Words: Jason Rolfe. Photos and Captions: Copi Vojta 2021-11-16 08:53:30
Jeff Hickman in (slightly) better times, fishing Oregon’s Clackamas River. On Aug. 20, 2021, Jeff Hickman, owner and operator of Oregon outfitter Fish the Swing, announced he would be shutting down his Deschutes River fall steelhead program for the season. It was a high-profile declaration at just the moment when steelhead anglers in the Northwest and beyond were preparing dry lines and skating flies for the iconic tailouts, riffles and glides of one of summer steelheading’s crown jewels. After a summer of disastrous early returns in the Columbia River system—expected at the time of this writing to be the lowest since counting began at Bonneville Dam in the 1930s—and fatally high water temperatures in the Columbia and Deschutes, Hickman decided he couldn’t do it. “The risk of killing even one wild steelhead is too many,” Hickman wrote. “The river has none to spare.” For many, the very public nature of Hickman’s decision was the most notable thing about the whole situation, which according to him was the point. His decision was personal—he’s been clear that he is sympathetic to the realities of other guides and anglers and did not expect or believe others should necessarily follow suit. He and his guides gave up a significant portion of their yearly income by deciding not to be on the water this fall. But there was a reason he didn’t just go quietly. He wanted to stir the pot, to put the spotlight on a situation that, for too long, has gotten worse year after year. “I didn’t want to just close my season and walk away,” Hickman said. “I wanted to elevate the issue, get people talking about it.” And talk they have. Part of the reason for that is Hickman has a big profile. Fish the Swing is one of the most prominent outfitters on the Deschutes and in the Pacific Northwest. Hickman himself is an ambassador for both Patagonia Fly Fishing and the Wild Salmon Center, a guy who regularly pops up in flyfishing films, who isn’t afraid to speak his mind about steelhead fishing and conservation. Other guides in other places and times have made the decision to quit guiding for steelhead over the years, but due to their lack of platform those decisions mostly passed quietly by. Not so in Hickman’s case. This fall, if you were paying attention to the state of steelheading in the Pacific Northwest, it would have been hard to miss discussions online and elsewhere about the dire state of Columbia River Oncorhynchus mykiss, and even harder to miss news of, and the varied reactions to, Hickman’s decision to hang up his waders for the season. Part of that discussion focused on the efficacy of Hickman’s choice. A common refrain in the world of fish conservation maintains that without anglers there will be no one left to care about the fish. The argument essentially boils down to: “Don’t hang up your waders.” Get on the water, appreciate the fish, and once you’ve had your fun go home and fight for them—write emails, donate, attend meetings. On its face, it seems like a proactive enough approach. For years, this has been part of the impetus for bringing new people to flyfishing, especially in the case of fragile fisheries. It’s an infectious attitude, one I’ll admit appealed to me in the past as an angler and a guide. I’ve seen people catch their first wild steelhead and, inspired by the experience, make a donation to a conservation organization the very next day. But if I’m being honest, it was always an excuse, too. There are more people steelheading than ever, but in the Columbia Basin we are seeing the fewest fish return since counting began in 1938. All those people fishing haven’t spurred government agencies into turning things around. There are actions that state and federal governments could take to help the cause of steelhead—such as banning gillnets on the Columbia, removing the lower Snake River dams, ensuring cold-water refugia—but so far, the actions taken have been middling and toothless at best. Take for example the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife’s decision—made soon after Hickman’s announcement—to close the lower Deschutes to steelhead fishing for the month of September this year. It seemed like the right thing to do. The problem is the closure only affected steelheading, which means there were still anglers on the lower Deschutes fishing for salmon and trout with methods that were just as effective at catching steelhead. If we know anything about summer steelhead, it’s that they will eat a salmon jig or trout fly without compunction. There are more people steelheading than ever, but in the Columbia Basin we are seeing the fewest fish return since counting began in 1938. The fact is, even if everyone stops fishing the Deschutes—or, for example, the Skeena, as the British Columbia Federation of Fly Fishers pled with anglers to do in September due to unprecedentedly low returns in that river—it’s not going to save the fish. One of the arguments against Hickman’s move has been that anglers aren’t the primary reason for the decline of steelhead, and that’s true. The guilt lies with dams, gillnets, climate change and hatcheries, among other factors, so why should anglers have to shoulder the pain and give up fishing? The thing is, Hickman doesn’t believe that hanging up his waders will save a species that is circling the drain and has been for years, maybe decades. What he does believe is that the status quo isn’t working anymore, and we can’t go around pretending everything is all right while just over the horizon it’s all burning to the ground. Whether it’s steelhead in the Columbia/Snake River Basin, stripers in the Northeast, or the variety of species struggling due to poor water quality in Florida, the question is: What’s the threshold? If state agencies won’t address the issues—and many of them continue to shy away from the problems or at most enact reactionary changes to regulations that still fail to address root causes—at what point do anglers have a responsibility to get out of the water? I don’t know the answer to that question. Hickman doesn’t either and he admits as much. But this year at least, the combination of low returns and high water temps provided a sobering glimpse of what that threshold might look like. It’s often said that steelheaders are fighting over the scraps. But I’m not sure it could even really be called fighting. We’re all happily picking through the scraps, assuring ourselves that we care about said scraps and will do everything in our power to restore and protect this pile of scraps while it dwindles further and further. We reminisce about the good ol’ days of abundance, and hope and pray that somehow things will turn around. Maybe they will. Maybe, as Hickman says, “You have to have this taste of loss—the darkest hour is right before the dawn.” He remains optimistic, which is admirable considering the front-row seat he’s had to the decline of several rivers over the years. The trend lines have been in free fall for decades and as the baseline shifts the nosedive continues. Is it time to hang up the waders? I don’t know. But is it actually doing the fish any good for us to keep the waders on?
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