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[Water_news] 2. DWR'S CALIFORNIA WATER NEWS: SUPPLY - 6/2/08

Department of Water Resources

California Water News

A daily compilation of significant news articles and comment 

 

June 2, 2008

 

2. Supply –

 

 

 

Desert dwellers must learn to conserve water

The Desert Sun- 6/1/08

 

Blog

Consumers say O.C. is in a “water crisis”

Orange County Register – 6/1/08

 

Northwest may hold secret to water woes: Cascades hold far more than Sierra

The Stockton Record- 6/1/08

 

Quenching Las Vegas’ Thirst: Part 1: Satiating a booming city: A relentless drought combined with explosive growth in Southern Nevada is exhausting the options for satisfying the needs of 2 million residents

Las Vegas Sun – 6/1/08

 

Tapping California's largest source of water
San Diego Tribune – 5/30/08

 

The good, and bad, of conservation

The San Francisco Chronicle – 5/31/08

 

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Desert dwellers must learn to conserve water

The Desert Sun- 6/1/08

By Ulysses S. Rosas

 

Every summer when I come back home to the Coachella Valley from Stanford, I help my dad replace grass lawns with desert landscape lawns. Now, many of you know that summer temperatures during the day can range from 100 degrees Fahrenheit to 120, and with weather alerts already stating "Excessive Heat Warning," I am fretful of the work that awaits me this summer.

 

However, without realizing it, those rock lawns I was helping to install reduce water usage drastically. Approximately 70 percent to 80 percent of the water we use domestically is outside the home. Water usage concerns not only residents of the Coachella Valley, but it is something that is becoming an increasingly global issue as well.

 

According to estimates from the International Water Management Institute, one-third of the world population will be affected by water scarcity by 2025. What does this mean for us in the desert? Well for starters, one of the places listed that suffers from growing water scarcity is the Colorado River basin, and a good portion of the water we use comes from the Colorado River.

 

However, issues of water scarcity are not necessarily a result of insufficient water sources, but instead it is because of the choices people make of how they use their water.

 

Additionally, the population growth of the Coachella Valley will put an increased strain on the water supply. It is expected that by 2015 more than 500,000 people will live in the Coachella Valley. This means that the number of people tapping into the aquifer will increase as well. According to the U.S. Geological Survey, the average American uses 80 to 100 gallons of water a day, but the average daily domestic water usage in the desert per resident is approximately 400 gallons a day. The average human needs less than a gallon of water a day to survive. So what are we doing with this precious resource?

 

Now, golf courses are to blame as well since their maintenance and irrigation consumes a large portion of water in the desert, but an initiative is already in place to create a MidValley pipeline to import recycled water for golf course use rather than using groundwater sources. What is left is for us as individuals to do our part.

 

Since three-fourths of our water usage is outside in landscaping, we should take into consideration how we use water in our lawns. If possible, converting an all-grass lawn to all-desert landscaping can result in decreases in water usage by about 70 percent. Adjusting your sprinkler system to seasonal needs and simply making sure that the sprinkler completely faces the lawn can result in significant decreases in water consumption. Similarly, using a broom instead of the hose to clean the driveway can save 80 gallons of water every time. And yes, just like we have energy-efficient appliances there are also water-efficient plants that need less water annually to flourish. Since fresh water is shared globally by decreasing water consumption we not only help keep our bills low, but we also do our part to address the global issue of water scarcity.

 

We may not like the idea of changing our beautiful gardens to desert landscapes, but we must realize that we live in a desert that gets less than 4 inches of rain annually. Therefore, it is important for us to help in the struggle to conserve water. So, the next time one of you happen to see my dad or I working on those lawns, losing 50 percent of our water mass in the heat, remember to help conserve water in the desert.# http://www.mydesert.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080601/COLUMNS26/806010302/1004/opinion

 

 

Blog

Consumers say O.C. is in a “water crisis”

Orange County Register – 6/1/08

By Gary Robbins

 

Orange County is experiencing a “water crisis,” but residents aren’t willing to pay higher rates to ensure that the region has reliable access to water, says a new survey commissioned by the Municipal Water District of Orange County (MWDOC).

 

The telephone survey of 300 voters also reveals that many people feel that local water agencies are doing a lackluster job of informing the public about water issues.

