Mr. Speaker, colleagues, today we memorialize and remember the events of more than 50 years ago when the gates closed for the first time on the Dalles Dam, and within 6 hours another wild and noisy…
Mr. Speaker, colleagues, today we memorialize and remember the events of more than 50 years ago when the gates closed for the first time on the Dalles Dam, and within 6 hours another wild and noisy stretch of the mighty Columbia River fell silent and serene in the name of progress.
Celilo Falls was also known as Wyam, which means echo of falling water, or sound of water upon the rocks. And, indeed, what a sound it must have been to hear the fourth largest river in America as it crashed over basalt rocks and cliffs. Lewis and Clark's journals refer to the falls as a place where ``the river turned on edge.''
This photograph here to my left is actually one my father took as a colorized slide before the falls was inundated. It shows the tribal members fishing from these wooden platforms, roped to the edge with ropes around their waist. They would spread sand out on the platforms because all the water made the platforms so slick, and then they would engage with the dip nets to hoist 40-pound, 50-pound, 60-pound salmon out of the river. The trick was not to get more than two fish in your net because that might be more than you weighed, and you ran the risk of being dragged into the river. Indeed, there was a young man who fell in the river, and later was rescued and saved because he ended up in a net and was able to be pulled out.
What a river it was and what a river it is. As the Columbia River passed over these falls, the sound could be heard from miles away. During periods of high water, nearly 1 million cubic feet of water per second would pass over these falls. Now, let me put that in comparison: Niagara Falls in New York, 200,000 cubic feet of water passes over those falls.
A million would have passed over these. But it wasn't just these falls, because you see the basalt rapids continued on toward the Dalles for 11 miles. So not only were there these falls, but there were other rapids and falls along the way. And it was more than just a roaring falls or an historic and bountiful fishing area. It was, as some historians noted, ``the Wall Street of the West.''
In his book, ``The Columbia River Salmon and Steelhead Trout, Their Fight for Survival,'' author Anthony Netboy described the scene this way:
``Here came Indians from the interior who had no fishing grounds of their own or whose fishing was poor, to trade for dried salmon, offering peltries from Montana, jade axes from the Fraser River area, horn of mountain sheep, baskets, rabbit or bearskins. The Klamath and Modoc peoples from Klamath Lake brought slaves and dentalia shells, their medium of exchange. Trade connections with the Dalles, says the anthropologist Philip Drucker, in `Cultures of the North Pacific Coast,' stretched across the Rockies and into the Great Plains.''
This was one of the most significant fisheries of the Columbia River. In
``Recalling Celilo,'' author Elizabeth Woody writes:
``Historically, the Wyampum lived at Wyam for over 12,000 years. Estimates vary, but Wyam is among the longest continuously inhabited communities in North America. The elders tell us we have been here from time immemorial.
``Today we know Celilo Falls as a lost landmark. It was a place as revered as one's own mother.''
Woody goes on to write:
``What happened at Wyam was more significant than entertainment. During the day, women cleaned large amounts of finely cut fish and hung the parts to dry in the heat of the arid landscape. So abundant were the fish passing Wyam on their upriver journey that the fish caught there could feed a whole family through the winter. Many families had enough salmon to trade with other tribes or individuals for specialty items.
``No one would starve if they could work. Even those incapable of physical work could share other talents. It was a dignified existence.''
The tribes called themselves ``salmon people.'' And it is easy to understand why. In 1805, Lewis and Clark estimated seeing five tons of dried salmon stacked in a single village near the Dalles.
The dawn of the 20th century brought change to the area with the construction in 1913 of the Dalles-Celilo Canal, providing the first safe passage around the falls. Then in the 1930s and 1940s, more pressures built as down-river communities suffered from floods, river traffic increased, and a Nation at war needed more electricity to power its industry.
In 1950, Congress authorized the construction of the Dalles Dam, and on March 10, 1957, the gates of this river-blocker closed and within hours, silence overtook Celilo Falls, Wyam and the way of life known for centuries.
Now, plans for construction of the dam were battled by Chief Tommy Thompson as he and the tribal members knew that the end of the falls would mean the end of life as they had known it. But they could not stop the effort. Their village was relocated. The government paid tribal members in one-time sums of nearly $4,000, and promised sustained fisheries and access to new fishing sites.
Layfee Foster, of the Dalles, took this famous photograph of Chief Tommy Thompson and his wife, Flora, and their granddaughter, Linda George, whom I met at the ceremony at Celilo Falls last month.
I would like to read from Mr. Netboy's book again, as he eloquently states the last of the first salmon rites that were held in April of 1956. He writes:
``On Sunday, April 20, 1956, when the Dalles Dam was about to be enclosed and the Celilo fishery, dating back to a long forgotten time would be inundated, I witnessed the last of the first salmon rites at Celilo village. The day was warm and sunny, and hundreds of tribesmen gathered for this sad occasion on the banks of the Columbia, the women wearing multi-colored flowing dresses and scarves, and the men awkward- fitting store clothes. Emissaries of Tommy Thompson, chief of the host band, the Wyams, said to be over 100 years old, had to seek elsewhere than the Columbia for salmon because an early spring thaw in the mountains made it impossible to use the historic site to catch enough fish for the festival. They bought 400 pounds of salmon in Portland, and members of Warm Springs Reservation who had fishing rights at Celilo helped out with donations of venison and roots for the occasion.
``The stolid, bronze-colored chief sat at the head table in the longhouse, surrounded by silent and respectful tribesmen squatting on mats on the earthen floor. Outside, slabs of salmon were being smoked over log fires tended by women, just as when Lewis and Clark camped here in 1805 and smoked a pipe of peace with the chief.
``Chief Thompson blessed the first fish caught a few days before and made a speech in his native language that was charged with emotion. Before it was over, the vigorous old man was weeping. Although I did not understand a word, I could imagine the feelings that inspired him as he saw the last bit of land held by the tribe about to go underwater and the ancient picturesque fishery disappear. He had seen the white settlers pour into the valley, and the baleful impact they made on the natives' culture. The churning river where he had fished as a youth, from rickety platforms, would become a placid lake. There were tears in the eyes of many who listened to him.
``When the First Salmon rites were concluded, the chief permitted newsmen to photograph him with his younger wife, Flora. Usually the festival lasted a few days, but this time it was confined to one. There were bone games in the afternoon and dances in the evening. The next morning the Portland Oregonian reported an interview with Henry Thompson, son of the chief, who said, and I quote, `When the dam is finished and there are no more fish at Celilo, my father will still live here and will die here. I too will die here. Both of us were born at Celilo, and here,' pointing to the Indian cemetery on a bluff of the village, `amid the rimrock, we will be buried.'
``Tommy Thompson died 3 years later, and without him, without the roaring falls, and with salmon caught elsewhere, the First Salmon ceremonies held occasionally at the new Celilo village built by the Corps of Engineers on the bluff lost their flavor and meaning and were eventually abandoned.''
Today the Dalles Dam employs 150 people, generates enough electricity to power two cities the size of Portland, Oregon, helps control run-off in the spring. The power it produces makes no carbon emissions and is 90 percent efficient.
Today the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers is rehabilitating the Celilo village, spending $13 million to build a new sewer plant, new houses, a playground, school and update the water and electrical system. A new longhouse was completed last year.
Today we memorialize the situation at Celilo, the loss of that great falls and the work that remains ahead.
