One hundred years and a few months ago, in November 1922, representatives of seven Western states gathered in Santa Fe, New Mexico, to divide up a river. As we now know, the Colorado River Compact calculated each state’s share of the basin’s water based on an unusually wet period, rendering the compact’s promises suspect from the start. And those dubious promises benefited an exclusive few; left out of the discussion were all of the basin’s Indigenous nations, the nation of Mexico, and anyone who might view the river as anything other than a servant of development. Had the conversation been broader, someone might have suggested that though humans can try to make rules for water, water obeys its own.
Since the signing of the compact, Mexico has negotiated a share of the Colorado River, and 22 of the basin’s 30 federally recognized tribes have gained legal recognition of at least some of their rights to the river’s water — although many tribes are still fighting for access to that water, and for an equitable role in negotiations. The federal Bureau of Reclamation has periodically acknowledged the river’s own needs, at times allowing water to be released from Lake Powell, the reservoir behind Glen Canyon Dam, to mimic seasonal flooding and benefit downstream habitats. And, since the turn of the century, many of the basin’s largest cities have reduced their water consumption so dramatically that, even as their populations have grown, their overall water use has decreased.
At the same time, the river itself has dwindled, starved by the ongoing megadrought. The promises of the Colorado River Compact, never reliable, are now nearly empty; water levels in Lake Powell have reached record lows, threatening regional hydropower and downstream water supplies.
As HCN contributor Craig Childs writes in this issue, the demise of Lake Powell has sharply contrasting consequences. Upstream of Glen Canyon Dam, cottonwood and willow forests are making an intoxicatingly rapid recovery, and the wonders of long-drowned side canyons are being revealed. Downstream, though, the river is a less and less reliable lifeline for humans and other species, and for their respective habitats. Furious negotiations are underway throughout the basin, but a basic problem remains: The river never agreed to fulfill the compact, and it is reaching its own limits.
The Colorado River is not the only Western body of water threatening a work stoppage. Climate change and human overuse are draining the Great Salt Lake, too, and scientists now estimate that if the lake continues to shrink at current rates, it will be gone in five years. As several stories in this issue suggest, there are ways to live within our ecological means, but all of them require us to acknowledge that water gets the last word.
We welcome reader letters. Michelle Nijhuis is acting editor-in-chief at High Country News. Email her at michelle@hcn.org or submit a letter to the editor. See our letters to the editor policy.
This article appeared in the print edition of the magazine with the headline Water makes the rules.
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