# data[].attributes.headline
“Native American Sacred Sites and the Department of Defense” report by Vine Deloria Jr and Richard W Stoffle, June 1998

# data[].attributes.subject
“Native American Sacred Sites and the Department of Defense” report by Vine Deloria Jr and Richard W Stoffle, June 1998

# data[].attributes.headline
“The Land Still Speaks: Traditional Cultural Property Eligibility Statements for Gold Strike Canyon, Nevada and Sugarloaf Mountain, Arizona,” by Stoffle et al, June 2000

# data[].attributes.subject
“The Land Still Speaks: Traditional Cultural Property Eligibility Statements for Gold Strike Canyon, Nevada and Sugarloaf Mountain, Arizona,” by Stoffle et al, June 2000

# data[].attributes.headline
“Shifting Risks: Hoover Dam Bridge Impacts on American Indian Sacred Landscapes,” by Stoffle et al, chapter 8 from Facility Siting: Risk, Power, and Identity in Land Use Planning, 2004

# data[].attributes.subject
“Shifting Risks: Hoover Dam Bridge Impacts on American Indian Sacred Landscapes,” by Stoffle et al, chapter 8 from Facility Siting: Risk, Power, and Identity in Land Use Planning, 2004

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Shifting Risks: Hoover Dam Bridge Impacts on American Indian Sacred Landscapes

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Shifting Risks: Hoover Dam Bridge Impacts on American Indian Sacred Landscapes

# data[].attributes.headline
“About the Hualapai Nation” by The Hualapai Department of Cultural Resources, April 2010

# data[].attributes.subject
“About the Hualapai Nation” by The Hualapai Department of Cultural Resources, April 2010

# data[].attributes.headline
“Apache-Stronghold” site about Oak Flats (2015)

# data[].attributes.subject
“Apache-Stronghold” site about Oak Flats (2015)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
As the fight continues to protect Oak Flat and our religion the 9th Circut Court has scheduled our court hearing for October 22, 2021. The Apache Stronghold has organized a convoy to San Francisco. For more information see page. "Please continue to Pray for Oak Flat and pray for the court to make the right decision to protect our holy place and acknowledge our religion so our future generations have the right to pray and believe in the blessed gift creator has given us all our Mother Earth." Dr. Wendsler Nosie Sr.

Dr. Wendsler Nosie Sr., long time opponent of the Southeast Arizona Land Exchange and former Chairman and Councilman of the San Carlos Apache Tribe, reacts to the passage of the Southeastern Arizona Land Exchange and Conservation Act in December 2014.

"The greatest sin of the world has been enacted by Arizona Senator McCain, Senator Flake, and Representatives Kirkpatrick and Gosar of Arizona by including the Southeast Arizona Land Exchange in the National Defense Authorization Act (2015). We are calling on all religious faiths, & military veterans, for this country was founded on freedom of speech, religion and worship, which has been given away to a foreign mining company."

"They declared war on our religion, we must stand in unity and fight to the very end, for this is a holy war."

"We remember those who sacrificed and defended our people. We recognize our great leaders and their respect for those who know freedom. We must guide our people to, once again, hold our destiny in our own hands. I challenge each of us to overcome the oppression and begin the process of believeing in ourselves. This must be the first step... Usen, we ask for your blessing to guide our current and future leadership so that our children and the unborn will inherit our Apache Way of Life." - Wendsler Nosie Sr.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The Apache Stronghold are individuals who come together in unity to battle continued colonization, defend Holy sites and freedom of religion, and are dedicated to building a better community through neighborhood programs and civic engagement. We work from San Carlos, Arizona connecting Apaches and other Native and non-Native allies from all over the world.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Indigenous advocates seek protections for Avi Kwa Ame following Bear Ears,” from Wyoming Public Radio, October 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Indigenous advocates seek protections for Avi Kwa Ame following Bear Ears,” from Wyoming Public Radio, October 2021

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
On Friday, President Biden signed proclamations to formally restore the boundaries of Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante national monuments in Utah. Now, Indigenous advocates in the Southwest are urging the administration to protect a sacred site in Nevada.

Taylor Patterson is the executive director of Native Voters Alliance Nevada and a member of the Bishop Paiute Tribe. She said it's been encouraging to see an Indigenous-led effort be successful.

"And I think it's created this appetite for, 'Hey, let's actually pay attention to what our tribal people are saying, and where do they see significance?'"

One place Patterson said she hopes will get more attention-Avi Kwa Ame, or Spirit Mountain, in southernmost Nevada. It's tied to at least a dozen tribes, and considered sacred to ten Yuman speaking tribes (the Mohave, Hualapai, Yavapai, Havasupai, Quechan, Maricopa. Pai Pai, and Kumeyaay) as well as the Hopi and Chemehuevi Paiute.

A that includes the Fort Mojave Indian Tribe are calling on the Biden administration to designate a 380,000-acre Ave Kwa Ame National Monument.

"Avi Kwa Ame, our place of creation, is continually threatened, and we remain steadfast in protecting our sacred land," Fort Mojave Chairman Timothy William said in a press release. "Fort Mojave looks forward to a day like today when we can come together and proclaim the Ave Kwa Ame National Monument."

The coalition says the designation would protect the area from threats such as sprawl from Las Vegas and wind and solar energy projects.
This story was produced by the Mountain West News Bureau, a collaboration between Wyoming Public Media, Nevada Public Radio, Boise State Public Radio in Idaho, KUNR in Nevada, the O'Connor Center for the Rocky Mountain West in Montana, KUNC in Colorado, KUNM in New Mexico, with support from affiliate stations across the region. Funding for the Mountain West News Bureau is provided in part by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Indigenous advocates seek protections for Avi Kwa Ame following Bears Ears

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
On Friday, President Biden signed proclamations to formally restore the boundaries of Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante national monuments in Utah. Now, Indigenous advocates in the Southwest are urging the administration to protect a sacred site in Nevada. Taylor Patterson is the executive director of Native Voters Alliance Nevada and a member of the Bishop Paiute Tribe.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Projects aim to preserve unique tribal cultural history,” from Mohave Valley Daily News, October 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Projects aim to preserve unique tribal cultural history,” from Mohave Valley Daily News, October 2021

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Projects aim to preserve unique tribal cultural history

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Hidden away in Christmas Tree Pass, less than half an hour away from Laughlin, more than 700 petroglyphs can be found at Grapevine Canyon.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Massive mine proposed at Oak Flat, sacred tribal land” by Emily Bregel from Tucson.com, April 2018

# data[].attributes.subject
“Massive mine proposed at Oak Flat, sacred tribal land” by Emily Bregel from Tucson.com, April 2018

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
The planned Rosemont Copper Mine just south of Tucson isn't the only mining controversy in Arizona.

It isn't even the biggest.

About 100 miles north of Tucson, Resolution Copper Mining wants to build a mine in Superior, a town of 2,800 people, that could yield 1 billion pounds of copper a year. That's more than four times the projected output for Rosemont Copper's planned mine in the Santa Rita Mountains, which would produce an estimated 243 million pounds of copper annually.

Resolution - owned by mining giants U.K.-based Rio Tinto and Australia-based BHP Billiton - says the mine would create 1,400 jobs and generate $61 billion over its 40-year lifespan, plus construction and clean-up time. It would extract enough copper to meet 25 percent of U.S. demand.

"If you can imagine five Super Bowls in Superior every year for 60 years, that's the level of economic boost and economic activity this mine is going to generate," said Andrew Taplin, Resolution Copper Mining's project director since October 2012.

But the project would also permanently alter an outdoor destination popular with Southern Arizonans. At the Oak Flat campground, five miles east of Superior, stone picnic tables are shaded by centuries-old oak trees. Manzanita shrubs and Mojave yucca dot the volcanic-rock boulder fields. Mountains on the horizon give way to forested canyons, where streams flow and natural pools form in the summer.

Tony Huerta, 83, who has lived in Superior since 1966, recalls days with his family grilling hot dogs or steaks at the picnic area.

"It's beautiful," he says. "That place is packed on holidays."

Resolution and its parent companies have been trying for eight years to trade 5,400 acres they already own for 2,400 acres of the Tonto National Forest, which sit above the massive ore body. They'll have another chance this fall if their land-exchange bill makes it to the floor of the U.S. House of Representatives.

But leaders in Superior and nearby Queen Valley question where Resolution will dump a projected 1.7 billion tons of mine waste tailings. Mine opponents argue that Resolution is pushing the land exchange to avoid key environmental studies that are mandated for mining on public land. They question why those studies haven't begun after more than a decade of mine planning.

"The tide is turning," said Roger Featherstone of Tucson-based Arizona Mining Reform Coalition, which has been fighting the proposal for nearly a decade. "As more and more people are aware of just exactly how destructive this proposal is, people are waking up."

ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT

Resolution estimates that the crater on Oak Flat resulting from the underground block-cave mining would be 2 miles wide and 1,000 feet deep at the center.

"It will take away everything about Superior that draws people to Superior, which is the beauty, the recreation and the inspiration for artists and photographers," said Anna Jeffrey, 54, a native of the area.

The land Resolution wants includes the 760-acre Oak Flat Withdrawal Area, which was deemed off-limits to future mining by a 1955 land order signed by President Dwight Eisenhower. The bill would overturn that order.

Critics say the mine would devastate the surface of Oak Flat, an area sacred to American Indian tribes and beloved by birders, hikers and rock climbers in the region. It would also drain a rare riparian habitat at Gaan Canyon and Queen Creek Canyon, which border the parcel of land Resolution wants to acquire.

"It's a very green and dazzling canyon set amidst the Sonoran Desert," said Mitch Stevens, a Tucson resident and weekend hiking guide with the Sierra Club. The Sierra Club fears the mine "is going to destroy the water table and the biodiversity that exists."

Tucson resident Steven Gibb, 57, is planning his fourth trip to Gaan Canyon this month. On past trips he's led between 20 and 30 Tucsonans down the canyon, rappelling down cliffs to the three cool pools at the base of the canyon. Tucson hikers clamor to join these excursions, he said.

"How often do you have those types of pools and that type of terrain in Arizona?" he said.

BLOCK-CAVE MINING

Resolution's proposed method of mining is also controversial.

The company wants to use block-cave mining, a cheaper and less labor-intensive method than the cut-and-fill mining used in Superior for 100 years.

Block-cave excavates a large amount of rock and leaves a mountain-sized void underground, making it more likely the surface will collapse, said Roy Chavez, former mayor of Superior and spokesman for the Concerned Citizens and Retired Miners Coalition, which opposes the mine. Cut-and-fill extracts a tunnel of rock, removes the ore above ground and returns 80 percent of waste into the ground, stabilizing the surface and reducing waste, said Chavez, a former miner.

It's still unclear where Resolution will dispose of the projected 1.7 billion tons of waste tailings the mine will produce. Sixteen miles west of Superior, Queen Valley residents bristled at a proposal to dump tailings at the nearby Florence Junction. In January the Queen Valley Homeowners Association approved a resolution opposing the proposal, saying hazardous dust could pollute their community and hurt property values.

Federal officials and American Indian tribes say the land-exchange bill disregards the detrimental effect the mine will have on sacred tribal land. The San Carlos Apache Tribe says its spiritual beings live within the Oak Flat, Gaan Canyon and Queen Creek area.

Towering over the town of Superior, the steep cliffs at Apache Leap - where in 1870, dozens of Apache warriors are said to have jumped rather than be taken prisoner by U.S. troops - would be vulnerable to collapse if block-cave mining is permitted around it, said the Inter Tribal Council of Arizona in a letter opposing the bill.

Tucson's neighboring Tohono O'odham and Pascua Yaqui Nations also oppose the land exchange.

Opposition from town

The land exchange no longer has the written support of the town adjacent to the project site. In February the Superior Town Council notified Resolution it was terminating an agreement that outlined the terms of cooperation between the mining company and the town. The following month the Town Council passed a resolution opposing the land-exchange bill.

Superior Mayor Jayme Valenzuela said the town supports mining, but the land-exchange bill serves the mining company more than Superior and leaves too many questions unanswered. Resolution hasn't yet completed an official mining plan of operations, which is necessary to start an environmental impact study.

"We can't move forward on a handshake and a promise," Valenzuela said. "We are in favor of the copper company moving forward. But there are assurances the town needs to be sure it's beneficial and addresses air, water and environmental issues."

Also among the town leaders' concerns: If Resolution decided to sell the Forest Service land after it was privatized, "all of Resolution's promises of monetary contributions to the town may be cancelled," a February town council press release said.

Town leaders point out the previous agreement was invalid anyway: It was approved with the vote of a former councilman who had a financial interest in the mining company. A 2012 Attorney General's office investigation found the former councilman - Hank Gutierrez - guilty of conflict of interest because he had a paid contract with Resolution at the time he voted to support the agreement. Gutierrez resigned from the council in October 2012.

Taplin, Resolution's project director, said the town council's opposition is a "serious concern to us."

"We're actively reaching out to the town council to see how we can sit down and take our relationship forward," he said. "We highly value the relationship and it's going to be very important for the long-term development of the mine."

ECONOMIC promises

Many Superior residents support Resolution's project and its promises to pull the town out of its economic slump. They point to vacant storefronts and jobless young people and speak of their faith in Resolution Copper, which has already brought money and jobs to Superior as it began preparations for the mine.

Lynn Heglie, owner of Porter's Cafe and former Town Council member, says the company has proven itself dedicated to the well-being of the town and so he supports the mine.

"I trust them. I know them," he said, eating lunch at his restaurant's bar. "That's all I can base it on."

Once a booming mining town when the now-closed Magma Mine operated, Superior is now more than $4 million in debt.

On Main Street, historic brick and adobe buildings are boarded up. The stately Magma Hotel sits empty behind a chain-link fence. More buildings are vacant and for sale than are open for business.

"When I first got here I thought, 'Oh, we don't need a mine,'" says Nancy Vogler, a six-year resident of Superior. "But you're in the copper corridor, for God's sake. Right now the poor little town has no income. We see more restaurants and businesses close up than have opened."

About 70 of Resolution's 300 employees and contractors live in Superior. That's after the company laid off 200 people this year, pointing to the costly delays in passing the land-exchange bill.

Mine employees are "the main reason why we're still open," said Kathy Long, owner of the Rolling Rock Gallery, a gift shop and mining supply store. Oak Flat "is a nice place, but right now I feel that the jobs are more important than that."

Superior residents Mary Catherine Adams and John Weber display a large sign on their fence: "We absolutely do not support Resolution Copper's land exchange."

"Money - that's an easy-come, easy-go thing," Adams said. "Land is forever."

BOOM AND BUST

For decades, Superior has weathered the "boom-and-bust" cycle of mining, and residents have suffered for it, said Kiki Peralta, a former Superior Town Council member. She argues preserving Oak Flat - which gets about 6,000 campers each year - will generate more long-term benefits than a mine with a 40-year lifespan. Last month Peralta lost a recall election and her place on the council, an action she says is directly related to her opposition to the mine.

More than 2,000 rock climbing routes around Oak Flat would become off-limits to climbers if the land exchange is approved.

But Pam Rabago, a Superior real estate agent and mine supporter, said most opponents live outside Superior and are only concerned with access to outdoor recreation - not the town's survival.

"I don't really care about the rock climbers. They're not from this area. This is not their economy," Rabago said. "This is our economy. This is our home."

Curt Shannon of the Access Fund, a national nonprofit devoted to conserving access to rock climbing areas, says public input on the issue should not be limited to Superior residents.

"This is national forest land," he said. "This is not a local issue."

Contact reporter Emily Bregel at 807-7774 or ebregel@azstarnet.com. On Twitter: @EmilyBregel

Get the latest local business news delivered FREE to your inbox weekly.

If a controversial land-exchange bill passes, Resolution Copper Mining LLC will acquire 2,400 acres of public land before it develops an envir...

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Massive mine proposed at Oak Flat, sacred tribal land

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The planned Rosemont Copper Mine just south of Tucson isn't the only mining controversy in Arizona. It isn't even the biggest. About 100 miles north of Tucson, Resolution Copper Mining wants to build a mine in Superior, a town of 2,800 people, that could yield 1 billion pounds of copper a year.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Lake Powell Pipeline Project: Draft Environmental Impact Statement/Cultural and Ethnographic Resources: The Official Southern Paiute Cultural Assessment,” prepared by Kaibab Band of Paiute Indians, February 2020

# data[].attributes.subject
“Lake Powell Pipeline Project: Draft Environmental Impact Statement/Cultural and Ethnographic Resources: The Official Southern Paiute Cultural Assessment,” prepared by Kaibab Band of Paiute Indians, February 2020

# data[].attributes.headline
“Conversations from the Pointed Firs: Poet and activist Mihku Paul” from the Main Monitor, June 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Conversations from the Pointed Firs: Poet and activist Mihku Paul” from the Main Monitor, June 2021

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Conversations from the Pointed Firs: Poet and activist Mihku Paul

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Host Peter Neill talks with poet and activist Mihku Paul about concepts of “wilderness” and her experience growing up as an indigenous native of Maine.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Sacred Spaces: How legal and cultural barriers keep Indigenous people from protecting sacred spaces off tribal land” by Krol, November 2021 (large piece)

# data[].attributes.subject
“Sacred Spaces: How legal and cultural barriers keep Indigenous people from protecting sacred spaces off tribal land” by Krol, November 2021 (large piece)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
PHOENIX - Tourists speeding toward Grand Canyon National Park rarely notice the rocky protuberance that juts above the flat expanse of Arizona's Coconino Plateau.

But to the Havasu 'Baaja, known to the world as the Havasupai Tribe or "People of the Blue-Green Water," the isolated hill forms the center of their lands and spiritual life.

Red Butte (Wii'I Gdwiisa or "Clenched Fist Mountain") is the abdomen of Mother Earth. Mat Taav Tiivjunmdva, a meadow about three miles north of the distinctive mountain close to the Canyon's South Rim, is her navel.

But Red Butte and Mat Taav Tiivjunmdva are part of the Kaibab National Forest and do not lie within the trust land borders of the Havasupai, who were evicted from Grand Canyon National Park in 1919. That means a federal agency and not the Havasupai control the land, deciding who uses it and how. It means the Havasupai must argue their interests alongside other public land users.

And often it means someone else is allowed to use the land and, in the eyes of the Havasupai, desecrate it.

Native people have always regarded certain places like mountains, springs, particular groves of trees, rock formations or petroglyph sites as sacred spaces. These sites serve as churches, much like synagogues, mosques, temples or other structures serve Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus and other religious communities.

But like Red Butte and Mat Taav Tiivjunmdva, many of these spaces lie outside of tribal trust land borders, often on public lands. Some of the most well-known places are in Arizona and the southern Colorado River Valley.

Federal laws meant to protect these spaces or Native American religious practices often come up short. Some legal experts say the federal government seems to practice a double standard when it comes to upholding the religious rights of Native people.

Tribes must deal with a revolving door of federal officials and opposition by stakeholders like recreation companies or extraction firms. They also face a lack of knowledge by the public about these places and why Indigenous people fight to keep them from harm, or at least further harm.

Rex Tilousi, late Havasupai chairman in 1992 hearing

Money is not worth the future, the destruction, the contamination of our home, the waters, the air, the earth, plant life, wildlife.

At Red Butte, the conflict has grown out of the forests and other lands surrounding the Grand Canyon, which are permeated with uranium ore that pierces the ground beneath in long, thin "breccia pipes."

The Mining Act of 1872 gives U.S. citizens the right to stake claims on federal lands. One claim led to a now-idled mine on the plateau in the vicinity of Mat Taav Tiivjunmdva.

The 750-member Havasupai Tribe, the only U.S. tribe that still lives below the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, has long been concerned about the mine. Members fear radioactive materials will contaminate their water supply and spoil the sparkling turquoise waters tourists seek out that provide tribal members with their principal revenue source, rendering what's left of their ancestral homeland uninhabitable.

The environmental damage could irreparably alter the ecology of the Canyon, the Havasupai say, and as it worsens, they could perish as a distinct people.

"When (the mining company) heard about our protest (against them), they approached us and offered us money and we told them, 'No, we don't want your money,'" the late Havasupai Chairman Rex Tilousi said during a 1992 hearing on uranium mining in Indigenous communities.

