Updated 6/22/10
The heart of tiny Astoria, Ore., lies hidden behind the weather-beaten buildings of its gritty industrial waterfront. Docks line this lucky stretch of flat land at the base of the Coastal Range, hosting a lucrative fishing industry that reaches from Youngs Bay into the mouth of the Columbia River, several miles inland.
In 2008, fishermen landed $34.5 million worth of seafood in this town, mostly Dungeness crab, Pacific whiting and groundfish. The catch included $3.5 million in Columbia River salmon harvested with gillnets, which, along with tangle nets — a smaller-gauge mesh version of the gillnet — are the only gear legal for commercial use on the Columbia.
Steve Fick, a native Astorian, has been hanging gillnets since he was 18 and fishing his way through college. On the dock at Fishhawk Fisheries, a seafood-processing plant he founded at the age of 26, Fick and his stepson take turns stringing a gillnet to the line of cork that makes its top float, a process that takes hours. Once the net hits the water, a lead line at the bottom pulls it vertically into the river, like a wall. It’s a ruthlessly efficient system: Because gillnets snag their quarry by the gills rather than the nose or teeth, they allow fewer fish to escape than tangle nets do.
“This buys that new refrigerator. It puts your kid through college,” says Fick, now 53, explaining that gillnets are an important part of an Astoria fisherman’s business plan. It’s a challenging occupation, which sometimes involves spending part of the season in Alaska, trolling for tuna and crabbing in the ocean, or supplementing off-season income with work on land.
Gillnets, however, are highly controversial in the United States because critics say they take more than their fair share of fish and kill species not targeted for harvest. They’ve been banned from virtually all freshwater fishing in the Lower 48, except in Washington and Oregon. Oregon voters rejected a proposed ban in the mid-1990s because the nets are the primary source of locally caught Columbia River fish, including spring chinook, which sells for up to $8 a pound and is much sought after by restaurants.
Now though, Oregon’s increasingly important tourism economy has made the state the likely stage for the next battle against gillnets. Six bills aimed at restricting gillnet use were brought to the Oregon Legislature in 2009. The most successful was a proposal to restrict gillnets to bays and side channels stocked with hatchery salmon, put forth by a group of retired Fish and Wildlife officials. But all the bills failed.
In their stead, a powerful nonprofit called the Coastal Conservation Association is working on a ballot measure for 2012 that would completely ban gillnets, and likely tangle nets, ostensibly for the sake of wild salmon conservation. This effort is much better funded and organized than previous attempts, and is backed by sport fishermen who are hoping for a larger share of the catch.
Once the campaign starts, Oregonians as far away as dusty Burns, in the rural eastern reaches of the state, will be asked to sort through salmon politics, a messy job that’s traditionally left to fishermen, tribes and the seven government agencies that manage the fish. It’s a troubling arena for an emotional issue framed by hotly debated and often misunderstood science. Without a proven alternative to the gillnet, fishing communities like Astoria will face serious economic setbacks if the measure succeeds. And it’s not even clear that wild salmon would benefit.
At the center of the fight lies one simple fact: There are not enough fish in the Columbia River. Since 1991, 13 species of salmon and steelhead that originate in its waters have been listed as threatened or endangered, largely because of the death toll caused by dams. As a result, the majority of returning salmon and steelhead are left in the river, with only a fraction allowed to be harvested. Above the Bonneville Dam, half of the catch — or about 125,000 fish on average — goes to tribes. The rest is split between sport and commercial fishermen below the dam.
The size of the total catch is heavily constrained by how many wild salmon are accidentally killed in the process. (Only hatchery-raised salmon, which are marked with a clipped fin, are legal to take.) And gillnets tend to kill the most fish. State regulators set catch limits on the Columbia by assuming that gillnets kill 40 percent of the wild salmon accidentally caught, compared to 14.7 percent for tangle nets and 10 percent for rod-and-reel sport fishing.