 

The survey was conducted April 22-24 on behalf of MWDOC, a wholesaler that serves 2.3 million of Orange County’s roughly 3 million residents.

 

The results largely reflect public anxiety about below-average rainfall and snowfall in the Sierra Nevada and Colorado River, which provide half of the water consumed in Orange County. The rest of the region’s water comes from local sources, and Southern California also has been drier than normal for the past two years.

 

The conditions are so worrisome that the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California — the region’s chief importer — is considering whether it will need to impose water rationing next year.

 

The new survey posed a series of questions, including: “Do you believe we have a water crisis in Orange County?” Sixty-two percent of the respondents said yes, 32 percent said no and six percent said they were unsure. When asked if they’d be willing to pay higher water rates to ensure a reliable water supply, 43 percent said yes, 43 percent said no and 14 percent said they’re unsure.

 

What do you think?

Fifty percent of the respondents said they’d accept higher rates to ensure water quality, and 55 percent said they’d pay more to ensure environmental protection.

 

Respondents also were asked: “Thinking about the job that local water agencies are doing of informing the public about water issues, how would you rate their job performance? Fifty-six percent said the agencies were doing a fair or poor job.

 

The latter response appears to show that there’s confusion among the public about the state of the water supply. Orange County hasn’t undergone water rationing in recent years, but 62 percent of the respondents said the region is in a water crisis.

 

Darcy Burke, a spokeswoman for MWDOC, says, the agency “is defining this crisis as an unstable time in which a decisive change is pending. The reality is that in average years, supply and demand don’t match up.” But MWDOC has managed to meet demand.#

http://sciencedude.freedomblogging.com/2008/06/01/consumers-say-oc-is-in-a-water-crisis/

 

 

Northwest may hold secret to water woes: Cascades hold far more than Sierra

The Stockton Record- 6/1/08

By

 

In a few days, most rivers and streams draining from the Sierra Nevada will have peaked for the season, channeling snowmelt from the granite-specked highlands to reservoirs, the ocean, your kitchen tap.

 

The melt came early this year. Just like last year.

 

Climate change threatens California's longtime reliance on the spiny Sierra for most of its water, experts agree.

 

And that, one scientist says, is likely to increase interest in a more reliable source: the porous lava flows of the Cascade Range in Oregon and Washington, which hide away enough water to cover California in a pool 3 inches deep.

 

As water supplies tighten in coming decades, the Northwest's groundwater surplus is likely to garner new attention from around the western United States, said Gordon Grant, a hydrologist for the U.S. Forest Service in Corvallis, Ore. Grant presented his research earlier this spring to fisheries experts gathered for a conference in Lodi.

 

"It is almost inevitable that the areas that store large quantities of groundwater will become increasingly looked at to provide water," Grant said.

 

As early as the mid-1960s there was talk in California of tapping the Pacific Northwest by diverting the Columbia River and pumping flows south through a massive system of canals, tunneling through mountain ranges on the way to Los Angeles.

 

The original proposal died in 1968, was resurrected in the early 1990s but ultimately was not politically viable. Even if it had been, officials at the time said, conserving water and allowing farmland to lie fallow would be far cheaper than building an extensive network of canals.

 

Today, California is occupied with figuring out how to convey water within its own boundaries, including whether to build a canal around the Delta to feed freshwater to other regions.

 

But climate change is looming.

 

The Cascades hold up to seven times more water underground than the range stores in its snowpack each year, Grant said. That's enough groundwater to fill Utah's Great Salt Lake.

 

Snowflakes melt and trickle into the ground, emerging perhaps several decades later in lush forested springs. For this reason, waterways there flow steadily even late into the summer.

 

On the other hand, snow drains off the rocky Sierra Nevada like water off a grocery store parking lot. Frank Gehrke, who coordinates measurements of California's snowpack each winter for the state Department of Water Resources, said there is some groundwater storage in parts of the range, but not nearly enough to cancel out the loss of snowpack as temperatures warm.

 

As a result, rivers and streams begin to dry up earlier in the summer.

 

California does benefit from groundwater toward the southern end of the Cascades, including spring-fed rivers that drain into the Sacramento River.

 

"At a minimum, the value of those rivers will only increase," Grant said.

 

Water may eventually become the most valuable product harvested from national forest lands, he said. This could mean changes in demographics - where people live and work.