"Money is not worth the future, the destruction, the contamination of our home, the waters, the air, the earth, plant life, wildlife. When these things are contaminated, money will never cover the destruction which is going to happen if we let these mining companies come in and desecrate the areas we regard as very sacred."

The Havasupai and their environmentalist allies have lost at least two legal battles to In one case, the prevent the mine from further development. 9th Circuit Court of Appeals determined that because Red Butte had not been designated as a "historic property" eligible for inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places until 2010, the Forest Service did not have to consider the site when it conducted an environmental impact study and tribal consultation in 1986.

The tribe said its only hope to prevent any other mines from opening is a mining ban on land near the Canyon, a measure that passed the U.S. House in February and awaits Senate action.

But the mine near Red Butte would not close because it would predate the legislation.

It's that sort of bureaucratic obstacle Native people continue to fight across Arizona and the Southwest. Their long-held spiritual ties to the land have been broken by laws, redrawn boundaries and the regulations that open public lands to profitable uses.

Near Flagstaff, Arizona, the San Francisco Peaks have been the center of conflicts over reclaimed-wastewater use on a peak known as the home of the Hopi katsinam, the holy people who bring life-giving rain to the three mesas of the Hopi, among other activities. More than a dozen tribes consider the peaks sacred.

South Mountain in Phoenix, part of the nation's second-largest urban park, is a sacred space to the O'odham and Pee Posh, yet a spur of the peak was demolished for freeway construction.

Mount Graham in eastern Arizona was lost to Apaches at the stroke of a presidential pen and severely damaged by decades of logging, recreation and a huge observatory.

Oak Flat, near Superior, Arizona, is under sentence of obliteration despite being a vitally important sacred place to Apaches.

The Blythe Intaglios, some of the largest geoglyphs in the U.S., hold some protection, but others in the area are threatened by vandalism or unintentional destruction.

Tribes have tried to preserve these spaces, but they have lost court cases and administrative decisions, their spiritual claims pushed aside by the law.

And over time, these places held sacred by Indigenous people have become disputed spaces.

The federal government's philosophy of asserting moral and religious superiority over Native people may date back to a directive issued by a 15th century pope.

Steven Newcomb, Shawnee and Lenape, has studied how international law affects U.S. laws that apply to Indigenous nations and people for nearly 40 years. His research revealed that in 1493, the issuance of a papal bull, or decree, bestowed authority over the Western Hemisphere on Christian rulers.

That decree influenced how the U.S. regards Christianity as a superior religion, said Newcomb, author of "Pagans in the Promised Land: Decoding the Doctrine of Christian Discovery." U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice John Marshall referred to the " Doctrine of Discovery" in at least one of the three decisions he wrote in the early 19th century known as the Marshall Trilogy that laid the foundation of federal Indian law.

Marshall wrote that in 1496, King Henry VII of Britain commissioned explorer John Cabot to discover countries then unknown to Christians and claim them in the king's name. He asserted a right to take possession of the United States, "notwithstanding the occupancy of the natives, who were heathens, and, at the same time, admitting the prior title of any Christian people who may have made a previous discovery."

"The distinction that the chief justice made is between Christian people and Natives who are 'heathens,'" Newcomb said. "What's being used against Native nations is the Bible and Christianity, and the idea that the chosen people have been chosen to take over the lands that God bequeathed to them as an everlasting possession or inheritance."

From 1883 until 1934, the U.S. officially forbade Native American religious practices through the " Code of Indian Offenses." The document was intended to obliterate Native cultures by halting religious and cultural practices.

Retired law professor Robert N. Clinton noted in a 2008 blog post that medicine practices, Native dances, giving marriage gifts to the bride's family, traditional reciprocal gift-giving and other customs were all made punishable offenses, sometimes by denying food for violations, other times with jail terms.

Commissioner of Indian Affairs John Collier took a more progressive approach to Native issues. He issued a 1934 circular ending the practice: "The cultural liberty of Indians is in all respects to be considered equal to that of any non-Indian group."

Congress passed the American Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978, known as AIRFA. The legislation sought to reverse longtime federal policies that prohibited Indigenous people from practicing their religions.

This policy statement established federal policies to "protect and preserve for American Indians their inherent right of freedom to believe, express, and exercise the traditional religions of the American Indian, Eskimo, Aleut, and Native Hawaiians." The legislation also called for access to cultural sites, use and possession of sacred objects, and the freedom to worship.

The Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993 prohibits state or federal governments from placing substantial burdens on a person's religious exercise except under certain conditions.

Other federal laws also govern how agencies make decisions about projects on public lands and protect Indigenous cultural and religious spaces.

Marc Fink, a senior attorney with the Center for Biological Diversity, said laws like National Environmental Policy Act, or NEPA, give the public a chance to participate in public land decision making; allow for other agencies like the Environmental Protection Agency, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and state agencies to weigh in on projects; and create the opportunity for public land agencies to "look before they leap" into projects that may have an impact on ecologies.

But Fink said the courts have made clear that NEPA is a procedural law, not an enforcement act. This means federal agencies don't have to heed the reports they generate when issuing a final decision on a project known as a Record of Decision, except to comply with enforceable laws like the Endangered Species Act or the Clean Water Act.

Although these laws contain some provisions for private and state lands, NEPA and the National Historic Preservation Act of 1966, or NHPA, extend protections of cultural heritage sites, ancestral burials and landscapes primarily to public lands, said Shannon O'Loughlin, chief executive and attorney at the Association on American Indian Affairs.

She said this situation creates a "checkerboard" of cultural heritage protection among federal land, other public lands and private land.

"Our cultural heritage and sacred places should be treated with that same kind of protection holistically all across the country, not just on federal land," she said.

In some Midwestern states or along the Mississippi River, where mound-building cultures held sway for centuries before Europeans arrived, O'Loughlin said, non-Native people feel they have carte blanche to dig up and loot sacred places.

"Those states have treated those sites like they are their own cultural heritage instead of the Indigenous peoples' around them," she said.

Tribal consultation, which is mandated in all areas of federal land project proposals, is a sore subject for tribes.

"NEPA and NHPA only require that consultation processes be followed," O'Loughlin said. "To many, consultation is just a procedural check-off box."

And, she said, effective consultation depends on personnel on-site at any particular time. "It's dependent on who's staffing the agency," O'Loughlin said.

That gives federal land managers great discretion in land and resource use and protection, said John Welch, a professor at Simon Fraser University in British Columbia and head of landscape and site protection programs at Archaeology Southwest.

"Sacred sites lack specific and enforceable protections," he said.

The Arizona Republic, part of the USA TODAY Network, talked with many tribal leaders and tribal organizations who almost unanimously agreed with O'Loughlin's and Welch's assessments.

In one example, The Republic obtained a letter from the Pueblo of Zuni to President Joe Biden regarding an executive order directing the advancement of racial equity and support for underserved communities.

"Without directly, foundationally, and restoratively confronting and continually materially addressing and redressing geographical injustices of governmental and colonial-settler actions, programs, and procedures that have occurred - and continue to occur - over space and time, the Biden-Harris Administration ... cannot sincerely, meaningfully, honestly, or effectively advance any reasonable levels or forms of equity and support for Native peoples," said the letter, signed by Zuni Governor Val R. Panteah.

"On the contrary," the letter said, "the Administration will simply perpetuate and reproduce ongoing injustices of ethnically cleansing Native peoples from Native lands."

Agencies frequently make only cursory consultations or, in the worst cases, claim that simply sending a notification letter to the tribe fulfills consultation protocols. Others reach out to a tribal community only at the end of a project, which gives the tribe no opportunity to participate in discussions or to help develop the project in a way all parties can live with.

O'Loughlin, a citizen of the Choctaw Nation, contrasted cultural and sacred site protection with clean air and water legislation or endangered species protection, which are regulated nationwide and not just on public lands.

"If an eagle dies and falls on a piece of property out here, I have absolutely no right to that eagle," O'Loughlin said. "I can't take a part of it, I can't use it, and can't make something out of it. I have to call the feds."

She's referring to federal laws and regulations that protect eagles and their parts. Even as a member of a federally recognized tribe that has legal rights to own and use eagle feathers or eagle parts, O'Loughlin still must abide by these laws.

O'Loughlin said that because the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, or NAGPRA, doesn't require that burials be left in place, the government's stance seems to be, "We just have to dig it up and pay to have the ancestors stored in a museum."

The result: "There is nothing in federal law that's required for a site to be sacred," O'Loughlin said. "There's no legal requirement to save a sacred place."

The damage to Indigenous cultures from destroying sacred sites can be catastrophic, said David Martinez, an associate professor of American Indian studies at Arizona State University.

"If you put a road through a sacred site, then you put something that doesn't respect that space as belonging to the spirits that dwell there," he said. "One of the most immediate consequences is that part of your culture is likely to perish."

Native cultural rights advocates point out that the land itself is what gives a place its sacred significance. If those sites are altered or destroyed, they say, the spirituality they hold disappears.

David Martinez, associate professor of American Indian Studies at ASU

The belief of many communities is that the development has disrupted the communication between the people and the spirit.

That's because once the place contains artifacts that Martinez said Americans regard as progress, many medicine people won't return to that site.

"They think it's contaminated," said Martinez, an enrolled member of the Gila River Indian Community who is Akimel O'odham and Hia Ced O'odham.

Despite decades of studies conducted by federal agencies, Native religious practices that depend on specific sites are consistently given short shrift when land use decisions are made.

The Republic examined reports covering the past decade in Arizona and found that federal environmental impact studies carefully explain the cultural damage that could occur with project alternatives and suggest mitigation strategies, such as removal of archaeological artifacts.

Mining firms and developers argue that their projects will be environmentally sound. They promise to fund archaeological firms and hire tribal members to salvage what artifacts or plants they can before the land succumbs to excavation or paving.

But tribal cultural practitioners and legal experts say the laws and policies meant to bolster First Amendment religious rights fall far short of protecting Native religious rights. Law professors Stephanie Hall Barclay and Michalyn Steele recently published an article in the Harvard Law Review detailing those laws' shortcomings.

"The callous destruction of Indigenous sacred sites is not just a troubling relic of the past," they wrote. As recently as 2020, the U.S. blew up Apache burial sites to clear the land for the border wall. In 2018, a federal court ruled that a Native burial ground and stone altar still used for religious ceremonies could be bulldozed "merely to expand a road."

The scholars wrote that the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, the Free Exercise Clause in the First Amendment, and other such legal protections have been eviscerated by the courts when it comes to Native religion, stripping them of their ability to protect sacred sites.

Lyng v. Northwest Indian Cemetery, a case that's taught in many Indian law classes as one of the chief culprits in weakening the American Indian Religious Freedom Act, set the stage for other Native sacred site cases to come.

In 1988, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled against Northern California tribes seeking to prevent a logging road from irreparably damaging sacred sites, even after the environmental impact study recommended against the U.S. Forest Service constructing the road.

"Even assuming that the Government's actions here will virtually destroy the Indians' ability to practice their religion, the Constitution simply does not provide a principle that could justify upholding respondents' legal claims," Justice Sandra Day O'Connor wrote on behalf of the majority.

The court also wrote that the federal government has the right to use its land however it decides, and that if the government does not force a tribe or tribal member to forgo a government benefit such as Social Security or other benefit to practice their religion, there is no substantial burden on those religious practices.

"When the government has created an obstacle that physically impedes the ability of Christian worshippers to access their sacred spaces, we view this as a particularly egregious burden on religious exercise," wrote Barclay, a non-Indian, and Steele, who isa citizen of the Seneca Nation of Indians of New York. "But when the government desecrates, destroys, and removes access to Indigenous sacred sites - making previous religious ceremonies physically impossible at those locations - the coercion evaporates."

Barclay and Steele agreed with O'Loughlin's assessment that protected species often receive more protections than do Indigenous people for their religious practices on government land.

In recent years, several sacred and cultural sites in Arizona and Southern California have been threatened or damaged. Tribal cultural practitioners and advocates say they have been spiritually, chemically or physically contaminated, resulting in cultural and religious losses, sometimes forever.

"The belief of many communities is that the development has disrupted the communication between the people and the spirit," Martinez said.

And if ceremonies cease to take place at that site, he said, or if medicine people or other cultural practitioners quit practicing their religion, the cultures suffer from neglect and can eventually perish.

Sacred lands still face new threats. One development that concerns the Mojave as well as the Quechan, the Chemehuevi and other southern desert people is the expansion of solar plants.

"With the encroachment of solar," Colorado River Indian Tribes Chairwoman Amelia Flores said, "we have tried to establish a relationship with the BLM, since it controls those lands that hold sites that our ancestors carved out, whether it be the petroglyphs, the rock shrines or even the trails."

About 10 million acres of Bureau of Land Management-controlled lands in the Mojave and Sonoran deserts in California fall under the Desert Renewable Energy Conservation Plan.

Developed by federal and state agencies, the plan, which encompasses a total of 22.6 million acres of federal and nonfederal lands, acknowledges the rich cultural and tribal heritage of southeastern California as well as a diverse range of plants and animals like desert tortoises, which are threatened. The plan seeks to protect sensitive cultural and ecological sites while allowing for solar plants in selected places.

But tribes are still concerned that the millennial-long evidence of their existence in the harsh lands will disappear underneath bulldozers and pavement. Environmental groups share that concern, particularly after the Trump administration attempted to amend the plan to allow for faster approvals of renewable energy projects and broadband infrastructure. The Biden administration rescinded that move in February.

Biden has made tribal consultation and building stronger intergovernmental relations a priority. The day he took office, Biden issued a memorandum to federal agencies that he said reaffirmed the principles of the Clinton-era executive order.

A memorandum of understanding created cross-agency protocols for sacred site protection in 2012. The original agreement was slated to expire in 2017 but was extended through 2024.

On her first day in office in March, Interior Secretary Deb Haaland met with several Native American journalists, including a Republic reporter, about her goals in managing the nation's largest agency. During the online meeting, she pledged to give tribes a greater voice in public land management.

"I want to make sure that every tribe has an opportunity to speak to me, to speak to other agencies across the federal government, and that those voices are extremely important," she said. "I want the era where tribes have been on the back burner to be over, and I want to make sure that they have real opportunities to have a seat at the table."

The Interior Department declined further comment for this story.

The Forest Service "committed to ensuring a consistent level of protection for American Indian and Alaska Native sacred sites on National Forest System lands," said an Agriculture Department spokesperson.

The agency has a strong working relationship with the Interior Department and has a goal of reviewing and updating the interagency sacred site protection memorandum of understating, the spokesperson said. The agency also wants to ensure that "tribes have a proper voice on land issues about Indian sacred sites."

Cora Maxx-Phillips, Navajo human rights activist

Our spiritual ties with nature is something that will never be understood outside of Indigenous cultures.

Native rights supporters suggest a variety of moves that can help make protecting cultural and sacred sites easier, or at least not as fraught as in past years.

Consultation early and often between tribes and agencies is one strategy that can help protect sacred sites, said O'Loughlin.

"We need to define consultation as a substantive right and manage it that way," she said.

As some Indigenous groups are doing in other nations, tribes could find resources to evaluate religious and cultural heritage sites in advance of proposed uses like mines and logging. Those evaluations would be held as confidential by the tribal government unless they're needed, O'Loughlin said.

The Zuni tribal letter called for the assessment and transformation of the National Historic Preservation Act and National Environmental Protection Act that the tribe said create structural barriers to tribal input and respect for tribal cultural values.

These and other such laws embed the concept of tribal cultural material as archeological, which the tribe said enables governments to "de-legitimize nonarchaeological claims about the role of material culture in supporting claims to certain cultural affiliations and traditions and, thus land."

Martinez said more Americans should recognize that cultures are worth protecting.

"I think that American society is still influenced by this archaic melting pot ideology that became popularized 100 years ago with Teddy Roosevelt's political agenda," he said. "That ideology was imposed upon Indians in the reservation system, including the whole boarding school project, to assimilate into the American melting pot."

Cultural preservation should be regarded as a vital part of democracy and not just within the realm of historians and anthropologists, Martinez said.

"It's America's agenda for its future, because the more diversity that exists, including Indigenous diversity, I think the better it is for a democracy like the United States, which purports to represent a broad spectrum of people, and it presumes to have people from all parts of the globe living here."

Martinez hopes to educate people to understand that when they hear an Indigenous culture is under threat, they respond in the same manner as they would if they heard whales are in danger. In other words, he said he wants people to "feel more outrage that these things are happening in the first place."

Cora Maxx-Phillips, a Navajo human rights activist, said the issue goes far beyond how laws are interpreted. "When we come to the word 'sacredness,' Westernized society does not have an inkling as to what that is," she said. "Our spiritual ties with nature is something that will never be understood outside of Indigenous cultures."

But Maxx-Phillips also has an idea how to resolve that misunderstanding. "I'm looking at how we begin working on doing some more cross-cultural understanding," she said.

"I think that, that will maybe help us in trying to understand our humanity."

Follow reporter Debra Krol on Twitter: @debkrol.
Arizona Republic coverage of Indigenous issues at the intersection of climate, culture and commerce is supported by the Catena Foundation and the Water Funder Initiative.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
How legal and cultural barriers keep Indigenous people from protecting sacred spaces off tribal land

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
PHOENIX - Tourists speeding toward Grand Canyon National Park rarely notice the rocky protuberance that juts above the flat expanse of Arizona's Coconino Plateau. But to the Havasu 'Baaja, known to the world as the Havasupai Tribe or "People of the Blue-Green Water," the isolated hill forms the center of their lands and spiritual life.

# data[].attributes.headline
“A River Once Ran Through It,” about the Colorado River Delta, published on NWF in February 2002

# data[].attributes.subject
“A River Once Ran Through It,” about the Colorado River Delta, published on NWF in February 2002

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The Colorado River Delta was an oasis for wildlife and people until the water stopped flowing.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Environment and Ecology of the Colorado River Basin, by Natalie Triedman, 2012

# data[].attributes.subject
“Environment and Ecology of the Colorado River Basin, by Natalie Triedman, 2012

# data[].attributes.headline
“Do some work for me: Settler colonialism, professional communication, and representations of Indigenous water” by Jane Griffith, January 2018

# data[].attributes.subject
“Do some work for me: Settler colonialism, professional communication, and representations of Indigenous water” by Jane Griffith, January 2018

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Do some work for me : Settler colonialism, professional communication, and representations of Indigenous water

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The Bureau of Reclamation, a federal agency within the Department of the Interior, is responsible for diverting, delivering, and storing water in the Western U.S. It controls hydroelectric dams and irrigation projects that require Indigenous lands and waterways to operate; it is further a settler colonial institution in that its projects enable non-Indigenous settlement.

# data[].attributes.headline
“In a desert, I learned to fish,” by Maya L Kapoor (on dams), June 2018

# data[].attributes.subject
“In a desert, I learned to fish,” by Maya L Kapoor (on dams), June 2018

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
After a lifetime of recreational pacifism, I hooked my first catch. Kneeling on the sandy gravel beside the lake, I pinned the fish to the ground with my left hand and gripped a slender knife in my right. Then, I paused. I knew, in theory, how to cut off the head of a fish. But when I actually held a fish in my hands, I hesitated, a cold wind raising goosebumps on my arms. I huddled over the motionless trout with my back to the sun. I had no idea what I was doing.

I had no idea what anyone else there was doing, either. Arizonans, I'd recently learned, love fishing. Arizonans love fishing to the point of damming creeks, moving earth, building lakes, and trucking fish in, just to catch them. In 2001, while the U.S. economy sank, people in Arizona spent more than $800 million on fishing-related costs, from rods and reels to lodging and fuel. Native Arizona trout species face extinction, thanks in part, to the competition, inbreeding and predation of the browns and rainbows introduced for sport. But no matter: Brown and rainbow trout flourish in Arizona's built water systems, including reservoirs, urban lakes and streams. Brown trout were originally a European species; rainbows evolved in rivers on the West Coast of North America, near the Pacific Ocean.

The more I tried to understand fishing in Arizona, the less sense it made to me. I preferred waterways undammed, species locally unique. Then, a few years ago, I spent a weekend in a cabin near Rose Canyon Lake with three other anglers. At the water's edge, I tried out bobber fishing - the kind you do on a sleepy Sunday, not exactly A River Runs Through It material - to see if I could make sense of the practice of this sport in such an arid place.

