A 1990 state-sponsored scientific assessment determined that it was "very, very unlikely" that escaped Atlantic salmon could spawn in Washington streams, according to panel member Terry Wright, manager of Enhancement Services with the Northwest Indian Fisheries Commission. "The chances of interbreeding," he adds, "are so close to zero as being ridiculous." Monitoring of streams and rivers by the Department of Fish and Wildlife has found Atlantic salmon in most major Puget Sound drainages, says agency official Kevin Amis, but there's no evidence they're spawning or eating wild stocks. When caught, Atlantics generally appear skinny and in poor condition, suggesting they're not eating in the wild, says Amis' colleague, Dave Seiler. "They don't appear to be very capable fish." With this in mind, the Department of Fish and Wildlife has taken a low-key approach to fish farm fugitives. Seiler says that the department has worked with salmon farming corporations to strengthen net pens. The agency's prime weapon, however, is to sic salmon-hungry anglers on the fleeing fish.
Making Themselves at Home
While Fish and Wildlife is content to winnow escaped populations through sports fishing, what happens to the fish that don't get caught? Nobody really knows. Assuming that they won't go native may be wishful thinking, however, according to former Fish and Wildlife Commissioner Jolene Unsoeld. "Fish, like much of nature, have an adaptive capacity," she says.
Evidence of that adaptability is abundant. Farmed Atlantics have colonized Chilean rivers, casting doubt on assurances that Atlantics can't make a go of it on this coast. Escaped Atlantics have been caught as far north as Alaska, according to Pete Knutson, suggesting that at least some of them can survive in the Pacific. And what they're eating is worrisome. An Atlantic salmon caught in the Elwha River in 1996 had gorged itself on chinook eggs. Another, caught in the Skykomish River that year, had a baby rainbow trout in its belly.
The failure of Atlantics to find a niche in the past doesn't necessarily limit their future chances. Past efforts to establish Atlantics involved planting eggs and smolts in healthy rivers teeming with wild Pacific salmon. The decline of native stocks has opened ecological niches that simply weren't there in the past. And most of the Atlantics escaping from farms are mature adults, better suited than young salmon for colonizing. Nor do the supposedly domesticated Atlantic salmon shut off their sex drives, according to University of British Columbia biologist John Volpe, one of the few scientists to actually study what farm fish do in the wild. Earlier this year, Volpe put 50 Atlantic salmon from a BC farm into a local stream, where "they immediately began building nests in the gravel" and laying eggs.
Closer to home, fresh-off-the-farm Atlantic salmon also seem to want a permanent place in our streams. Last year, while capturing brood stock in a channel of the Elwha River, Elwha tribal biologist Doug Morrill came upon a mature female Atlantic. "She was heavy with eggs," he recalls. "When I picked her up, a multitude of eggs came streaming out of her. We didn't see any males nearby, but there very well could've been." And should Atlantic salmon indeed be spawning in Puget Sound watersheds, they've got a decided advantage over resident salmonids. Unlike Pacific species that spawn and die, Atlantic salmon spawn as many as six times before becoming river fertilizer.
Ignoring the Problem
If Atlantic salmon farming is the threat portrayed by its opponents, you couldn't tell by its absence from the political agenda. Very few environmental groups and (Pete Knutson's efforts aside) few fishermen are up in arms about Atlantic salmon. Government agencies from state Fish and Wildlife up to the National Marine Fisheries Service consider net pens a non-threat. Salmon farmer Swecker, a powerful Republican and past co-chair of the Legislature's salmon recovery task force, thinks we should "release some of them every year on purpose."
Perhaps this is just a sign of the sorry state of salmon politics. After all, the region ignored more than two decades of warning signs that our way of life was driving native salmon to that spawning bed in the sky. And despite all the political blather about saving wild salmon, it's a fair question whether we have the political fortitude to do what's needed: restrict logging; protect and restore wetlands; reduce water use; preserve open space and restrict development; create less pollution for Puget Sound and its drainages; and—hardest of all—voluntarily limit economic and population growth. Salmon farming may be just the latest in a series of willfully ignored threats to wild salmon.
This is made all the worse by the state's longstanding preference for artificial salmon production, says Pete Knutson. Saving wild salmon means stopping habitat destruction, while promoting salmon farms and hatcheries is a way of saying, "You can go ahead and log and pave and still have your salmon, too."
It would appear that this is the course the Northwest is on. Consider these disturbing numbers about Puget Sound chinook, our endangered species-in-waiting: Before World War I, local watersheds supported a returning annual population of somewhere around 700,000 wild chinook. In the past two years, fewer than 50,000 have returned to local rivers and streams, while nearly half a million Atlantic salmon have left their farms for the greater Puget Sound. Yes, you still can have your salmon, too, but the native ones are going fast.
