It’s nearly 2 in the morning and the sun is just beginning to set as Ben Stevens navigates the braided channels of the Yukon River toward his fish camp. Stevens is a traditional fisherman — Dinyee Hutanne, the people of the canyon. He was raised by his grandmother on the river in Stevens Village, a Koyukon Athabascan community nestled within the Yukon Flats. Typically, the camp is bustling with families processing salmon. This year, however, it was quiet as he set a 4-inch mesh net for whitefish; there were no salmon to catch. It was unsettling, especially for someone like Stevens, for whom the river represents sovereignty. “Back in the day, I never bought a fishing license,” he said. “Nobody ever bothered us. We were able to give fish to whomever we’d like, we fed people. Families came to our fish camp to enjoy the fish camp life. When they left, they were loaded with fish.”

Since those childhood days, the combination of climate change and federal and state mismanagement have caused a rapid decline in the Yukon’s wild salmon, threatening the sovereignty, culture and economic life of the villages along the river’s banks. This year was particularly alarming: All three primary Yukon River salmon species — chinook, chum and coho — returned in record low numbers, prompting the Alaska Department of Fish and Game to ban fishing along the entire river.  “Our main food source is now a delicacy,” said Brooke Woods, a traditional fisher (Yookkan Hoont’aanh from Rampart Village) and a University of Alaska Fairbanks Fisheries student.

Read the full article about Indigenous communities on the Yukon by Maia Wikler at The Counter.