It was February, and Rose Canyon Lake, in the Santa Catalina Mountains north of Tucson, was peaceful. Young ponderosas and manzanitas leaned in from the edges of the canyon, jays calling from their branches; cattails fringed the water, their white fluff floating in the breeze. Patches of snow lingered in the shade, and sheets of ice covered the shallows, even as sunlit ripples sparkled across the lake.

During the high season, May to October, anglers crowd the water's edge for a fishing spot, but that morning I counted only three other groups. Four men in Army fatigues heckled each other on a dock across the lake. Once in a while their voices carried, as they teased one another about the size of their catches ("That's not a fish! I don't know what that is!") and the relative hopelessness of their fishing techniques. To my left were two peaceable old men in dirty leather cowboy hats. "You never take more than your catch allowance, right?" they drawled at us. " That wouldn't be right." On our right, too far away to hear, three young Latino fathers and their little boys fished, occasionally shooting a BB gun at the sky. When nothing bit, the children giggled and chased each other into patches of sun, keeping warm.

The fish I'd caught gleamed in the morning light. The most natural motion seemed to be sawing a line under its pectoral fins, like slicing a loaf of bread. "Do it fast," said Jess, a short, fit woman with blond hair who was a native fish researcher at the University of Arizona and my teacher for the weekend. "Don't saw!" A quick decapitation was a humane decapitation. In theory, the fish was dead already, but there was a small chance that snapping its back hadn't kill it. Lacking a trout-sized guillotine, I held my breath, pressing the blade into the trout's flesh.

Brown trout always sounded to me like the name of a muddy animal consigned to silted ponds, something named in opposition to its prettier, more popular, rainbow sister. But my brown trout was beautiful, with leopardine spots on skin that shone silver in the sun, flashes of crimson under its gills. The trout was surprisingly soft under my cold palm, its skin like silk against my own. I had expected it to feel dead - rough, cold, stiff, like something that came out of the grocer's freezer. Instead, under my hand, I felt taut skin binding lithe muscle into form. I didn't want to admit this to Jess or the others in my group, but I was enchanted by the fish. My fish was a survivor, too, at least until I hooked it: According to the Arizona Game and Fish Department, brown trout released in Rose Canyon Lake took several years to grow to its size.

My fish was part of Arizona's giant angler economy. In better weather, wildlife managers dropped fish into Rose Canyon Lake about once a month, and just as quickly, anglers pulled them out again. The trout before me, motionless on the shoreline, existed for what is called put-and-take fishing. On a published schedule, hundreds of 11-inchers were thrown into the lake, along with the occasional "incentive" fish - giants bred at the state hatcheries. With my $63 non-resident fishing permit, I had become a part of that economy. I wondered what else I was part of now. If these fish were grown indoors and stocked outside for me to catch, was this an escape from, or an extension of, my urbanized life?

I sat back on my heels, wiped the bloody knife clean on my jeans, and grinned at the fish head gazing up at me from the ground. Jess, who had lent me her knife, was not impressed. "You've got to be careful closing your eyes," she said. "Sometimes the body jumps. You could cut your hand." I did not tell Jess that the first time I tried to open a can of sardines, I ended up getting stitches. Instead, I proudly studied my bloody handiwork. Where there had been one whole fish, two pieces now lay in the dirt. I was now a participant in a quintessential American pastime, the catching and eating of a meal. This wasn't just so I could text my siblings pictures of fish guts while they were at work (though I did); I wanted to have the full fishing experience - to take responsibility for my catch by turning it into dinner. How else would I understand the culture of fishing, where this kind of thing was normal? Plus, to be honest, my diet was mostly vegetarian, and I really just wanted to eat some fish.

One of my neighbors, a middle school science teacher in his 40s, did not understand why I had never been fishing before. He told me his grandfather had taken him when he was a kid. I explained that my grandfather had been a vegetarian.

"What are you," he asked, "Pentecostal or something?" His question confused me. Were Pentecostals vegetarian? I had a vague idea they did something with snakes.

"We're Hindu," I said. Later, other friends assured me that vegetarianism was not a Pentecostal tradition. It was a Hindu one, though. My family was extremely open-minded about personal interpretations of our traditions (my parents loved a good steak), but I had been vegetarian on and off for 21 years at the time of my fishing trip. I was willing to relax my food rules, though, if it would bring me closer to understanding why we had a recreational fishing industry in the desert.

"Put the knife in here," Jess said, indicating the orifice through which the fish, until recently, conducted its reproductive business. "Then hold the knife at an angle and cut up." I held the fish on its side and slid the knife into the flesh, then pushed it away from my abdomen and through the sternum. The fish fell open like a book; together, Jess and I read the chapters of its life. "It's female," Jess said, digging the fish's ovaries out from where they lay underneath the digestive system. "Look - full of eggs." Jess handed me a translucent orange sac, long and skinny like a tiny hot dog, crammed with little shining beads. "She's early to be this fertile. It's only February." She was ready to breed when she swallowed the hook.

"Here's her liver, I don't know what it's doing up here," Jess continued, indicating a dark, smooth organ. I held the glistening liver in my fingers. The stomach was a rubbery white tube shaped like a flower on one end. The swim bladder, deflated, barely showed against the fish's back.

After I'd removed everything, I ran the back of my thumb nail up the fish's spine, bottom to top, the way I had seen Jess do with other fish, scraping out the last of the congealed blood. There. My fish was clean - minus the dirt, gravel and dead grass pasted all over it.

It would have been easy for me to discount my trout, to look around and reject the whole situation. Environmental economists talk about existence value, how something can matter to people even if they never get to see it. Polar bears had existence value to me. So did whales. On a local level, so did native biodiversity. Native desert trout, formed by our capricious waterways, impressed me with their strength of body, their endurance. Whether or not I ever saw a Gila trout or an Apache trout - Arizona's state fish - in the wild, I wanted to know they were out there, streaking through clear water, stalking caddis flies, leaning into currents. Other Arizonans agreed: Our endangered species management was funded by a voter-approved measure that apportioned some of the state's lottery tax for conservation.

I asked Jess if the remnant of the natural creek feeding Rose Canyon Lake harbored native fish species. Her answer was no; the lake was artificial, and prior to its construction, no trout swam on Mount Lemmon. Here, in high mountains looming above the Sonoran Desert, we built a lake and put in fish. We put in roads, walkways, docks; added crayfish; built houses; shot some animals; raised and released others. All this, so I could go fishing. There may not have been native fish swimming around the creek burbling nearby as I sat flicking entrails into cattails, but their ghosts nibbled at the edges of my conscience. If the point of managing Arizona's water systems was to protect native biodiversity and natural systems, then Rose Canyon Lake was a spectacular failure.

But if the point was getting people out of the city and into the forest, Rose Canyon Lake was a success. Across the West, the story was more complex than recreational fisheries competing with native trout fisheries. All of the region's trout species, whether introduced or native, depend to some extent on human husbandry. Like rainbows and browns, native trout live in water left over from thirsty crops and cities. Native trout, too, come from fisheries, where managers struggle to keep the fish's behavior wild, their genetics diverse. Native trout take rides by mule, backpack, even helicopter, to be stocked in their historic ranges, then rescued from fires. Perhaps this is the truly quintessential American pastime: managing all of our outdoor landscapes, deciding what lives where, and why.

Jess instructed me to wash off my fish. I held the trout in my palms and dipped her gently in the lake. The frigid water made my hands ache; cursing earnestly, I swished the fish, then tossed her onto the frozen shallows to keep cool. I rubbed my benumbed fingertips and looked around for something non-fishy to eat. To catch one fish and kill it wasn't the point of learning to fish. I was genuinely trying to adopt a hobby, at least for a day. So after a snack, I baited my hook with a new smorgasbord of fish treats - fake maggots, salmon eggs, something that looked like orange play-dough.

"Aim for right next to that big log," Jess said. "If I were a trout, that's where I would live."

I decided that if I did catch another fish - which seemed unlikely, given that I felt guilty even looking at the live earthworms Jess brought, and that I wasn't having any luck with any of her fluorescent artificial baits, not even the sparkly pink one or the fake salmon eggs laced with something called "SEXattract" - I would release it. I wondered if I could release, too, all of the contradictions swirling inside me. To the part of me that enjoyed the adventure, release meant finding a way to live in the landscape, not just near it. But perhaps I also needed to release my idea of untrammeled nature. Managed landscapes and wild landscapes are strung by a taut line. Increasingly, as Arizona's population grows and its climate becomes hotter and drier, Arizonans will choose what swims in our water, and even where that water flows.

I carried my rod to a flat spot on the water's edge, looked around to make sure no other humans were close enough for me to hook, and snapped out a cast that smacked the water right in front of me. Swearing luridly - I seem to have gotten that part of fishing down - I turned my reel, bringing in the hook so I could try again.

Maya L. Kapoor is an associate editor for High Country News. Follow @Kapoor_ML

Read more

More from Fish

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
After a lifetime of recreational pacifism, I hooked my first catch. Kneeling on the sandy gravel beside the lake, I pinned the fish to the ground with my left hand and gripped a slender knife in my right. Then, I paused. I knew, in theory, how to cut off the head of a fish.

# data[].attributes.headline
“The country’s cheapest water is in the West’s driest cities,” by Kapoor, October 2018

# data[].attributes.subject
“The country’s cheapest water is in the West’s driest cities,” by Kapoor, October 2018

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
If water were priced according to demand, many Westerners would be smelly and thirsty. But water is a necessity, and demand-based pricing would be unethical. Instead, many cities rely on block pricing for residential use, charging different amounts for essential water and for additional water. Done right, block pricing should encourage conservation while still letting everyone meet their needs: The cost of essential water, used for basics such as clothes washing, staying hydrated, bathing or cooking, is low, while additional water - say, for growing a lush lawn in the desert - costs more. But according to new research, that's not the reality across the West.

Economists and a public policy expert at the University of Minnesota who looked into block pricing for water in the nation's largest urban areas, including 11 Western cities, discovered a pattern they conclude is neither sustainable nor just: Many of the driest cities have the cheapest water prices. What's more, for households across the West, the average price of water goes down as use goes up.

The researchers used the Natural Resources Defense Council's 2010 Water Sustainability Index rankings - which combine factors such as climate change projections, drought vulnerability and future demand - to predict water scarcity for the biggest cities in the nation's 35 most populous metropolitan areas. They used approximately 6,000 gallons as a "generous" estimate of how much water a family of four in one home needs each month for basics. (Across the nation, Americans in this category actually use, on average, almost 9,000 gallons each month.)

Phoenix, a region facing extreme risk for water scarcity, charges $27 for the first 6,000 gallons per month, the lowest price for essential residential water. Meanwhile, the most expensive water prices are in some of the West's wettest cities, including Seattle, which charges about $150 for the same amount.

As alarming as it may be for water to cost so little in a desert city with an average rainfall of just eight inches a year, Phoenix's water management policy is arguably more just, because necessary water is cheap, while additional water is more expensive. Phoenix charges 55 percent more for additional water use, more than any other Western city, and per capita water use has fallen in recent decades even as the city has grown. Still, the West overall has catching up to do: The greatest charge for additional water use nationally is in Miami, where nonessential water costs 73 percent more than essential water.

Indeed, in almost all of the Western cities studied, water costs less on average when used more. For example, in Sacramento, a northern California city with an extreme water scarcity risk, nonessential water costs 75 percent less to use than essential water.

Regulations can create a hurdle for Western cities hoping to use block pricing to make water access both sustainable and fair. In California, for example, state law Proposition 218 outlaws water prices that are higher than the cost of providing water. That rule effectively stops block pricing from being a sustainability tool, because high prices on nonessential water can't be used to encourage conservation or to keep the price of essential water low. Meanwhile, as Western cities struggle to solve their water pricing dilemma, it's only getting worse: Climate change is making water shortages ever more likely in the West's most populous places, but with current policies, future water shortages will be difficult to meet in a way that's fair.

Maya L. Kapoor is an associate editor at High Country News. Email her at [email protected] . Follow @kapoor_ml

Read more

More from Water

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
The country's cheapest water is in the West's driest cities

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
If water were priced according to demand, many Westerners would be smelly and thirsty. But water is a necessity, and demand-based pricing would be unethical. Instead, many cities rely on block pricing for residential use, charging different amounts for essential water and for additional water.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Indigenous Water Justice,” by Barbara Cosens, et al 2018

# data[].attributes.subject
“Indigenous Water Justice,” by Barbara Cosens, et al 2018

# data[].attributes.headline
“Unsettling Indian Water Settlements: The Little Colorado River, the San Juan River, and Colonial Enclosures,” by Andrew Curley, April 2019

# data[].attributes.subject
“Unsettling Indian Water Settlements: The Little Colorado River, the San Juan River, and Colonial Enclosures,” by Andrew Curley, April 2019

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
(PDF) Unsettling Indian Water Settlements: The Little Colorado River, the San Juan River, and Colonial Enclosures

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
PDF | In the United States, indigenous nations are settling water claims for access to the continent’s surface waters. This legal‐political process... | Find, read and cite all the research you need on ResearchGate

# data[].attributes.headline
“Water rights for tribes is environmental justice” on azcapitoltimes.com, February 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Water rights for tribes is environmental justice” on azcapitoltimes.com, February 2021

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
This month, the comment period for a potentially landmark piece of legislation ended. Since California v. Arizona in 2000, the Colorado River Indian Tribes have the sole rights to more than 600,000 acres-feet of water from the Colorado River, but they are barred from selling or leasing any of this water to outside communities.

The proposed federal legislation , led by the tribes themselves, would allow them to lease some of this water as long as they reduce their own water consumption by an equivalent amount. This bill will not only empower native communities to use the resources they are entitled to, but it will also represent a significant step in the preservation of the Colorado River by ensuring a more efficient use of Arizona's water resources.

It seems obvious that an organization given the sole right to use a resource should be able to use that resource for their own benefit. Unfortunately for the tribes, the obviousness of the situation only adds to the cruelty of the joke. Tribal water should be some of the most valuable in the West, and yet they are entirely barred from capitalizing on the value.

The consequences of this aren't imaginary - they are lived out by members of the tribes every day. Per capita tribal income is a mere $16,000 per year, a full $10,000 dollars per year less than the average Arizonian. Water leases, however, provide a solution to this poverty. If the government were to allow the tribes to lease their water, it would inject much needed cash into the local economy, raising the standard of living and spurring commercial growth.

But, economic development isn't the bill's only benefit. It also has the ability to help solve one of the West's most pressing issues: water rights. By , the flow of the Colorado River will be low enough to consistently threaten hydroelectric power generation. By , Western states will draw 3.2 million more acre feet of water than the Colorado produces, a deficit greater than Arizona and Nevada's water allotment combined. The draft bill would change that.

A revolutionary effect of the legislation is that it incentivizes conservation. Because water supply would be an economic commodity, the tribes will have every reason to be frugal with that water, turning every gallon saved into a dollar earned.

This incentive could mean that unproductive land lies fallow, saving vast quantities of water without significantly reducing crop yield. However, it will also extend to water conservation projects that would otherwise be impossible. Modernized canal systems and subsurface drip irrigation would otherwise be far too costly to justify at the moment, but these new economic incentives will make these programs profitable.

There is still much work to be done in order for this legislation to be considered by Congress. However, with a new president comes new opportunities, both for the people of this country and the incoming administration. If President Biden wants to pass meaningful environmental legislation within his first 100 days, then there is a prime candidate: the Colorado River Indian Tribes Leasing Agreement.
Isaac Humrich, a senior at Sunnyslope High School in Phoenix,is a member of American Conservation Coalition.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Water rights for tribes is environmental justice

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
This month, the comment period for a potentially landmark piece of legislation ended. Since California v. Arizona in 2000, the Colorado River Indian Tribes have the sole rights to more than 600,000 acres-feet of water from the Colorado River, but they are barred from selling or leasing any of this water to outside communities.

# data[].attributes.headline
“A sacred river in danger: native communities fear the future along the Colorado River” by Will Lowry, July 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“A sacred river in danger: native communities fear the future along the Colorado River” by Will Lowry, July 2021

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
A sacred river in danger: native communities fear for the future along the Colorado River

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
A 22-year drought has left the river a shadow of its former self

# data[].attributes.headline
“Tribes Struggle for Water in Colorado River Basin as Drought Sears the West” by Paloma Green, July 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Tribes Struggle for Water in Colorado River Basin as Drought Sears the West” by Paloma Green, July 2021

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
With the west in extreme drought, Lake Mead, fed by the Colorado River and formed by the Hoover Dam, reached historic lows in June. The water level continues to fall, continuing a trend that began more than 20 years ago.

The Federal government is expected to declare a water shortage in the lower basin of the Colorado River by 2022 at the latest, which will trigger mandatory water cuts in Arizona and Nevada.

These cuts will particularly impact farmers. But they are likely to hit indigenous communities particularly hard, as they have struggled to get their legal share of Colorado River water for years-even when those waters have been abundant.

"Water issues in the west are already difficult to deal with, even when the water is there," Jason John, director of water resources for the Navajo Nation, told Newsweek. "And when the water is not there, it just makes everything that much harder to deal with."

American Indians are 19 times more likely to not have access to running water, according to the Washington, D.C.-based non-profit US Water Alliance. The Navajo Nation, located in the Colorado River Basin, is the largest reservation in the United States. It is comprised of more than 17 million acres in northeastern Arizona, southeastern Utah, and northwestern New Mexico, and is roughly the size of West Virginia.

In 2020 about a third of the more than 330,000 people in the Navajo Nation didn't have running water. That made the impact of COVID-19 particularly intense, as the Nation had the highest per-capita rate of COVID-19 in the U.S. in May 2020.

"The past year has just been really difficult for many families on the Navajo Nation," John said. "Just because of the combination of the pandemic [and] the drought, [It has] really stretched families to depend on one another and depend on assistance and things like that to get through."

In Chinle Valley, Arizona, which lies within the Navajo Nation, an irrigation system fed by waters from the Colorado River normally supplies farms on the reservation.

But not now.

"This year, there's no water for them," John told Newsweek.

Drought is not the only barrier to access for the Navajo Nation or other tribes in the Colorado River Basin.

All tribes have legal reserved rights to water, however these rights are not quantified. In order to gain a quantified right, tribes need to get the state they are in to adjudicate the right. The Navajo Nation crosses three state lines: Arizona, New Mexico and Utah, so they need settlements in all three.

Currently, the Navajo Nation has a reached a settlement with New Mexico, and gained one in Utah at the end of 2020. John said they have been trying unsuccessfully for more than a decade to adjudicate their water rights in Arizona.

"By attaching state law water requirements to settlements and those kinds of things, that absolutely undermines and usurps the whole nature of sovereignty and acknowledgement," Daryl Vigil, water administrator of the Jicarilla Apache Nation, which is also located in the Colorado River Basin, told Newsweek.

Even when tribes have gained a settlement they often still can't access their water.

There are 30 federally recognized tribes in the Colorado River Basin that collectively have rights to 3.2 million acre-feet (MAF), or about 25 percent of the River's water. Yet much of this water gets left behind.

"Tribes in the Colorado River Basin don't fully utilize their right, because they don't have the resources to maximize that benefit," Aaron Payment, vice president of the National Congress of American Indians, told Newsweek, "and that is a failure of the treaty and trust responsibility of the federal government."

Building water infrastructure is quite expensive, and the federal government has rarely provided assistance to the tribes for those projects.

"The Navajo Nation has been consistently asking the federal government to live up to the promise of building out the Navajo Indian Irrigation Project (NIIP)," John said. "The 110,000 acres of it is probably about 75 to 85 percent there. It's just a lack of funding from the federal government to complete that project."

NIIP construction began in 1964 and has yet to be completed, leaving the Navajo Nation unable to use it to gain access to their full settlement.

"The more tribal water that doesn't get developed, it just means that there's more water in the system for everybody else," John said. "And when other non-tribal entities start using the water, it's very hard to take it away."