 

"If you project forward into a climate-warm world, the places where water is available, particularly in the late summer, those places are going to be disproportionately attractive to human beings," Grant said.

 

Exactly how that's going to play out, he said, he doesn't know.#

http://www.recordnet.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080601/A_NEWS/806010332/-1/rss02

 

 

Quenching Las Vegas’ Thirst: Part 1: Satiating a booming city: A relentless drought combined with explosive growth in Southern Nevada is exhausting the options for satisfying the needs of 2 million residents

Las Vegas Sun – 6/1/08

By Emily Green

 

Nevada has gotten its water from the Colorado River, above, since an agreement among seven states was ratified in 1928. As growth continued to swell the population, Las Vegas began eyeing the water under the Great Basin Desert.

 

Editor's Note

Two decades ago a freshman Nevada congressman went calling on a cattle rancher in Northern Nevada. What would it take, Representative Harry Reid asked, for the rancher to sign off on plans to create a national park nearby.

 

It was a bold question. Officials had tried and failed for 60 years to win the support of ranchers to create Great Basin National Park. Now this new congressman was trying?

 

Indeed, he was sitting at rancher Dean Baker’s kitchen table in 1985, waiting for a reply.

You’ll have to protect our water, Baker said.

 

The Great Basin aquifer, which sweeps underneath the great parched desert of Southern Nevada, burbles to the surface up north, outside Ely, where Baker and other ranchers have lived for generations. Without water, their livelihood would end.

To Baker’s delight, Reid agreed. The water would be protected.

 

Reid and Baker met again 20 years later. The years had been kind to them. With water guaranteed, Baker was a wealthy man. Reid had moved up to the Senate and was on the verge of becoming majority leader, one of the most powerful posts in the nation.

 

The occasion of their meeting in July 2005 was the dedication of a new visitor center for the park the two men had had a hand in creating. But things had changed.

 

Las Vegas was in year six of a fierce drought. The booming town had nearly exhausted its allotment of water from Lake Mead. Soon, if nothing was done, Las Vegas, the economic engine that drives the state, wouldn’t have enough water to support growth.

 

So on this day, Reid asked Baker: “What are your water rights?”

 

Translation: Las Vegas needs your water.

 

Harry Reid and Dean Baker became adversaries.

 

How had it come to this? A thriving region of nearly 2 million people was running out of water even as the mighty Colorado River flowed just 30 miles away. What trick of geology and climate forced Las Vegas, a city with no reason to exist except for its historical ingenuity and daring, to go to survival mode once more?

 

Richard Bunker will not be judged.

 

As a Mormon bishop, he doesn’t gamble, he doesn’t smoke, he pays a full tithe to his church and he served a three-year mission in Finland.

 

A direct descendant of some of the region’s earliest pioneers and the son of a city councilman, Bunker too has dedicated his life to building Las Vegas.

 

As Clark County manager, Bunker streamlined the infrastructure of what went on to become the fastest-growing metropolis in America. Bunker then reinvented modern gaming.

 

In the process, he became a kingmaker in Nevada politics.

 

He vows that his last act for Las Vegas will be to keep it in water.

 

• • •

Las Vegas lies at the intersection of three deserts. To the west is the Mojave, to the south the Sonoran and to the north the Great Basin.

 

The Sonoran Desert marries California, Arizona and Mexico.

 

The Mojave is largely a Californian desert that spills into Southern Nevada.

 

Both are known as “hot” deserts, names that make more sense when it is 120 degrees in the summer than 10 below freezing on a winter night. Rains do come, but so rarely that the Sonoran’s saguaro cactuses and the Mojave’s Joshua trees have become international symbols of stoicism.

 

North of Las Vegas, the Great Basin Desert begins. It too is largely dry, but this is a “cold desert.” Its altitudes are higher, its winters longer and colder, and its valleys are fed largely by snowmelt. The Great Basin Desert covers most of Nevada and relaxes eastward across the Utah border to claim the oldest stretches of Mormon country.

 

As elevations steadily rise in the northward climb, the yuccas of the hot desert give way to a luminous green shrub called greasewood. The sheer brightness of its foliage screams a secret. Where there is greasewood, there is water.

 

There was ground water once in Las Vegas, but growth unmatched since the gold rush has consumed it. Today Las Vegas relies on water from the Colorado River, stored in the country’s largest reservoir only 30 miles outside the city.

