The irony here is just too rich:
Fearing the main canal carrying drinking water to millions of Southern Californians is sinking again, water officials are monitoring the effects of incessant agricultural pumping from the aquifer that runs under the aqueduct.
Their concern is that the canal, which has sunk six feet in places during California dry spells, will buckle enough to slow delivery of water to parched points south and force costly repairs.
I know that as a 21st century westerner of a certain sort, I’m meant by religious tradition to abhor Utah State Route 95. But dang if it isn’t about the most beautiful highway I’ve ever had the pleasure to drive.
Go south a bit, then west out of Blanding, Utah, and SR 95 takes you over comb ridge and into the canyon country, with none of the rattling dirt roads and axle-mangling ruts a genuine westerner would find essential to his or her true enjoyment of the breathtaking beauty of the canyonlands of southeastern Utah.
This is the place where Hayduke and his friends took one of their most dramatic stands, where monkeywrenching got its name in a saga that somehow has seeped into our consciousness as history when it’s really not. The gang parks up on Comb Ridge, a beautiful ridge of upturned sedimentary rocks unusual in the normal flat-lying landscape of the Colorado Plateau. The Atomic Energy Commission brought the first wave of 20th century invasion across Comb Ridge, cutting an old dirt road for the uranium miners. It was the second wave – paving the road – that Hayduke and company were trying to stop.
They poured Karo syrup in the gas tanks and sand into the crankcases of the big machines being used to build the road. It is The Monkey Wrence Gang that provides the religious tradition to which I refer, a sort of sacred text perhaps for a 21st century westerner of a certain sort?
And it is the fruits of that second wave that Lissa and I drove on our recent vacation, down past Fry Canyon to Hite, the little Utah river crossing where the Dirty Devil meets the Colorado. Hite once had a ferry, but that was inundated when Lake Powell filled, and a bridge a couple of miles upstream now carries our autos effortlessly across what was once a most difficult route – the only practical place for probably a hundred miles in either direction (Moab upstream, Lee’s Ferry downstream) where you can cross the Colorado.
To the north, the road breaks out of the red rock canyon country, losing the reds, to the barren tawny browns of Hanksville and places like it. There every place where the water is close enough to reach was settled by hardy Mormon pioneers, people able to make a life here that no other European immigrants could stomach for reasons and in ways I’m still trying to understand.
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Who knew California had a source of free water, right under its very nose!
The cheapest source of water is fresh groundwater, which costs only 4 cents per gallon, but it is not always present in local aquifers.
Groundwater tastes just like imported water, uses less electricity to distribute because it is pumped closer to home, and is always in the ground, drought-proof, Garrod said.
But is it really such a good idea?
The growing interest in groundwater concerns the San Diego County Farm Bureau and the San Diego chapter of the Sierra Club. Both are worried that overdrafting – the process of extracting groundwater beyond the aquifer’s ability to sustain itself – could affect farmers and wildlife.
But county water authority and Sweetwater Authority officials said no municipality would be foolish enough to deplete its aquifers. (emphasis added)
My experience suggests that, to the contrary, an awful lot of municipalities, agricultural users, and pretty much anyone else with enough money to drill a hole and buy a pump has, in the past, been foolish enough to deplete its aquifers.
There’s a moment when you’re driving across the deserts of the southwest as the road tops a rise and you get your first view of the ribbon of green along a river.
That’s where the towns are, and that’s where the cool is, a break in both temperature and color – from hot to a bit cooler, from the reds, browns and yellows of desert rock and earth to the riparian greens of cottonwoods and, now, salt cedar, dipping their roots in the groundwater that leaves as much or more river underground as you see above. The striking thing is always how sharp the boundary is between dry and wet. Add a town, and you often have irrigation, a few fields tacked along the bottonlands on either side of the river. And, often, a place to buy ice cream. I learned this as a kid, on epic ’60s family car trips through The West, before the days of air conditioning, and I’ve loved the moment ever since.
