Parched West Faces Many Woes

A severe water shortage brought on by yet another dry winter--coupled with the premature onset of summer--threatens to devastate the Rocky Mountain states. Conditions are so bad so early in the year, that officials fear the extended drought will debilitate the region’s economic powerhouses: agriculture, livestock and recreation.

And, forecasters warn, the tinder-dry forests could make this the worst wildfire season ever. This week, on the same day that Colorado Gov. Bill Owens announced a drought emergency and released $500,000 to fight fires, a major blaze broke out in the mountain town of Bailey, south of Denver. The fire grew to 2,100 acres Wednesday, forcing hundreds of residents to evacuate. About 1,000 homes and a dozen businesses were threatened.

Crews stood ready to defend downtown buildings as about 200 firefighters battled the blaze, with more fire crews being flown in today from the Northwest.

“We’ve got a serious situation here, and we’re really working hard,” fire information officer Terry McCann said. He said cooler weather and higher humidity Wednesday night had calmed the fire some, but said the situation remained dangerous. Some residents were allowed to return home late in the evening.

Colorado is not alone in its problems. This month governors in Montana, Wyoming, Utah and Arizona declared drought emergencies and requested a similar designation from the U.S. Department of Agriculture. The federal action would allow farmers and ranchers to receive low-interest loans to pay bills.

“It’s about as dry as it can get here,” said rancher George Whitten of the San Luis Valley, near the New Mexico line in the south-central part of the state. The area receives a mere 6 to 7 inches of moisture a year, including snowfall.

“People talk about how bad it is compared to the norm, but it seems to me like drought is the norm,” Whitten said.

While a dry spring in the East has driven lake levels in some areas to record lows and brought national attention, most of the states in this region have endured worse conditions for as long as six years.

If dry conditions persist along the Eastern Seaboard’s urban corridor, more households will likely be affected by water rationing than the sparsely populated West. But the economic implications of the Western drought are more far-reaching--it could result in higher food costs, the loss of tourism dollars and astronomical bills from fighting wildfires near housing subdivisions.

The Rocky Mountain snowpack has been at its lowest levels in decades, at 12% of normal in some areas. Now it’s gone. Even at altitudes above 11,000 feet the snow has already melted, weeks ahead of schedule. And, instead of engorging streams and rivers, the water absorbed into the desiccated soil before reaching the waterways.

Water from melted snow is vital to fast-growing communities downstream. Water levels in rivers and streams support fish and wildlife, as well as recreational activities such as boating. Water flowing into reservoirs such as Roosevelt Dam in Arizona is a source of inexpensive hydroelectric power.

Snow melt is also essential to recharge the wells and springs used by farmers and cattle growers throughout the West.

Here in the San Luis Valley, producer of most of Colorado’s meat and vegetables, flow in the Rio Grande River has been below normal for 10 of the last 14 years. The situation has led to dire predictions for the health of the valley’s $500-million agricultural economy.

Somehow, in the face of it all, locals can indulge in gallows humor. Ask state water engineer Steve Vandiver what it will take to reverse the dry trend in southern Colorado and this is the answer: “There’s a situation mentioned in the Bible that will take care of it: Rain for 40 days and 40 nights.”

The problem can be clearly seen from the kitchen of Whitten’s ranch house near Saguache Creek, north of Alamosa. The spectacular view is of the Sangre de Cristo range, source of the headwaters of the Rio Grande. The rugged peaks ought to be covered with snow to the tree line. Instead, the mountains are an unbroken gray down to brown flatland.

Whitten raises 400 head of cattle on 1,800 acres, helped by his wife, Julie Sullivan, and their border collie, Chico. To the Whittens, the drought is all about food for the cattle.

Rainfall is needed to bring up the native grasses that cattle feed on in the summer. Irrigation is necessary to grow the alfalfa or hay now that gets the cattle through the winter. Without water to grow his own food, a rancher like Whitten has to buy commercial hay or feed at high cost.

Range conditions this summer may also mean that Western ranchers won’t be allowed to graze their cattle on public lands. Bureau of Land Management supervisors in several states have already warned that unless conditions improve, ranchers with grazing permits might be turned away.

“There are some people here who will spend their life savings buying feed for their cattle this summer,” Vandiver said.

Or they will sell cows, as Whitten says he will.

Southwest cattle ranchers generally sell only calves, which are fattened at feedlots elsewhere. Selling breed stock can be a sign of financial desperation, akin to a fisherman selling his boat. Industry observers predict the Western drought will ultimately drive up beef prices by about 10%.

Similar problems among farmers are responsible for the high price of lettuce and potatoes. Likewise, Colorado’s dreadful winter wheat crop will be reflected in the increased cost of a loaf of bread.

Among ranchers here, Whitten is fortunate. His land is blessed with deep artesian wells. Most other ranchers in the valley rely on surface water. According to local officials, even those holding surface-water rights that date to the 19th century are not likely to get much flowing through their irrigation ditches.

“Water rights on paper and wet water are two different things,” said Whitten, whose rights from 1870 are not expected to get him any water.

Farmers are in better shape, for now. Most farmers have wells. But their thirsty crops need supplemental water. That means that valley farmers are deciding in the next few weeks what, if any, crops they will plant for the fall harvest.

Should ground water remain at these low levels, farmers will face worse times next year.

“I don’t think anyone has anything but apprehension right now,” said Ray Wright, a potato farmer. “Most of us will just plant less. You can’t afford to plant it and watch your crop dry up and blow away.”

At a somber meeting here Tuesday, farmers and ranchers met with local water district managers. Spread out on a conference table, depressing charts and graphs spelled out the problems facing the valley. Beneath the table, dusty boots tapped the floor in frustration.

In Alamosa, as in other Western communities, water woes end up being everyone’s problem. Farm equipment sales are down, causing the closing of all but a few local salesrooms. Automobile dealers--accustomed to selling multiple pickup trucks to ranchers--are sending salespeople home.

Only a quarter-mile from the water meeting at the Bureau of Reclamation building is the Rio Grande, a once-mighty river spawned in the nearby mountain range. The river should be at its most powerful here, near its source, then flowing to New Mexico and Texas, and, finally, into Mexico.

The view from a bridge is of standing pools and sandbars.