But in the world of water, proximity to water doesn’t count. Historic claims do.

 

The biggest belong to California, the smallest to Las Vegas.

 

So to fuel its growth, Las Vegas has turned away from the Colorado. It now wants the water underlying the cold desert to the north.

 

To get it, a water authority in no small part built by the Bunker family is in its 19th year of slowly but surely moving to pipe that water south.

 

To Bunker, it is a historic duty to right a historic wrong.

 

To critics, it is the biggest urban water grab since William Mulholland plumbed Owens Valley to serve Los Angeles.

 

• • •

The thickset 74-year-old who enters a top-floor boardroom of the Southern Nevada Water Authority looks just like the figure captured over the years in newspaper photos.

 

There is the rich crop of hair, now silver, the sun-spotted skin and the watchful and watery (and it turns out gray) eyes. Bunker may have retired, but the handshake hasn’t. It is confident, firm but not crushing. Bunker has been around prying gentiles long enough to appreciate that his family story requires a disclaimer, which he delivers with high propriety: “My great-grandfather was a polygamist before the church came out with an order called ‘The Manifest,’ which forbids plural marriages.”

 

Richly framed photographs of that great-grandfather, Edward Bunker, and his first wife, Emily Abbott, hang in the original Mormon statehouse in Fillmore, Utah. According to a brisk and vivid account by the church historian Leonard Arrington, Edward converted to Mormonism in 1845, at the height of fervor about Joseph Smith’s martyrdom. Scarcely a year after his conversion and only months after his first marriage, Edward began the grueling march to California as part of the Mormon Battalion in the Mexican-American War.

 

Edward barely made it home before the church sent him off to proselytize in Great Britain. He returned with a pack of Welsh converts, not one of whom he could understand. They spoke only Gaelic.

 

By the time Edward Bunker homesteaded his last colony for the church in 1877, he had been halfway around the world, had three wives and ended up in one of the most sun-blistered, hardscrabble bishoprics on the Mormon trail. At the suggestion of Brigham Young, his new colony on the Virgin River in the newly minted state of Nevada would be called Bunkerville.

 

From the comfort of an air-conditioned office and removed by more than a century, great-grandson Richard Bunker shakes his head at the thought of it.

 

“Brigham Young could have sent him anywhere,” he says. “He chose to send them to Bunkerville. There are lots of nice valleys in Utah and Nevada. But he sent us to hell in the desert.”

 

He’s not complaining, he adds. “It’s an interesting thing to contemplate.”

 

Moving water out of a river and spreading it across desert is as old as civilization. The ancient Persians did it. The Egyptians did it. The Romans did it, and as the West was settled, the Mormons did it.

 

They had no choice. Vigilantes had chased them out of Illinois over their founder’s promiscuity. Marc Reisner was only half-joking in his classic book “Cadillac Desert” that irrigation farming in the West is so fundamentally Mormon that when the U.S. government formed the Bureau of Reclamation in 1902 to put arid land under the plow, Reclamation was by extension Mormon, too.

 

But the Virgin River’s unforgiving salt, mud and moods defied even the most resolute Mormons. “During the rain, it would flood your crops,” Bunker says. “During the drought, your crops would burn up.” The poverty was so pervasive that Edward instituted the Mormon equivalent of communism, called the “united order,” in which settlers pooled their wealth.

 

The Bunkervillians dug irrigation ditches. They planted sorghum, alfalfa and vegetables. But the soil wasn’t good earth, Bunker says. It was “alkali dirt.”

 

The distinguished Mormon historian Juanita Brooks grew up in Bunkerville and her accounts lend sharp detail. The summer heat was so fierce, she recalled, that it “thickened the whites of eggs left in the coop” and made lizards “flip over on their backs and blow their toes.”

 

The church gave up on polygamy before Edward Bunker gave up on Bunkerville. Only after the 1890 manifesto ending plural marriage did he take his first wife, and Richard thinks also the second, to Mexico. But Richard’s great-grandmother, wife No. 3, moved west instead to St. Thomas, another Mormon farming community on another tributary to the Colorado River.

 

• • •

To understand why Richard Bunker or any deeply rooted Southern Nevadan despises Californians — and they do, oh they do — just follow the water.

