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<text>To salmon and steelhead, silt is no friend. Washed into streams and rivers from eroding banks and watersheds, it can collect and clog the gravels necessary for successful spawning.So when fishery biologists identified high sediment contributions to the Trinity River coming from the Grass Valley Creek tributary they decided the best way to control the problem was to build Buckhorn Mountain Dam, which would capture the silt before it poured into the river. There was only one problemΓÇöthe Trinity was protected under state and federal Wild and Scenic River statutes. It was illegal even to study the possibility of a dam on the river."Buckhorn Mountain Dam posed quite an internal dilemma," recalls Department of Water Resources fishery engineer Doug Denton. When the protective laws were drafted in the 1960s and 1970s, no one seems to have foreseen that a dam could help fish. Eventually that dilemma was resolvedΓÇöbut not before reams of paperwork had been stacked up to justify the project. The dam, now under construction, represents a quarter of the $60-million Trinity River fishery restoration program currently in progress.A touchstone of 1970s environmentalism, the movement to put nearly a third of California's potential water supply off limits to any further dam construction was hailed as a win for nature.Few people notice that about 67 percent of the state's precipitation is consumed by native vegetation, soaks into the ground or evaporates. Roughly 11 percent is devoted to wild rivers or dedicated to protecting the San Francisco bay/delta ecosystem. Today's water wars are waged over the 21 or 22 percent of California's water available to Californians.As writer John McPhee describes in his book, Encounters With The Archdruid, "In the view of conservationists, there is something special about dams, somethingΓÇöas conservation problems goΓÇöthat is disproportionately and metaphysically sinister.... Conservationists who can hold themselves in reasonable check before new oil spills and fresh megalopolises mysteriously go insane at even the thought of a dam."This perceived threat of "damnation" fueled the drive for the federal wild and scenic river system, begun in 1968 with the middle fork of California's Feather River one of the first eight protected. In 1973 Marin's state Sen. Peter Behr introduced the California Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, in part to block a project long-studied by the Department of Water Resources and the Army Corps of Engineers, that would have diverted some of California's north coast water into the Sacramento River to increase the State Water Project's yield.When the oil crisis spurred the federal government to develop more domestic energy, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) struck terror into the hearts of river defenders. The commission was licensing hydropower plants on just about any stretch of water that moved. FERC wasn't bound by state protective statutes; California's Gov. Jerry Brown petitioned Cecil Andrus, secretary of the interior during the Carter Administration, to extend federal protection to California's system.In a controversial "midnight" action, shortly before Reagan took over the presidency, Andrus signed. The decision withstood legal challenges and when the dust settled, the outlines of a far-reaching decision could be seen.New dams were banned on all or significant portions of the Trinity, the Klamath, the Eel, the Smith, the New rivers, and many of their tributaries. Fully 1,200 miles of rivers were protected.These were no little brooks. The Klamath often carries more water than the Colorado River. The Eel's usual annual runoff is greater than that of the Feather, which feeds the State Water Project.Not only were dams prohibited; anything that would affect the "free flowing condition and natural character" of the river was prohibited. Even plans by whitewater rafting companies to install "wing dams" on the Klamath RiverΓÇöessentially heaping gravel along the banks to create deeper and faster channels during low-flow periodsΓÇöwere outlawed.And how have the set-aside rivers fared these past 10 years?No one can say wild-and-scenic designation did much to solve the rivers' already existing problems. Ron Iverson, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service program leader on the Klamath River fishery restoration project, notes that logging had a major and long-lasting effect in the basin. Streams and rivers are still filled with the sediment that began finding its way into the waterways with the extensive clear-cutting of trees that supplied the state's post-World War II housing boom.The north coast has long suffered a boom-and-bust economy; unemployment frequently doubles the state average. And the leading employer, the timber industry, has had an undeniably negative impact on the rivers.Despite classification as wild and scenic, the Eel is still, for its size, the muddiest river in the nation and the third most sediment-laden in the world.Along with the logging, farm drainage and unscreened water diversions have taken a toll on the Klamath fishery, says Iverson. Fishing is the area's second largest contributor to the economy. The Klamath, second only to the Sacramento River system, provides much of the state's multi-million-dollar commercial salmon harvest. For the past several years, commercial fishing on the Klamath has had to be scaled back from five months to just 20 days."Wild" river legislation mostly duplicated existing logging regulations