Without the infrastructure to use their settlements, some tribes want to lease their waters out. But some settlements don't allow leasing. The Colorado River Indian Tribe is currently requesting their leasing rights from Arizona. Even tribes that have leasing rights can't lease water out of state, as they are not seen under the Law of the River as being equal to states.

The Law of the River refers to the laws that govern the Colorado River, primarily founded on the Colorado River Compact. The Compact was agreed upon in 1922 by the basin states. The Compact splits the river into lower and upper basins and dictates how much of the river water is apportioned to each of the states.

The business committee of an Indian tribe takes exception to that aspect of the Law.

"Given that the tribal water right is a direct apportionment of the river share, and as a result Tribes have equal status to states in the management and operation of the river, and the fact that Indian tribes' water right are presently perfected rights, upper basin Indian water rights should be allowed to lease to downstream water users," The Ute Indian Tribe (UIT) business committee wrote to Newsweek.

Vigil, the water administrator of the Jicarilla Apache Nation, said the group that drew up the original Law of the River was far from representative.

"If you've ever seen that picture of the kind of the group that was responsible for the Colorado River Compact it's just a group of like 12 older white gentlemen," Vigil said. "And you know that picture really hasn't changed. There's a whole bunch of inherent bias, injustice, racism built into the systems that exist, in terms of the allocation to tribal sovereignty."

In 2007 due to the declining levels of Lake Mead, the Colorado River Interim guidelines were created and put into effect. Those guidelines are currently under review.

"Negotiations [for the interim guidelines] are starting again, and the state of Arizona continues to be very protective of other interests in the state," John said. "So it doesn't seem like much is changing when it comes to water in the West."

In 2019, the seven basin states along with Mexico agreed on The Drought Contingency Plan. Arizona, California, Nevada and Mexico all took voluntary cuts. As to Native American representation, only the Gila River Indian Tribe and Colorado River Indian tribe participated in the drafting of the plan, and only because they fought to be at the table.

"There has not been any meaningful inclusion and consultation related to the operation and management of the Colorado River," the UIT Business Committee wrote to Newsweek. "In as far as serious consultations and participation with the federal government and the states, the management and operations of the River has continued to be a red line where Indian Tribes are not allowed."

And UIT continues to be denied a seat at the table, the Committee said.

"In fact, the UIT, being a major water apportionment holder in the Upper Basin of the Colorado River, has requested to be a participating member of the Upper Colorado River Commission," they said. "Thus far, the UIT request has been met with deaf ears."

The Biden administration and the Department of Interior have both put climate change and Indigenous consultation at the forefront of their policies. Biden issued an executive order in January that gave all departments 90 days to engage in tribal consultation. According to Payment, it worked-his schedule was packed with consultations after the order went out.

"I'm excited with the respectful nature of this administration and the reach out back to tribes, and so I think there's a lot of hope," he said.

On the California- Oregon border, the Klamath basin is also experiencing a drought. The New York Times reported that farmers have been protesting water cuts at the entrance to the gates to the basin. Many farmers are threatening to breach the gates by force. The last time the Bureau of Reclamation cut off water to farmers there was in 2001, that is exactly what they did, and the Bureau relented and released some water.

The Associated Press reported that at this time there simply isn't enough water in the Klamath Basin to meet all the demand.

The Colorado River Basin, unlike the Kamalth Basin, is not quite at a breaking point.

"There are agreements and mechanisms in place to protect the reservoir from hitting critical levels," Patti Aaron, the external affairs officer for the Bureau of Reclamation lower Colorado region office, told . "So, although it's concerning, it is not at a critical level."

If the federal government declares a Tier One shortage for the lower basin of the Colorado River, the Central Arizona Project (CAP) will cut its water delivery by 70 percent.
CAP is a series of canals in Arizona that delivers water from the Colorado River. Farmers will feel the cut the most, as their water allocation from CAP will be cut by 65 percent.

"During a [time of] limited resources, that's where conflict flares up right. And so states are not going to want to share those resources," Payment said. "But irrespective of the drought, tribes are still entitled to their reserved rights and fully entitled to their reserved rights, and that also would include any additional infrastructure to help them to gain access to those rights."

But the UIT insisted that the water shortage is unlikely to lead to violence.

"There should be little or no fear of water-related violence similar to that of the Klamath River in the Colorado River, especially if Secretary Haaland takes a bold and asserted initiative that is inclusive of the major Colorado River share of water holders including the Tribes, the states and the federal government," the Committee said.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Tribes struggle for water in Colorado River Basin as drought sears the west

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
With the west in extreme drought, Lake Mead, fed by the Colorado River and formed by the Hoover Dam, reached historic lows in June. The water level continues to fall, continuing a trend that began more than 20 years ago.

# data[].attributes.headline
“The Colorado River is drying up. Here’s how that affects Indigenous water rights,” by Mark Armao, October 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“The Colorado River is drying up. Here’s how that affects Indigenous water rights,” by Mark Armao, October 2021

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Share/Republish

As a child, Preston J. Arrow-weed lived near a stretch of the Colorado River that traced a wide, sweeping curve through the Fort Yuma-Quechan Reservation, which straddles the border of California and Arizona. The tribal elder recalls the way the river would swell during certain seasons, as rain or runoff upriver would send sediment-laden water coursing through the channel.

"The water was so swift, and when it first came it would be sandy and brown, then after it settled it became blue," said Arrow-weed, 81, a singer, actor, and playwright who is a member of the Quechan Indian Tribe. "We used to get a bucket of water from the river and take it home. Then, when it settled, we'd drink it."

Nowadays, the once-wild river flows mechanically into a concrete canal that diverts most of the streamflow toward distant lettuce fields in California's Imperial Valley before it reaches the reservation. Flowing downstream from the reservation, the river usually dries up before it crosses the U.S.-Mexico border, 15 miles south of Yuma, Arizona.

The changes Arrow-weed has witnessed during his eight decades on the river may have seemed gradual, but now, after years of decline, the once-mighty waterway is a sliver of its former self.

"It's about 20 feet wide at the most," he said. "You can walk across it."

The Colorado River Basin encompasses seven U.S. states and supplies water to 40 million people. Over the past two decades, the basin has experienced record-setting heat and some of the driest years ever recorded, which have combined to sap the river of water at unprecedented rates. The largest reservoirs on the river have dropped to alarmingly low levels in recent months, forcing Western water managers to rethink how they operate in the face of scarcity.

Last month, federal officials sounded the alarm by declaring the first-ever water shortage in the basin. The U.S. Bureau of Reclamation cited "historic drought," climate change, and low levels of runoff from the Rocky Mountains as reasons for the continued decline of Lake Mead, the massive reservoir near Las Vegas held back by the Hoover Dam. Lake Mead's stores are used by millions of people in the lower half of the basin, while serving as a critical safeguard against drought-related shortages.

Lake Mead is considered full when its stores reach 1,220 feet above sea level or more, but the reservoir is projected to sink to 1,066 feet above sea level by the end of the year, revealing rock that has been submerged since it began filling in the 1930s. With every foot that Lake Mead falls, the basin comes closer to triggering substantial cutbacks for certain water users along the river. The first round of reductions, which will take effect next year, will primarily impact farmers in central Arizona. But if lake levels continue to decline, future cutbacks could impact the 30 Native American tribes with lands in the basin.

Indigenous nations have recognized rights to more than one-fifth of the basin's annual supply - more than a trillion gallons, or nearly enough to cover an area the size of Connecticut in a foot of water. That allocation is likely to increase in the future, because 12 of the tribes in the Colorado River Basin are still engaged in the decades-long process of resolving their water rights claims, according to the Water & Tribes Initiative, a coalition of tribal representatives, water rights attorneys and academics.

Tribal water rights differ from state-based rights in several ways. Unlike a state or irrigation district, a tribe's right to water dates back at least as early as the creation of its reservation. Despite having federally reserved water rights, tribal claims were largely ignored until the 1960s, when the U.S. Supreme Court adopted standards allowing tribes to have their rights quantified, a form of legal recognition that identifies the amount of water to which users hold rights.

But even for tribes that have resolved their rights, some face significant barriers to fully using their water, including a lack of necessary infrastructure, funding challenges, and limited legal options to put their water to use outside their reservations through leases or other arrangements.

If a tribe does not (or cannot) use all the water it is entitled to, it doesn't go unused; thirsty cities and agricultural fields downstream from reservations siphon off the surplus, but with no compensation for the tribe.

"The basin is free-riding off of undeveloped tribal water rights," said Jay Weiner, an attorney for the Quechan Indian Tribe. Weiner said there is a "fundamental tension" between tribes' desire to fully develop their water rights and the overarching need for everyone in the basin to consume less water overall.

Tribes with substantial diversion rights may remain unscathed by the initial reductions, with some even in the position to contribute water back into the system. But other tribes are less fortunate; in addition to unrecognized water rights, deteriorating infrastructure, and water insecurity issues, some tribes could face cutbacks to their water supply as early as 2023.

Whether a tribe is flush with mainstream flows or struggling to access clean drinking water, every tribe in the basin must navigate the complicated legal landscape that governs water rights on the Colorado.

Much of the water that flows through the Colorado River starts as snowpack in the southern Rockies. The snowmelt produced in spring then flows into tributaries in states like Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado. These states are part of the Upper Colorado River Basin: The lands fed by waters of the Colorado River system were divided into an upper basin and a lower basin during the negotiations for the 1922 Colorado River Compact. The so-called "law of the river" is an amalgamation of interstate compacts, statutes, regulations, court decisions, an international treaty, and the seminal 1964 U.S. Supreme Court decree in Arizona v. California, which enabled several tribes to quantify their rights.

In Utah, one of those tributaries - the Green River - flows through the lands of the Ute Indian Tribe, which had a portion of its water rights quantified in the 1920s but is still litigating unresolved claims. Because the Ute tribe has not fully resolved nor developed those rights, much of the tribe's water goes unused and flows toward Lake Powell, the second-largest reservoir on the Colorado River.

Despite the declining water levels at the lake, the state of Utah is forging ahead with a proposed $2 billion pipeline that would pump water from Lake Powell to largely non-Native communities near St. George - 140 miles away, in southwestern Utah. Critics blasted the proposal, citing the state's failure to recognize the tribe's water entitlements, its refusal to conduct meaningful tribal consultation and, more generally, its antiquated approach to water development in the Western U.S.

The Ute Indian Tribe has a pending lawsuit challenging the project, arguing that the pipeline would obstruct the tribe's efforts to fully develop its water rights. (The Ute Indian Tribe declined a request to be interviewed for this article, citing the ongoing litigation.)

"For over a century, the State of Utah has pursued a deliberate policy of interfering with and preventing the Ute Indian Tribe from exercising its federal Indian reserved water rights," wrote members of the Ute Indian Tribe Business Committee in a statement released in July. "The Lake Powell Pipeline is another chapter in this saga."

Battling for water rights is more than just a struggle for adequate water resources; it's a fight for better health.

Tribes with unresolved water rights must undertake a convoluted settlement process to have their share of the river quantified. And while every tribe is legally entitled to enough water to satisfy their on-reservation needs, having unquantified rights poses additional challenges for those tribes, according to Bidtah Becker, an associate attorney with the Navajo Tribal Utility Authority.

The Navajo Nation has extensive water rights in both the upper and lower basins, but the tribe's claims in the state of Arizona remain unquantified. Proposed settlements negotiated by the tribe a decade ago never materialized. In the coming years, court proceedings are scheduled to resolve the water rights of the Navajo, as well as the neighboring Hopi Tribe.

Becker said tribes without recognized water rights often face challenges in securing funding for water infrastructure projects, especially in areas where substantial water pipelines and other facilities would be required. The lack of adequate water infrastructure has long plagued the Navajo Nation, where residents are 67 times more likely than other Americans to live without access to running water.

Those inequities were further exposed when COVID-19 spread into the Navajo Nation, Becker said. A study published last year showed a strong association between COVID-19 infection rates and the lack of indoor plumbing.

As tribes with unresolved rights fight to settle their claims, the basin-wide shortage is forcing all stakeholders on the river to find ways to conserve water. That scarcity is likely to make striking a deal even more challenging than it has been in the past.

"It makes a hard process harder," said Pam Adams, Native American affairs program manager for the Bureau of Reclamation's Lower Colorado Basin region.

Adams is one of the chief liaisons between the tribes and Reclamation, an agency under the Department of the Interior. Acknowledging the persistent challenges faced by tribes seeking settlements in the past, Adams said resolving all outstanding tribal claims is a priority among the department's leaders, including Interior Secretary Deb Haaland, who is a member of the Laguna Pueblo. Clarifying the rights of each tribe also gives greater certainty to other stakeholders in the basin, Adams said, adding, "It's best for everyone to get them settled and this administration is certainly very supportive of that."

The Bureau of Reclamation is currently building a 300-mile-long pipeline that will supply water from the San Juan River to portions of the Navajo Nation and Jicarilla Apache Nation. Becker said projects like the Navajo-Gallup Water Supply Project are significant steps, but that more needs to be done to address the lack of water security in Native American communities.

In a broad desert valley 150 miles east of the mainstem Colorado, irrigated rows of cotton and alfalfa line the sandy banks of Arizona's Gila River.

Members of the Gila River Indian Community, or GRIC, irrigate thousands of acres south of Phoenix. With a population of more than 13,000 living on the reservation, the tribe traces its roots to ancient cultures that built expansive networks of irrigation canals to support large villages along the waterway. These days, the farmlands are fed by a new stream. The Central Arizona Project, or CAP, completed in the 1990s, is a 330-mile-long canal that conveys Colorado River water from Lake Havasu, on the California border, to central and southern Arizona.

The Gila River Indian Community, left, irrigated thousands of acres south of Phoenix, Arizona. Now, nearby lands are fed by the Central Arizona Project, right. Photos by Linda Davidson / The Washington Post via Getty Images, AP Photo / Ross D. Franklin.

Because the CAP has some of the lowest-priority rights on the river, the canal is subject to the first round of reductions next year. The basin-wide Drought Contingency Plan established a three-tiered system for imposing reductions in the lower basin based on the level of Lake Mead. Under a Tier 1 shortage (which is triggered when the elevation of Lake Mead falls below 1,075 feet), CAP water supplies will be cut by 30 percent - reductions that will primarily impact farmers in places like Pinal County.

The five tribes that draw from the CAP have some of the highest-priority rights on the canal, which largely buffers them from the initial round of cutbacks. If Lake Mead were to fall below 1,025 feet in elevation, the lower basin would enter a Tier 3 shortage, at which point Arizona's diversion rights would be reduced by roughly 45 percent compared to the canal's current supply.

"If we get to Tier 3, all the tribes that rely on CAP water have the risk of a reduction," said Chuck Cullom, Colorado River programs manager for the CAP.

Even if continued declines were to trigger a Tier 3 shortage - the direst scenario envisioned in the 2019 Drought Contingency Plan - water deliveries to the Gila River Indian Community would be largely the same, according to Jason Hauter, a tribal member who represents the GRIC as an attorney.

"There would be cuts, but in terms of the community's on-reservation use, they'd have water available to them under a Tier 3 shortage scenario," Hauter said.

But a Tier 3 shortage is far from the worst-case scenario, because declining streamflows could push the level of Lake Mead below the 1,025-foot mark - a situation left unaddressed by the Drought Contingency Plan. While the chances of Lake Mead reaching critically low levels seemed remote when planning efforts began, projections released by Reclamation last month indicate there is a 66 percent chance the reservoir falls below 1,025 feet by 2025.

Falling below that level would trigger additional cutbacks, which would likely include curtailing tribal water deliveries from the CAP. And, because tribes on the CAP are allowed to lease their water rights directly to municipalities, future reductions to tribal water could also impact the water-supply holdings of cities and towns throughout central Arizona.

If Lake Mead were to fall below 900 feet, it would elicit the disaster scenario known as "dead pool," in which water would no longer flow through Hoover Dam, cutting off the lower basin and shutting down a hydroelectric plant that provides electricity for millions of people in the Southwest.

Stephen Roe Lewis, governor of the Gila River Indian Community, said via email that the tribe is committed to working with other stakeholders in the basin to avoid that fate.

But, as hydrological conditions in the basin continue to worsen, deeper cuts seem inevitable. Reclamation's Phoenix Area Office manager Leslie Meyers said next year's reductions will have a minimal impact on tribal water supplies, but warned, "That won't be the case in the future if we continue down this path."

For thousands of years before the first concrete dams were built on the Colorado, the Mojave people - or AhaMacav, which means "people of the river" - maintained large settlements on either side of the surging stream. In 1865, the U.S. government lumped members of the Mojave and Chemehuevi tribes together to form the Colorado River Indian Tribes, or CRIT, which later came to include Navajo and Hopi families.

The CRIT's water rights were quantified as part of Arizona v. California, the series of U.S. Supreme Court cases beginning in the 1930s that dealt with water disputes between the two states. Along with confirming the rights of the five mainstream tribes in the lower basin, the case also established the standard of determining tribal entitlements based on a tribe's " practicably irrigable acreage."

The tribe's history of agriculture, including an 80,000-acre irrigation project built by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, enabled the CRIT to secure annual diversion rights of more than 700,000 acre-feet, the largest entitlement of any tribe in the basin. Although the CRIT uses a large portion of its water for farming and agriculture, much of its entitlements in both Arizona and California go unused - a fortunate fact for farmers in central Arizona.

The tribe has employed a number of creative approaches to generate revenue using its reserved water rights, including discontinuing certain existing water uses on tribal land, and using the water that is conserved to prop up levels in Lake Mead.

Water flows through infrastructure at CRIT Farms, located near Parker, Arizona, in the lower basin of the Colorado River. Images courtesy of CRIT Farms.

The tribe has agreed to fallow a portion of its historically irrigated farmland over the next three years, conserving a total of 150,000 acre-feet of water that will be left in Lake Mead. For its help in minimizing cutbacks for lower-priority users - such as agriculture served by the CAP - the tribe is receiving $38 million, mostly from the state of Arizona.

Margaret Vick, an attorney for the CRIT, said that although the tribe is well-positioned to contribute conservation water, its ability to benefit from other types of off-reservation uses are limited. Unlike tribes with water settlements, she said, the CRIT's decreed water rights generally prohibit the tribe from directly leasing its water to off-reservation users. The tribe proposed federal legislation last year that would allow it to market some of its Arizona allocation, but the bill hasn't been introduced in Congress, Vick said.

Although the CRIT's water rights are quantified and it has enough water to contribute to Mead, the tribe has historically suffered from a lack of funding for necessary infrastructure - something that is often negotiated as part of a water settlement, Vick said. According to the Tribal Water Study, parts of the federal irrigation project were built in the late 1800s, and suffer from "design limitations and simple aging problems," such as unlined canals and deteriorating gates.

Weiner, the attorney for the Quechan tribe, said that while each tribe is in a different situation, they generally agree on the need for more flexibility in the legal framework that governs the river.

"Tribes can coalesce around the importance of flexible tools and finding ways to allow tribes to benefit from their water resources," Weiner said. "On-reservation development is certainly one of those ways, but things like off-reservation transfers and system conservation programs are other ways that tribes could potentially benefit from their water resources without necessarily having to add new consumptive demands to the system."

Despite the challenges facing tribes in the basin, tribal leaders and water managers see opportunities for solutions that would help alleviate some of the water-supply pressures on non-Native stakeholders while enabling the tribes to benefit from their water. And, regardless of the water management decisions that are made going forward, the tribes want a seat at the table.

Tribal leaders often lament the lack of tribal consultation that occurs when federal or state governments make decisions that impact tribal resources. Secretary Haaland has emphasized the importance of tribal engagement during her time leading the Interior Department, but the level of tribal involvement in the basin's next round of drought planning remains to be seen.

Noting the importance of cooperation between basin stakeholders, Becker, the attorney for the Navajo Tribal Utility Authority, said the ongoing shortage should also serve as a reminder that water is not simply a commodity, but a vital substance on which our survival depends.