 

As the unfettered Colorado River once tumbled out of the Rockies, it swelled to a massive force with infusions from tributaries in Colorado, Wyoming, Utah and New Mexico. Steadily dropping elevations pushed it south through the canyons of Utah into Arizona, where it hung a sharp right West into the Mojave. There it etched the violent squiggle that breaks Nevada’s ruler-straight borders and pushes south again, through the Sonoran Desert, along the fretful front line between Arizona and California until it flooded into the Gulf of Mexico.

 

The state with the most natural claim on the billions of gallons of rushing snowmelt is Colorado, but in Western water law, origin is moot. Catching it and utilizing it is everything.

 

The 19th-century settlers who did this most successfully happened to sit farthest from the water’s origin, in the Sonoran Desert of California, in a natural sink located just before the river flows into Mexico. A succession of 49ers prospecting their way across what was then known as the Valley of the Dead looked at the rich soil from silt deposited by past floods and reckoned they needed only to build levees to have unimaginable wealth. They renamed it the Imperial Valley, dug miles of channels and persuaded thousands to settle there on the gamble that earthen dams could contain the river that carved canyons from stone.

 

The Colorado first swept away their head gates, then steadily eroded their levees as it poured into the California desert in such volume that it formed the Salton Sea. When the Imperial Valley emerged from the mud and chaos in 1907, the Californian mud farmers hadn’t harnessed the Colorado River, but a series of irrigation districts throughout the region had done the next best thing.

 

They had established a legal claim to the water. Under the law of prior appropriation, the first to claim the water had first rights to it.

 

Californians might have claimed the whole river had they been able to build a dam capable of containing it. But that would take cash as well as concrete that only federal money can buy. Before the federal government could be persuaded to step in and dam the lifeline of the West, California would have to agree to share the water.

 

That was a tall order. But in 1922, then-Commerce Secretary Herbert Hoover resorted to jamming delegates from the seven states on the river into a remote New Mexican hunting lodge. He made sure that it was uncomfortable. They could come out when they agreed on a plan.

 

It did not go smoothly. Four states, dubbed the Upper Basin states — Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, New Mexico — particularly held that the river, at least the part that passed through their territories, was rightfully theirs. Downstream, California and Arizona were close to war over tributary water.

 

Under the Colorado Compact and the act that six years later ratified it, the river basin was divided in half (with some treacherous exceptions). Colorado, Wyoming, Utah and New Mexico, the Upper Basin, were allocated 7.5 million acre-feet of water. California, Arizona and Nevada were deemed Lower Basin states. They, too, came out of the enforced love-in with 7.5 million acre-feet of water, of which California received 4.4 million a year, Arizona 2.8 million and Nevada 300,000.

 

At the time, the puny share did not bother the Nevadan delegation. The ground water springs of Las Vegas had such force that they formed geysers. Two percent of a big river on top of that, or in modern terms, enough water to supply 600,000 single-family homes for a year, was a lot of water for a 1922 railroad town.

 

Umbrage came later. Only when Las Vegas began to outgrow its water did the Colorado Compact and its 1928 allocations come to be seen as a blunder, one that hits a regional nerve. Richard Bunker will tell you that it’s Northern Nevada’s fault.

 

There were no Southern Nevadans at the table. Moreover, according to Bunker, the Northern ones just might have been drunk.

 

“There is no doubt that they imbibed,” Bunker says. “They followed almost to the letter the lead of the California delegation.

 

“For them to say 300,000 acre-feet was a lot of water for a place that was sand dunes, mosquitoes and rattlesnakes sounds fair,” Bunker says. “But when you look at what Arizona got, 2.8 million ...” he drifts off, then sighs. “It is what it is.”

 

• • •

The notion loosely held by Northern Nevada negotiators was that the Mormon farmers around Las Vegas might create a miniaturized version of the Imperial Valley.

 

That didn’t happen. As the Bureau of Reclamation began construction of Hoover Dam in 1931, Las Vegas became a staging area filled with construction workers whose needs could be largely summed up in a telephone book under B: boarding houses, brothels and bars. Moreover, that same year, Nevada legalized already prevalent gambling. Las Vegas added a C to its key services: casinos.

 

In short, the mob didn’t invent modern Las Vegas. The Bureau of Reclamation did.

 

By the time Bunker was born in 1933, his family had moved to Las Vegas. Their family farm at St. Thomas was sacrificed to the rising waters of the new Lake Mead. Las Vegas still ran on ground water, with springs all over the valley. “I used to swim in them,” he says.

