Author: Zaffos

Winter Diversions

Winter Diversions

Winter Diversions

“Between Two Ferns” with Zach Galifianakis
Nice to see a fellow Greek getting ahead with his very own talk show
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The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón
In the spirit of Garcia Márquez…probably one of my favorite fiction reads in a long time
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Errol Morris on the New York Times Opinionator blog
His series on photojournalism are provocative, and a reminder that we are always framing history
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pasta-with-fried-pepper
Pasta with Fried Peppers and Bread Crumbs (via Saveur)
Fry the peppers to a crisp and ye shall be rewarded
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Blues for Cannibals by Charles Bowden
So far, Bowden at his crankiest, which is saying something
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Residente o Visitante and Los De Atrás Vienen ConmigoCalle 13
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The Biz of Baseball
A blog tracking the financial churnings of baseball
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“Party Down” Season 1
“Are we having fun yet?”
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The Sun
Writing best appreciated while drinking morning coffee or an evening cocktail in a melancholy yet pensive mood
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Louis C.K.: Chewed Up
Ever since his appearance on Conan when he riffed on how “we live in an amazing, amazing world, and it’s wasted on the crappiest generation of, just, spoiled idiots,” I’ve been a big fan and this video didn’t disappoint
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11:11Rodrigo y Gabriela
I’m not sure if I like their music more for the flamenco or heavy metal influences
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Lady Bug
Lesser known, old-school arcade game – maybe my best worst habit

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Review: Killing for Coal

Review: Killing for Coal

The following review of Killing for Coal, America’s Deadliest Labor War by Thomas G. Andrews, was published in the July 2009 issue of Earth Magazine.


Books: Killing for Coal: A Class, Environmental and Labor War

Killing for Coal (2008) by Thomas G. Andrews

Many more men died in shadowy mines than during gunfights in the days of the Wild West, a point that darkly underscores the true threats of the Rocky Mountain frontier. But miners’ safety and gunplay collided in April 1914 in the southern Colorado coalfields. At the tiny tent colony of Ludlow, a seven-month-long miners’ strike ignited into a fire fight with state National Guardsmen, resulting in the death of five miners, two women and 12 children. The Ludlow Massacre marked the beginning of a season-long armed struggle that transformed the Colorado coalfields “into an epicenter of class war,” according to Thomas G. Andrews’ new book, “Killing for Coal.”

In “Killing for Coal,” Andrews dives into the global and local forces that pitted desperate laborers against industry bosses, culminating in the massacre and a month of violence when more than 60 individuals were killed, including striking miners and their families, strikebreakers and hired mine guards. Ludlow and the Rocky Mountain coal wars have largely been remembered as a labor battle, earning folkloric retellings and academic history treatments from the likes of Upton Sinclair, Woody Guthrie and George McGovern. But Andrews, a history professor at the University of Colorado at Denver, reframes the story with an emphasis on the environmental conditions that influenced the miners’ behavior and actions.

In late 19th century America, coal and other fossil fuels powered impressive growth. Where the high and dry plains had promised little chance of prosperity, mineral exploration enabled factories and brick homes to rise in cities illuminated by streetlights. Mechanized tractors and chemical fertilizers changed the scale of farms. Railroads stretched across the continent without consuming forests for fuel. Andrews calls this “mineral-intensive industrialization,” and Colorado’s bountiful coal deposits fueled the unheralded development of the frontier and the entire nation.

For William Jackson Palmer, the railroad engineer who discovered Colorado’s coal outcroppings in 1867, the question was whether an industrial era for the Rockies could avoid the unscrupulous and immoral business relations that seemed to follow mineral wealth. He sketched out a utopian vision of Colorado’s future coal industry, where miners would receive fair wages and stock options, and “there would never be any strikes or hard feelings among the labourers toward the capitalists.”