"We've created these systems where people pay money and they get a service," Becker said. "But maybe what Mother Nature is saying to us is that, when it comes to something like water, we need to shift our approach so that people understand exactly where their water is coming from, and understand their role in protecting the most precious resource we have."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
The Colorado River is drying up. Here's how that affects Indigenous water rights

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Some tribes in the Colorado River Basin have been fighting for water rights for decades. Then the drought hit.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Hoover Dam Bypass Project Administrative Draft: Environmental Impact Statement,” by Federal Highway Administration, July 1998

# data[].attributes.subject
“Hoover Dam Bypass Project Administrative Draft: Environmental Impact Statement,” by Federal Highway Administration, July 1998

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The NEPIS system will provide the current document packaged as a PDF in a new window. Some PDFs are documents that were created in that format, others were created from the scanned images you see displayed online. Of this later type, some have been created in advance to expedite delivery, others are created at the time they are requested.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Ha ‘tata (The Backbone of the River): American Indian Ethnographic Studies Regarding the Hoover Dam Bypass Project” prepared by the scholars at the Bureau of Applied Research in Anthropology at the University of Arizona, July 2000

# data[].attributes.subject
“Ha ‘tata (The Backbone of the River): American Indian Ethnographic Studies Regarding the Hoover Dam Bypass Project” prepared by the scholars at the Bureau of Applied Research in Anthropology at the University of Arizona, July 2000

# data[].attributes.headline
“Resurrecting the Dammed: A Look at Colorado River Restoration, by Jeffrey P. Cohn December 2001

# data[].attributes.subject
“Resurrecting the Dammed: A Look at Colorado River Restoration, by Jeffrey P. Cohn December 2001

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
John Villalobos stands on the high ground overlooking a backwater slough of the Colorado River at the Ahakhav Tribal Preserve, a 1,000-acre park and wildlife refuge on land owned by the Colorado River Indian Tribes in the Sonoran Desert south of Parker, Arizona. Villalobos is surrounded by restored honey and screwbean mesquites as well as cottonwoods and willows. The slough, a 2-mile-long side channel dredged by the Indian tribes and the US Bureau of Reclamation in 1998 and 1999, features extensive bulrushes and cattails and a half-dozen or so beaver lodges.

"This is the way it used to look all along this valley," says Villalobos, project administrator for the Ahakhav Preserve. "We want to show people the way the river used to be. This is a model for government agencies trying to atone for the errors that their dams have caused. This is a place that can support our native species and where our people can come and enjoy their own lands. We want to restore at least part of that."

Indeed, the Colorado River Indian Tribes-a group of four southwestern Native American nations-have used part of their allotment of river water to restore 250 acres of aquatic habitat along the Colorado and another 250 acres of riparian areas since 1996. They plan to restore 200 more acres over the next few years. Already, the numbers of vermilion flycatchers and Yuma clapper rails have increased here, and Bell's vireos and southwestern willow flycatchers have reappeared for the first time in years. "We are restoring our environmental heritage," says a proud Villalobos.

The Ahakhav Preserve is one of several places on the Colorado River and its tributaries south of Lake Mead where government agencies, Indian tribes, private groups, and individual landowners are seeking to recreate at least a portion of the former riparian ecosystem. Efforts are under way or planned to restore the native flora at selected sites and to bolster the population of native Colorado River fish decimated by a changed river and the introduction of new species. Further, a coalition of government agencies and private companies in three states is developing a controversial multispecies conservation plan for the river and its endangered wildlife.

Whether and to what extent such efforts work will depend on several factors. Foremost among them is water, always a rare commodity in the arid Southwest. Can enough water be found or diverted from current agricultural, municipal, and industrial users for environmental restoration? Which approaches work best? Are changes needed in how and when the river flows? Is the United States responsible for endangered species and habitat restoration along the Colorado and its delta in Mexico?

The Colorado River flows 1,450 miles from the Rocky Mountains in Colorado southwest through the picturesque canyons of Utah and Arizona before turning south toward Mexico and the Gulf of California. During its passage to the sea, the Colorado drops more than 10,000 feet in elevation, at times generating dangerous whitewater rapids. The river and its tributaries drain 242,000 square miles in seven US states (8.5 percent of the continental United States) and another 2,000 square miles in Mexico.

Before people started tinkering with it, the Colorado often flooded in spring and early summer, when rain and runoff from melting snow turned the river into a raging giant. The floods swept away salts, plants, and ground litter. In the process, they scoured old sandbars and beaches and laid down new ones; created backwater marshes, oxbows, and sloughs; and raised groundwater levels. As summer turned into fall and winter, the river gradually shrank, in some years to a mere trickle. How much water flowed varied, often widely, from season to season and year to year.

Those days are gone. The Colorado is now one of the most controlled rivers in the world. Virtually every drop of its water is managed, accounted for, and allocated to some user. In the United States, the Colorado is divided into upper and lower basins, each entitled to 7.5 million acre-feet of water a year. (One acre-foot is the amount of water needed to cover one acre of ground to a depth of 1 foot, or nearly 326,000 gallons.) Under a 1944 treaty, the United States delivers 1.5 million acre-feet to Mexico where the river crosses the border near Yuma, Arizona. The 16.5 million acre-feet total exceeds the river's average annual flow of about 15 million acre-feet. Fortunately, the upper basin states do not use all the water allotted to them, and the last two decades have seen mostly above-average flows.

Starting with the Laguna Dam north of Yuma, which was completed in 1909, the Colorado's flow is now interrupted by 10 major dams, 4 reservoirs, and more than 80 diversions. The former includes the Hoover and Glen Canyon Dams, which together hold more than 55 million acre-feet of water. Altogether, water from the Colorado irrigates more than 3.7 million acres in the United States and Mexico and provides drinking water to nearly 30 million people in cities from Las Vegas and Phoenix to Los Angeles, Mexicali, and Tijuana. The dams also generate more than 4,400 megawatts of electricity, all in the United States.

By preventing the Colorado from flooding, the dams and reservoirs have altered the river. With its more uniform, year-round flow, no floods now sweep down the river. No longer are salts or plant debris washed away, nor are any new backwaters created or old ones recharged. The dams have also changed the Colorado from a warm- to a cold- water river, held back sediment that would otherwise create new sandbars, and kept nearly all freshwater from reaching the delta in Mexico. In 1981, writer Philip Fradkin declared the Colorado "a river no more" ( A River No More: The Colorado River and the West [New York: Knopf]).

As a result, the cottonwoods, willows, and mesquites that once lined large sections of the Colorado and its tributaries are now largely gone. Although no one knows for sure, perhaps as much as 400,000 acres of riparian habitat existed before dams were built, says Robert Ohmart, an Arizona State University biologist. By 1938, three years after the Hoover Dam was completed, nearly 90,000 acres of riparian habitat remained, according to a 1998 Bureau of Reclamation report. Today, the bureau estimates that only about 6,000 acres still exist. Some older cottonwoods and willows can still be found, but few young trees now grow. Most riparian areas are now dominated by saltcedar, a Eurasian tree introduced in the 19th century as an ornamental and to control erosion. Also called tamarisk, saltcedar has become a widespread pest in the West. It can tolerate and even thrive in the high-salt, dry soils that kill cottonwoods and willows or inhibit their seeds from growing.

As cottonwoods and willows declined, so too have southwestern willow flycatchers. A subspecies of Traill's flycatcher, the southwestern willow flycatcher was once locally common along the rivers and streams of the arid southwestern United States and northern Mexico. No one knows the bird's former numbers, but an estimated 900 territories were found in recent surveys, says Robert Marshall, a former US Fish and Wildlife Service biologist now with The Nature Conservancy's Arizona chapter in Tucson.

Acting on a petition from the Center for Biological Diversity, a Tucson-based environmental group, FWS listed the southwestern willow flycatcher as endangered in 1995. It was the first riparian bird in the southwestern United States to be listed. Next, the agency issued a biological opinion in 1997 requiring the Bureau of Reclamation to consider how its routine dam operations affected the flycatcher and other endangered species in the United States. Earlier, in 1994, FWS had designated critical habitat for four native Colorado River fish. Together, says Marshall, those actions "forced all federal and state agencies to pay attention to issues and species that previously had been given little more than lip service. They gave environmentalists leverage to compel action."

Saving the southwestern willow flycatcher and other endangered species means recreating the riparian habitats that once flourished along the Colorado River and its tributaries. Early restoration efforts languished, according to Bertin Anderson, president of the Revegetation and Wildlife Management Center in Blythe, California. Most were too small and few adequately tested the soil, water table depth, or salinity levels. "You have to reclaim the land," says Anderson. In particular, he advises, the land has to be flushed with water periodically to leach out salts and simulate natural flooding.

Beyond the Colorado River Indian Tribes' Ahakhav Preserve, perhaps the most extensive restorations today are on the four national wildlife refuges that protect much of the Colorado south of Lake Mead: Havasu, Bill Williams River, Cibola, and Imperial. These and other efforts are creating small but potentially important patches of riparian habitats.

Created in 1941, Imperial National Wildlife Refuge features 25,125 acres of Sonoran Desert, riparian habitats, and the last nonchannelized stretch of the lower Colorado River in the United States. Refuge biologists established a 3.5-acre cottonwood and willow nursery in 1993. Beginning at one year of age, the trees are cut off at the bottom, stripped of their leaves, cut into poles, and planted in former backwater or other wet areas at Imperial. One such spot is an open field at Imperial where saltcedar and other exotic plants have been removed. Here, the poles are growing into full-fledged cottonwoods. Dikes and dirt berms keep water piped from the river from escaping. More than 50 acres at and off the refuge are now wet enough to support cottonwoods and other native riparian plants. Further replanting efforts will use nursery-grown seedlings, says Renee Robichaud, an FWS biologist at Imperial.

Farther north, Cibola National Wildlife Refuge protects more than 17,000 acres. Created in 1964 as mitigation for riparian habitats destroyed along the Colorado, Cibola includes a new river channel dug to compensate for the old, now straightened one. Because the new channel is wider and has more water than the old one, says Brenda Zaun, a wildlife biologist at Cibola, thousands of ducks, Canada geese, and sandhill cranes winter at the refuge, the largest flocks in Arizona. Refuge biologists have also begun planting cottonwoods and willows along the edges of a 150-acre site being cleared to create a sandhill crane roosting area, as well as on a smaller 120-acre site.

Still farther north along the Colorado, Kathleen Blair and her colleagues at the Bill Williams River National Wildlife Refuge had to do no work to restore natural riparian habitats along a section of the river's tributary. Heavy rain sent floodwaters cascading down the Bill Williams in 1993 and 1995, washing away years of accumulated salt, plants, and debris from former agricultural fields, says Blair, the refuge's wildlife biologist. The floods naturally restored a 2,200-acre section of the refuge. Cottonwoods, willows, and mesquites have recolonized the secondary flood plains, while palo verde trees occupy the more distant hillsides. "Within a few weeks of the floods we had seedlings growing just about everywhere they could grow," Blair recalls of the floods' aftermath. "Those trees know where to grow better than we do. We'll let nature and the river determine the course rather than try to impose our human course."

The northernmost of the four refuges, Havasu National Wildlife Refuge encompasses 33,500 acres of wetlands and Mojave Desert habitats along Lake Havasu, a reservoir created by the Parker Dam on the Colorado. Refuge biologists have begun restoring 1,500 acres in and around Topock Marsh, a river backwater. The marsh had become clogged with cattails and woody plants, a sign that it was filling in, says Matthew Connolly, an FWS wildlife biologist formerly at Havasu, now at the Ohio River Islands National Wildlife Refuge in West Virginia. Previously, Colorado River floods would sweep out the cattails, prevent woody plants from intruding, and keep the marsh wet. Because the floods come no more and the refuge has no way to simulate them, Connolly's colleagues plan to burn the cattails to enhance habitat for the endangered Yuma clapper rail.

Havasu biologists are also restoring the refuge's 220-acre Lake Beal, yet another Colorado River backwater. FWS and the Bureau of Reclamation biologists began dredging more than 150,000 cubic yards of sediment from the lake in May to create a refuge for native Colorado River fishes, which have been especially hard hit by changes in the river. They were adapted to a flood and then low-flow regime, warm waters, and an uninterrupted river. Moreover, introduced trout, sunfish, bass, carp, and catfish eat the native species' eggs and young, says Charles Minckley, an FWS fisheries biologist. Virtually no young native Colorado fishes survive into adulthood now. All are listed as endangered or threatened and some have disappeared from large sections of the river.

Wildlife biologists are particularly concerned for bonytail chubs and razorback suckers. "They are essentially gone," says Minckley, who adds that no bonytails have been known to reproduce successfully in the wild for 30 or 40 years. Some 1,500 hatchery-raised bonytails have been released since 1996 into Lake Mojave, the Colorado north of the Davis Dam, but few are known to have survived. An estimated 8,000 razorbacks still live in Lake Mojave, most resulting from releases of hatchery-raised fish, but this is down from 65,000 two decades ago.

Additionally, FWS biologists are raising razorbacks in ponds at the Bill Williams refuge. Fifty have been released into the river since 1998, and biologists plan to release bonytails as well later this year. The fish are released behind beaver dams, where they are protected from the larger introduced fish downstream. With any luck, Minckley says, they will grow big enough to avoid being eaten when the next big flood occurs and washes them past the beaver dams.

Meanwhile, five federal agencies joined with six state water, natural resource, and wildlife agencies, three Indian tribes, and the local water districts and power companies in California, Arizona, and Nevada to launch a $6.7 million multispecies conservation planning effort for the Colorado in 1994. Multispecies or habitat conservation plans allow state and local governments as well as private companies and landowners to protect endangered species and their ecosystems in return for incidental take permits under the Endangered Species Act. "We wanted to take a proactive approach," says Martin Meisler, a senior environmental specialist for the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California, which supplies water to Los Angeles. The groups expect to submit a draft conservation plan to FWS by February 2002 and a final plan by the end of that year, according to Meisler.

In all, the plan will cover 57 mammals, birds, and fish that are listed or are being considered for listing by FWS and California as endangered or threatened. "We want to work toward the recovery of endangered and threatened species and to help prevent the need to list others in the future," Meisler says. The planners are looking for what they call "conservation opportunity areas" along the Colorado and its tributaries. So far, they have identified more than 60 sites, from Lake Mead south to Yuma, where riparian habitats can be restored, old sloughs and oxbows recreated, and new ponds dug to compensate for lost wetlands.

The plan envisions paying farmers, Indian tribes, and other landowners to grow cottonwoods, willows, and other native plants rather than commercial crops. "Some of the best riparian habitats are on agricultural lands," says Sam Spiller, an FWS wildlife biologist who is the agency's lower Colorado River coordinator. Those lands already have irrigation ditches, berms and dikes, and, most important, the right to water. "We need to develop agreements with willing landowners to reestablish major tracts of riparian habitats," Spiller says. "Without water, most hoped-for restoration just won't happen."

Spiller points to two places in southwestern Arizona that serve as pilot projects for the conservation opportunity concept. One is a 40-acre site on the Gila River east of Yuma near Tacna. The other is Pratt Farms, a 12-acre tract on the Colorado north of the Laguna Dam. Both are former farms, neither of which is now growing crops, on land owned by the Bureau of Land Management. The Bureau of Reclamation funded the planting of honey mesquite and palo verde trees on the Tacna site in the mid 1980s and the restoration of cottonwoods and willows at Pratt Farms in 1999. "Oh, definitely, there are still trees there," says Glen Gould, a BOR natural resource specialist. "Cottonwoods and willows are a struggle, but the mesquites and palo verdes are doing fine on their own."

Not all observers are so upbeat. "It's a step in the right direction, but you can't restore riparian habitats with postage stamp-sized patches," says Arizona State University's Ohmart. At least 60 acres are needed to recreate fully functioning riparian habitats and attract southwestern willow flycatchers and other birds. "It's terrible to use irrigation water to grow cottonwoods and willows," he adds. "Too much salt and litter will accumulate. You need a big flood every 25 or 50 years to rearrange stuff. A naturally flowing river will do that."

Julie Stromberg agrees. Stromberg, an associate professor of plant biology at Arizona State University, contends that current restoration efforts focus too much on cottonwoods, willows, and mesquites, rather than the full array of 300-500 riparian plants naturally found along Sonoran Desert streams. Her research along the Hassayampa and Agua Fria Rivers, both tributaries of the Gila west of Phoenix, shows that even soils that have been dry for 30 or 40 years still contain seeds of riparian plants that will fare better than transplanted, nursery-grown trees once water is added. Her prescription: Dig up and move the soil to restore complete riparian habitats, while also restoring the Colorado's natural flows and floods, which allow seeds to germinate on their own.

"It's a band-aid approach that's okay for the short term," Stromberg says of the conservation opportunity approach. "It is not the be-all or end-all of restoring natural ecosystems. What happens when there is a drought? How much of the river are we willing to devote to restoring native species?" In fact, no current users of Colorado water have yet agreed to give up their water rights for environmental restoration anywhere along the river. "We would prefer to do conservation on land that already has water,"says the MWD's Meisler, who notes that all options for securing water for conservation areas have to be assessed first.

One need that is not being assessed by the multispecies conservation plan is that of the Colorado's delta in Mexico. Once covering almost 2 million acres, an area the size of Rhode Island, the delta shrank and dried out as dams in the United States held back water. Since the early 1980s, though, the delta has undergone a remarkable if far-from-complete comeback. El Niño floods in the 1980s and 1990s added more water to the river than the reservoirs could hold or than users in the United States and Mexico needed. As a result, the delta's wetlands now cover 150,000 acres.

Whether that comeback can be maintained or extended remains unclear, however. Edward Glenn, a professor of soil, water, and environmental sciences at the University of Arizona in Tucson, calculates that an average annual flow of 50,000 acre-feet in the Colorado River from the Morelos Dam below Yuma in Mexico, and a flood of 260,000 acre-feet every 4 or 5 years, would be sufficient to at least maintain the current delta.

A coalition of mostly regional and local conservation groups is waging a public campaign urging the Bureau of Reclamation to dedicate 1 percent of the Colorado's annual flow, or about 150,000 acre-feet, to environmental restoration in the delta. "It's a reasonable request," argues Lisa Force, program director for Living Rivers, a Phoenix-based group that is leading the effort. "So much water is wasted by inefficient irrigation methods. Sprinkler or drip irrigation methods [alone] would save 43,000 acre-feet of water."

In the meantime, a report issued by the Sonoran Institute, a Tucson-based environmental group, has urged two immediate steps to increase water for the delta. One involves buying marginal farmland with water rights in Mexico and using that water to restore natural habitats along the Colorado south of the Morelos Dam. The second would be to divert 75,000 acre-feet of brackish, agricultural runoff from around Yuma to targeted ecological areas in Mexico.

For their part, Bureau of Reclamation officials say they cannot use water for environmental restoration, at least not now. "This is very complex," explains Thomas Shrader, a BOR ecologist, citing US Army Corps of Engineers' rules about flood control on the Colorado. Moreover, Shrader adds, "It is not our water." Indeed, the water belongs to the seven basin states under a 1922 river compact and subsequent federal laws and US Supreme Court rulings, and to Mexico under the 1944 treaty. "We cannot release water outside those entitlements unless requested by a state or [unless part of] a scheduled release to Mexico," Shrader says. "Any request for [water for] environmental restoration would have to come from a state." To date, none of the Colorado River states has volunteered to give up some of their allotted water.

The Center for Biological Diversity and several other US and Mexican environmental groups are seeking to change that. They sued the Bureau of Reclamation, US Fish and Wildlife Service, and National Marine Fisheries Service under the Endangered Species Act in 2000. The suit charges the agencies have failed to consider the effects of US dams on fish and other US-listed endangered species in the Gulf of California and the Colorado River delta in Mexico.

"We want the federal government to admit that it is responsible for its actions on species even if they are beyond US borders," says David Hogan, the Center for Biological Diversity's river programs manager. "We want to get water legally dedicated for conservation." The center and Defenders of Wildlife also pulled their representatives from the conservation planning effort last year when the multispecies conservation plan's steering committee refused to extend the plan's purview to the delta. Three other US environmental groups had left earlier for unrelated reasons.

No decision on the lawsuit has yet been announced. However it is decided, major changes are needed to truly restore riparian habitats along the Colorado, states Mark Briggs, the Sonoran Institute's science director. "If we can alter the river's management even a little bit to get a guaranteed amount of good quality water at the right times, we can maintain and reestablish native species," Briggs says. "The power of nature is so much stronger than planting. Significant restoration simply will not happen unless we address how we manage the Colorado."

