rivers are meant to move. yet for more than 100 years, the klamath river was in chains. located in southern oregon and northern california, the klamath historically supported one of the west coast’s most abundant salmon runs, sustaining both the ecosystem and the indigenous tribes who have lived along its banks for millennia.

however, a series of hydroelectric dams, built between 1918 and 1962, severed the river’s natural flow, blocking fish migration, degrading water quality, and threatened the cultural and economic lifeways of the yurok, karuk, hoopa, and klamath tribes. 

in 2024, the klamath river finally broke free. the largest dam removal in history dismantled the copco no. 1, copco no. 2, j.c. boyle, and iron gate dams, restoring the river’s flow and reconnecting over 420 miles of salmon habitat. this historic moment was the result of decades of relentless advocacy by indigenous tribes, conservationists, and scientists who fought through legal battles, policy roadblocks, and corporate resistance.

the yurok, karuk, hoopa, and klamath tribes led the charge, using lawsuits, protests, and negotiations to challenge pacificorp, the energy company that owned the dams. now, with the river flowing freely once more, it is reshaping itself in real time.

to truly grasp the scale of this remarkable transformation, i traveled to the klamath river and stood where the dams once held its waters still. the sheer magnitude of the project was overwhelming. towering canyon walls bore stark water lines, ghostly reminders of how high the water once stood.

exposed earth, cracked and raw, stretched where reservoirs had been, revealing a landscape in transition. without the dams, the river surged forward, cutting through decades of sediment, carving new channels, reshaping itself before my eyes.

more than just seeing it, i could feel it. the movement of the river was no longer theoretical — it was visceral. the sound of rushing water filled the canyon, a force that had been stifled for over a century now free to find its way.

the air was thick with sediment, carrying the scent of a river reclaiming its path. it was a rare moment where history, ecology, and human effort converged into something tangible. the klamath wasn’t just recovering; it was alive in a way that felt almost defiant.

standing by the water, i spoke with resource environmental solutions (res) workers, the team responsible for restoring habitat and monitoring the river’s transformation. res, an ecological restoration company, has played a key role in the klamath’s recovery, working closely with numerous stakeholders to guide the river’s transition back to a free-flowing system.

their goal was not just to remove dams but to rebuild a resilient, self-sustaining ecosystem — one that supports salmon, strengthens biodiversity, and restores the cultural connection that local tribes have maintained with the river for generations.

their work extends far beyond the riverbanks. the removal of the reservoirs exposed thousands of acres of bare land, areas once submerged under still water. left unmanaged, these newly revealed landscapes could quickly be overrun by invasive species or eroded away.

to prevent this, res has launched an ambitious effort to stabilize sediment, reintroduce native plant life, and restore floodplain function. they are planting over 17 billion native seeds, carefully selected to match the region’s historical vegetation and ensure that the surrounding habitat is as healthy as the river itself.

collaboration with the yurok, karuk, hoopa and klamath tribes is central to this process. together, they are integrating traditional ecological knowledge with modern restoration techniques, prioritizing the protection of spawning grounds and nursery habitats for juvenile salmon. by reshaping channels, restoring wetlands, and allowing the river to carve its own path, they aim to create a landscape where salmon, and the communities that depend on them, can thrive once again.

and already, the salmon are returning. 

the res workers described to me how they had spotted salmon not just in the mainstem of the klamath, but also in its tributaries, places where the fish had been absent for generations. with smiles on their faces, they recounted stories of salmon surging upstream, reaching areas that had been previously cut off by the dams. 

hearing their firsthand accounts was powerful, but i also wanted to see the river’s transformation at scale — beyond what could be observed from a single vantage point. that’s where remote sensing comes in.

using satellite imagery from nasa and the us geological survey’s landsat 9, i built an interactive tool to track how vegetation is returning to areas once covered by reservoirs. when the dams were removed, thousands of acres of land were suddenly exposed — terrain that had been underwater for countless decades. the question now is: how is that land recovering? is vegetation returning? 

to investigate, i used a normalized difference vegetation index (ndvi), a method that analyzes satellite images to assess plant health and density. by comparing images from before dam removal (2022) and after (2024), i could measure how much vegetation has begun to regrow.

the interactive tool i created allows users to swipe between the two time periods, making it possible to visually track where the landscape is recovering — and where more restoration work may be needed. the tool is initially centered on the former iron gate reservoir and copco lake, but users can pan and zoom to explore much more of the klamath river basin. 

interactive map using the ndvi method to show the before and after of dam removal. (shayah kosak)

the klamath dam removals prove that restoration is possible — for ecosystems and for the communities that depend on them. this project stands as a model for integrating tribal leadership, science, and policy to repair environmental damage. it demonstrates that when those most connected to the land are empowered to lead, lasting change is possible.

as salmon return and vegetation takes hold, the klamath’s recovery is more than just an ecological success — it is a testament to resilience and reclamation. it serves as a powerful reminder that rivers, when given the chance, will always find their way home.