First time in 100 years: young kayakers on a ride for the ages
If all goes as planned, the kayakers will pass the rehabilitated sites of the largest dam-removal project in U.S. history. They will pass salmon swimming upstream in places that the fish had not been able to reach since the early 1900s. They will pass through the ancient territory of their tribes -- the Klamath, Shasta, Karuk, Hoopa Valley and Yurok among them.
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And when they reach the wide mouth of the river at the Pacific Ocean near Klamath, California, they will be celebrated as the first to descend the full length of the Klamath, source to sea, since the dams went up and pinched life from the water.
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'I'm really excited to be on the river with friends, celebrating this huge accomplishment that our people have been fighting for forever,' said Ruby Rain Williams, 18, of the Karuk tribe.
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The sky was blue. The mood was, at turns, celebratory and solemn. The colorful kayaks glided across a pool of crystal water, headed downstream.
To'nehwan Jayden Dauz, a 15-year-old from the Hoopa Valley tribe, bounced through a Class IV rapid that didn't exist a year ago, in a narrow canyon where one of the dams fell. Ruby followed, emerging from a stretch of steep white water with a wide grin. The expedition was soon. Scouting the difficult section of rapids from a raft, Keeya Wiki, a 17-year-old Yurok, whooped at her new friends.
All three grew up along the water, in different tribes, hearing stories of ancestors who could walk across the Klamath on the backs of so many salmon. Today, everyone was more likely to get dinner from a local convenience store than from the river.
The arrival of white settlers, starting with a group of beaver trappers in 1826, interrupted the rhythms of life here for the next 200 years. Gold miners and timber companies came. Farmers and ranchers arrived, sucking and diverting water from the river and draining the fish-rich wetlands near the headwaters.
The first hydroelectric dam, Copco 1 (named for the California Oregon Power Co.), was built in 1918. Others followed: Copco 2 (1925), J.C. Boyle (1958) and Iron Gate (1964). They were 400 vertical feet of water stoppers and lake makers within a 45-mile stretch straddling the Oregon-California border. Salmon had no way to get through.
For decades, tribes and environmentalists, seeing and feeling an ecological and cultural disaster unfold, demanded the removal of dams and the restoration of the river. Voices went largely unheard until 2002, when tens of thousands of dead salmon and steelhead trout washed up on the lower banks of the river.
Advertisement
The dam-removal movement gained momentum, and politicians and other power brokers slowly acknowledged that the relatively low amounts of power generated by the dams in such a rural region was not enough reason to continue suffocating the river and its tributaries.
In small creeks that feed into the Upper Klamath, hundreds of miles from the ocean, salmon were spotted 11 days after the last dam fell last fall.
By then, a small group of river runners, having recruited and extensively trained about three dozen Indigenous teens growing up along the Klamath, had grand plans to be the first group to paddle the length of the freed river.
Two smaller dams remain, upriver from the dismantled ones and not far from the headwaters. The paddlers will have to portage around the dams. The tribes would like them gone, too.
Then 'all of our relatives can be connected again,' said William Ray, Jr., the chair of the Klamath Tribes, a consortium of the Klamath, Modoc and Yahooskin people.
Recently, some of those teens, preparing for the expedition and practicing their skills, paddled through a section that had been the floor of Copco Lake for more than a century. They could see the fading shoreline of the old lake, as the river found its old course.
Water has memory, tribal elders say.
On riffling current, the paddlers passed houses that had stood lakeside for decades, now sitting far from the river's edge, their old docks leading nowhere. They passed a graveyard of bald trees, still standing, that had been submerged for years. A boat anchor hung, tangled, on one of the naked gray limbs.
Advertisement
Entering Kikacéki Canyon, they passed the site of Copco 1. Almost all signs of the massive structure have been removed. This year's river runners might not realize it had been there just last summer.
Rush Sturges, 40, is a professional kayaker and filmmaker who grew up on California's Salmon River, a tributary of the Klamath. His parents ran a kayak school for 40 years. Sturges knew all about the fight to remove the dams.
'But I didn't know a single Indigenous kayaker before this,' he said.
In 2021, he met Weston Boyles, 38, founder and executive director of Ríos to Rivers, a global organization advocating Indigenous youth and rivers around the world through education and exchange programs. They discussed life after the dams.