 

His father and uncles became pillars of the community, serving on the city council and in the state Legislature and the U.S. Senate. But according to a touching eulogy for one of Bunker’s uncles given by Nevada Senator Harry Reid, they still managed to be just folk, small-towners who ran a gas station and mortuary and who pulled together to create the Las Vegas convention center and its Mormon temple.

 

Bunker himself made several stabs at elected office — for a seat on the county commission early on and another in the state Legislature later in life — but never won. He was perhaps too private, too proud and without a doubt something rarer: an audacious bureaucrat who became an unmatched political fixer.

 

After graduating from Brigham Young University with a political science degree in 1959, he went into sales for a rock and sand business. A decade later he’d become an analyst for Clark County. Next stop: head of the county’s automotive division, then jobs as assistant city manager of Las Vegas, county lobbyist and, in 1977, Clark County manager.

 

As lobbyist and then county manager, Bunker didn’t so much manage the place as reinvent it. “I had to replace the head of the building department, replace the fire chief and replace the head of the planning department,” he says.

 

Then in 1979, one of Las Vegas’ leading Mormon sons was tapped by the governor to head the Gaming Control Board.

Mormon proscriptions against gambling go back to Joseph Smith. But from the time a Salt Lake City financier taught the mob about bank accounts in the 1950s, an understanding for Nevadan Latter-day Saints was emerging: Just don’t touch the dice.

 

Bunker recalls wrestling over it this way: “I went to a friend, James I. Gibson, a religious icon here in the Southern Nevada area, and a state senator. I asked him, ‘Jim, what do you think I ought to do?’ My supposition is that he checked with his contacts in Salt Lake and they said, ‘By all means.’ We were better off being in a regulatory position over the industry than not being.”

 

The Gaming Control Board investigates applicants for gaming licenses. The Nevada Gaming Commission then issues the licenses. Heading the commission was another Latter-day Saint politician, a young Harry Reid.

 

Nevada was under pressure from the FBI and Congress to clear the mob out of Vegas before the federal government came in and did it for the state. It needed a blameless team.

 

Who better to grasp the nettle than two Mormons?

 

Except by June, Reid himself was beleaguered, presumed to be the “Mr. Clean” and “Mr. Cleanface” alluded to in FBI mob tapes unsealed in Kansas City.

 

One of Bunker’s earliest jobs would be, at Reid’s insistence, to investigate Reid, who, Bunker concluded by February 1980, had been the victim of “unmitigated character assassination.”

 

For the next year and a half, Reid and Bunker held hearings. Licenses were suspended. Names were put in the black book. A bomb was discovered in a Reid family car. Bunker sent his children to school with a police escort. Both men somehow survived the ridicule of 1981, when they announced they could find no evidence that Frank Sinatra was associated with the Mafia.

 

While Reid endured the derision quietly, Bunker snapped. The Bunkerville Bunker turned on the visiting press corps, delivering what The New York Times correspondent described as his “soliloquy.”

 

“This state over the last 46 years has been very good to me, and it’s because of the gaming,” Bunker said. “I personally don’t believe in gaming, but it has provided the livelihoods for thousands of people who raised their children in this state. We have an economy here that is based on something that is illegal to every other jurisdiction but New Jersey, and people coming into this area, whether they be FBI, whether they be whoever they are, might come in here with different ideas than what some of us think that have lived here all our lives.”

 

As Bunker tells it, Howard Hughes, Steve Wynn and Kirk Kerkorian, the modern models of casino owners, entered stage left as the mob exited stage right. The industry duly cleansed, Bunker went on to become treasurer of Circus Circus and president of both the Dunes and Aladdin hotels.

 

By 1990, Steve Wynn had opened the first megaresort, his competitors had half a dozen other huge ones on the boards, and Bunker was the head of the Nevada Resort Association and the most powerful gaming lobbyist in the country. One need only review Nevada’s generous tax law pertaining to gaming to appreciate his prowess.

 

But as New Vegas and its suburban skirt grew inexorably up and out, the problem was no longer the competition from Atlantic City, or whether Sinatra had hand-carried $2 million to Lucky Luciano, or mobsters skimming casino receipts, or who killed Kennedy.

It was water.