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“(Gillnets are) basically too effective to be used in a river as heavily managed as the Columbia,” argues Brian Irwin, regional executive director for the Pacific Northwest chapters of the Coastal Conservation Association. An Oregon native, Irwin is an avid sports fisherman and hunter. He left a career in sales to lead the CCA about a year and a half ago, after wealthy angler and rod designer Gary Loomis brought the organization to the region. CCA has successfully banned or restricted gillnets in 10 states outside the West over the last 30 or so years.
Irwin believes that you can’t save salmon and steelhead without dealing with gillnets first. He compares the fish to a man with cancer and a broken arm who has just fallen into a pool and is drowning. “What do you do first?” he asks. It’s a question with an obvious answer, one he hopes will resonate with Oregon voters.
But state officials say banning gillnets won’t help wild salmon. The system governs only how many wild salmon can die each season — not how they die. So removing gillnets without finding an effective alternative would likely only increase the amount of fish available to sports fishermen.
“Whether they are taken by hook and line, or whether they are taken by gillnet, you are still only allowed X-number of dead fish,” says Steve Williams, assistant administrator of the Fish Division of the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. “If there was no commercial fishery, would those (allowances) be used by the sport fishery? Yes.”
Irwin counters that eliminating gillnets would still benefit salmon and other fish by cutting down on bycatch — fish in the net that are either too small or not the target species — because fish that must be thrown back have low survival rates. Gillnet fishermen reply that the state already accounts for those impacts when setting harvests. Still, Irwin insists that better tools for commercial fishing will mean a healthier river and better fishing opportunities for everyone.
But it’s not clear what those better tools would be. Oregon’s attorney general considered the group’s first attempt at a gillnet ban for this year’s ballot to be an all-out ban on commercial fishing on the Columbia because it forbade both gillnets and tangle nets and offered no alternative. As a result, CCA scrapped it. In this next campaign, Irwin hints that the group may float beach seines and purse seines, which are designed to corral schools of fish for selective capture with handheld nets, as possible alternatives. But even if they prove effective for non-schooling fish like salmon, the switch could drive some fishermen out of business because of the prohibitive expense of replacing equipment and boats.
The CCA’s new effort — which it will promote with millions of dollars’ worth of ads and outreach — is supported by unnamed wealthy backers and some 9,000 dues-paying members in the Pacific Northwest’s 27 chapters. They’re rod-and-reel types ranging from tweed-jacket hobbyists to guides paid $175-a-head to escort vacationing corporate flacks. Sport fishing is a massive industry in Oregon, generating $74.3 million in 2008.
That community is a force to be reckoned with for the 300 gillnetters licensed to fish the Columbia River in Oregon. Concerned by the growing intensity of the debate, and the shifting balance of power, tribes with interests in the Columbia, most of whom fish with gillnets, have taken the unusual step of choosing a side. A gillnet ban could threaten treaty-based agreements by changing the way fish are allocated, says Charles Hudson, public affairs manager for the Columbia River Inter-Tribal Fish Commission. “If they are successful in getting rid of the lower river fisherman, it’s unlikely that it will stop there,” Hudson notes, worrying that hatchery funding could eventually be diverted from restoration to boosting sports catch.
It remains to be seen whether the tribes or other entities — including the Oregon Restaurant Association, a sometime ally of commercial fishermen –– will formally oppose a ballot measure. Commercial fishermen are unsettled by the prospect of battling the financially hefty CCA in a public campaign. “It’s a much different fight, there’s no question,” says Bruce Buckmaster, a board member of Salmon for All, an advocacy group that represents commercial fishermen in front of state fish commissions and legislators.
Fick is worried about Astoria. The local fishing economy helps pay for the local Little League, the library and the new community swimming pool. He sweeps an arm toward Astoria, the fish markets and the historic downtown, the three-story houses climbing into the Coastal Range. “This is all much more important to me than to have a sports fishermen or a guide catch three fish a day instead of two fish a day,” he says. “When your livelihood is threatened and your community’s livelihood is threatened, you do worry.”
This article appeared in the print edition of the magazine with the headline Fish face-off.
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