Shouldn't Native children be the first to paddle the full stretch of the re-flowing river?
Paddle Tribal Waters was born. It soon recruited Danielle Frank, a 21-year-old Hoopa Valley tribe member known as Ducky and a dynamo of activism and advocacy work in the Klamath Basin. She helped connect the organizers to the tribes.
The long-term plan for Paddle Tribal Waters is to connect children to the rejuvenated river. Some students, like Jayden -- 'one of the most talented kayakers I've ever seen learn the sport,' Sturges said -- have organized kayak clubs in their tribes.
The short-term plan was less philosophical. 'We wanted to train these kids to lead this first descent,' Sturges said.
With stretches that include technical and dangerous Class IV rapids (Class VI is not navigable), the Klamath is not for novices. So Paddle Tribal Waters ran multiweek summer programs in 2022, 2023 and 2024, teaching 45 teens how to paddle white water. At night, they took tribe-led classes on activism, ecosystems and cultural knowledge. Some then took part in semester-long school-and-paddle programs around the world.
Advertisement
About 14 youth and seven staff members plan to paddle the entire stretch of river. Another 30 or so teens will join the party midway. They will camp on the river's banks. There will be planned ceremonial meetings and meals with tribal members and families. Food and gear will be shuttled in at various access points, part of a coordinated and complex logistical challenge.
Along the way, the young kayakers will be encouraged to help name rapids, maybe in native languages, so that the many commercial outfits that run the river in rafts and kayaks might adopt them.
The group is scheduled to arrive at the Pacific Ocean ahead of a large-scale celebration July 12 and a symposium the next day.
But that was still 300 miles and several days away. Scarlett Schroeder, 13, and Coley Miller, 14, who belong to tribes on the Upper Klamath, daydreamed about reaching the ocean about a month from now.
'We're definitely going to go down in history,' Scarlett said.
'Our grandkids will know,' Coley said.
'Our great-, great-, great-grandkids will know,' Scarlett said.
At the headwaters near Chiloquin, Oregon, not far from Crater Lake National Park, the kayakers and supporters gathered in a circle near the water's edge. Leaders from the Klamath tribes took turns explaining the significance of the 'sacred journey.'
The kayakers gathered in a circle in the water. They let out a collective shout, then began to paddle away. Soon they disappeared around the bend, headed for history.
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Boston Globe
20 hours ago
- Boston Globe
First time in 100 years: young kayakers on a ride for the ages
If all goes as planned, the kayakers will pass the rehabilitated sites of the largest dam-removal project in U.S. history. They will pass salmon swimming upstream in places that the fish had not been able to reach since the early 1900s. They will pass through the ancient territory of their tribes -- the Klamath, Shasta, Karuk, Hoopa Valley and Yurok among them. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up And when they reach the wide mouth of the river at the Pacific Ocean near Klamath, California, they will be celebrated as the first to descend the full length of the Klamath, source to sea, since the dams went up and pinched life from the water. Advertisement 'I'm really excited to be on the river with friends, celebrating this huge accomplishment that our people have been fighting for forever,' said Ruby Rain Williams, 18, of the Karuk tribe. Advertisement The sky was blue. The mood was, at turns, celebratory and solemn. The colorful kayaks glided across a pool of crystal water, headed downstream. To'nehwan Jayden Dauz, a 15-year-old from the Hoopa Valley tribe, bounced through a Class IV rapid that didn't exist a year ago, in a narrow canyon where one of the dams fell. Ruby followed, emerging from a stretch of steep white water with a wide grin. The expedition was soon. Scouting the difficult section of rapids from a raft, Keeya Wiki, a 17-year-old Yurok, whooped at her new friends. All three grew up along the water, in different tribes, hearing stories of ancestors who could walk across the Klamath on the backs of so many salmon. Today, everyone was more likely to get dinner from a local convenience store than from the river. The arrival of white settlers, starting with a group of beaver trappers in 1826, interrupted the rhythms of life here for the next 200 years. Gold miners and timber companies came. Farmers and ranchers arrived, sucking and diverting water from the river and draining the fish-rich wetlands near the headwaters. The first hydroelectric dam, Copco 1 (named for the California Oregon Power Co.), was built in 1918. Others followed: Copco 2 (1925), J.C. Boyle (1958) and Iron Gate (1964). They were 400 vertical feet of water stoppers and lake makers within a 45-mile stretch straddling the Oregon-California border. Salmon had no way to get through. For decades, tribes and environmentalists, seeing and feeling an ecological and cultural disaster unfold, demanded the removal of dams and the restoration of the river. Voices