Reality never approached Palmer’s daydream. A glut of workers, migrating from all over the United States and three dozen countries, guaranteed cheap wages and a dispensable view of labor. Coal might have built Denver as a modern city, but underground, it remained a primitive “workscape” that hardly benefited from industrial advances. Coal dust caused “miners’ asthma,” better known as black-lung disease. The release of stinkdamp (hydrogen sulfide), blackdamp (nitrogen and oxygen) and firedamp (methane and carbon monoxide) posed a range of dangers from suffocation to combustion. Fallen roofs, explosions and fires also terrorized some individuals. By 1900, Colorado mines had twice the average death rate of other American coal mines.

Ludlow Tent Colony, before the massacre, 1914 (image from Denver Public Library)
Ludlow Tent Colony, before the massacre, 1914 (image from Denver Public Library)

Mining had enabled technological progress for society, but the workers received few of the advantages of industrial life in the coal mines — or at home. Strikes broke out from time to time over better pay, improved ventilation or an eight-hour workday. But things didn’t get violent until the oppressive work environment moved to the surface. The construction and administration of regimented “company towns” in the 1900s gave mine owners control over stores, schools, governments and courts. When the Strike of 1913 began, miners were either exiled from these communities as union agitators or left on their own, leading to the formation of union tent camps like Ludlow.

Mining officials, including John D. Rockefeller Jr., portrayed labor unrest as the inflated whims of union leaders, not a grassroots uprising. But the “underground commonwealth” that had formed in the coal mines fed a solidarity aboveground that superseded ethnic divisions among miners and overwhelmed their bosses, who, the miners said, had no idea what was really going on. The Ludlow Massacre and the coalfield wars of 1914 are still the country’s deadliest labor rebellion since the Civil War.

Andrews dwells on the connections between geological, economic, environmental and social forces, illustrating how they combined to inflame the labor woes leading to the coal strikes and conflicts. Today, most of Colorado’s former coal towns and tent camps are ghost villages in the shadows of the Rockies. But the communities that have sprung into resort ski towns still depend on fossil fuels — and migrant labor — for their existence.

Amnesia or denial of the complex relations between our exploitation of mineral resources and management of labor probably won’t initiate a new era of violence, Andrews writes. But until we better understand and acknowledge the connection between class conflict and environmental degradation, we won’t really know what’s going on either.

— Joshua Zaffos

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Abandoned Mines and the Shaft

Abandoned Mines and the Shaft

FORESTfall09coverThere are literally more than 59,000 abandoned mines around the West, and no one who is responsible to clean them up. That’s one sticky element that accounts for the long-standing impasse over reform of the country’s Mining Act of 1872. After decades of contention, mining officials and environmentalists claim the mining law could finally get a makeover.

I wrote an article, “Mining for Reform,” on what Congress is looking at to reform the 1872 law in the Fall 2009 issue of Forest Magazine. The issue brought together several articles looking at the consequences of abandoned mines on Western public lands, under the title of “Hardrock Headache.”

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After the Aftermath

After the Aftermath

MMc JanFeb10 coverFive years ago this week, the Indian Ocean tsunami killed more than 150 million people across nearly a dozen countries in southeast Asia. The natural event also displaced millions, leaving them without homes, jobs or schools. Researchers and aid groups that have worked toward recovery understand that rebuilding is only part of the answer, but addressing the social and emotional needs of affected people is a complex mission.

Growing populations and the altering climate and weather patterns are placing more people in risky situations, and making more individuals vulnerable to natural disasters. After attending a talk by Lori Peek, a sociology professor at Colorado State University, about the lag in research on how traumatic events affect families, I started pursuing this story to understand what we know — and what we have dispelled — when it comes to protecting and meeting the long-term needs of disaster victims and refugees.

My article, “After the Aftermath,” appears in the Jan/Feb 2010 issue of Miller-McCune magazine.

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Custer Was Sioux’d, Now Obama Settles

Custer Was Sioux’d, Now Obama Settles

HCNCOVERJUL09I spent some time reporting on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota this past year, talking with Oglala Lakota tribal members about the complex land ownership patterns and rules on the reservation. Between spotting buffalo hooves on the roofs of homes (to dry them, of course), I saw this great bumper sticker on the side of a conversion van, which has gained a timely double meaning, as government-Indian relations have gone from military to litigious: Custer Was Sioux’d.