Author notes

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Resurrecting the Dammed: A Look at Colorado River Restoration

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
John Villalobos stands on the high ground overlooking a backwater slough of the Colorado River at the Ahakhav Tribal Preserve, a 1,000-acre park and wildlife refuge on land owned by the Colorado River Indian Tribes in the Sonoran Desert south of Parker, Arizona.

# data[].attributes.headline
“A Conservation Plan for Native Fishes of the Lower Colorado River,” by Minckley et al, March 2003

# data[].attributes.subject
“A Conservation Plan for Native Fishes of the Lower Colorado River,” by Minckley et al, March 2003

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Conservation Plan for Native Fishes of the Lower Colorado River

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Among the native fishes of the Colorado River are four "big-river" species: humpback chub ( Gila cypha), bonytail ( Gila elegans), Colorado squawfish ( Ptychocheilus lucius), and razorback sucker ( Xyrauchen texanus). Once generally widespread and abundant ( Minckley 1973), these species are now critically imperiled.

# data[].attributes.headline
“The Gender of Water and the Pleasure of Alienation: A Critical Analysis of Visiting the Hoover Dam,” by Richard A Rogers and Julie Schutten from Northern Arizona University, August 2010

# data[].attributes.subject
“The Gender of Water and the Pleasure of Alienation: A Critical Analysis of Visiting the Hoover Dam,” by Richard A Rogers and Julie Schutten from Northern Arizona University, August 2010

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Hoover Dam, located on the Arizona-Nevada border and damming the Colorado River, is a well-known and often-visited place. The meanings people assign to such a structure articulate key environmental, economic and technological ideologies. An exploration of those meanings is important for understanding the forces that shape public perception and environmental policy. Specifically, this essay examines the official rhetoric of Hoover Dam from an ecofeminist perspective. Through a critical reading of the educational displays, films, plaques and other texts as well as the physical structure of the dam itself, three rhetorical strategies used in the dam's official presentation are identified. First, the Bureau of Reclamation presents the Colorado River as a chaotic, feminine entity in need of masculine control. Second, the river's rhetorical status as an Other encourages audiences to identify with the subject position of nature's master and thereby participate in the pleasures such an identity offers. Third, the Bureau uses the prevalent "common sense" of Native Americans as environmentally sensitive in combination with an "historical" Native American voice to establish the dam as both environmentally sound and a logical step in humanity's progress toward economic development and dominion over nature.

Discover the world's research

20+ million members

135+ million publications

700k+ research projects

Join for free

Now available from the University of Utah Press (June 2018), the book examines the interpretation, appropriation, and management of indigenous rock art in the context of contemporary Anglo-American ... [more]

View project

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
(PDF) The Gender of Water and the Pleasure of Alienation: A Critical Analysis of Visiting Hoover Dam

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Hoover Dam, located on the Arizona-Nevada border and damming the Colorado River, is a well-known and often-visited place. The meanings people assign to such a structure articulate key environmental, economic and technological ideologies. An exploration of those meanings is important for understanding the forces that shape public perception and environmental policy.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Hoover Dam: Scientific Studies, Name Controversy, Tourist Attraction, and Contributions to Engineering” by J David Rogers, October 2010

# data[].attributes.subject
“Hoover Dam: Scientific Studies, Name Controversy, Tourist Attraction, and Contributions to Engineering” by J David Rogers, October 2010

# data[].attributes.body
Dominant settler perspective on the Hoover Dam with global implications

# data[].attributes.headline
“Reading Boulder Dam: Landscape Alteration as National Transformation in 1930s America” by K. Maria D Lane, Summer 2012

# data[].attributes.subject
“Reading Boulder Dam: Landscape Alteration as National Transformation in 1930s America” by K. Maria D Lane, Summer 2012

# data[].attributes.headline
“Here and There: The Effects of Upriver Dams on Indigenous Peoples,” by Benedict J. Colombi, November 2014

# data[].attributes.subject
“Here and There: The Effects of Upriver Dams on Indigenous Peoples,” by Benedict J. Colombi, November 2014

# data[].attributes.headline
“Boulder Dam and the Navajo Reservation,” November 2014

# data[].attributes.subject
“Boulder Dam and the Navajo Reservation,” November 2014

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
In general the history of hydroelectric dams in the United States has involved the transfer of wealth from the nation's poorest people, American Indians, to the nation's wealthiest people, industrial capitalists. In the name of progress, industrialization, and manifest destiny American Indian nations have had their lands, water rights, fishing rights, and sacred sites taken from them. The case of Boulder Dam (later renamed Hoover Dam) on the Colorado River is different in that it did not directly impact the Navajo Reservation, but it indirectly led to the destruction of the traditional Navajo economy, and the creation of poverty and economic inequality among the Navajo.

In 1922, the seven Colorado River Basin states negotiated a compact which divided the water of the Colorado River water among themselves. Archaeologist Brian Fagan, in his book Elixer: A History of Water and Humankind, writes: "The era of industrial water management was truly under way, for the benefit not of small farmers but of large agribusinesses."

While the Indian tribes in the region had a legal right to this water, the tribes were not invited to the negotiations and any possible water rights which Indians might have were purposefully ignored. The negotiations were chaired by Herbert Hoover. In 1928, Hoover, who was then Secretary of Commerce, secured from Congress the authorization for the Colorado River Project which included the construction of Boulder Dam (later renamed Hoover Dam). The dam was to protect and promote agribusiness ventures in California's Imperial Valley and to provide water to Los Angeles.

A glance at the map suggests little connection between Boulder Dam and the Navajo, as the dam is located far to the west of the reservation. However, in 1929 the United States Geological Survey reported that the major contributors to Colorado River silt were located on the Navajo Reservation. The Navajo Reservation was therefore seen as a major threat to the Boulder Dam as silt from the reservation would pile up behind the dam and destroy its usefulness. American government officials at this time were firmly convinced that overgrazing caused gullying which resulted in silt. The solution in their minds was obvious: stop overgrazing by the Navajos on their reservation and save Boulder dam.

In the 1930s, the United States, in the midst of the Great Depression, elected a new President who then appointed John Collier as Commissioner of Indian Affairs. Unlike most of his predecessors, Collier had worked on Indian reservations, understood Indian cultures, and felt that Indian people should have a say in their own destinies. He felt that forced assimilation was wrong and that previous Indian policies had resulted in the creation of Indian poverty. He told the Indians: "We believe that your Indian heritage is just as practicable and good, and just as much needed by America as is the Anglo-Saxon heritage or the German heritage or the Scotch or Irish or Norwegian heritage."

The situation with Boulder Dam and the Navajo would, however, provide Collier with his greatest challenge and his actions in dealing with this challenge would make a mockery of the many fine words he spoke about American Indians.

Part of the problem stemmed from an economic misunderstanding. Long before the European invasion of North America, the Navajo had been farmers and they acquired sheep, goats, and horses from the early Spanish settlements in New Mexico. By the twentieth century they had a basic subsistence economy in which their farming and livestock provided them with the basic necessities of life. Their primary participation in the larger cash economy was through traders where they could trade wool blankets and other items for cash or goods.

The American government, however, viewed agriculturalists, including the Navajo, as a part of a larger industrial agricultural system in which people raised products, such as sheep, which were then sold to provide them with the money with which they could buy basic food and supplies. From this viewpoint, only Navajo sheep had economic value and goats and horses were economically worthless as there was no market for them. What the Americans failed to understand was that the Navajo ate goats and horses and that these animals provided them with the food they need to survive to tough times.

In 1931, for example, a subcommittee of the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs held hearings on the Navajo Reservation. The Senators used the hearings as a forum to lecture the Navajo on market economics. While agency personal testified that the Navajo had few surplus horses and the Navajo testified about the fact that goats are essential to their subsistence, Senator Burton K. Wheeler admonished the Navajo to get rid of their horses and goats.

There were also political misunderstandings. The Navajo had never had a tribal council: each of the many small bands and outfits were felt to be autonomous. Historically, the American government has always preferred dealing with dictatorships rather than democracies and has therefore established governments which it could easily manipulate. The Navajo Tribal Council was not a Navajo institution, but had been established by the American government to agree with all American actions and to give these actions, primarily the transfer of wealth and resources from the Navajo tribe to American businesses, the superficial appearance of having been done with Navajo approval. Many of those appointed to the Council by the American government were highly acculturated Navajo who tended to be wealthy, bilingual, and Christian.

In 1933, John Collier, in his role as Commissioner of Indian Affairs, met with the Navajo Tribal Council to discuss stock reduction. He told the Navajo that overgrazing was resulting in erosion and that there would have to be a reduction in stock. He told the Council: "This reservation, along with the other Indian reservations along the Colorado River, is supplying much more than half of all the silt which goes down the Colorado River, which will in the course of a comparatively few years render the Boulder Dam useless and thereby injure the population of all Southern California and a good deal of Arizona also."

He proposed a reduction of 200,000 sheep and 200,000 goats. While there was some opposition to the stock reduction proposal, the Council did what it was told and voted 8-4 to endorse Collier's proposal. Many Navajo, however, particularly the women, did not support the Council's action. In Navajo culture, women owned their own sheep and felt that no one had the right to tell them what to do with their own property.

The impact of stock reduction was first felt in 1934: 148,000 goats and 50,000 sheep were sold. The prices set by the government were exceptionally low. Not all of the goats could be delivered to the railhead, therefore some were slaughtered and the dried meat given back to the Navajo. Other goats were simply shot and left to rot; some were shot and partially cremated by soaking them with gasoline and lighting it. From a Navajo viewpoint this was an appalling waste of valuable resources. It is generally estimated that the reduction in the number of goats increased the cost of living on the reservation by about 20%.

Government officials failed to understand Navajo concepts of ownership. They simply assumed that the flocks were family owned, that is, they were owned by the male head of household. Since Navajo women owned large herds this meant that women soon found that their flocks were being credited to their husbands.

The non-Navajo conservationists advocated the reduction in goats because the animals had little market value. They did not understand that in a subsistence economy, such as that of the Navajo, goats are important as a dependable source of food: by drinking goat milk, eating goat cheese, and eating goat meat, the sheep could be bred or traded.

In 1936, Navajo women rebelled against federal government pressure to reduce the size of their sheep herds. At Kayenta, 250 Navajo gathered. While most of those present were men, Denehotso Hattie, a woman almost blind from trachoma, was the leader. She pointed her finger at the new Indian superintendent for the reservation and denounced the government plan for range management. The government had disparaged Navajo knowledge of the lands they had traditionally occupied and disregarded the women.

The United States government wanted to create the illusion that a Navajo democracy supported the herd reduction program. In 1937, seventy-odd selected Navajo headmen met and, at the prodding of the Agency Superintendent, voted themselves as the new Navajo Tribal Council. The strategy of federal government was to create a new governing body which would enact and enforce legislation to require the Navajo people to conform to grazing regulations. The new council had 70 members with each member representing a new voting district. In opposition to the Council, J.C. Morgan organized the Navajo Progressive League which vowed to form a representative council.

John Collier met with the hand-picked Council and told them they had two choices: they could approve the new regulations for stock reduction or they would be placed under the General Grazing Regulations for Indian Lands. In other words, stock reduction was going to take place in spite of any Navajo opposition.

The following year, at the request of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs and without the consent of the Navajo, a set of bylaws were issued creating a new tribal council. The positions of chairman, vice-chairman, and 74 delegates were to be filled by popular vote. Jacob C. Morgan, who was opposed to Commissioner of Indian Affairs John Collier and to stock reduction, was elected chairman.

Rumors spread through the reservation that the federal government intended to round up all Navajo horses and shoot them, just as they had done with the goats. Many people hid their horses from government officials and refused to have them branded and counted. In some areas, federal marshals were called in to enforce compliance and suits were filed against some of the Navajo for non-compliance with horse reduction. Twelve cases involving 30 defendants were filed in the United States District Court as a way of proving to the Navajo that the federal government had the power to reduce their horse herds. Collier insisted that these actions were not a policy of coercion. In 1939, the United States District Court in Phoenix ruled in favor of the government and ordered U.S. marshals to seize the horses if they were not removed in 30 days. By the end of the year, one-fourth of the Navajo horses had been sold for $2 to $4 per head.

By the 1940s, it was clear to most Navajo that the federal government intended for them to starve and to give up their reservation. While the federal government had ordered many scientific studies of the reservation-its peoples, its ecology-the government ignored the findings of these studies. While John Collier had promised a New Deal for the Indians and an end to the old paternalism, with regard to the Navajo, the old paternalism-the government knows what is best for you-continued with more vigor than in previous administrations.

Looking back at the Navajo stock reduction program in 1949, at a time when he was no longer the Commissioner of Indian Affairs, Collier noted that one of the options was: "Go with the facts to the hundreds of local communities of the Navajo people. Educate these communities through slow, patient conference and demonstration. Vest the responsibility for launching and guiding these huge, necessary adjustments, in the local headmen, in the healer-singers, the diviners, and ultimately the heads of families."

Collier notes that in rejecting this option they may have erred profoundly. It is interesting to note that Collier does not talk about listening to the Navajo, and particularly Navajo women, and asking for their opinions about what should be done to their land.

In the end, stock reduction did not restore the lands on the Navajo Reservation. By the 1950s, scientists recognized that gullying and siltation were not necessarily caused by over grazing and that stock reduction had little impact. Boulder Dam provided no economic benefits to the Navajo Reservation, but it destroyed a traditional economy and greatly increased poverty.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
In general the history of hydroelectric dams in the United States has involved the transfer of wealth from the nation's poorest people, American Indians, to the nation's wealthiest people, industrial capitalists. In the name of progress, industrialization, and manifest destiny American Indian nations have had their lands, water rights, fishing rights, and sacred sites taken from them.

# data[].attributes.headline
“THE BOULDER CANYON PROJECT Hoover Dam,” by Joe Simonds/Bureau of Reclamation, August 2015

# data[].attributes.subject
“THE BOULDER CANYON PROJECT Hoover Dam,” by Joe Simonds/Bureau of Reclamation, August 2015

# data[].attributes.body
Another dominant settler perspective on the Hoover Dam, coming from the Bureau of Reclamation's official website This history of the dam also has global implications. It claims that the goal of the dam was, "To Convert a Natural Menace Into a National Resource," and that "they succeeded beyond their wildest dreams."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
THE BOULDER CANYON PROJECT
Hoover Dam

Throughout human history, mankind has built monuments to its ingenuity and skill. In Egypt it was the Pyramids. Rome, built the Colosseum. The Greeks built the Acropolis. The great cathedrals of Europe raised the skills of their builders to unequalled heights, creating awe inspiring structures. In the Americas, the cliff dwellings of Mesa Verde and the high mountain city of Machu Pichu speak to the skill and ingenuity of their builders. In the modern era, it's buildings that reach near half a mile into the sky, bridges that stretch enormous distances in a single span, and machines that extend mankind's reach far into space. One monument that must surely be counted among the great achievements of mankind is Hoover Dam.

Hoover Dam and Lake Mead are located in the Black Canyon of the Colorado River about 35 miles southeast of Las Vegas, Nevada. Located on the Arizona-Nevada State line, the dam and reservoir are in the counties of Mohave, in Arizona, and Clark, in Nevada. The Colorado River Basin is an area of over 242,000 square miles that includes parts of California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, and Wyoming. The basin also includes some 2,000 square miles in Mexico. The Colorado River itself originates in the high mountains of Colorado and flows 1,400 miles to the Gulf of California. Along the way, it gathers the waters of several major rivers including the Gunnison River in Colorado, the Green and San Juan Rivers in Utah, the Little Colorado and Gila Rivers in Arizona, and the Virgin River in Nevada. In all, some 15,000,000 acre feet (af) of water annually flows down the Colorado River on it's journey to the Gulf of California.

The area around Hoover Dam and Lake Mead is the one of hottest and driest regions in the United States. The sun shines almost every day of the year and temperatures may reach as high as 125 degrees. With the exception of an occasional thunder storm, very little precipitation, only about 4 inches per year, falls in the area. The winter months are mild with an average December temperature of 45 degrees.

The first Europeans to venture into the American Southwest were Spanish conquistadors and missionaries who traveled into what is now southern Arizona. They found the land populated by several native groups including the Pima, Yuma, Maricopa, and Papago. The Spaniards also discovered traces of earlier inhabitants who had developed cultures of fairly high order. Ruins of their towns and villages, some with structures three and four stories high, spoke of their high level of achievement. The Indians of the Southwest and their ancestors had been forcing a living from the desert with irrigation. Beginning sometime around A.D. 600, the Hohokam of Arizona began constructing elaborate irrigation systems to carry river water to fields of squash, maize and beans. By the time the Spanish entered the region, these systems had supported numerous cultures for over 1,000 years.

Among the first Spaniards to explore the American Southwest and the Gulf of California was Francisco de Ulloa. In 1539, Ulloa sailed into the Gulf of California. Near the head of the Gulf he noted rolling, murky water and assumed that a large river or stream was in the area. Although he did not see the river, he noted its location. The following year, Hernando de Alarcon was sent into the Gulf to sail up the coastline until he made contact with Francisco Vasquez de Coronado, who was traveling overland in search of the legendary seven cities of Cibola. Alarcon did not find Coronado, but did locate the Colorado River, sailing upstream to a point just above where the Gila River meets the Colorado, near the present day site of Yuma, Arizona. Also in 1540, Lopez de Cardenas, a member of Coronado's party, led a group of men through northern Arizona until they reached the rim of the Grand Canyon. Unable to continue further, Cardenas and his men turned back.

Cardenas was not the last person to be stopped by the Grand Canyon. Many who followed his party were turned back by the canyon's steep walls and awesome depth. It was not until the mid-1700 that the canyon was successfully crossed. In 1776, a party led by Father Silvestre Velez de Escalante and Father Atanacio Dominquez left Santa Fe bound for Monterey. They crossed the Colorado River near present day Parachute, Colorado, and headed west across the Wasatch Mountains to Utah Lake. Weakened by the hardships of winter, the party decided to abandon their journey and return to Santa Fe. Heading south through Utah, they crossed the Virgin River in northwestern Arizona and turned east, crossing the Colorado River near Glen Canyon.

The Colorado River blocked exploration of sections of the West for several centuries. Those who attempted to follow it's course were rewarded with hardship or death. Able to be crossed at only a few points, the majority of those who traveled west took a more southern route, crossing the Colorado near its junction with the Gila River. Following the end of the Mexican War in 1848 and the acquisition of Arizona, New Mexico and California by the United States, the desire to explore the unknown reaches of the Colorado River grew. In 1857, the War Department sent Lt. J.C. Ives up the Colorado River from the Gulf of California, and in 1858, Ives succeeded in taking his boat, The Explorer, almost 400 miles upstream to the lower end of Black Canyon. At that point, The Explorer struck a submerged rock and was destroyed. Ives continued upstream in a skiff until he reached Las Vegas Wash, about five miles upstream from the site of Boulder Dam.

Twelve years after Ives traveled upstream from the Gulf of California, Major John Wesley Powell led an expedition down the Colorado River from the Green River in Wyoming to the Virgin River in Nevada. Traveling over 1,000 miles through uncharted canyons and rapids, Powell and his party became the first men known to have traveled through the Grand Canyon and live to tell about it.

Even before Powell and Ives explored the river, others had seen the possibility of using its water to irrigate lands in California's Imperial Valley. The idea was proposed in the 1850s, but it was not until the 1890s that actual development began. In 1896, the California Development Company began constructing canals in the Imperial Valley and the first water from the Colorado River was delivered in 1901.