went largely unheard until 2002, when tens of thousands of dead salmon and steelhead trout washed up on the lower banks of the river. Advertisement The dam-removal movement gained momentum, and politicians and other power brokers slowly acknowledged that the relatively low amounts of power generated by the dams in such a rural region was not enough reason to continue suffocating the river and its tributaries. In small creeks that feed into the Upper Klamath, hundreds of miles from the ocean, salmon were spotted 11 days after the last dam fell last fall. By then, a small group of river runners, having recruited and extensively trained about three dozen Indigenous teens growing up along the Klamath, had grand plans to be the first group to paddle the length of the freed river. Two smaller dams remain, upriver from the dismantled ones and not far from the headwaters. The paddlers will have to portage around the dams. The tribes would like them gone, too. Then 'all of our relatives can be connected again,' said William Ray, Jr., the chair of the Klamath Tribes, a consortium of the Klamath, Modoc and Yahooskin people. Recently, some of those teens, preparing for the expedition and practicing their skills, paddled through a section that had been the floor of Copco Lake for more than a century. They could see the fading shoreline of the old lake, as the river found its old course. Water has memory, tribal elders say. On riffling current, the paddlers passed houses that had stood lakeside for decades, now sitting far from the river's edge, their old docks leading nowhere. They passed a graveyard of bald trees, still standing, that had been submerged for years. A boat anchor hung, tangled, on one of the naked gray limbs. Advertisement Entering Kikacéki Canyon, they passed the site of Copco 1. Almost all signs of the massive structure have been removed. This year's river runners might not realize it had been there just last summer. Rush Sturges, 40, is a professional kayaker and filmmaker who grew up on California's Salmon River, a tributary of the Klamath. His parents ran a kayak school for 40 years. Sturges knew all about the fight to remove the dams. 'But I didn't know a single Indigenous kayaker before this,' he said. In 2021, he met Weston Boyles, 38, founder and executive director of Ríos to Rivers, a global organization advocating Indigenous youth and rivers around the world through education and exchange programs. They discussed life after the dams. Shouldn't Native children be the first to paddle the full stretch of the re-flowing river? Paddle Tribal Waters was born. It soon recruited Danielle Frank, a 21-year-old Hoopa Valley tribe member known as Ducky and a dynamo of activism and advocacy work in the Klamath Basin. She helped connect the organizers to the tribes. The long-term plan for Paddle Tribal Waters is to connect children to the rejuvenated river. Some students, like Jayden -- 'one of the most talented kayakers I've ever seen learn the sport,' Sturges said -- have organized kayak clubs in their tribes. The short-term plan was less philosophical. 'We wanted to train these kids to lead this first descent,' Sturges said. With stretches that include technical and dangerous Class IV rapids (Class VI is not navigable), the Klamath is not for novices. So Paddle Tribal Waters ran multiweek summer programs in 2022, 2023 and 2024, teaching 45 teens how to paddle white water. At night, they took tribe-led classes on activism, ecosystems and cultural knowledge. Some then took part in semester-long school-and-paddle programs around the world. Advertisement About 14 youth and seven staff members plan to paddle the entire stretch of river. Another 30 or so teens will join the party midway. They will camp on the river's banks. There will be planned ceremonial meetings and meals with tribal members and families. Food and gear will be shuttled in at various access points, part of a coordinated and complex logistical challenge. Along the way, the young kayakers will be encouraged to help name rapids, maybe in native languages, so that the many commercial outfits that run the river in rafts and kayaks might adopt them. The group is scheduled to arrive at the Pacific Ocean ahead of a large-scale celebration July 12 and a symposium the next day. But that was still 300 miles and several days away. Scarlett Schroeder, 13, and Coley Miller, 14, who belong to tribes on the Upper Klamath, daydreamed about reaching the ocean about a month from now. 'We're definitely going to go down in history,' Scarlett said. 'Our grandkids will know,' Coley said. 'Our great-, great-, great-grandkids will know,' Scarlett said. At the headwaters near Chiloquin, Oregon, not far from Crater Lake National Park, the kayakers and supporters gathered in a circle near the water's edge. Leaders from the Klamath tribes took turns explaining the significance of the 'sacred journey.' The kayakers gathered in a circle in the water. They let out a collective shout, then began to paddle away. Soon they disappeared around the bend, headed for history. Advertisement This article originally appeared in
Miami Herald
7 days ago
- Miami Herald
After a century of logging, lands along California's Klamath River returned to tribe
