu puddles assumes an opaque quality that reminds me of the reported presence of mercury and arsenic in the water. Less than two miles away from where I’m standing, the Kentucky Mine, one of hundreds of old legacy mines in the watershed, sits dormant — and deadly.
Endangered River
“The Yuba River Watershed was the epicenter of the Gold Rush era,” explains 34-year-old Jason Rainey, the lanky, soft-spoken Executive Director of the South Yuba River Citizen’s League (SYRCL) as we chat in a popular Nevada City coffeehouse. We are joined by Don Ryberg, Chair of the Maidu Tribe, one of the tribes of indigenous peoples who have lived in the watershed for thousands of years. (Ironically, the Maidu are still not recognized by the US government.)
SYRCL is considered one of California’s most powerful environmental organizations. In 1999, it won a battle of epic proportions, gaining California Wild and Scenic River recognition for a 39-mile stretch of the South Fork. That battle was fought by a 20th century Aquarian army of citizen volunteers led by, among others, Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Gary Snyder. Snyder went on to found the Watershed Institute, a bioregional organization devoted to sustaining the Yuba’s human and biological community.
These days, SYRCL’s responsibilities include diagnosing the river’s health and establishing avenues for remediation. SYRCL’s river-monitoring program relies on more than 80 volunteers who sample river water, testing for mercury and arsenic. Thus far, Kanaka Creek on the Middle Fork and Humbug Creek on the South Fork have been targeted for cleanup, which involves hauling contaminated sediment to a hazardous waste site.
“In the 140 years since hydraulic mining [began], the river itself has done quite a job [of] mending,” Rainey states. The Yuba was the most heavily mined basin in the Sierra Nevada. But when Rainey talks watershed restoration, he has more in mind than simply eradicating the damage left behind by excavations and abandoned gold mines.
Calling Back the Salmon
On January 8, Rainey and Ryberg joined 25 others for a ceremony on the river near the confluence of Spring Creek and the South Fork. The hour-long ritual was led by Bill Jacobsen, a spirit worker trained in Saquamish traditions. The ceremony’s purpose was to “call back” the salmon. (Jacobson previously performed this ritual at a creek in Marin, and the salmon have since returned.)
Jacobson placed a woven willow prayer wheel on an altar and began to sing an ancient Saquamish song to the salmon. The sacred pipe was passed and tobacco smoke rose as bundles of cedar medicine were unwrapped and handed to Rainey. “I was asked to release the medicine into the river, which I did with the help of my 11-month-old daughter,” Rainey recalls with a smile. “The prayer wheel was given to me to keep watch over. It’s sitting on an altar in my office at this very moment.”
Before you can create “the cultural and spiritual conditions to welcome the salmon back into the watershed,” Ryberg observes, the first step is for the “two-legged people to apologize to the salmon people for destroying their home.”
Just how feasible is it to restore this keystone species to the watershed? The steelhead and salmon that used to fill the river are now included on the Endangered Species List. At present, there are fewer than 2,000 salmon in the lower Yuba, where Rainey spends a great deal of time negotiating with the Yuba County Water Agency to protect the salmon by increasing the river’s flow. The Yuba’s wild salmon are threatened not only by falling numbers but also by the commingling of hatchery salmon released from the Feather River Watershed.
“The spring run [salmon] want to be up in the upper watershed,” Rainey states. Rainey notes that the dams on the forks of the Yuba can be negotiated with fish ladders — all but one, a 260-foot monolith on the South Fork known as Englebright Dam. Some advocates of salmon restoration call for trucking the fish from the river for release above the dam, others recommend lowering the dam, and still others are calling for the dam’s out-right removal.
In 2013, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission is set to re-license the Englebright Dam, and advocates of salmon restoration see the approaching deadline as an opportunity to retire the dam and reintroduce the salmon. Creating a habitat in which the spring run will thrive will require higher (hence, colder and swifter) flows during the summer, which may prove unpopular with recreators. “Now it’s like bath water and we like to play in it,” Rainey says. But bath water conditions aren’t viable for salmon.
Chairman Ryberg holds less stock in calendar dates than his Westernized colleague. “Regardless of what Jason says,” he comments, throwing Rainey a smile, “as far as the timeline, it will be on Spirit’s time…. I am confident that the salmon will return when the Indian and the non-Indian come together and heal.”
A River’s Future
In mid-January, I went hiking at Bridgeport State Park in a tank top and cotton skirt. It was deliciously warm, but I felt a chill as I recalled a recent presentation on climate change at the Yuba Watershed Council. After months of research (with the support of the Sierra Nevada Alliance) Janet Cohen, SYRCL’s former Executive Director, had produced a stunning report called The Sierra Climate Change Toolkit. The facts are heart wrenching for those who love the watershed. As the average temperature is expected to climb 10 degrees Fahrenheit over the next 100 years, the Sierra snowpack may shrink by 60%. Between 30-90% of the spring snowmelt could run off prematurely. Under these conditions, creeks and rivers would flood excessively in the spring and wane dramatically by late summer — in some cases going completely dry. The forests will change as alpine and sub-alpine trees disappear to be replaced by conifers. Shrub lands will become grasslands.
Although the predictions are dire, Cohen’s study indicates that the most serious impacts on the Yuba River Watershed can be circumvented — if appropriate environmental measures are acted upon immediately. Governor Schwarzenegger’s approval of the Sierra Nevada Conservancy in September 2004 gives Yuba activists hope that much can be saved and restored.
May is Watershed Awareness Month — when all Californians are encouraged to grab their boots and get to know their local watersheds. On May 20 SYRCL will be hosting the annual Yuba River Watershed Restoration Day, where volunteers will gather to uproot and replace Scotch Broom and Star Thistle with a host of native plants.
Meanwhile, those of us who maintain a passionate relationship with the Watershed will continue to cherish each snowflake and pine needle as we stop and marvel at white water rolling and foaming over the giant basalt boulders of the Yuba.
Carolyn Crane reports from the Sierra region for KQED’s California Report. You can find her online at www.carolyncrane.net
Leah Wilson is a photographer and artist living in Nevada City. More of her work can be found online at www.leahwilson.com