for streamside buffer zones. It did curtail future mining, but profitable mining was already at or past its peak.A $40-million revival of the Klamath fishery has begun. Habitat improvement continues, as does a program to screen agricultural diversions.The Trinity, too, has been a target for betterment. In another last-minute action, Andrus laid down minimum flow criteria for the Trinity and by the mid-'80s, a $60-million fishery rehabilitation program was under way. A hatchery was renovated, ocean catches pared back.But in 1987, a dry year, only 3 ,800 steelhead were counted. The following year, too, was extraordinarily dry, but two damsΓÇödespised as anathema by those who adore "wild and scenic" riversΓÇöregulated the Trinity's flows. Far more water was sent down the river at critical times than nature provided. More than 100,000 salmon returned and were able to spawn.Built in the 1960s by the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation to divert flows to Central Valley irrigation, the dams helped the fish overstep the meager natural conditions."Though we lost upstream habitat, the dams have been a blessing," says Chuck Lane, fish and wildlife team leader on the Trinity. "We've maintained at least 300 cubic feet per second (135,000 gallons a minute) in the river at all times; historically it wouldn't have been that much."If these extensiveΓÇöand expensiveΓÇöprojects make the rivers seem, well, not exactly wild, their potential for ferocity is still fresh in some minds.In late December of 1964, and on into early January of 1965, these rivers became raging torrents, spilling their banks, strewing devastation in their wake. Twenty-four people died; more than 2,000 were injured. Nearly 3,000 houses, trailers and businesses were wiped out. California's north coast counties were declared disaster areas. Losses in this sparsely populated, little developed part of the state were estimated at $240 million.After the decimation, some flood control works were built, but further protection measures are now banned by "wild and scenic" river legislation.Some folks view floods as part of the natural cycle, like droughts. To these people, floods by that definition, are good. "That's nature selecting," says Larry Preston, a Department of Fish and Game biologist who works on the Eel River. "The strong stocks survive environmental change. It isn't great for total productivity but those that survive will do quite well."Recently, low flows have reduced the Eel's fishery. When the water is down, fish can't pass the piles of gravel and sediments still clogging the river from the floods of 1955 and 1964. Natural selectivity aside, fish and game has hired a company to remove some of the gravel from the river.Contradictions cling to these highly managed "wild" rivers. "There's a funny tendency by people to think whatever 'nature' does is okay, but what man does is wrong," notes one biologist.The upsurge of river protection abated during the Reagan Administration, but the 1980s still saw portions of the Kings, Merced, Kern and Tuolumne rivers designated "wild and scenic."And some still argue that nature has been slighted.Ely, Ed. "Is California Shortchanging Nature?" Aqueduct. Published by Metropolitan Water District of Southern California. V57. N2. 1990. Pp 7-9.</text>
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<text>Ely, Ed. "Is California Shortchanging Nature?" Aqueduct. Published by Metropolitan Water District of Southern California. V57. N2. 1990. Pp 7-9.</text>
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<text>SIERRA MAGAZINESept./ Oct. 1989WATER RIGHTS AND WRONGS: Water developers, with their dams, and diversions, are taking dead aim on the wilderness system. It's up to congress to send a clear signal that wildlands and water go hand in hand.Rocky outcrops, subalpine forests, and the fabled Mount of the Holy Cross define Colorado's Holy Cross Wilderness. But it's the water that captivates a visitor most of all. Where creeks careen over piles of rock, the valleys of Holy Cross are boisterous with water. Elsewhere streams spread out to nourish vegetationΓÇöSquare Meadow, Long Meadow, Meander Meadow, Reeds Meadow, and numerous unnamed wetlands. Dozens of lakes are tucked away in the upper reaches of the wilderness.Yet Holy Cross is a wilderness that is not fully wild, for its water is not protected. Water developers have repeatedly scuttled attempts to protect the streams that flow through Holy Cross and other wilderness areas. They have forced changes in some legislation to accommodate dams and other water projects, and blocked proposals to add new lands to the wilderness system.The Homestake water project carves a large chunk out of the Holy Cross Wilderness, drawing away water for Aurora and Colorado Springs, two booming cities along the Front Range, Colorado's urban corridor at the edge of the Rockies. A dam and a network of collection pipes have reworked the upper Homestake Creek watershed, causing the wetlands below the dam to dry up. The willow and sedge are mostly gone, and the beaver dams are silted in. The reservoir inundated a stretch of wetlands more than a mile long that once hosted cutthroat trout, deer, waterfowl, and eagles.The Front Range cities have further plans. They want to build Homestake II, a system of tunnels and diversions that would reach deep into the wilderness area. The project would drain 90 percent of Cross Creek and its tributaries during spring runoff, drawing down spectacular waterfalls and depleting more wetlands.The Beaver Dam Wilderness exists in