Government intervention on reservations across the country dates back more than a century, when policies unwittingly entangled many families’ land ownership so that the default and simplest form of management is through federal leasing programs. The short-sighted decisions of the time contributed to initiation of a landmark class-action lawsuit, Cobell v. Salazar, that accussed the federal government of mismanaging billions of dollars in royalties and other leases. First filed in 1996 and passed on by both the Clinton and George W. Bush administrations, President Obama and Secretary of Interior Ken Salazar announced a settlement this week. The government has agreed to pay $3.4 billion to Native Americans, although officials don’t know how many individuals qualify for the payout because lease records are in a state of disarray.

On Pine Ridge, some families are trying to sort through their relatives’ fractionated land claims (divided among heirs of the original owner) and remove land from the government program that leases the parcels for cattle grazing. Instead of getting a few hundred dollars to allow a non-Indian to raise cows, these families are returning bison to the land, taking part in a buffalo meat co-operative and, more importantly, reestablishing a major component of their traditional culture.

As part of my reporting, I was fortunate enough to visit with a family raising a small herd of bison and to witness a family ceremony based around a buffalo kill. As part of the prayers of thanks to the animal for giving its life, each member of the family dipped a finger into a cup of blood collected from the dying buffalo’s throat. It didn’t taste much different than a scrape on my knee, although it lingered on my tongue for hours.

My story, “A new land grab,” appeared in the August 31 issue of High Country News, and it was recently liberated from behind the paper’s subscribers-only firewall. I also recorded an audio interview with associate editor Marty Durlin, talking about my reporting experiences.

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Writing That Flows

Writing That Flows

Whiskey is for drinking, and water is for reading about.

High Country News has released two books this year that collect some of the publication’s past stories on Western water issues. The volumes complement each other: I think they offer a very readable recent history of the forces — natural, political, industrial — at play in shaping the development and conservation of the Western landscape around the single most valuable resource. Some respected and admired colleagues are among the contributors, including Matt Jenkins, Michelle Nijhuis, Alan Kesselheim, Laura Paskus, Tony Davis, Jane Braxton Little and Becca Clarren.

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A muchly illuminating journalist

A muchly illuminating journalist

typewriter_1_lgIn the past year, a few colleagues who are now college professors have asked me to speak to seminars they teach on environmental communication and writing. Lecturing to a bunch of 20-year-olds (give or take) is a good way to pretend like I’ve achieved some goals, but so far I have left feeling like I was the keynote speaker at a some sort of “Scared Straight” program.

One of the seminars’ students thoughtfully sent me a thank-you card, and I thought I’d share a few of the comments because that way it’s funny instead of sad.

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Llama…Taboot, Taboot

Llama…Taboot, Taboot

arg-cactiBased on my own trip in January 2009 with a few college friends, I wrote a travel essay/geo-nerd account for Earth Magazine of the natural sights and good eats through Salta and northern Argentina. I tried to sneak in a reference to our driving soundtrack for this trip but my editors at Earth seemed to think advising people to listen to Mahavishnu Orchestra while road-tripping through the rugged Argentine landscape was a little too obscure for its readers.

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Fire Up The Checkbook

Fire Up The Checkbook

Congress keeps wavering whether it wants to open wide the wallet and hand a stable cash stream for wildfire prevention and control…which is one more reason to sweat for managers trying to cool the flames on the ground and in the research labs. This is an article I wrote on the perils of fire management funding that appeared in Forest Magazine in Winter 2009.


Burning Up the Budget

Forest Magazine, Winter 2009

Geoff Donovan, a U.S. Forest Service research economist, didn’t hesitate to launch new projects early this past year. Donovan studies the costs of fire suppression and management at the agency’s Pacific Northwest Research Station in Portland, Oregon, and he knew there was a good reason to jump into his research sooner than later. One of his colleagues had determined that the agency faced a more than 90 percent chance of needing to raid research and program funds to pay for firefighting costs toward the end of the year.

motorcycle_firefighter1Planning for probable budget cuts because of the increasing cost of fighting wildfires is a wise move for Forest Service personnel. In 1998, 10 percent of the agency’s budget was dedicated to firefighting, but by 2008, that number had grown to 45 percent of total funds. When the government used up the $1.2 billion it had allocated for fire suppression by August, Forest Service Chief Gail Kimbell announced plans to take $400 million from other agency programs.

