For decades, the Klamath River was silenced by dams. Salmon runs dwindled, ecosystems faltered, and Indigenous nations along its banks—Yurok, Karuk, Hoopa Valley, and Klamath—fought tirelessly for its revival.
This summer, the river finally flowed free. And to honor that moment, 15 Indigenous youth set out on a once-unimaginable expedition: paddling the entire 310 miles of the Klamath River, from its headwaters in Oregon to the Pacific Ocean in California.
The journey was organized by Ríos to Rivers’ Paddle Tribal Waters program, a nonprofit initiative that teaches whitewater kayaking while reconnecting youth to their ancestral waterways. Training began months in advance. Teens learned swift-water rescue, cold-water survival, and the technical skills needed to handle rapids. But beyond the technical training was something deeper: a chance to reclaim a story stolen from their communities.
“For us, this isn’t just a river,” said Karuk paddler Arianna Cole. “It’s an ancestor. We paddle for those who fought before us and for the salmon that are finally coming home again.”
The expedition was made possible by the largest dam removal project in U.S. history. Over the past two years, four hydroelectric dams that had choked the Klamath for generations were dismantled, opening hundreds of miles of habitat for salmon, steelhead, and other species. For the first time in living memory, the river ran unobstructed.
Environmental scientists have already recorded salmon returning to ancestral spawning grounds. For the youth paddlers, seeing fish leaping upstream was more than science—it was a spiritual reminder of resilience.
The trip was not without challenges. Paddlers battled icy rapids, exhaustion, and long days under sun and storm. They camped riverside, sharing meals and stories with tribal elders who visited along the way. Nights often ended in drumming, singing, and laughter around a fire.
At one point, the group paused at Iron Gate Dam—now a construction site where concrete rubble once blocked the river. Standing on the banks, they listened as elders described decades of protests, lawsuits, and ceremonies that made this moment possible. The teens carried those words with them downstream.
After three weeks on the water, the group reached the mouth of the Klamath, where the river greets the Pacific. Hundreds of community members, leaders, and family gathered to cheer their arrival. Some wept openly.
“This was never just about kayaking,” said Hoopa Valley paddler Jacob Myers, 17. “It’s about proving that we’re still here, that our culture is alive, and that this river and these salmon will feed future generations.”
This journey is a powerful testament to healing—of land, traditions, and identity. These youth aren’t just paddling a restored river; they’re reclaiming heritage, forging leaders, and illustrating what’s possible when environmental triumph and cultural revival intertwine.