a setting very different from Holy Cross, but in terms of water it faces a similar dilemma. This remote, serene area straddles the Arizona/Utah state line at an elevation that varies between 2,400 and 3,500 feet. This is hot country in the upper part of the Mojave Desert, dotted with Joshua trees, creosote bushes, and bunch grasses, and populated by deer, bighorn sheep, birds of prey, and tortoises.Water is scarce in the Southwest, but the Beaver Dam Wilderness is blessed with the Virgin River. The stream supports numerous fish species, including the endangered woundfin minnow. Rafters ride the river's deep, pastel gorge during spring runoff. The Virgin, however, is tapped upstream of the wilderness area for agricultural irrigation. During some summers the river is so low in places that it runs dry.No water projects are proposed within the Beaver Dam Wilderness, but several are slated for the river above it. The bustling town of St. George, Utah, lies ten miles north; developers want to expand the region's residential and farming areas. One proposed damsite is in an area now also being evaluated by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) for its wilderness potential. Another project, on a branch of the Virgin's North Fork, is directly upstream of Zion National Park; diversions there would draw down the river in Zion as well as in Beaver Dam. If development proceeds, the Virgin may run dry in Beaver Dam during much, most, or all of the year.Holy Cross and Beaver Dam have run dead-on into western water law. born in the California goldfields of the 1850s, state water laws put western water exactly where l9th-century society wanted it: in the mines and fields. Under the guiding rule of "first in time, first in right, " a senior water user's needs took precedence over those of all junior users. The water was free, and there were no protections for free-flowing water. Diverters could and did dry up entire creeks, streams, and rivers.State water agencies, which grew up around the turn of the century, were created to administer and protect the seniority system. To this day, the law requires the state agencies to be advocates for water developers, not for rivers. In the West this means dams and diversions.Recently, most states have adopted instream-flow programsΓÇölaws that protect water for recreation, wildlife, or aesthetic purposesΓÇöbut they claim too little water and are poorly enforced. Colorado's version, adopted in 1973, is considered one of the strongest instream-rights laws in the West; however, it sets only minimal "rescue level" flows to prevent the destruction of fish habitats. At Holy Cross, this means that enough water will be left in Cross Creek to keep most of the fish alive, but nothing will be done to preserve the wetlands or the animals that depend on them. The waterfalls get no consideration at all.In Utah, where permits to divert water are granted routinely, the instream-flow law is even less helpful. The state's clumsy procedures for preserving a free flow require, among other things, approval by the state legislature.Faced with such intransigence at the state level, conservationists often turn to federal lawsΓÇöspecifically, a legal device called a federal reserved water right. If Congress calls for protection of a freeflowing river, that claim will hold up in court against any junior rights. But even if no law expressly requires it, an instream flow can be preserved. The courts reason that Congress, when making a special designation of land (such as a wilderness, national forest, or national park), expects the classification to be a viable one. In the words of the Supreme Court, the courts will imply sufficient instream protection to "fulfill the purposes of the reservation."But the high court has also decided that the federal government has very limited water rights in national forests. A forest's purpose, the court said, is to furnish timber and water for users downstream, not to provide recreation and sustain wildlife.One would expect instream flows for wilderness areas to receive more protection than they do on national-forest lands. The Wilderness Act spoke of wilderness as an area that retains "its primeval character and influence"; it is only logical that Congress intended for wildlands to have full flows of water.The matter of reserved rights for wilderness first received official attention in 1979, when the legal arm of the Interior Department ruled that Congress did intend for wilderness streams to remain in their natural condition. "Water is the lifeblood of the wilderness areas, " wrote a Colorado federal judge in 1985.Water interests turned up the heat after the 1985 ruling. In Colorado, after all parties had agreed to include more than 750,000 acres in a wilderness bill, water developers insisted on language disclaiming all reserved water rights in the new landsΓÇöand in all existing Colorado wilderness areas. The bill floundered and died.Water rights have been argued in nearly every wilderness or parks bill debate since. Great Basin National Park, established in 1986, disclaimed water rights, as did the 1988 statute establishing the Hagerman Fossil Beds National Monument in Idaho. Conservationists prevailed in the 1988 Washington Park Wilderness Act, and Congress affirmed water rights when it created El Malpais National Monument in New Mexico in 1987 and San Pedro National Riparian Conservation Area in Arizona in 1988. But developers helped stall wildlands bills in Colorado, Idaho, Montana, and Nevada.The matter heated up still more during the twilight