Fire transfer orders, which dip into budgets at research stations and on national forests to shore up the firefighting deficit, have become an annual part of wildfire season. The agency has made transfers six out of the past eight years, and as a result, many projects have been subject to delays and cancellations. Staff members are learning to plan—or not plan, in some cases—accordingly.

“It’s politically intolerable to hold people to that [firefighting] budget,” Donovan says, “because then you’re going to let things burn.”

Congress uses a ten-year average of past fire costs to determine the Forest Service’s fire suppression budget each year. The agency used to cover excess suppression costs with money from timber sales, but that account has dried up as cutting has declined, says Forest Service Budget Director Lenise Lago. At the same time, in the last decade fire expenses have spiraled upward because of fuel buildup from Smokey Bear–inspired fire suppression, rampant development in the urban-wildland fringe and the impacts of climate change.

It’s a vicious cycle for forest management. Cuts and program stoppages trickle down to affect plans for land acquisition, recreation, structural maintenance and education. More critically, from a forest-health perspective, the budget transfers mean projects that proactively lower fire risk, such as fuels reduction, restoration of wildlife habitat and rehabilitation of burnt-over landscapes, are postponed or shelved. The money shift creates a negative feedback loop that leads to greater threats, more severe suppression needs and higher costs when major burns ignite.

“We had to go through all the accounts available and shake money out of all of them,” Lago says, referring to the agency’s 2008 transfer.

In Colorado, a $63,000 fuel reduction project on 194 acres of the Uncompahgre National Forest was one of many projects put on hold after Kimbell’s August 2008 announcement. An $82,000 plan to decommission 285 miles of roads in the Medicine Bow National Forest in Wyoming was postponed because of fire transfer. The Deschutes National Forest in Oregon estimated lost funds for hazardous fuel reduction at $555,000.

“It’s pretty regular now that you see hiccups in the fuel reduction work,” says Tom Fry, who coordinates the wildland fire program for the Wilderness Society.

Congress has frequently restored at least some of the transfer money, including in 2008, through either a continuing resolution or supplemental appropriation. But the Forest Service’s Lago estimates a roughly $417-million gap between transfers and repayments since 2001. Even this year, when the return of funds helped avert outright cancellation of projects, it didn’t entirely negate the consequences of fire transfers
or provide a long-term solution.

The Pacific Northwest Research Station surrendered $4.4 million following Kimbell’s August announcement. Deputy Director Cynthia West says the shift forced the office to halt work on a number of projects, including remote-sensing mapping for its Forest Inventory and Analysis program, assessments of fire-smoke emissions and evaluations of climate-change impacts. In some cases collaborative programs with partners at other government agencies and universities must be relaunched after spending years aligning money and staff.

“Sometimes, you have an opportunity that can never be recreated again,” says West, referring to research and management projects lost to fire transfer orders. “If you have to walk away from a three-year project in year two, it’s really not a good deal for the taxpayers either. Once you stop doing work, you can’t just get your field groups back out. There’s a huge loss in productivity.”

Forestry organizations, environmental groups and Forest Service officials, including a handful of former chiefs, have called for a lasting fix. This past year, lawmakers introduced the Federal Land Assistance, Management and Enhancement Act, called FLAME, to create a separate fund solely for suppression of catastrophic wildfires. The bill made it through the House, but not before being amended so the fund would still be part of the agency budget and set to the ten-year-average fire cost, which underestimates rising expenses.

The FLAME Act, as originally drafted, could remedy the fire transfer problem, says Caitlyn Peel, the governmental affairs director for the Council of Western State Foresters. But Peel and others fret that the legislation could lead Congress to fund an emergency fire account by reducing the overall Forest Service budget, meaning fire suppression funds would still come at the expense of research, treatment and other programs.