LOS ANGELES - Along the Klamath River in Northern California, where logging companies once cut ancient redwood trees, vast tracts of land have been returned to the Yurok Tribe in a years-long effort that tribal leaders say will enable the restoration of forests and the protection of a watershed that is vital for salmon. The effort, which unfolded gradually over the last 23 years, culminated in May as Western Rivers Conservancy turned over 14,968 acres to the Yurok Tribe. It was the last portion of 47,097 acres that the nonprofit group acquired and transferred to the tribe in what is thought to be the largest "land back" deal in California history. Members of the tribe say they are celebrating the return of their ancestral lands along Blue Creek, a major tributary that meets the Klamath about 40 miles south of the Oregon border. Blue Creek holds cultural and spiritual significance for the Yurok, and its cold, clear waters provide a refuge for salmon. "We are salmon people," said Joseph L. James, chairman of the Yurok Tribe. "The river takes care of us, and it's our job to take care of the river." In all, the tribe now owns an additional 73 square miles along the lower Klamath River, including much of the Blue Creek watershed. The conifer forests, which were heavily logged over the last century, will be managed by the tribal government as two protected areas, the Blue Creek Salmon Sanctuary and the Yurok Tribal Community Forest. Yurok leaders say regaining stewardship of these lands contributes to larger efforts to revive the ecological health of the Klamath watershed, where last year the removal of four dams farther upstream restored a free-flowing stretch of the river and enabled salmon to reach spawning areas that had been inaccessible for more than a century. "This land is back home with us now, and we'll continue that work that we have done as Yurok people to protect the land, protect the streams, provide for our people and provide for the environment," James said. In addition to Blue Creek, the land includes other streams that flow into the Klamath. The tribe plans projects to create healthier stream habitats for fish, and to restore meadows and prairies. In the forests, they plan to use controlled burns to thin vegetation that has built up. Some old logging roads are being decommissioned, while other roads are set to be upgraded. "We're going to continue to work to bring back our wildlife population, our fish population," James said. "It's going to take a lot of work, but a lot of people are going to benefit from this." Beyond the local benefits, James said the effort serves as an example for the Land Back movement, in which Native people in many areas are seeking to regain ancestral lands that were taken from them generations ago. "This is what it looks like when we talk about land back," James said. "Land back means giving the land back to its original people with no strings attached. Let them provide their traditional knowledge to heal the land, the environment." He said reaching this successful conclusion involved years of efforts by leaders of the tribe and Western Rivers Conservancy, as well as help from other partners. He said the deal should start more discussions nationwide about how other tribes can advance toward regaining their traditional lands. "It's a big win for Indian Country," he said. "Here is a model that people could use, from our experience, to get land back." The effort has more than doubled the tribe's landholdings. The lands were previously owned by Green Diamond Resource Co. and its predecessor Simpson Logging Co., which harvested timber there for nearly a century. The last time logging occurred on the property was in 2007. Western Rivers Conservancy, a Portland, Ore.-based nonprofit, signed a purchase agreement with Green Diamond in 2008 after five years of negotiations and efforts to identify funding. The lands were gradually acquired by the group between 2009 and 2017, and were transferred to the tribe in multiple phases. The conservation group used an innovative funding strategy, assembling $56 million from foundations, corporations and philanthropists, as well as other sources such as tax credits, public grants and the sale of carbon credits. State funding and support for the effort came from the California Wildlife Conservation Board and the California State Coastal Conservancy, as well as other agencies. "We put together this mosaic of different funding sources," said Nelson Mathews, president of Western Rivers Conservancy. "This is the result of commitment, persistence and tenacity." Mathews' organization focuses on protecting rivers for fish, wildlife and the public, and was drawn to the project for its conservation benefits. By establishing the salmon sanctuary in Blue Creek, the deal safeguards a vital cold-water habitat for fish including Chinook salmon, coho salmon and steelhead. "With climate change, cold water is at a premium for these rivers, and it's critical," Mathews said. "So having complete protection of that watershed is important." He said the deal shows how conservation goals and tribes' efforts to regain lands can align in ways that bring tremendous benefits. "It's good for the soul to