Last Saturday, my wife and I took a canoe trip with her nieces and nephew down the Feather River to watch one of California's most dramatic natural spectacles - the fall spawning run of Chinook salmon. The kids get very excited when they see these huge yard-long fish charge up through the riffles, leap in the pools and scoop out their spawning redds. It's a fun way to encourage their appreciation of the natural world.

We've been doing this trip for years - since the little ones had the patience to sit in a canoe. Josie, just 11, noticed that we didn't see nearly as many fish as we have in the past. In years with healthier runs, the salmon were so thick at times that they would bang off our canoes. Instead, we just saw a few fish in riffles that usually hold dozens - or hundreds. The river even smelled different. (As you might guess, dying spawned out salmon have a distinctive aroma, as they return tons of ocean-gained nutrients to their spawning rivers.) As we paddled down the river, I wondered what the declining runs would mean in the future for the osprey, herons, egrets and kingfishers that the kids are just starting to be able to identify. Not to mention the family of river otters that squeaked at us as we paddled past.

This year there were no fishermen along the banks and no fishing boats on the water with us - the result of the closure of the salmon fishery. Jaeger, just four, is eager to try salmon fishing.

As we paddled to our take out, it struck me that we have a special responsibility today. We're at a turning point in California's water policy and in the health of our rivers. As we decide what direction to chart for the coming decades, we should strive to ensure that these children can take the next generation fishing and paddling on our rivers to appreciate this remarkable part of California's natural heritage.