Corrales Siphon Update

Shaded dirt path along an irrigation ditch with a Little Free Library book sharing box to one side.

Corrales is lovely.

The Corrales Siphon project, replacing a 93-year-old failed wooden conduit that carried water beneath the Rio Grande to irrigate land along the river’s west side just north of Albuquerque, passed a major milestone last month. Here’s Rodd Cayton in the Corrales Comment:

The difficult part of the Corrales siphon replacement project is done, Jason Casuga told village councilors at their Sept. 22 meeting. Casuga, CEO and chief engineer for the Middle Rio Grande Conservancy District (MRGCD), said the specialized drilling equipment required for running pipes below the riverbed will be going away, and crews will finish with more traditional construction. He said the project should be done by Dec. 31.

Casuga said a major milestone was getting the 1,200 feet of pipeline under the riverbed. “What’s interesting is they pulled this whole pipe in one day,” he said. Casuga said crews were prepared to spend 12 hours on the job, which involved dragging the pipe pretty much continuously, stopping only long enough to fuse the next segment of conduit together. “They actually got it done in about seven hours.”

I’ve been living the temporal whiplash of the rollout of our new book Ribbons of Green: The Rio Grande and the Making of Modern Albuquerque, where by “temporal whiplash” I mean returning to a topic Bob and I wrote about really intensely three years ago, then again two years ago in a major editing pass and again last year in a final editing pass. Making the rounds talking about Ribbons of Green has been fun, I really like what we did, but I’m anxious to get back to writing, and the siphon is a tidy little framework for thinking through questions Bob and I want to explore for what we’ve taken to calling “the next book in our trilogy.” (Bob and I are both old, and tired, so take “trilogy” with a grain of salt, but writing books is fun! So why not?)

Obligations

The Corrales Siphon is a fascinating case study in the sort of obligations we take on when we take on the forever task of “managing” a river, or managing our collective relationship(s) with a river. A century ago we consolidated the irrigation infrastructure in New Mexico’s Middle Rio Grande Valley, replacing the old presa that diverted water at the north end of Corrales to irrigate a thousand (???) acres (Further Research Needed – FRN – I need to nail down the acreage history of that stretch of the valley – the number we typically use is “a thousand”).

The notion carried along by the word obligation has a few characteristics that we’re trying to think through. First, it implies a person or entity that holds the obligation, that is “obliged” to act in a certain way, along with the person or thing to whom that obligation is owed. Second, obligation’s 700 years of travel through the English language have embodied two overlapping but distinct senses – a formal legal one (laws, contracts, rules that make an obligation explicit) and a moral one (stuff we are obliged to do because it’s morally right, whatever we choose to mean by “morally right” – “Man is the measure of all things,” as the moral relativist Protagoras said).

I’m not trying to be a linguistic prescriptivist here, to try to force the book down a particular path based on some a priori sense of the meaning of the word, but rather to look at the way the idea of obligation has worked in practice. Hence the case studies.

Money and Mud

The current idea for the structure of the book is a collection of case studies – “chapters” I believe is the term of art in book publishing? – that explore the notion of obligations that surround the management of a river. My original idea for the chapters was to make each one place-based – Corrales and the lands around the siphon are one example, the old Zimmer farmlands in San Acacia another, San Marcial and the tangled Elephant Butte delta a third, we have a long list at this point. But it’s clear as we work through the issues that some topics (Bob’s work on the silvery minnow is one clear example, the obligation to birds is another) don’t quite fit into the place-based narrative structure I’d originally envisioned. This is my favorite part of writing a book – wandering an information landscape, trying to see what the pieces look like and how they might fit together. Structure. (Yes, I’m rereading McPhee.)

A big part of the book’s framework involves the ongoing management of sediment, a very practical set of obligations that we’ve taken on that changes constantly and requires a lot of money. In some places, the problem is too much sediment (the clogging of the Rio Puerco/San Acacia – Elephant Butte reach), while in other places the problem is too little (the river eating away the riverbed, exposing the Corrales Siphon in the process). Both versions of the problem are expensive. Who pays? (“Obligation” alert – the federal government maybe has some legal obligations under the Flood Control Acts of 1948 and 1950, so “other people’s money” (OPM)? But is “the federal government” some exogenous entity, or is it just us, a collective action tool we’ve built to pool resources and act on our behalf to do stuff like this?)