“For fire [funding] to go up, something else has to go down,” Lago says.

—Joshua Zaffos

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Watered Down

Watered Down

This story comes from Headwaters Magazine, the quarterly publication of the Colorado Foundation for Water Education. It’s definitely what I call a water wonk piece, but if ever someone wanted to know more about how states manage (or ought to manage) groundwater resources, Colorado is a good state to learn from.

Water Underground

Optimizing Use of an Unseen Resource

Headwaters Magazine, Summer 2009

By Joshua Zaffos

Growing up on his family’s ranch along the Rio Grande River near Alamosa, Ken Knox got an early education in the contentious field of groundwater use. The San Luis Valley is a high-altitude desert that averages just 7 inches of precipitation a year, so every drop of water—from the sky or the ground—is precious. Knox recalls neighbors fighting over rights to one-quarter of a cubic foot per second of water, equal to about 180 acre feet per year. The argument landed in court, and by the time it was resolved, the only way the families could pay off their legal bills was to sell their land.

csu1948-sprinkling1From ranch kid to chief deputy state engineer, Knox has spent much of his life thinking about groundwater. Today, after 24-plus years in the Colorado State Engineer’s Office, Knox works for URS, a private engineering corporation.

“The development of every set of [groundwater] rules is incredibly complex,” Knox says, “because you’re talking about people’s livelihoods.”

There’s another reason groundwater administration is complex—the movement and replenishment of groundwater itself is complex. The Rio Grande Basin, for instance, sits in a rift valley with multiple aquifer systems. One is a deep, confined source that runs more than 1,000 feet below the surface. There are also relatively shallow alluvial aquifers that feed into the Rio Grande and Conejos rivers. And there is a shallow, unconfined aquifer in a closed basin. These sources are all partially interconnected, and their interactions must be understood to provide accurate administration.

The movement of groundwater in other river basins, like the Arkansas and the South Platte, isn’t quite as complicated, but determining the impacts from groundwater use on stream flows is hardly straightforward. Figuring out how to simultaneously protect senior water rights, meet interstate compact conditions and utilize groundwater resources is no simple affair, legally or hydrologically.

“There isn’t a rule of thumb” when it comes to groundwater administration, says water attorney David Robbins, who has represented the State of Colorado in river compact litigation and groundwater users in additional court proceedings. Groundwater administration has developed by “fits and starts,” a function of science and technology, nature and necessity, Robbins adds. “It’s sort of a coming-of-age story.”

Tapping Wells and Passing Laws

Groundwater regulation was something of an administrative afterthought until 1953, when the Colorado General Assembly passed the Underground Water Act. Up until that time, when someone wanted to drill a well, they just went ahead and did so without much consideration of its effects on the underlying aquifer or nearby stream. From 1953 until 1957, the law stipulated the Colorado Water Conservation Board would issue well permits. Although the CWCB required well drillers to file a license, it was more of a registration system than any meaningful regulation.

Four years later, the 1957 Colorado Ground Water Law put the State Engineer’s Office in charge of these permits and acknowledged that a well license was not a water right, but only a permit to drill the well itself.

Despite these first steps at administration, water users with senior surface rights in the Arkansas, South Platte and Rio Grande basins faulted the expansion of groundwater use, a response to drought and lower stream volumes, for depleting river flows. Studies backed these assumptions, but there was little regulatory muscle to effectively manage the impacts.

The state legislature responded by passing the 1965 Ground Water Management Act, which provided new laws for application procedures and an injury evaluation standard for high-capacity wells. For the first time, state law enabled the State Engineer to consider—and potentially deny—well applications on the basis of injury to senior surface water rights. The law recognized the tributary connection between surface and groundwater in certain basins, a major hydro-legal epiphany that still makes Colorado stand out among other states. The law also created the Ground Water Commission, which could declare Designated Basins where surface water is scarce and/or groundwater is the predominant source of water. There are currently eight Designated Ground Water Basins in Colorado.