protect these rivers, and it's a double benefit to see the tribe get their land back," Mathews said. Members of the Yurok Tribe say this effort and others like it are a critically important step in grappling with the lasting effects of colonization. During the 1800s, California's Native population was decimated by diseases, displacement and violence, including state-sponsored killings. The Yurok reservation was established by the federal government in 1855, confining the tribe to an area that covered only a tiny fraction of their ancestral territory. In the late 1800s, white settlers and speculators found ways to secure additional lands along the Klamath River where they could extract valuable redwood, in some cases by bribing U.S. General Land Office officials as they fraudulently acquired thousands of acres of timberlands. Today, the Yurok Tribe is the largest tribe in California, with more than 6,400 enrolled members. "We are trying to recover from colonization," said Amy Bowers Cordalis, a lawyer for the tribe and executive director of the Ridges to Riffles Indigenous Conservation Group. "And we are just now getting into a place where we are starting to see some of the fruits of our efforts, between dam removal and now land back efforts." Regaining these lands enables the tribe "to start rebuilding and to start taking care of our land and our resources," she said. "We are strongly committed to living in a balance with the natural world." She said for members of the tribe, visiting the cold, clear waters of Blue Creek is a spiritual experience. "It's one of the most wild places in all of California, and it is glorious." It's possible to see some of the area by boat, traveling from the Klamath River to the mouth of Blue Creek. But for now, access to the area is limited. James said that could change in the future, once restoration and other work is completed. "At some point in time, we have an opportunity to turn that into a big, beautiful park," James said. "We've got to heal it first, put our resources in it, and it's going to take some time." He said the tribe's members feel delighted to be once again stewarding these lands and waterways, as their ancestors once did. "It's a beautiful feeling knowing that we'll have this land in our hands moving forward for the next seven generations, for our Yurok people and our grandchildren." Copyright (C) 2025, Tribune Content Agency, LLC. Portions copyrighted by the respective providers.
Yahoo
14-06-2025
- Yahoo
After a century of logging, lands along California's Klamath River returned to tribe
Along the Klamath River in Northern California, where logging companies once cut ancient redwood trees, vast tracts of land have been returned to the Yurok Tribe in a years-long effort that tribal leaders say will enable the restoration of forests and the protection of a watershed that is vital for salmon. The effort, which unfolded gradually over the last 23 years, culminated in May as Western Rivers Conservancy turned over 14,968 acres to the Yurok Tribe. It was the last portion of 47,097 acres that the nonprofit group acquired and transferred to the tribe in what is thought to be the largest 'land back' deal in California history. Members of the tribe say they are celebrating the return of their ancestral lands along Blue Creek, a major tributary that meets the Klamath about 40 miles south of the Oregon border. Blue Creek holds cultural and spiritual significance for the Yurok, and its cold, clear waters provide a refuge for salmon. 'We are salmon people,' said Joseph L. James, chairman of the Yurok Tribe. 'The river takes care of us, and it's our job to take care of the river.' Read more: Klamath River dam removal brings hope for threatened salmon In all, the tribe now owns an additional 73 square miles along the lower Klamath River, including much of the Blue Creek watershed. The conifer forests, which were heavily logged over the last century, will be managed by the tribal government as two protected areas, the Blue Creek Salmon Sanctuary and the Yurok Tribal Community Forest. Yurok leaders say regaining stewardship of these lands contributes to larger efforts to revive the ecological health of the Klamath watershed, where last year the removal of four dams farther upstream restored a free-flowing stretch of the river and enabled salmon to reach spawning areas that had been inaccessible for more than a century. 'This land is back home with us now, and we'll continue that work that we have done as Yurok people to protect the land, protect the streams, provide for our people and provide for the environment,' James said. In addition to Blue Creek, the land includes other streams that flow into the Klamath. The tribe plans projects to create healthier stream habitats for fish, and to restore meadows and prairies. In the forests, they plan to use controlled burns to thin vegetation that has built up. Some old logging roads are being decommissioned, while other roads are set to be upgraded. 'We're going to continue to work to bring back our wildlife population, our fish population,' James said. 