Obligations and the siphon

The Corrales Siphon is a perfect case study for examining what we’re calling a “web of obligations” (WOO!). The root lies in the language of the 1923 Conservancy Act, the founding text of river management along New Mexico’s Middle Rio Grande. The 1923 Act’s language on this is worth quoting in full:

Upon the condemnation of an irrigation ditch, community ditch or acequia or other works used for applying water to beneficial use the district shall make adequate provision by means of ditches or works constructed by the district at its expense for supplying such water to such water users to the full extent that the same was being lawfully obtained and used through such condemned ditches or works.

The 1927 version, which still sits in statute today, creates largely the same obligational framework, but makes some subtle changes worth exploring (FRN):

In case the construction provided by the official plan interferes with an irrigation ditch, community ditch or acequia or other works used for applying water to beneficial use the district shall make equivalent provision by means of ditches or works constructed by the district at its expense for supplying such water to such water users to the extent that the same was being lawfully obtained and used through such ditches or works.

I am not a lawyer, so I’m only in the FRN stage at this point. Does that statutory language suggest a temporally contingent obligation – a requirement to replace the old Corrales headings with an alternative (the siphon) when the Middle Rio Grande Conservancy District works were first built in the early 1930s? Is it a forever legal obligation, to replace the siphon when it finally fails? If it’s the second, what does that imply about an increasingly decayed MRGCD irrigation infrastructure as irrigated acreage declines, and shifts toward non-commercial, lifestyle agriculture? Regardless of the legal argument, as a practical matter we’re treating it as an obligation. MRGCD is spending $12.5 million (FRN, I’m confused by the total cost, $12.5m is one of several numbers floating around and I don’t understand the differences yet) to replace it.

The question of who is the beneficiary of this obligation is one of the key pieces of the puzzle for the next book. In this case, the siphon primarily serves an affluent peri-urban suburb with lovely green horse pastures, a few small orchards and vineyards, and when the siphon is down, a lot of fallowed yards. Much of the $12.5m is coming not from the beneficiaries but from the coffers of the state of New Mexico as a whole, with the bulk of the share being paid from MRGCD’s own budget coming from property taxes paid by non-irrigators. The opportunity cost is real.

I haven’t worked out what to make of the normative argument here. Corrales is lovely, the people who live there made good-faith choices about the kind of life they wanted to create for themselves and their families given the water management framework handed down to us by those who went before. These are maybe people who sorted into the community with the water supply provision attributes and accompanying greenspace that they preferred (FRN)? They have a fun growers’ market in the summer, and cool ditchbanks to walk and ride their horses. (And for me to ride my bike!)

Dry Gulch Pass

A dry irrigation ditch flanked by green trees with a hand-made sign reading "Dry Gulch Pass." Bike leaning against ditch bank gate.

Albuquerque’s South Valley, September 2026.

I took advantage of the break between Storm 2 and Storm 3 to wander the South Valley this morning. It was a great ride – lots of ditch banks, some weird urbanity (the Walmart parking lot where Frank Hubbell’s farm used to be, read our book to learn about the failed tobacco farming empire of the 1920s that followed Hubbell’s clever sale of the old swampland), a couple of crossings of an actual flowing river (unusual for recent months in Albuquerque) and lovely cool green.

I’ve been burnin’ pretty hot the last month-plus – ushering a new book into the world, teaching (teaching for me is an all in thing), and trying to make sense of a year that by all measures of the policy and personal world I inhabit (water) has been an agonizing outlier. This has been a tough summer and fall. The Rio Grande was dry through my city for three months before Storm 1 and Storm 2 made their appearance two weeks ago. I am reminded of the chaos caused by Thing 1 and Thing 2 in The Cat in the Hat. Trouble! And yet you couldn’t help but love them.

