The first time I saw images of silver fish undulating through the Milford fish lift, I felt something rare: a pang of quiet astonishment, as if I were witnessing nature reclaiming a long-lost promise.
The Penobscot River in Maine—long stilted by human barriers—has this year delivered a renewal so powerful it reads like a fable of revival.
In 2023 and beyond, Atlantic salmon and river herring are surging in numbers, setting records, and restoring a fragile balance.
That “fourth point” you asked me not to miss—how these gains reflect decades of restorative action—is in many ways the heart of this unfolding story.
A River Once Tamed, Now Singing Again
In the mid-1800s and into the industrial age, Maine’s rivers—including the Penobscot—were transformed into conduits for timber and mills. More than 100 dams rose across its watershed, severing the lifelines of migratory fish.
Pollution, log drives, and habitat destruction compounded the losses; over the decades, Atlantic salmon and river herring that once numbered in the tens of thousands dwindled to near vanishing.
In the mid-1800s and into the industrial era, Maine’s rivers—including the Penobscot—were transformed into busy channels for timber and industry.
Over a hundred dams were built across the watershed, blocking the natural migrations of fish that once filled these waters. Pollution and habitat loss compounded the decline, and Atlantic salmon and river herring—once abundant—fell to near extinction.
For the Penobscot Nation, whose way of life was deeply connected to the river, the loss was personal and cultural. The river had been their highway, pantry, and spiritual center.
Generations relied on its fish for food and community gatherings, but contamination and dwindling fish populations forced them to abandon many of these traditions. The erosion of this relationship with the river weighed heavily on the community’s health, culture, and sense of identity.
In 2004, a turning point arrived: a settlement between the Penobscot Nation, state and federal agencies, non-profits, and energy firms laid out a bold plan to restore free passage for sea-run fish while balancing hydropower needs.
Over the last two decades, key dams—such as Great Works (removed 2012) and Veazie (removed 2013)—were dismantled. At Milford Dam, a fish lift (nicknamed “the Salmonater”) carries fish upstream—one box at a time—restoring continuity.
That structural shift—removing obstacles, reconnecting stream networks, repairing warm-water pathways—laid the groundwork. And now, after years of patience and stewardship, nature is beginning to respond.
Record Runs, Cautious Optimism
By mid-July 2023, the river herring count at Milford had soared to 5,490,195, more than double the previous year’s record for that period. Meanwhile, an estimated 1,489 Atlantic salmon passed the fish lift—again, the strongest count since dam removal in 2012. In September, the Associated Press reported more than 1,500 Atlantic salmon had been counted, the most in any U.S. river since 2011.
Maine’s Department of Marine Resources confirms that the Milford count has exceeded 1,000 in four of the past five years. While those figures are still tiny compared to preindustrial runs, they are trending upward—and are being heralded as early signs of ecological resilience.
Conservationists are quick to caution that such progress isn’t linear. NOAA’s salmon recovery coordinator Dan Tierney has noted: “High years can be followed by low years … we have a long way to go to recover the species.” Still, the momentum is unmistakable.
Beyond the numbers lies a deeper mechanism: herring and other baitfish help dilute predator attention. In 2023, the surge of river herring may have distracted seals, striped bass, and other predators from attacking the rarer salmon—a small but meaningful buffer for survival.
It is this interplay—of species, flows, restoration—that signals not a one-off success but a gradually strengthening web of life.
How The Restoration Was Won
This story of revival is not an accident. It is the product of decades of collaborative, adaptive work—often invisible to casual observers.
Unified Watershed Planning
The 2004 agreement was revolutionary: it forged a coalition across jurisdictions, balancing ecological goals with energy and economic interests. The Penobscot River Restoration Project—established within that framework—aligned government agencies, the Penobscot Nation, and non-profits like the Atlantic Salmon Federation.
Strategic Dam Removals
Great Works and Veazie Dams came down first. In places where removal wasn’t feasible, fish passage structures and bypasses were built (Milford, Howland) to reconnect mainstem flows with upstream habitat. Each removal opened miles of cold headwaters to spawning and refuge.
Targeted Habitat Reconnection
New funding through the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law and Inflation Reduction Act allows NOAA and partners to link salmon and other sea-run fish to over 450 miles of stream habitat and 13,000 acres of lakes and ponds. The goal: reclaim cold springs and forest-shaded tributaries where juveniles thrive.
Community And Cultural Revival
For the Penobscot Nation, restoring fish is more than an ecological act—it’s a reclamation of identity. The river’s reconnection allows tribal communities to revive ceremonies, food systems, and education rooted in water and fish.
Science, Monitoring, And Adaptive Learning
Fish lifts, counting stations, interns, and field biologists ensure data drive decisions. The Milford lift provides transparent, weekly counts from May through November. When problems arise—as with passage delays through dams—the coalition scrutinizes, revises, and improves.
This “fourth point” is vital: restoration brings biodiversity and human culture together. The Penobscot example shows how heritage, Indigenous rights, and community health are intertwined. The river’s health strengthens cultural identity, and cultural will sustains the work. This is not just a conservation success, but a human one.
Challenges And Tempered Hope
While the rebound is inspiring, the path ahead remains steep.
For one, dam passage is not always efficient. Environmental groups have accused the operator of Milford Dam of failing to meet legally mandated rates: only around 21% of adult salmon passed within 48 hours, far below the required 95%. This shows how fragile progress can be—and how enforcement, transparency, and vigilance remain vital.
Climate change and warming waters pose another risk: Atlantic salmon are cold-water specialists. Once river temperatures exceed about 70°F (21°C), their physiology begins to falter. Increased precipitation, flooding, and shifting hydrology can worsen sedimentation, habitat disruption, and stream warming.
Recovery will likely span generations. NOAA’s 2020 recovery plan estimated 75 years—or 15 salmon generations—may be needed to delist the Gulf of Maine population. That’s sobering, yet realistic: restoration is a marathon, not a sprint.
Budget pressures, changing policy priorities, and stakeholder conflicts may also ripple over time. Maintaining consensus over decades demands institutional memory and continued public engagement.
A River’s Whisper Becomes Roar
Yet, even amid uncertainty, the narrative now is no longer one of decline—but of reclamation. The shimmering runs of river herring, the arcs of returning salmon, the community voices reclaiming their rivers: these are gestures of hope.
Consider the interns who now monitor the fish lifts—young people learning data collection, classification, conservation ethics. They represent future stewards linking human curiosity and natural resurgence.
And as the Penobscot revitalizes, its ripples extend far beyond Maine. The lessons here resonate in any river system where dams have severed connections. It’s living proof that engineers, conservationists, communities, and Indigenous nations can co-design futures where rivers breathe again.
When I picture those silver fish riding the current past Milford, I see something larger: a covenant between people and water. A whisper becomes stronger, until the river carries its own story of healing. This isn’t the end of the journey—far from it—but in that flow, I sense that renewal is possible, patient, and profound.