The Imperial Valley of southern California is a deep depression with its lowest point, the Salton Sink, some 280 feet below sea level. The Colorado River flows along the valley's southeastern rim, about 100 feet above sea level, and is separated from the valley by a ridge of alluvial material deposited by the river. The original Imperial Canal had its headworks on the California side of the river just upstream from the US/Mexico border. The canal ran along side the river for about four miles before turning west into the old Alamo River channel and into the Imperial Valley. In 1904, floods filled the first four miles of the canal with silt and prevented diversion of water. To solve the problem, a temporary channel was dug directly from the river to the old Alamo River channel. Since the channel was temporary and supposed to be closed before the spring floods, no control works were installed. Unexpected winter flooding caught the canal's owners off guard, sending floods into the Imperial Valley. The uncontrolled flows began to cut into the channel making it deeper and deeper until the entire flow of the Colorado River was flowing into the Alamo channel and the Salton Sink, creating the Salton Sea. The river ran uncontrolled into the valley until November 1906 when the bypass channel was finally blocked. In December 1906, the river once again flooded, breaching the dam that had been built across the bypass channel and the river again flowed into the Salton Sea. The river was again controlled in February 1907, but renewed flooding in 1908 and 1909 underscored the need to find a way to control the river.

The Imperial Valley was not the only place to suffer from the unpredictable nature of the river and its tributaries. Yuma, Arizona, and the Bureau of Reclamation's Yuma Project were subject to the effects of flooding by the Gila River. Levees built to protect the city and the project proved to be less effective than hoped, and the area became subject to regular floods. In 1916, flooding on the Gila River breached levees, and water stood four feet deep in the streets of Yuma. Faced with constant cycles of flooding and drought, the people of the region looked to the Federal Government for relief, and the Bureau of Reclamation began investigations into how to control the river and best use its valuable resource.

The passage of the Boulder Canyon Project Act came after more than two decades of studies and investigations. One of the most difficult steps in gaining approval for the project was determining the equitable allocation of the waters of the Colorado River. The people living in the Colorado River Basin depended of the waters of the river, and in many cases water rights held greater value than land titles. While all of the Basin states recognized the advantages of a large dam on the river, there were concerns about one state's ability to claim the lions's share of the water, leaving the other state without sufficient water for development. Under the doctrine of prior appropriation which was recognized by all Basin states, an individual or agency meeting certain legal conditions and first appropriating water for beneficial use had first right to the water. Several of the Basin States feared that California, with it's vast financial resources and great thirst for water, would be the first state to begin beneficial use of the waters of the Colorado River and therefore claim rights to the majority of the water. It was clear that without some sort of an agreement on the distribution of water, the project could not proceed.

In 1920, representatives of the seven Basin states met and endorsed a proposal for an interstate compact. A commission was formed with a representative from each of the Basin states and one from the Federal Government. The Government's representative was Herbert Hoover, then Secretary of Commerce under President Harding. The commission first met in January 1922 with Hoover presiding. At first, negotiations attempted to establish amounts for each state, but an agreement could not be reached. Hoover proposed that the Colorado River water resources be divided into two groups, the Upper and Lower Basin States, with the division of water within each Basin to be agreed upon at a later date. The Upper Basin consisted of the area above Lees Ferry, Arizona, about 30 miles south of the Arizona/Utah border, with the Lower Basin that area south of Lees Ferry. The proposal, known as the Hoover Compromise, led to the Colorado River Compact, which was signed by the Commissioners on November 24, 1922. The Compact was approved by the legislatures of six Basin States (Arizona did not approve the Compact until 1944) and the Federal Government. The division of water within the Upper and Lower Basins was left to the Basin States. In October 1948, the Upper Basin States approved the Upper Colorado River Basin Compact dividing water resources among the states of the Upper Basin. The states of the Lower Basin could not reach agreement, and the Secretary of the Interior determined the state's allocation. The matter was sent to the courts for determination, and in 1963, the Supreme Court upheld the Secretary's decision. The Colorado River Compact allocated each Basin 7,500,000 acre feet (af) per year, slightly less than is, on average, available. The Upper Colorado River Basin Compact divided the Upper Basin's share in the following manner: Colorado, 51.75 percent; Utah, 23 percent; Wyoming, 14 percent; New Mexico, 11.25 percent, and 50,000 af to Arizona because a small portion of the state is within the upper basin. The Secretary of the Interior divided the Lower Basin's share with California receiving 4,400,000 ac/ft, Nevada 300,000 ac/ft, and Arizona 2,800,000 ac/ft.

The first attempt to gain approval for construction of Boulder Dam came in 1922 with the introduction of two bills in the House of Representatives and the Senate. The bills were introduced by Congressman Phil D. Swing and Senator Hiram W. Johnson and were known as the Swing-Johnson bills. The bills failed to come up for a vote and were subsequently reintroduced several times. Many parties joined to oppose the bills. Arizona feared that a thirsty California was trying to get their water. Eastern legislators saw the project as a white elephant that would in no way benefit their constituents. The power lobby, under the guidance of Utah Senator Reed Smoot, saw the project as an attempt by the federal government to get into the power business, directly competing with private industry. Also joining the fight was the influential publisher of the Los Angeles Times, Harry Chandler, who owned 830,000 acres of irrigated land in Mexico. Chandler feared that the proposed project would siphon off water that was irrigating his land. In December 1928, after many failures, both the House and the Senate approved the bill and sent it to the President for final approval. On December 21, 1928, President Coolidge signed the bill approving the Boulder Canyon Project.

The Boulder Canyon Project Act authorized construction of a dam in Boulder or Black Canyon, construction of the All-American Canal to connect the Imperial and Coachella Valleys with the Colorado River, and divided the lower basin waters among the lower basin states. In addition, the Act authorized $165,000,000 for construction and stated the primary purposes of the project as flood control, improvement of navigation on the Colorado River, storage and delivery of water for reclamation and other beneficial uses, and generation of power. The Boulder Canyon Project Act became effective in June 1929 following ratification of the Colorado River Compact by six of the seven states of the Colorado River Basin.

Construction History
Investigations

The Bureau of Reclamation began studying construction of dams to control the Colorado River in 1902. Early studies involved investigations throughout the entire Colorado River Basin. The basin is divided into two sections. The Upper Basin is that portion above Lees Ferry, Arizona, or roughly the drainage areas in Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, and New Mexico. The Lower Basin includes the area below Lees Ferry containing drainage areas in California, Arizona, Nevada, and a small portion of Utah and New Mexico.

In 1902, while on a reconnaissance boat trip through Boulder and Black Canyons, U.S. Geological Survey hydrologists J.B. Lippincott and Jeremiah Ahern noted several potential dam sites and suggested that surveys be conducted. In 1902 and 1903, E.T. Perkins made a number of topographical surveys in the Lower Basin for the Geological Survey. Over the next 15 years, investigations continued throughout the entire basin. These studies later served as the basis of a comprehensive plan of development for the entire basin.

The increasing demand for water in California's Imperial Valley and nearby cities, and the need to control the unpredictable habits of the river led to in-depth studies in the Lower Basin. In 1918, Director of the Reclamation Service, Arthur P. Davis, ordered a thorough investigation of Boulder and Black Canyons as sites for a high dam for storage and flood control. In the years that followed, many sites were mapped and several potential dam sites were located. In 1920, Homer Hamlin and Edward T. Wheeler reported to the Secretary of Interior, John B. Payne, that both the Boulder and Black Canyons contained several suitable sites. Their study was supplemented by Geological Survey studies conducted in 1919 and 1920. In 1920, as a result of the Reclamation Service and Geological Service studies, Congress passed the Kincaid Act authorizing Secretary Payne to fully investigate the potential of a large dam on the lower Colorado River.

Exploratory drilling at potential dam sites began in late 1920 and continued for three years. Detailed topographic surveys were conducted in 1920 and 1921 with geologic surveys being conducted from 1921 to 1923. Also during the period of 1921 to 1923, studies into the availability of materials for concrete aggregates were made and investigations were conducted to determine the locations of railroads and highways for transporting supplies and equipment to construction sites. In 1924, after several years of investigations, the Bureau of Reclamation recommended construction of a high concrete dam at a site in the Black Canyon. The Black Canyon site was chosen for several reasons including accessibility, better foundation material, depth to bedrock, and a greater reservoir capacity. Although the Black Canyon site was chosen, the name Boulder Canyon Project was retained because of prior legislation under that title.

The design of Boulder Dam evolved during several years of study that involved the efforts of some 200 engineers and other workers in Reclamation's design office in Denver and several consulting firms that were retained during the design process. Prior to the design of Boulder Dam, the highest dam in the world was Arrowrock Dam on the Boise Project in Idaho. At just over 348 feet high, Arrowrock Dam was less than half the height of the proposed dam in the Black Canyon. It was clear from the beginning that many new problems in design and construction would be encountered and solutions would have to be found before the dam could be built.

A tentative design produced in 1920 called for a straight, concrete gravity dam with a cross section similar to the design later adopted for construction. The diversion plan for the 1920 design was similar to the design adopted in the final plan: four large diversion tunnels, two on either side of the canyon. Spillway provisions included thirty-two, 16-foot by 16-foot siphons discharging into the diversion tunnels. Similar to the design of Arrowrock Dam, there were three banks of outlets running through the dam. When the 1920 designs were drawn up, there were no plans for power development, so provisions for a powerhouse were not included in the plan.

In 1924, a report on the development of the Colorado River Basin included a preliminary design for a concrete dam at the lower Black Canyon site. Prior to this time, several types of dams were considered, including earth and rock-fill, rock-fill with concrete face, multiple arch concrete, concrete gravity, and concrete arch. By the time the 1924 report was issued, all but the rock-fill with concrete face and concrete gravity or arch designs had been eliminated. Further studies determined that a concrete gravity or arch structure would be best.

The 1924 design was for a concrete arch structure. Although a preliminary design, it was selected as representing a reasonable estimate of the final design for use in cost estimates. Unlike the 1920 design, the 1924 design eliminated the spillways and was designed to be overtopped during maximum floods. Diversion would be handled via three 35-foot diameter tunnels through the Nevada side of the canyon. The design retained the outlet conduits through the dam structure and still did not have provisions for power development, although designs for future power development were considered.

In 1928, the Secretary of Interior appointed a board of engineers and geologists to review all designs and determine the best design from the standpoints of economy, safety, and engineering feasibility. The board, known as the Colorado River Board, approved the lower Black Canyon site and recommended changes to the diversion plan, doubling the diversion capacity to 200,000 second feet (s/f). The Board also increased the spillway capacity to 400,000 s/f, which would eliminate the possibility of overtopping during maximum flooding.

By 1928, power development had become an essential feature of the project. Studies into the best arrangement for the powerplant and dam led to two designs. The first design placed the powerplants and outlet works on the Nevada side of the canyon with two circular vertical shaft spillways on the Arizona side. The second design called for a "U" shaped powerhouse at the base of the dam with spillway tunnels and double banks of outlet works contained in both canyon walls. Intake towers would supply water to the power penstocks and outlet works. Both designs eliminated the outlet conduits through the dam structure and were designed as gravity-arch structures. The second design would form the basis for the final plan.

The initial appropriation for construction was made in July 1930. At that time the design had been modified to eliminate the two vertical shaft spillways and replaced them with two side channel spillways with uncontrolled crests, with upstream openings controlled by 50-foot by 50- foot gates that would be opened if greater flows were required. Modifications in the tunnel layout and intake towers were added, but the design still retained the double banks of canyon wall outlet works that had been part of the 1928 design. In 1931, the contract for construction was awarded, and the final design was determined. In the final design, the side channel spillways were retained, but they would be controlled by drum gates and connected to the diversion tunnels by inclined shafts, and the upper set of canyon wall outlets was eliminated. The final design called for the diversion of the river via four, 50-foot diameter tunnels driven through the walls of the canyon, two on each side. Following completion of the dam, the outer tunnels would be plugged at about mid-point, and inclined shafts from the spillways would discharge into the downstream portion of the tunnels. The inner tunnels would also be plugged about one-third of the way downstream from their openings and 30-foot diameter steel penstocks would be placed in the downstream portion connecting the powerhouses to the intake towers. In addition to the diversion tunnels, two additional tunnels, one on each side of the canyon, would be driven to house penstocks that would supply water from the intake towers to the power houses. When not needed for power generation, these tunnels would discharge through the canyon wall outlet works.

Construction
Boulder City and Pre-Construction Activities

Before construction of the dam and appurtenant works could begin, an enormous amount of preparatory work had to be undertaken. The site of the dam is a deep canyon more than 30 miles from the nearest town. The site was in the middle of the desert with limited access and no provisions for housing the almost 5,000 people that would work on the project. Before work on the dam itself could begin, many support features had to be constructed. These included transportation and communication facilities, housing, water and sewage systems, power and lighting facilities, and a 150-ton cable way for handling heavy equipment at the dam site.

To house the estimated 5,000 workers and officials involved with the project, the Government designed and built Boulder City. The site for the town, about six miles west of the dam, was chosen because it was at a higher elevation than the surrounding countryside. It was felt that the climate at the higher ground would be more mild and hospitable than at lower altitude were the temperature was often well over 100 degrees, 24 hours a day. The town was planned using the accepted standards for municipal development and was constructed with paved streets, a water and sewer system, electrical power, a city hall, administrative building, schools, a hospital, and houses for the workers and their families.

Work on Boulder City began in December 1930. The original plan called for completion of the town before work on the dam began, but the construction schedule for the dam was accelerated, and the town was not ready when the first dam workers arrived at the site in early 1931. During the first summer of construction, workers were housed in temporary camps while work on the town progressed. In April 1931, the Boulder City Company was organized as a wholly owned subsidiary of Six Companies to manage the town for the Government, and Sims R. Ely was named city manager by Interior Secretary Ray Lyman Wilbur. By the end of 1931, most of the town was ready for occupancy.

A project of the magnitude of Boulder Dam required an enormous amount of material and equipment. In order to transport the material to the site, it was necessary to construct a 22.7-mile branch railroad from a point about 7 miles south of Las Vegas. The railroad was built and operated by the Union Pacific Railroad, which also built a 400 car switchyard at Boulder City. The railroad issued the contract for construction of the branch line September 10, 1930, and regular service to Boulder City began on April 17, 1931.

The railroad was continued from Boulder City to the rim of the canyon above the dam site. Construction of this section of the line, just over 10 miles, was carried out under contract by the Lewis Construction Company. The final four miles of the line required significant excavation and fill, and construction of five tunnels totaling over 1,400 feet. Work on the line was completed in September 1931 at a cost of $635,000, of which over $460,000 was for labor. To facilitate the movement of men and equipment to and from the construction site, the State of Nevada constructed a 24 mile long highway from Las Vegas to Boulder City. The road from Boulder City to the canyon rim, about seven miles, was constructed for the Government by the General Construction Company. Designed to transport men and equipment to and from the dam site, these roads later formed a link in the main highway between Las Vegas and Kingman, Arizona.

Since it was not practical to transport much of the equipment and material to the canyon floor by means of a roadway, a permanent cableway with a 150-ton capacity was constructed by the government. The cableway spans the canyon near the downstream ends of the powerhouses. The loading station was constructed on the Nevada side of the canyon near the end of the highway and rail line, and several landing platforms were constructed on both canyon walls. The cableway is supported by a 118-foot high steel tower on the Nevada side, and is anchored into the side of the canyon on the Arizona side. The cableway is 1,580 feet long from anchor to anchor and has a usable span of 1,256 feet. The operating machinery is located in the hoist house on the Nevada side of the canyon. The cableway can be remotely controlled from the control house that overlooks the canyon or from any of the landing platforms. The cableway was supplied and constructed by the Lidgerwood Manufacturing Company and cost $172,000.

Since no source of electrical power existed in the vicinity of the dam site, two alternatives were investigated: construction of a diesel or steam powered generating plant near the dam site, or securing power from distant plants already in operation. After examining several proposals, the Government determined that securing power from existing powerplants was the best solution. On October 28, 1930, the Government signed a contract with the Southern Sierras Power Company and the Nevada-California Power Company for the construction of a 222 mile-long power transmission line from San Bernadino to a substation at Boulder City, and the delivery of power to the construction site. The transmission line served two purposes: transmission of power to the dam site during construction, and from the dam to markets in Southern California following completion of the dam. Construction of the line began in December 1930, and was completed in late April 1931. During construction, 1,250,000 pounds of conducting line was used along with 5,000,000 pounds of steel and 49,000 insulator disks. The total cost of the transmission line and substation was approximately $1,500,000.

Providing for the needs of over 5,000 men and their families was no easy task. To accommodate the workers and their families at Boulder City, Six Companies constructed housing for both single and married employees, a fully stocked department store, a post-office, laundry, recreation hall, school, and hospital. Single employees at Boulder City were housed in eight 171-man dormitories, and one 53- man dormitory. The bunkhouses contained water coolers, toilets, and one shower for every 13 men. For $1.60 per day, workers received a private room with a bed, mattress, pillow, bedding, a chair, meals, and transportation to and from the construction site. In addition to the dormitories at Boulder City, Six Companies constructed six dormitories and a 400 man mess hall at Cape Horn, a bend in the river downstream from the dam site. Married employees were housed in 758 cottages that ranged from one to five rooms each. Rents ranged from $15.00 per month for a one room cottage to $30.00 per month for a three room cottage. The larger cottages were reserved for Six Companies managers and officials.

When Boulder City was constructed, Six Companies and the Government saw that all needs of the workers and their families were met, including police and fire protection. The Boulder City Ranger Force was organized in August 1931 under the leadership Glen E. Bodell, Chief Ranger. The primary task of the Ranger Force was enforcing safety regulations and policing the area in and around Boulder City. One of the chief concerns was bootlegging, and in 1931 and 1932, 91 raids were conducted resulting in 72 arrests and the seizure of eight stills. During construction of the dam, there were few major crimes in Boulder City and the majority of arrests were for drunkenness.

Fire protection in a town consisting almost entirely of wood frame buildings was a major concern. In December 1932, the Boulder City Company formed a 45 man fire department under the leadership Chief A.J. Kaminske. Fire fighting equipment consisted of a 350 gallon pumper truck and a ladder truck. In addition, there were 1,500 water barrels placed throughout Boulder City that were inspected and refilled regularly, and each individual dwelling and all dormitories were supplied with fire extinguishers. Dormitories were also constructed with standpipes and automatic sprinkler systems.

To deal with the high number of accidents that were anticipated on a project the size of Boulder Canyon, Six Companies constructed a state of the art hospital in Boulder City. The sixty bed facility was headed by Dr. R. O. Schofield, Chief Surgeon, and staffed by six doctors, nine full-time nurses, two full-time orderlies, and several support personnel. The hospital was equipped as well as any of its size in the county, and due to the high number of orthopaedic injuries, significant advancements in the care and treatment of fractures occurred.

Feeding 5,000 men was an enormous undertaking. To meet this challenge, the Boulder City Company contracted with Anderson Brothers Supply Company to provide food service for Boulder City and the Six Companies River Camp at Cape Horn. The contract called for three meals a day for the day and night shifts, with an extra lunch provided to the night shift. To accommodate the workers, a 1,200 man mess hall was constructed at Boulder City, and a 100 man mess hall at the River Camp. Provisions had to be shipped to Boulder City from the nearest supplier that could provide the amounts needed. Beef, veal, lamb, and pork was purchased in 20,000 pound lots and shipped from Reno, Nevada, as were eggs. Canned goods, specially packed for Anderson Brothers by Del Monte and S & W, were shipped from as far away as Los Angeles and San Francisco. The same was true for fruits and vegetables. Since there were no dairies in southern Nevada, Anderson Brothers purchased a 160-acre farm at Mesquite, Nevada, about 80 miles away, and constructed facilities for 200 dairy cows. Fresh milk, cream, and butter were shipped to Boulder City daily.

A typical menu consisted of grapefruit, oatmeal, bacon omelet, wheat cakes, coffee, and milk for breakfast, and a salad, roast sirloin of beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, spinach, mince pie, rice pudding, milk, and coffee for supper. Workers were allowed to pack a lunch before each shift. The choices included roast beef or pork sandwiches, jelly rolls, and several varieties of pie and fruit. Workers were allowed to take as much as they wanted. During the construction period prior to January 1936, Anderson Brothers served over 7,400,000 meals, averaging over 4,300 meals per day.