I’m off to Santa Fe tomorrow to talk yet again about stuff in our new book, this time to a room full of lawyers who think about Tribal Water Law. I’ll tell ’em things about Pueblo land and water sovereignty a hundred years ago, which as I said we wrote about in our new book. Ima take the train, no way I’m driving in this. We’re under a flood watch again tomorrow as we await Storm 3, enmeshed with the squishy remnants of hurricane Polo and more record PWAT. Bad things are likely to happen – remember Thing 1 and Thing 2 trying to fly kites in the house? That was so dumb and hilarious!

Clearly Dr. Seuss remains one of my seminal literary influences. And I love the neighborhood kids with their “Dry Gulch Pass” sign. Despite the agonies of 2026, the South Valley remained gently green and seems not to have lost its sense of humor.

Albuquerque, come see me talk “Ribbons of Green” at the Guild Sept. 25, 12:30 p.m.

My Utton Center posse is throwing a book launch party Friday (Sept. 25, 2026, 12:30 p.m.) at the Guild in Nob Hill.

When we were conjuring up a title over the summer, we came up with “A conversation about the past, present, and future of Albuquerque’s Rio Grande,” which seemed to offer me lots of space to riff.

I have come to understand, having done this a couple of times previously, that “book release season” involves weirdly shifting temporal sands. Bob Berrens and I worked on the book pretty intensely from the summer-fall of 2020 through a binge of writing in 2023. The next couple of years had new bursts of rewriting in response to some great peer review and editing feedback, a lot of polishing. But the ideas are very much in our rear view mirror. They loom large in the rear view mirror, but they’re behind us. We’re already thinking hard about the next one.

So that “and future” in the book talk title will be doing the heavy lifting Friday. Can an understanding of how we got here help us figure out where we go from here? We. Where we go from here.

I have thoughts. I hope you will bring yours too.

Making sense of the crazy outlier year of 2026

Bar chart of Rio Grande runoff at Otowi, NM, January–August total each year, 1896–2026, shown as departure from the long-term average of 846,000 acre-feet. Most years vary within a few hundred thousand acre-feet above or below average. 2026 is the lowest on record at 226,387 acre-feet, about 620,000 acre-feet below average. Two gaps in the gage record, 1906–1909 and 1915–1918, are marked as incomplete rather than shown as zero.

Driest Rio Grande flow on record

Updating my “drought and climate change” lecture each fall is a useful exercise – this year more useful than most. Much like the year itself, my slide deck is setting all time records for new data visualizations needed to make sense of the remarkable 2026.

Update

Great questions from the comments. (I love my commenters.) First, a request to include a smoother to make the trend more legible:

Rio Grande runoff at Otowi, Jan–Aug totals 1896–2026 vs. the long-term average, with a smoothed trend curve. The trend has declined since about 1990, reaching its lowest point in 2026 at 226,387 acre-feet — about 620,000 below the 846,000 AF average.

Now with bonus smoother.

Second, an observation that it looks like it tracks the Pacific Decadal Oscillation, a large scale pattern linked to drier conditions in the southwest. Good eye! A quick run of the numbers based on prior-year fall PDO shows a statistically significant but small (r squared explaining 6 – 9 percent of the variance) relationship.

Worth noting that this is all of the water flowing past Otowi, which is a function of climate and all the many human activities upstream (irrigation reducing flow, San Juan-Chama adding to flow). So it’s not solely a climate signal.

Weirdly, when I redid the analysis for the Del Norte gage, which is above the San Luis Valley diversions and should be a clearer climate-alone signal, the relationship disappears. No correlation at all with PDO, which surprised me.

Quoting Aristotle

Aristotle on the wisdom of Colorado River Compact litigation:

Now, it is of great moment that well-drawn laws should themselves define all the points they possibly can and leave as few as may be to the decision of the judges…. [L]aws are made after long consideration, whereas decisions in the courts are given at short notice, which makes it hard for those who try the case to satisfy the claims of justice and expediency.

