Lake Washington's sockeye run may hit a record low

Lake Washington's sockeye run is a virtual no-show so far this year, with one of the lowest returns on record under way through the Ballard Locks.

It's too soon to say what the final homecoming of adults to the spawning grounds will be, but things are not looking good, with a measly forecast return of about 19,000 fish shaping up to be all too accurate.

The peak of the run might have already passed, and as of Thursday, only about 12,933 fish have cleared the locks. If fish don't start showing up in much heavier numbers — which is not likely — hopes of any recreational or commercial fishery this year for tribal and nontribal fishermen alike are snuffed.

The Lake Washington sockeye disappointment this year isn't really a surprise. This year's run is shaping up to be half of last year's, which was the lowest on record since 1972, at 33,702 fish. And that was less than half of the 69,271 sockeye counted through the locks in 2007.

This third crummy year in a row is still under analysis by biologists, who likely won't ever be able to finger any one cause. But poor food-production conditions in the ocean are most likely a key factor.

It's a big turnaround from 2006, a boom year with about 453,543 sockeye slamming through the locks on the way to spawning grounds, including the lake and Cedar River.

There were eight days of fishing that year for sport fishermen on Lake Washington. The lake sockeye fishery is a signature event, drawing fishermen from all over to pursue a delicious fish so easy to catch, all it takes is a bare hook.

"They are great eating, and you get mom and pop and old folks in anything that floats," said Frank Urabeck of Bonney Lake, a longtime sport-fishing activist. "It's just an incredible time."

His disappointment this year is surpassed only by his worry. "Perhaps it will be a new record low, all of us are praying that doesn't happen. We are in a hole and we need to get out of it, my hope is that if things turn around in the ocean, then these fish have a capability of coming back fast."

Right now, no fishing is allowed on the sockeye other than a small dip-net fishery for scientific research under way by the Washington Department of Natural Resources and Muckleshoot Indian Tribe. Muckleshoot fisheries-department employees are catching about 40 fish a week for five weeks so scientists can sample a bone in each fish's head to determine if the fish is hatchery raised, as well as its age, gender and other data needed to track the run.

"It's a lot of fun; I enjoy it," fisherman Dwayne Ross Sr. said, passing the fish to a technician to transport to the lab. "But it's quiet, real quiet, too quiet. They are not showing up."

At least 350,000 sockeye have to make it through the locks before officials will even consider opening a sport or commercial fishery.

Part of the survival challenge for the fish is the abrupt change from salt to freshwater, and warmer water temperatures they endure in the ship canal. "They are trying to balance a number of things that fish in a normal estuary have tens of square miles to sort out," said Judith Noble, policy analyst for Seattle Public Utilities, which maintains a hatchery on the Cedar to boost sockeye numbers. Destruction of freshwater habitat also adds to the punishment meted by vagaries of the ocean.

There weren't always sockeye in Lake Washington. Sockeye were planted in the lake in the 1930s, using stock from Baker Lake, in Skagit County, after Lake Washington was replumbed to create the locks and ship canal.

Today fry typically hatch out of the gravel of the Cedar, migrate to the lake where they will rear for as long as a year, then head to Puget Sound, then finally the open sea. They return as 3- and 4-year-olds, grown to some 10 to 12 pounds.

The Muckleshoots fish for sockeye in Lake Union, the ship canal and other urban locations when the run is strong enough to support it. Mike Mahovlich, a fisheries biologist for the tribe, which comanages the run with the state Department of Fish and Wildlife, isn't optimistic about a fishery this year either.

"When the run is good, everybody gets to enjoy it," Mahovlich said. "When it's not, everybody has to bite the bullet."

Lynda V. Mapes: 206-464-2736 or lmapes@seattletimes.com