The Seattle P.I. reported today that the Issaquah hatchery is facing the loss of nearly 1/4 of its already shrunken budget. According to the article the problem is the state's declining revenue due to the economic downturn. While I support hatchery reform, I do not want to see this valuable hatchery decimated. Any ides how to get them the money they need? How about a license surcharge to cover hatchery operations?
Friday, September 12, 2003
Can hatchery fish survive state's red ink?
Issaquah operations staff braces for what could be a 40% budget cut
By GORDY HOLT
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER
ISSAQUAH -- This week, as king-size chinook salmon were muscling their way back into Issaquah Creek, black clouds hung over Tiger Mountain.
For fish headed to the Issaquah Salmon Hatchery, the clouds offered the promise of rain and more water in the creek.
Were they also the foretellers of trouble?
Karen Ducey / P-I
It takes a number of volunteers, as well as hatchery employees such as Mike Griffin who is shown feeding coho fingerlings, to run the Issaquah hatchery's education programs.
As the fish readied themselves for another run at Issaquah Salmon Days on Oct. 4 and 5, state Fish and Wildlife officials were scrambling to determine how they will negotiate their portion of the state's budget crisis.
That could force the state to slice its annual allocation to the Issaquah Salmon Hatchery by as much as $100,000 -- or about 40 percent of the $260,000 in state money required to run the hatchery.
What this may mean for hatchery operations is not clear. Nor is it clear exactly how much money might be cut.
"This we do know," said hatchery supervisor Doug Hatfield. "Whatever the number, we're facing budget cuts that will have a significant impact on how this facility operates in terms of reduced fish production, reduced staff, or both."
In the decade since the state's last budget crisis threatened to close the Issaquah hatchery permanently, it has been reconstituted as a center for learning as well as for breeding fish.
It has also become a regular stop for school field trips from throughout the region.
Issaquah's education program is one of the reasons why the hatchery is more expensive to operate than those that deal just with fish., said John Kerwin, the head of hatchery operations statewide.
"It needs a lot of support, a lot of upkeep, and there is a tremendous demand on staff for things that help support fish," he said.
Kerwin singled out the city's Salmon Days festival alone as a costly proposition.
As many as five Fish and Wildlife employees will have to be on duty "instead of just one," he said. "We even have to call in people from Olympia to staff that."
Hatchery supporters, however, fear cuts of any kind would render the hatchery moot as an environmental learning center.
Karen Ducey / P-I
Coho salmon fingerlings at the Issaquah Salmon Hatchery, about 7 months old, will be released next May. Two years later they’ll return if conditions allow.
All the talk of budget cuts irks Kevin Boze, who volunteers about 300 hours a year leading hatchery tours and telling the salmon story to schoolchildren.
"I thought that discussion was long since over," said Boze, a docent and member of FISH, or Friends of the Issaquah Salmon Hatchery.
Creation of FISH 10 years ago followed an earlier state budget crisis that caused Fish and Wildlife planners then to identify the Issaquah hatchery for closure.
City officials, local business leaders and Eastside legislators came to the rescue, and the result can be seen in the recently completed $7.5 million renovation of the 67-year-old hatchery.
The money revamped the old building, and built new fish-viewing ponds and a new fish ladder.
Just as visible is the outdoor teaching environment that catches the eye wherever one looks. Even a small water tank tells the salmon story in pictures.
The story spills out elsewhere in things that crank, spin and pull, all of it within a few steps of Front Street and the city's downtown business, and within 40 miles of half the state's population.
"And now they want to cut it?" Boze asked. "You don't overhaul your car, get an emission test and new license tabs just to take it to the junkyard."
The news of pending cuts also saddened Larry Jones, a retired steelworker who rides his motorized wheelchair through the hatchery grounds daily.
"Don't see how they could cut any more," he said. "They only got a skeleton crew here now."
As he spoke, Jones watched fish the size of a linebacker's thigh crawl through riffles and into the gates that shutter fish ladders due to open anytime now.
After just four years of life, they were back where they started to provide the wherewithal for yet another generation. Then, as the message in their genes will dictate, they will die.
Is a similar fate in store for the hatchery that gave them life?
Docent Boze hopes not.
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No huevos no pollo.