Aristotle, Rhetoric

A river returns

My office mate and podcast hosting buddy Rin Tara had the good sense to pull out their phone and record some stuff while we were out at the Rio Grande Thursday, beneath the I40 bridge, waiting for the pulse flow to arrive. We had the good fortune to bump into Audubon’s Tucker Davidson when we were out there, who helped explain the role of a river as habitat, and we got to see the water arrive. We hope you enjoy the results as much as we enjoyed making this week’s episode of Water Matters. (I can’t emphasize enough how much fun we’re having with this podcast thing. Huge props to Francesca Glaspell who handles the behind-the-scenes magic, and the Utton Center for giving our podcast project and all the work we do a home.)

Visualizing the 2026 Albuquerque pulse flow

Chart tracking the Aug. 31–Sept. 7, 2026 Abiquiu release pulse downstream through six Rio Chama and Rio Grande gages. Flow above baseline increases sharply at Otowi, partly because of storm runoff, then declines from Cochiti through Albuquerque; the pulse reaches Central Avenue early Sept. 4.

Visualizing the pulse flow (click on the image to embiggen).

Hitting “reload” and keeping track of six open browser tabs was making my head hurt – this helped.

Back story here via Paul Tashjian, written as the pulse flow was getting underway:

As I write, action is underfoot to combine water from the Albuquerque-Bernalillo County Water Utility Authority, the Middle Rio Grande Conservancy District and Audubon for a release of water into our parched Rio Grande. The hope is to water the riverbed for four days through Albuquerque, soak the aquifer, and provide an “irrigation” to our stressed and dying bosque forest. At the same time, a robust monitoring program has been put in place to understand groundwater response, the seepage rate, characteristics of the watering, and the response of the trees themselves. This monitoring effort will provide invaluable insights to water managers about how we may solve problems of this nature in the future.

Wooden bats

Two baseball players behind a chain link fence - a batter leaning over and tapping the plate with his bat and a catcher crouched waiting for the pitch.

Wooden bats.

Turned into the Mount Calvary Cemetery heading home from my Sunday bike ride, stopped in the shade to cool off before heading up the hill, home. From across the street in Santa Barbara Park, I could hear the sound of a ballgame, chatter in a language that I understood even if it was not my own.

When I got back on the bike, I rolled over to check out the game.

They had serious uniforms, were playing with a smiling rhythm that was friendly, the chatter was friendly. As I sat for a minute, the only person in the stands, a guy walking around behind home plate to get some bottles of water from the opposing dugout asked me if I wanted to play.

The bats were made of wood.

A deep dive into the data on Lower Colorado River water use

Great new stuff from the Colorado River Wilburys – Jack Schmidt, Anne Castle, Eric Kuhn, Kathryn Sorensen, and Rin Tara*:

Reductions in Lower Basin water use during the last four years, including forecast use in 2026, are similar to the initial targets for Lower Basin shortages described in the Final Environmental Impact Statement for Post-2026 Operational Guidelines and Strategies for Lake Powell and Lake Mead (FEIS) and the accompanying Record of Decision (ROD).6 Lower Basin consumptive use in 2023, 2024, and 2025, and forecast for 2026 has been the smallest for the entire 2010-2026 period. These four years of smallest use are between 1.4 and 1.7 million acre feet/year (maf/yr) less than the 7.50 maf/yr amount
generally recognized as the Lower Basin’s mainstem allocation.

Reductions in Lower Basin use have been achieved by large reductions implemented by Central Arizona Project (CAP) contractors and subcontractors, the Imperial Irrigation District (IID), and non-CAP water users in Arizona. The reductions in use in the IID have been in summer water use and have not affected consumptive use in winter when garden crops, such as lettuce, onions, carrots, and broccoli, are grown.

The full paper: The Colorado River Water Supply Crisis in a Few Graphs: Part 2 Agricultural Water Use in the Lower Basin

* (I’m still on Colorado River sabbatical, so not an active contributor to the latest Wilburys projects, but they still let me wear the hat.)