'It's going to take a lot of work, but a lot of people are going to benefit from this.' Beyond the local benefits, James said the effort serves as an example for the Land Back movement, in which Native people in many areas are seeking to regain ancestral lands that were taken from them generations ago. 'This is what it looks like when we talk about land back,' James said. 'Land back means giving the land back to its original people with no strings attached. Let them provide their traditional knowledge to heal the land, the environment.' Read more: The Klamath River's dams are being removed. Inside the effort to restore a scarred watershed He said reaching this successful conclusion involved years of efforts by leaders of the tribe and Western Rivers Conservancy, as well as help from other partners. He said the deal should start more discussions nationwide about how other tribes can advance toward regaining their traditional lands. 'It's a big win for Indian Country,' he said. 'Here is a model that people could use, from our experience, to get land back.' The effort has more than doubled the tribe's landholdings. The lands were previously owned by Green Diamond Resource Co. and its predecessor Simpson Logging Co., which harvested timber there for nearly a century. The last time logging occurred on the property was in 2007. Western Rivers Conservancy, a Portland, Ore.-based nonprofit, signed a purchase agreement with Green Diamond in 2008 after five years of negotiations and efforts to identify funding. The lands were gradually acquired by the group between 2009 and 2017, and were transferred to the tribe in multiple phases. The conservation group used an innovative funding strategy, assembling $56 million from foundations, corporations and philanthropists, as well as other sources such as tax credits, public grants and the sale of carbon credits. State funding and support for the effort came from the California Wildlife Conservation Board and the California State Coastal Conservancy, as well as other agencies. 'We put together this mosaic of different funding sources,' said Nelson Mathews, president of Western Rivers Conservancy. 'This is the result of commitment, persistence and tenacity.' Mathews' organization focuses on protecting rivers for fish, wildlife and the public, and was drawn to the project for its conservation benefits. By establishing the salmon sanctuary in Blue Creek, the deal safeguards a vital cold-water habitat for fish including Chinook salmon, coho salmon and steelhead. 'With climate change, cold water is at a premium for these rivers, and it's critical,' Mathews said. 'So having complete protection of that watershed is important.' He said the deal shows how conservation goals and tribes' efforts to regain lands can align in ways that bring tremendous benefits. 'It's good for the soul to protect these rivers, and it's a double benefit to see the tribe get their land back,' Mathews said. Read more: A California tribe was twice robbed of its land. A 77-acre purchase brings hope Members of the Yurok Tribe say this effort and others like it are a critically important step in grappling with the lasting effects of colonization. During the 1800s, California's Native population was decimated by diseases, displacement and violence, including state-sponsored killings. The Yurok reservation was established by the federal government in 1855, confining the tribe to an area that covered only a tiny fraction of their ancestral territory. In the late 1800s, white settlers and speculators found ways to secure additional lands along the Klamath River where they could extract valuable redwood, in some cases by bribing U.S. General Land Office officials as they fraudulently acquired thousands of acres of timberlands. Today, the Yurok Tribe is the largest tribe in California, with more than 6,400 enrolled members. 'We are trying to recover from colonization,' said Amy Bowers Cordalis, a lawyer for the tribe and executive director of the Ridges to Riffles Indigenous Conservation Group. 'And we are just now getting into a place where we are starting to see some of the fruits of our efforts, between dam removal and now land back efforts.' Regaining these lands enables the tribe 'to start rebuilding and to start taking care of our land and our resources,' she said. 'We are strongly committed to living in a balance with the natural world.' She said for members of the tribe, visiting the cold, clear waters of Blue Creek is a spiritual experience. 'It's one of the most wild places in all of California, and it is glorious.' It's possible to see some of the area by boat, traveling from the Klamath River to the mouth of Blue Creek. But for now, access to the area is limited. James said that could change in the future, once restoration and other work is completed. 'At some point in time, we have an opportunity to turn that into a big, beautiful park,' James said. 'We've got to heal it first, put our resources in it, and it's going to take some time.' He said the tribe's members feel delighted to be once again stewarding these lands and waterways, as their ancestors once did. 'It's a beautiful feeling knowing that we'll have this land in our hands moving forward for the next seven generations, for our Yurok people and our grandchildren.' This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