• • •

There was so much native ground water in early Las Vegas that not only did boys swim in springs, but according to Florence Lee Jones’ classic “Water: The History of Las Vegas,” homeowners routinely left town with their sprinklers running. Who knew that the local springs would be pumped dry?

 

As it turned out, a succession of state engineers knew.

 

By the 1950s, the valley had been pumped so hard that the ground was caving in beneath Nellis Air Force Base. Just as the golf courses began cropping up around casinos, the Strip had been pumped to capacity. Capping the wells and getting water users to hook up to a newly formed water system eventually killed the man who issued the battle cry. Months after the water stopped briefly in Las Vegas and state engineer Edmund Muth was driven from his job, he died of a heart attack. It was 1962, the same year the springs stopped flowing to the surface.

 

But right up to the point that he died, Muth insisted Las Vegas had ample water. It needed only to switch from ground water to Colorado River water.

 

As Las Vegas began the switch, Nevadans began wondering whether to revisit the Colorado River allocations fixed when the compact was ratified.

 

In 1952, it just so happened that Arizona was about to haul California clear off to the Supreme Court over its river woes.

Nevada hitched itself to the proceedings.

 

The logic: If the highest court in the land was revisiting terms for Arizona, why not ask for more water for Nevada? Twice as much? Three times!

 

As this giddy notion took hold a third of the way through a decadelong case, a reporter covering the trial concluded: “Thus far in the suit only one thing has been definitely established. There is not enough water in the Colorado River to satisfy the demands of the states and Federal Government.”

 

After the special master assigned by the Supreme Court to hear the arguments also had a heart attack (he lived), he recommended that the court deny Nevada.

 

In other words, between 1956 and 1962, the Supreme Court special master nearly died in the course of telling Nevada there wasn’t enough water in the Colorado River, and Nevada’s state engineer died arguing that all would be well if Las Vegas just moved its water source from ground water to the Colorado River.

 

As the population of Clark County hit 2 million late last year, Southern Nevada was stretching the last drops from its Colorado River allocation.

 

But Las Vegas had a backup plan: pumping the ground water of the Great Basin Desert.

 

This time the obstacle wouldn’t be California but Utah.

 

The Great Basin covers most of Nevada and half of Utah. To tap its aquifer, Southern Nevada must turn on the very heartland of the old Mormon state.

 

It fell to Bunker to represent Nevada’s need to Utah. In July, the governor of Nevada announced that Bunker had become the state’s “special negotiator” for the water under dispute with Utah.

 

Standing with him in a larger political press for it is his old confrere, Harry Reid.

 

Again, Nevada is trotting out its Mormons.

 

Again, Richard Bunker will not be judged.

 

Part two of five will be published on Sunday, June 8.#

http://www.lasvegassun.com/news/2008/jun/01/satiating-booming-city/#/Defining_the_Southwest/

 

 

Tapping California's largest source of water
San Diego Tribune – 5/30/08

By Barry Nelson

There is only one river left to slake the thirst of California, as the nation's most populous state keeps growing. The state's other rivers are tapped out. We need this last great river more than ever as global warming threatens to make longer, drier droughts the norm throughout the West. But you won't find California's last river on any map because it's a virtual river. It doesn't exist as a physical river, but that doesn't make it any less real.

 

One needn't look far to find the virtual river. It's just a Google search away. State water managers have known about it for years. In fact, they put it in California's State Water Plan for anyone to see. And they identified it as the largest source of new water supply in California, the largest source by far. Simply put, the virtual river is a combination of water-use efficiency, water recycling, improved groundwater management and advanced urban runoff management. The virtual river dwarfs all other options.

 

Why tapping the virtual river is not the top priority of every water leader in California is another story. It's a story that needs to change. The San Francisco Bay-Delta is in trouble, an ecosystem in the midst of collapse. We can't squeeze more water from the Delta without forcing a cascading series of fish extinctions – from salmon to sturgeon to Delta smelt. That's not just bad for fish; it's bad for people. A Delta too sick to support its fisheries can hardly be relied upon for clean water supply. That's why Delta farmers see the Delta smelt as the canary in their coal mine.

 

The situation on the Colorado River is equally dire. After decades of taking more than its share, California has had to reduce its take from the river as the six other states in the river basin have reasserted their claims. As it is, the river is so overdrafted that it dries up before it reaches the sea. Now the record drought in the Southwest could empty Lake Mead. Many hydrologists predict this massive man-made reservoir will never be full again.