A few years later, the 1969 Water Rights Determination and Administration Act represented another advancement in the state’s groundwater administration. Kevin Rein, assistant state engineer for intrastate water supply development and litigation, says the 1969 law is significant for two reasons: It recognized that previous laws did not adequately address injury to senior water rights holders, and it established augmentation plans as the preferred avenue for allowing out-of-priority groundwater pumping under the prior appropriation system, which orders both the use of surface flows and groundwater.

According to Rein, augmentation plans include terms and conditions for obtaining groundwater while protecting against the depletion of river flows that could affect senior water rights. The plans demonstrate how much water will be pumped and consumed and how much will be returned to an aquifer or stream. Each plan must be approved by the water court and stand up to any individual objections.

The state continues to tweak its groundwater administration, but the framework developed in the 1960s still guides tributary groundwater use today.

Nontributary groundwater, on the other hand, has minimum or no connection to surface flows and is mostly regulated by state statutes adopted between 1973 and 1985. Those rules allow landowners to use nontributary resources, including those within the Denver Basin, at a rate of 1 percent a year for 100 years to pace the depletion. Additionally, the Ground Water Commission regulates non-tributary groundwater as designated groundwater if it’s within a Designated Basin.

“I really applaud Colorado,” says Knox, “because even in that time [dating back to the 1950s], they said we need to manage these resources for the future, in balance with economic development. We are literally decades ahead of some of our surrounding regions.”

Compacts and Models

Just as Colorado was hammering out its groundwater policies, another challenge presented itself. In 1966, the states of Texas and New Mexico sued Colorado because it was failing to meet the conditions of the 1938 Rio Grande River Compact. The interstate compact divides the annual flows of the Rio Grande between the states it runs through, and Colorado must ensure its downstream neighbors receive their allocated flows. Other compacts also dictate the use of river flows—and groundwater—in the South Platte, Arkansas and Republican river basins.

Water users in the upper Rio Grande began drilling more wells during the 1950s drought to supplement diminished flows in the river and its feeder streams. The fulfillment of senior surface rights and the increased use of groundwater meant Texas and New Mexico weren’t getting their legal share of water. Later lawsuits—by the state of Kansas with regard to Colorado’s overuse in the Arkansas River Basin and by Nebraska in the Republican River Basin—made similar claims.

“We had no rules or regulations that dictated use of groundwater up until that time,” says Steve Vandiver, manager of the Rio Grande Water Conservation District in Alamosa and a former division engineer for that region. “The science hadn’t really caught up to us.”

A tangle of legal action ensued over the following decades—and continues today—to determine the connections between groundwater and surface flows. The State Engineer’s Office instituted a 1972 moratorium on new wells in the unconfined aquifer that feeds into the Rio Grande and Conejos rivers. Well drillers targeted the deep, confined aquifer until another moratorium was put in place in 1981. Small, home wells were exempted from the ban.

Legal and regulatory fixes were limited by the understanding of the Rio Grande Basin’s intricate hydrogeology, Vandiver says. “Impacts are not one-for-one,” he adds, meaning that tapping an acre foot of groundwater from a well in the Rio Grande Basin won’t directly deplete an acre foot from the river.

Engineers worked to develop groundwater models, both to determine what was going on underground and to figure out how to address depletions for users in Colorado and downstream.

Groundwater modeling, however, remains an evolving science and perhaps something of an art. Prior to the 1980s, electric analog models replicated aquifers using plywood fitted with a grid of resistors to simulate flow and capacitators to simulate storage. Computers replaced paper spreadsheets and slide rules in the 1980s, and modeling went digital, providing a more sophisticated understanding of groundwater’s movement.

“The parallel with the technological advancement is the need to have more effective groundwater management tools,” says Knox.

Not that computer models have prevented groundwater administration from being debated in courtrooms. The U.S. Supreme Court has had to settle disputes over water use and depletion according to the compacts for the Rio Grande, Arkansas and Republican. South Platte water users in Colorado have looked to the courts to handle in-state quarrels. That’s because on top of all of the legal bounds, there is another great limiting condition, Knox says: “We live in a dynamic hydrologic environment.”