Lissa and I shared the experience numerous times over the last week on a road trip up through Four Corners country – in Bloomfield on the San Juan, at Hite where the Colorado meets the Dirty Devil in the canyon country of southern Utah, as the interstate meets the Green. And one of my favorites, the site where this picture was taken, on the Colorado River just upstream from where the highway drops down from the north, past the entrance to Arches National Park.
I had occasion on this trip to pick up a copy of John Van Dyke’s “The Desert”, an essay written a century ago about Van Dyke’s strange and wonderful wanderings of the lower Colorado. He saw it too:
The desert terraces on either side (sometimes there is a row of sand-dunes) come down to meet these “bottom” lands, and the line where the one leaves off and the other begins is drawn as with the sharp edge of a knife. Seen from the distant mountain tops the river moves between two long ribbons of green, and the borders and the gray and gold mesas of the desert.
Watching roadrunner in the backyard. Unsuspecting sparrow flies up. Snap. Sparrow dead, spectacle of roadrunner breakfast kinda gross.
Two house finches and a white-winged dove sit on power line, watching roadrunner eat sparrow. Are they, in fact, “watching”? Do they care?
Roadrunner sitting on a stump, wiping off his beak. Can’t see what he did with breakfast.
Roadrunner has left, pile of feathers on the ground where he dined, but can’t see a carcass anywhere.
I’ve got this energy-water hammer, and they all look like nails right now. Today’s nail is jatropha, one of the next-gen bio-energy darlings. Or not:
Jatropha, a biofuel crop favoured for its ability to grow in areas not suitable for food, may be about to become less popular.
A new Dutch study shows it uses 20,000 litres of water to produces one litre of jatropha biodiesel – more than the other crops used for biodiesel, rapeseed and soybean; and a lot more than ethanol crops such as maize (corn).
This one was enough to lure me away from the all-MJ/Farrah news feed this morning:
In some valley towns the crime rates have soared. The link, officials suggest, are the water shortages to farming communities. The drought is said to have lead to higher crime rates in some Valley towns.
In the farming community of Mendota crime is up 100 percent, officials reported. Fresno County District Attorney Elizabeth Egan said that the spike is tied to the water crisis.
I recently finished up a piece at the day job on the connection between water and energy, and perhaps as a result, everywhere I turn these days I’m seeing stories on the linkage. Today’s example comes from Cynthia Barnett:
Matthew Cohen, a professor in UF’s School of Forest Resources and Conservation, and post-doctoral researcher Jason Evans in the Department of Wildlife Ecology and Conservation analyzed energy and water impacts for four ethanol crops — corn, sugarcane, sweet sorghum and pine — in Florida and Georgia. Their study, published in Global Change Biology, found that all four yielded net energy; meaning they are viable for replacing fossil fuels. But it also concluded that ramping up production enough to meet U.S. Energy Independence and Security Act mandates for renewable fuels by 2022 “would have significant impacts on both land use and water resources.”
To we dry-climate southwesterners, Florida might seem like a what-me-worry water state, with 40 inches of rain (100 cm) in a bad year. But the problem really is all relative. It’s about how you use the water you’ve, and Barnett has documented Florida’s serious water problems.
My Albuquerque Journal colleague Mike Coleman has a nice example in today’s paper (might be behind paywall, a bit of a crapshoot there) of the horse trading now underway in an attempt to win passage of the Waxman-Markey climate bill:
Rep. Harry Teague, a southern New Mexico Democrat, this week persuaded the authors of a sweeping, national climate-change bill to include language protecting small refiners and electric co-ops from some costs associated with the legislation.
Rep. Ed Markey, a Massachusetts Democrat and a lead sponsor of the bill, confirmed Wednesday that Teague’s amendments — opposed by some Democrats and large refiners — would be a part of the climate change package scheduled for a House vote Friday.
Inclusion of the amendments in the bill before the floor debate dramatically increases their chance of surviving and becoming law.
“Harry Teague was concerned about the impact this bill would have on small refiners, and we made an adjustment in the legislation,” Markey said in response to a question from the Journal at a Capitol Hill news conference. “As a result, I think Harry is looking very favorably on the bill.”
When I was a kid, they had one of these things at the Los Angeles County Fair. I remember staring for the longest time, trying to figure it out.
(h/t Chris Corbin)
