I’ve been thinking a lot about the Eel River lately. Not in a casual way, but in a way that keeps returning. It lingers in the background of daily life. Maybe it’s because I just started reading Is a River Alive by Robert Macfarlane. Or maybe it’s something older. The river has been part of my life since birth. I grew up in Mendocino County, where the river was always nearby. The land it moves through, the lives it touches, and the way it holds both beauty and loss in the same bend.
The Eel River starts near Lake Pillsbury and runs about 200 miles to the coast. It moves through canyons and forests, across four counties, before reaching the Pacific. It gathers water from dozens of creeks and streams. All told, the river supports nearly 3,700 square miles of land.
For tribes like the Wiyot, Bear River Band, and Round Valley, the river is more than water. It’s part of their identity. Salmon, lamprey, and sturgeon once filled these waters. People fished, prayed, and built their lives around the river. Long before towns or fences, it was already providing.
In the 1800s, settlers showed up. Redwood trees came down fast. Logs were floated downstream, scarring the riverbed. By the early 1900s, sawmills had taken over. Towns like Rio Dell, Leggett, and Piercy were built on timber. I grew up around mills. My dad was a foreman at one yard for most of his life. I remember the smell of wet wood, the steady sound of saws. I remember Redwood Summer in 1990, when activists and loggers clashed in the woods. That summer changed how people looked at the land, the work, and each other.
Mendocino County still holds traces of that era. Dos Rios sits where two forks of the river meet. Laytonville straddles Highway 101 and relies on nearby creeks. Willits hugs the edge of the basin. Covelo, tucked into Round Valley, is fed by streams flowing west.
Potter Valley is another place I think about. The Memorial Day parade. The rodeo. I’ve photographed both over the years. Now that the removal of Scott Dam is on the horizon, the town may face real water shortages. That reservoir has supplied farms and ranches for decades. If it disappears, Potter Valley will have to rethink what growing and survival mean without the water.
Up north, the river moves through Scotia and Loleta. Scotia was built around timber. Loleta came from dairy and farmland. Both towns still bear the river’s mark. It floods. It dries up. It leaves behind silt and memory.
Lately, cannabis farms have added pressure. Some are legal. Others aren’t. Legal growers face high costs and red tape. Many small farms folded. Into that gap came cartel-run grows with no concern for the land. They tear into hillsides, steal water, poison wildlife, and leave behind trash. These grows hide deep in the backcountry. The river suffers for it.
There’s also the salmon. The Eel River once had some of the strongest runs in California. Not anymore. Now it’s too hot, too shallow, and too blocked. Removing Scott Dam and Cape Horn Dam could help. But it won’t fix everything.
Living near the river means taking what it gives and what it takes away. Winter floods wash out roads. Summer droughts leave creeks empty. Still, the river keeps doing its job. It feeds the land. It cools the air. Animals drink from it. Trees grow by it. Time slows beside it.
The Eel River carries more than water. It holds memory. It holds damage. It holds hope. Every turn tells a story. Nature and people blur together here. You can see the changes in the closed mills, the dry channels, the quiet towns. Still, some people stay. Some keep watching the river, hoping it comes back around.