of the Reagan administration. At the urgings of the water establishment, the Interior Department reversed its recognition of wilderness water in 1988. Then-Attorney General Ed Meese followed up by stating that the Justice Department would not assert federal reserved rights in court. These rights are lost if not affirmed in a state stream adjudication, a proceeding that decides all claims to water in a designated watershed. Such a proceeding is pending on the Virgin River, but the government still has not claimed any water rights for Beaver Dam.The situation is even bleaker at Holy Cross. When Congress designated the wilderness area in 1980, it also gave Homestake II the go-ahead. State courts have rejected conservationists' challenges. Only Congress or federal courts can stop the project.Federal water rights are not the only devices for keeping wilderness water free-flowing. The Endangered Species Act has blocked a few water projects where an imperiled species is present. Further, a water developer must obtain a right-of-way to dam or divert water on federal lands, and under the Wilderness Act only the president can grant access for water development in wilderness areas. This "presidential exemption" has never been exercised.But the limitations do nothing in two situations. Water diversions can proceed on private inholdings within wilderness areas. Far more critically, relatively lowlying areas may be subject to diversions above the wilderness area.The best way to guarantee wilderness water rights is for Congress to demand them when it designates a wilderness. Then there can be no doubt.This is especially important in lowlying wilderness areas. Over the next several years, Congress will be considering proposals for official wilderness on BLM lands, most of which are at low elevations. So far, the agency has identified about ten million acres that Congress ought to declare as wilderness. Conservationists will press for many millions more.Low-lying wildlands like Beaver Dam sometimes need to be treated differently than areas like Holy Cross. The high-mountain areas require full natural flows: Diversions, if needed, can be made below the wilderness boundaries. As to the lower lands, cities like St. George should be accorded reasonable diversion rights if they have adopted comprehensive conservation programs and if other water sources have been tapped. But downstream wilderness areas still need substantial water rights or they will never be secure, any more than would a wilderness area that permits logging.Water developers intend to brook no compromises. In May a settlement in a long-pending Colorado wilderness dispute was near. At the eleventh hour, hard-liners demanded a guarantee that no water rights would be recognized in any future bills dealing with low-lying areas. Despite a lack of support from developers, Colorado Senator Tim Wirth (D) introduced a compromise bill in July; it would fully protect only conflict-free headwaters areas, but would allow low-lying areas to remain wilderness study areas.The debate over wilderness water rights, as wildlands issues so often do, pits conservation against consumption. Are we willing to count beauty and solitude as real things? Are we willing to reduce society's waste so as to lessen the stress on the land and water? Some of the answers will follow from our efforts to keep the meadows and noise alive at Cross Creek, to let the Virgin River flow through its deep-cut gorge, and to guarantee that new wild areas will be, as the Wilderness Act requires, places "where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man." Γêå</text>
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<text>SIERRA MAGAZINESept./ Oct. 1989</text>
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<text>zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz A DISCOURAGING HERD What has four legs and doesn't belong here? What turns singing high-country streams into silent mud-bogs? What reduces green Arizona hillsides to brown earth and dust? What wipes out entire species if they get in it's way? Hint: It goes moo. Grazing has rendered the land uninhabitable. Arizona's quail aren't significantly affected by hunting, but their numbers are affected by two factors. One is rainfall. The other goes moo. What would we do without our Western cattle? We'd prosper. Every cow evicted from our public lands would free up enough forage to support several elk, deer or antelope. The outlook for wild turkey would immediately turn brighter. Trees would return to riparian areas. Cattle fouled streams might actually become drinkable. It's a long list. The single best thing that could be done for our Western lands, far and away, would be toget the cattle off. In what other business could a few people hold as much of the continent hostage to a destructive industry with a trivial output? If any other tenants did to our property what cattle growers have done, they'd be bootted out in a flash. All the same, our nostalgia for the Old West makes us long for a happy medium. But trying to fit European cattle into arid North American ecosystems is like putting a size 12 foot into a size 8 shoe. If a rancher wants to trash his land, that's his business. But arguing about how may cattle should be allowed on our public lands is like arguing about how many termites we should allow in our houses. Ranchers should be given enough time to conquer, without undue stress, ttheir addicttion to using our public lands. After that, the cattle should go. -- Donald M. Peters (reprinted from the Arizona Republic)</text>