Drought and Disruption

Drought initiated the first wave of Colorado groundwater regulation half a century ago, and dry times are influencing current management.

Compared with the hydrology of the Rio Grande region, the South Platte is a pretty simple system. Robbins describes the river as “a trough in bedrock,” meaning it’s a shallow and fairly narrow stream with water moving relatively easily between the ground and the channel. As a result, well drilling has a direct impact on river flows.

Farmers and others along the South Platte have relied on groundwater for several decades. Some users had obtained decrees for augmentation plans, but Ground Water Appropriators of the South Platte and others relied on annual substitute supply plans. Both water court-approved augmentation plans and State Engineer-approved substitute water supply plans aim to ensure that depletions caused to the river by well pumping are replaced by some other source of water. That became a front-and-center problem when the 2002 drought kicked in, and surface and groundwater flows couldn’t measure up to past uses.

In 2001, the Colorado Supreme Court decided the State Engineer didn’t have the authority to approve substitute water supply plans, ruling that plans for replacing depletions to the stream system must be approved by the water court. Known as the Empire Lodge case, the decision forced groundwater users in the South Platte and other basins to obtain approved plans of augmentation or shut down their wells, says Robbins. The state legislature later passed a law allowing the State Engineer to approve substitute water supply plans if an augmentation plan is concurrently filed in water court, but hundreds of farmers have essentially lost their ability to legally pump their wells, wreaking havoc on communities in the South Platte Basin.

Rio Grande groundwater users have also suffered since 2002, Robbins adds, “but we’re trying to avoid the economic destruction and social dislocation” that has occurred on the South Platte. To that end, users have discussed buying out existing wells while preventing the drilling of new wells to create sustainable aquifer conditions. “Our job is to solve the problem in the least disruptive way,” Robbins says.

Groundwater Management Matures

In the Arkansas River Basin, resolution trumps disruption these days, according to Robbins. After Kansas sued Colorado over the Arkansas River Compact in 1985, a decades-long court battle ensued until the U.S. Supreme Court backed Kansas’ claims of depleted flows. Well-measurement rules followed, to monitor Colorado groundwater users’ impacts on river flows.

Like the South Platte, the Arkansas is an alluvial stream where groundwater depletion can be directly detected in lower surface flows. All groundwater users there are now required to have plans to replace depletions resulting from groundwater use, and group associations have formed to lease augmentation water supplies from cities and other water districts.

Groundwater use in the Arkansas Basin has undergone “intense scrutiny,” Robbins says, due to the compact litigation and subsequent regulation. “The rules have been successful.”

In the Rio Grande Basin, Vandiver describes the region as still “maturing in the groundwater arena.”

Surface and groundwater users have spent decades in court, and Vandiver says engineers have finally devised a computer model that accounts for the complex relationship between groundwater use and surface flow depletion there. Groundwater users have developed a plan of water management—instead of a plan of augmentation—that will enable many current well operators to continue pumping while guarding against injury to senior surface flow rights. After a degree of encouragement, some users have agreed to cease their water consumption, and managers will measure impacts to surface flows.

Vandiver says the Rio Grande district will also create its own subdistrict to manage wells locally. The subdistrict should enable more flexibility and hopefully prevent well curtailment from being the primary means of regulating groundwater use. If it’s a successful model, the district would form other subdistricts, but so far surface water users have objected to the plan and are in court to make sure the priority system is enforced. The maturation process continues.

Recently, the State Engineer’s Office has fielded an increased number of requests to mine or utilize geothermal resources, says Rein. In some cases, projects will remove water while others might return flows but at different temperatures, so the state must determine what constitutes an injury to other water users. The small but growing industry is a prime example of how and why groundwater administration will continue to adapt and change.

“It’s the right thing to do,” says Knox, of the continuing efforts to refine groundwater administration, “to optimize use of this resource for short-term gain and long-term benefit.”

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