 

In the last century, pioneering engineers, with names such as Mulholland and O'Shaughnessy, tapped mighty rivers to provide water supplies, without which the Golden State would not be what it is today. The state and federal water projects are engineering marvels. They made California home to the nation's most vital agricultural region and enabled growth of the world's seventh-largest economy.

 

California's future depends on another feat no less astounding than the dam-building projects of yore. Making the most of the virtual river will require a whole new mindset. It will require recognition that every water drop saved – whether by conservation, recycling or groundwater and storm water management – counts as water supply. Those drops add up to more than 7 million acre-feet of water a year. That is more than has ever been exported from the Delta – the largest single source of water in the state. It is larger than the American, the Merced and the San Joaquin rivers combined. Environmentalists and urban water agencies agree that no other future source comes close to the virtual river.

 

The virtual river offers many other benefits. It can save energy and reduce global warming pollution because vast amounts of energy are currently needed to pump water from the Delta and the Colorado River. Moreover, the virtual river is less vulnerable to global warming; shrinking snowpacks and extended droughts will not affect its flow. One of its headwaters – advanced urban runoff management – can help clean up Southern California beaches by capturing storm water runoff before it picks up contaminants and pollutes our coastal waters. Finally, the virtual river can help us leave water in our real rivers, helping to save the Bay-Delta and our salmon fishing heritage.

 

Like the rivers that provide water for California's cities today, the virtual river will not simply flow to our doors. Success will require carefully designed policies and leadership from all levels – from the governor, state and federal agencies, and the Legislature to regional and local water districts, local governments and individuals. Gov. Schwarzenegger's recent call for a reduction of California's per capita water use by 20 percent is an important first step.

 

We are at a turning point in water policy – and in California history. According to legend, Mark Twain once said that in California, “Whiskey is for drinking. Water is for fighting over.” We have had our share of water wars in California. However, tapping into this virtual river is a task that can unite the state, ensuring our future water supply and finally proving Twain wrong. #

http://www.signonsandiego.com/uniontrib/20080530/news_lz1e30nelson.html

 

 

The good, and bad, of conservation

The San Francisco Chronicle – 5/31/08

By Lynette Evans

 

Mistakes were made, as politicians are fond of saying. And mistakes will continue to be made so long as humans, well intentioned as we may be, inhabit the planet. That includes missteps in our efforts to save the planet.

 

California's water situation shines a light on the inevitability that one good thing can take a toll on other good things. Not that a water-short snowpack, dwindling aquifers and dry soil are good things. But the good things we have to do to conserve water - water rationing in the East Bay - will have repercussions on other areas of resource conservation. Water rationing may be necessary to conserve a dwindling resource, but what does that do to other aspects of a household's green culture, e.g. using cloth diapers, napkins and towels?

 

Case in point: A minor tip from last Saturday's Home&Garden on conserving water drew indignation from a number of readers.

 

Our tongue-in-cheek recommendation that the chic new hostess gift would be bottled water (instead of a bottle of wine) prompted several to chastise us for promoting bottled water, whose producers draw down aquifers at the source and use large amounts of petroleum to manufacture plastic bottles and distribute expensive products that are nearly free to those who turn on a tap. All true, and though we should have noted we meant pricey water in glass bottles and not cases of plastic six-packs - and as one reader pointed out, a lot more liters of water go into producing 1 liter of wine than the same amount of bottled water - the point is taken that everything has a consequence.

 

Some more than others, of course. The economic and environmental downsides of the much-touted and subsidized corn ethanol include adding to the rising price of food and scarcity of fertilizer around the world while the biofuel from sugarcane in Brazil appears to have fewer unfavorable impacts.

 

Bamboo, marketed as a sustainably grown and environmentally friendly flooring material, is turning up in landfills in the form of disposable dishes and tableware.

 

I don't know the answer to cloth versus disposable diapers for East Bay Municipal Utility District customers who must ration their water use, but even under water rationing, there are other considerations for consumers besides simply saving water. And as with everything else in life, thoughtful decisions may vary from one family to another. The goal should be conscious living, not blinders-on adherence to any one set of environmental or economic rules - lest we continue to make the corn ethanol mistake. #

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/05/30/HODJ10UUQF.DTL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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