Because of the seriousness of the unemployment problem in 1930, Interior Secretary Wilbur ordered that the Bureau of Reclamation speed up preparation of plans and specifications so that the contract for construction could be awarded at the earliest possible date. In response to the Secretary's request, engineers at the Denver office, led by Raymond F. Walter, Chief Engineer, and John L. Savage, Chief Design Engineer, completed and printed specification for the dam and appurtenant works in December 1930, six months ahead of schedule. Bids were opened at the Denver office on March 4, 1931, with the lowest bid being submitted by Six Companies, Inc., of San Francisco. The winning bid was $48,890,995. Six Companies was a joint venture of the Utah Construction Company of Ogden, Utah; Henry J. Kaiser & W. A. Bechtel Company of Oakland, California; McDonald & Kahn Ltd., of Los Angeles; Morrison- Knudsen Company of Boise, Idaho; J. F. Shea Company of Portland, Oregon; and the Pacific Bridge Company of Portland, Oregon. The contract was awarded to Six Companies on March 11, 1931 and the order to proceed was issued on April 16, 1931.

Work at the dam site was supervised by Walker R."Brig" Young, Construction Engineer for the Bureau of Reclamation, and Frank T. Crowe, General Superintendent for the Six Companies. Also overseeing work at the construction site were Ralph Lowry, Field Engineer, and John C. Page, Office Engineer.

Transportation was a key element is the success of the project. In addition to the railroads and roadways constructed by Union Pacific and the Government, the primary contractor built several miles of railways and over twenty miles of roadways. The contractor's rail line ran from the Government railroad to the aggregate plant located at Hemenway Wash, about two miles northeast of the dam site. From the aggregate plant, a seven mile long line was constructed to gravel deposits about 4 miles north of the dam. A second line was constructed down Hemenway Wash to the upper end of the canyon, then down the canyon to the construction site. The railroad was excavated out of the canyon wall for almost its entire length and required the construction of two tunnels, each over 1,000 feet long. A portion of a temporary trestle remains embedded in the structure of the dam.

Six Companies constructed numerous roads to provide adequate access to all areas of construction activity. One road ran to the upper end of the canyon where supplies were loaded onto barges and floated downstream to the dam site. This road was later extended down the Nevada side of the canyon to the construction area. Access to the lower tunnel portals was provided by a road that ran down a steep side canyon to the river, then upstream to the site. Following completion of the dam, this road was taken over by the Government to be used for maintenance access to the powerhouse. A 1,974-foot long tunnel was excavated to allow travel to the Nevada wing of the powerhouse.

Before excavations for the foundation and abutments could begin, it was necessary to make the dam site accessible. This required unwatering a half-mile section of the canyon and protecting the unwatered section from flooding during construction. This was a particularly difficult task as the flows of the Colorado River could fluctuate from 2,000 cubic feet per second (cfs) to 200,000 cfs. After numerous studies, it was determined that the best plan was to construct four, 50-foot diameter tunnels, two on each side of the canyon, and divert the river through those tunnels. The tunnels are designated numbers one through four, with number one being the tunnel furthest from the river on the Nevada side. They are also referred to as the outer and inner Nevada tunnels and the outer and inner Arizona tunnels. Because the final design of the dam eliminated outlet works through the dam structure, the tunnels were designed and constructed to be incorporated into the reservoir outlet and power penstock systems following their use for diversion.

Construction of the four tunnels began on May 12, 1931, with excavation work on the construction adit on the Arizona side of the canyon. Work on the Nevada side of the canyon began shortly after. The 8-foot high, 10-foot wide adits were driven into the canyon walls until they intersected with the lines of the main tunnels. When work on the construction adits began, the only access to the work site was by barge. The Arizona side of the river had the only area suitable for placement of equipment and supplies, so work was begun from that side. To access the Nevada side of the canyon, a cable suspension bridge was placed across the river and a shelf blasted into the canyon wall. Debris from the excavations was used to enlarge the landing area along the river and to construct a roadway downstream to where the tunnel outlet portals were constructed. The construction adits were completed on September 5, 1931. The Arizona adit is 826 feet long and the Nevada adit is 607 feet long.

The design of the four diversion tunnels called for the excavation of the tunnels to a diameter of approximately 56 feet so that when lined with concrete, the diameter would be 50 feet. Excavations were carried out in three sections: a 12-foot by 12-foot top heading, a 29-foot high by 56-foot wide main heading, and a 15-foot invert, or lower heading. Excavations began on the top heading and were advanced a short distance before work began on the main headings. Wing sections on either side of the top headings were excavated at the same time as the main headings. The 15-foot invert section was left in place to provide a level surface for trucks and machinery, and was excavated following completion of the upper and main sections.

Drilling operations on the main headings were handled by a drilling carriage specially constructed for the project. The carriage was a structural steel frame with several platforms that provided work stations for the drilling crews. Each of the four drill carriages was manned by an 50 man crew that consisted of 22 miners, 21 chucktenders, 5 nippers, 1 safety foreman, and 1 drilling foreman. Each carriage was mounted on a truck and carried 30 drills in five rows of six drills each. Half the main face would be drilled and the bores loaded with explosives, and the carriage repositioned to drill and load the other half of the face. When drilling and loading was complete, the carriage was moved away from the face and the entire heading was shot at once. On average, 126 holes were drilled and 2,000 pounds of dynamite used for each shot. The headings were advanced approximately 15 feet with each shot. By drilling the adits, 16 possible faces were available for work, although 12 were the most worked at any one time.

The top 12-by-12-foot headings began from the construction adits on June 11, 1931 and were completed on January 7, 1932. Excavations on the main headings began from the tunnel portals in September 1931, and were completed in April 1932. Excavations of the invert sections began February 23, 1932, and were completed May 23, 1932. The estimated total amount of material excavated from the four tunnels is 1,450,934 cubic yards (cu\yd). At the peak of the excavations, about 100 trucks, ranging in capacity from 5 to 14 cu\yd, were in use removing material from the tunnels. The cost of excavating the tunnels was approximately $15,073,891.

Life at Boulder Canyon and Boulder City was not easy. Temperatures would often reach over 115 degrees during the day while falling only to 95 degrees at night. Before housing at Boulder City had been completed, workers and their families were forced to live in temporary encampments and tent cities. One such camp was located at Cape Horn, about a mile upstream from the dam site. The encampment was officially known as Williamsville, but among the workers it was known as Ragtown; a more appropriate name. Conditions at Ragtown were horrible; no fresh water or sanitary facilities, and little or no shade in which to escape the stifling heat. The heat was so bad that groups of people would huddle in the shadow of tents or small bushes or stand up to their necks in the river in an effort to keep cool. In the diversion tunnels the problem was even worse. Temperatures underground often reached as high as 140 degrees. Heat prostration became a deadly problem, killing one worker every two days during the summer of 1933. In July 1933, three women, wives of workers, died at the Cape Horn camp from heat prostration.

Tunnel lining operations followed the excavations as closely as possible. Placement of the concrete lining began in Tunnel No. 3 on March 16, 1932. The contract called for a lining of 36-inches giving the tunnel a final diameter of 50-feet. Lining was placed in three separate operations starting with the invert, or bottom section of the tunnel. The first step in the lining operation was the construction of a shelf along each side of the tunnel to support the track for the gantry crane used for concrete placement. Concrete forms for the invert section consisted of two, 4-foot by 12-foot steel plates that were shaped to conform to the curvature of the tunnel. Once the forms were placed, concrete was poured into the space between the forms and the tunnel wall. After the concrete had set sufficiently, the forms were lifted up and moved to the next section. Following completion, the invert section was covered with sand and gravel to provide a level roadway for trucks and other equipment. Upon completion of the lining operations, the sand and gravel covering was removed.

Lining of the side-walls and arch, or overhead section, closely followed lining of the invert section. Two 18-inch concrete shelves were constructed along the upper edge of the invert section and rails to support the side wall and arch forms and equipment were set on the shelves. The side-wall forms were carried on a structural-steel framework 80-feet long and 40-feet high. The forms were made from 1/4-inch thick steel plate. To make the forms adapt to the curve of the tunnels, each side form was divided into three, 20-foot sections, and two, 10-foot sections. The forms were held in place by means of jacks. Once the forms were in place, concrete was poured into the space between the tunnel wall and the forms by a 5-ton electric crane mounted atop the form carriage. The concrete was poured through a series of chutes placed along the forms at various heights. Concrete placement began through the lowest set of chutes and continued progressively upwards. When concrete would reach the level of the placement chute, a steel cover would be bolted over the chute opening and placement would continue from the next highest set of chutes. Placement continued in this manner until the concrete reached the top of the form. Concrete was compacted into place by several men working between the tunnel wall and the forms. When each section was complete, the forms were removed and the carriage advanced to the next section.

Concrete placement in the arch section followed about 150 feet behind the side-wall placement. Forms for the arch section were carried on a carriage similar to that of the side-wall forms. Like the side-wall forms, the arch forms were 80-feet long and divided into three 20-foot sections and two 10-foot sections. The forms were held in place by vertical jacks while inclined jacks held the edge of the form securely against the upper section of the side-wall. Concrete was pumped into the forms and allowed to set for about twelve hours before the forms were removed.

Following completion of the tunnel lining, it was necessary to fill any seams, cracks or voids between the lining and rock walls with grout. Grout is a mixture of cement and water that is injected into holes to seal cracks and other voids in rock. During grout operations in the four diversion tunnels, 122,000 feet of grout holes were drilled and more than 200,000 cubic feet (cu/ft) of grout injected into the holes.

Work on the Arizona diversion tunnels was completed in early August 1932 with work on the Nevada tunnels completed shortly after. On November 13, 1932, temporary dams that had been built to keep the river out of the Arizona tunnels were removed and the river began to flow through the completed tunnels for the first time. As soon as water began to flow through the tunnels, work on the upper temporary coffer dam was begun. The temporary coffer dam protected the site until a more permanent coffer dam was completed. The temporary coffer dam consisted of rock and gravel from the tunnel excavations that was dumped into the river from a temporary trestle built for that purpose and was completed in less than 24 hours, diverting the entire flow of the river through the Arizona tunnels.

While work was progressing on the upper coffer dam, a lower coffer dam was being constructed just upstream from the tunnel outlet portals. Once the two temporary coffer dams were completed, the area between the two structures was dewatered by pumping and work on more permanent coffer dams began. The upper temporary coffer dam was 470 feet long, 50 feet high and contained 94,000 cu/yd of material. The lower temporary coffer dam was 375 feet long, 30 feet high and contained about 40,000 cu/yd of material.

While work on the diversion tunnels and coffer dams progressed, workmen began stripping the canyon walls of loose rock and material. Stripping was necessary so that the dam would abut against solid rock at all areas of contact with the canyon wall and to prevent loose rock from falling into the construction area. To access the canyon walls, workmen were lowered over the rim of the canyon by safety belts or boatswain chairs. Beginning at the top of the canyon wall, loose rock was knocked down using steel bars. Some of the material, though too solid to be barred loose, was so fragmented or seamed that it could be knocked loose by later construction or blasting. This material was drilled with jackhammers and blasted loose. Both canyon walls from the location of the upstream intake towers to the downstream ends of the canyon wall outlet houses had to be thoroughly stripped. Stripping operations began in August 1932 and were completed in June 1933. During operations, more than 137,000 cu/yd of materials were stripped from the canyon walls.

Construction of the permanent upstream coffer dam began in September 1932, about seven weeks prior to diversion of the river. A temporary dike was extended outward from the Nevada canyon wall to the middle of the river, then downstream about 1,000 feet, and then back to the canyon wall. The area enclosed was about half the site of the permanent coffer dam. The area was dewatered and excavation began. By the time the river was diverted through the tunnels, much of the work on the Nevada side of the permanent coffer dam had been completed. Following diversion of the river, work on the Arizona side of the dam was begun. Much of the material for the permanent coffer dam was obtained from gravel deposits located at Hemenway Wash, about 3.5 miles upstream from the construction site.

Work on the permanent downstream coffer dam began as soon as the construction site was unwatered. Like the upstream coffer dam, materials for the downstream dam came from Hemenway Wash. The upstream coffer dam was a rolled earth and rockfill dam 98 feet high and 510 feet long. The upstream face was a 3-foot thick rock blanket with a 6-inch thick, reinforced concrete slab face. The downstream coffer dam was also a rolled earth and rockfill structure. It was 66 feet high and 350 feet long. The upstream face had a rock blanket that varied in depth from 13 to 25 feet. The downstream slope of the dam was protected by a rock barrier 55 feet high and 400 feet long. The upstream coffer dam was completed in March 1933 and the downstream dam completed in April 1933.

Once the coffer dams were in place and the construction site unwatered, excavation for the dam foundation began. In order for the dam to rest on solid rock, it was necessary to remove all loose material until solid rock was reached. The depth of the excavations ranged from 35 to 40 feet at the base of the canyon walls, to 100 to 125 feet at the mid point of the canyon. Work on the foundation excavations was completed in June 1933. During excavations for the foundation, approximately 1,500,000 cu/yd of material was removed, including material that was the result of canyon wall stripping operations.

Excavations for the abutment began December 21, 1932. In addition to exposing solid rock to support the dam, proper shaping of the abutment excavations was necessary so that the dam abutments could handle the load that would be carried to them by the arch action of the dam. Excavations on the abutments involved the removal of over 283,000 cu/yd of material and were completed by June 1933.

Following completion of foundation and abutment excavations, grouting operations began in the foundation and abutments. The objective of grouting operations was to provide a barrier to seepage through the foundation and abutments, and to consolidate the surface zones into a more monolithic rock. The process involved drilling holes to various depths, usually 100 to 150 feet, and injecting grout under high pressure into those holes. Holes of less than 50 feet in depth were drilled using pneumatic percussion drills while deeper holes were drilled using air- driven diamond drills. For the greater portion of the grouting operations, the grout plants consisted of compact, self-sustaining units mounted on 5-ton flatbed trucks. Since no roads led to where much of the grouting operations took place, the units were picked up by cableway and set down were they were needed. During grouting operations in the foundation and abutment areas, 143 holes were drilled totaling over 5,300 feet, and 6,395 cubic feet (cu/ft) of grout were injected into the holes.

Once the foundation and abutment areas were grouted, work on the main dam itself could begin. The primary goal of the designers was that the completed dam be a single monolithic mass. To achieve this goal, the dam was constructed in a series of columns that were raised systematically. Each of the columns, or blocks, were of a constant dimension that ran vertically from their bases to the upstream face, downstream face, or top of dam depending on their location in the structure, and were separated by radial and circumferential contraction joints. Each block was interlocked with adjacent blocks by vertical and horizontal keyways. Concrete was placed in each block in 5-foot lifts and was restricted to no more than one, 5-foot lift per block in 72 hours, and no more than 7 lifts per block in 30 days. In addition, the height of the tallest block could not be greater that 35 feet higher than the lowest block. The relative height of the blocks was maintained throughout the construction process.

Since no structure the magnitude of Boulder Dam had ever been constructed, many of the procedures used in construction of the dam were untried. One of the problems that faced the designers was cooling and contraction of the concrete in the dam. Many investigations into how to cool the dam were conducted before a cooling system was adopted. To remove the heat created by the hardening process and the reduce the cooling and contraction time, an artificial cooling system was designed. The system consisted of pipe loops embedded in the concrete with air-cooled or refrigerated water circulated through them. During the Summer of 1931, 2 years before concrete placement at Boulder Dam began, Reclamation conducted an experiment at the Owyhee Dam, which was being constructed in Idaho, to test the effectiveness of the proposed system. Each 4-foot lift of a 28-foot by 210-foot section of the dam was cooled using river water circulated through pipes embedded in the dam. The results of the experiment proved to engineers that the cooling system proposed for Boulder Dam would work. At Boulder, the water was chilled by a cooling and refrigeration plant constructed at the site. To accommodate the header pipes of the cooling system, an 8-foot slot running through the center of the dam from the upstream toe to the downstream toe was provided. As each 50-foot height of dam was cooled to the desired temperature, the contraction joints were grouted and the slot filled with concrete to the top of the cooled section.

The first bucket of concrete was placed in the dam the morning of June 6, 1933, nearly 18 months ahead of schedule. The first bucket was placed in block J-3, the third block from the upstream face on the Arizona side of the cooling slot. This was in the deepest section of the foundation excavation; an area known as the inner gorge. By the end of June 1933, more than 24,000 cu/yd of had been placed in the dam. Concrete was placed using 8 cu/yd, bottom-dump buckets that were hoisted to the area of the pour by one of 5 temporary, 20-ton cableways built by the contractor. Each of the cableways included self-propelled traveling head and tail towers that were mounted on tracks and could travel up and down the canyon as needed. Four of the temporary cableways served the dam with the fifth serving the power house and downstream areas.

Concrete was mixed in one of two plants erected at the construction site. The low-level mixing plant was located on the canyon floor on the Nevada side about 4,000 feet upstream from the dam. Concrete was transferred to the construction site by rail where it was lifted to the area of the pour by cableway. The upper-level plant was located on the rim of the Nevada side of the canyon. Concrete was transported to the canyon rim by rail were it was lifted by cableway and conveyed to the pour area. Both plants had a mixing capacity of about 280 cu/yd per hour.

Following placement of each 5-foot lift, the surface was thoroughly cleaned by a pressurized stream of water and air. In addition, the concrete surface had to be kept moist until the next lift was placed or until curing was complete in sections that were permanently exposed. During summer months, this task required as many as 20 men whose sole job was to keep the concrete moist by spraying the surface with water.

Concrete cooling operations began in August 1933 when the cooling tower went into operation. The refrigeration plant began operation in October 1933. The cooling tower was located on the downstream coffer dam and the refrigeration and pumping plant was located at the base of the Nevada canyon wall near the downstream coffer dam. Cooling was carried out in two stages. The first stage involved circulation of air cooled water through tubing embedded in the concrete. The second stage involved circulation of refrigerated water through the same series of tubes. The system was designed so that first stage cooling could be carried out at one elevation while second stage cooling was in progress in the next lower elevation. When cooling operations began, the cooling pipes were placed in newly poured lifts by forcing the pipes several inches into the fresh concrete. This system proved to be difficult and was abandoned when it was discovered that placing the cooling pipes atop the previous lift just prior to pouring the new lift produced adequate results. By the time cooling operations were completed in May 1935, more than 590 miles of cooling pipe had been embedded in the dam with over 159 billion B.t.u. of heat removed.

Work on the spillways and the inclined tunnels that would connect them with the diversion tunnels began in early 1932 with excavation of the spillway channels. The final design of the twin spillways resulted from extended studies that involved testing of several designs. The final design was subject to numerous tests using models of various scale to determine the properties of flow through the system. These flow tests were conducted at Reclamation's engineering laboratories in Denver. Excavations in the spillway channels were completed in March 1933. Excavation of the inclined tunnels began in January 1932. The tunnels were excavated by first driving a 7-foot high by 14-foot wide pilot bore along the top of the tunnel heading. The pilot bore was driven upward from the diversion tunnel and gradually expanded until the bore reached the final diameter. Excavations of the Nevada inclined spillway tunnel were completed in December 1932 with the Arizona spillway tunnel being completed in January 1934. In total, spillway excavations required the removal of over 725,000 cu/yd of material with approximately 600,000 cu/yd coming from the spillway channels and the remainder from the incline tunnels.

Concrete placement in the Nevada spillway began in March 1933 with placement in the Arizona spillway beginning in April 1933. Concrete work began with placement of the spillway weir base. The bases were placed in alternating lifts of 5-feet each. When completed, the bases were used as runways for cranes and trucks during placement of the spillway channel side walls. The steep side walls were placed in 14- by 15-foot rectangular sections. Placement began in alternating sections with placement of three panels before placement in the remaining sections began. Work continued in this manner until the sidewalls were completed. Although the design had called for a minimum thickness of 18-inches, the sidewalls were generally 2-feet or more in thickness. Placement of concrete in the overflow section of the spillway followed completion of the side walls, with placement of the channel floor following completion of the overflow weir.

The two spillways are each controlled by four, 100-foot long, automatically controlled drum gates. Each gate is controlled by the water level in the gate chamber. As the level of the reservoir rises, the gates raise in advance of the water surface. If the lake continues to rise past the maximum height of the gates, 1,221-feet above sea level, the gates will remain in the raised position until the depth of the flow over the top of gates reaches seven and a half feet. At that point, the gates will begin to drop, allowing a greater flow over the crests. As the water level drops, the gates will rise, maintaining a constant flow until the water drops below the spillway crest. At a peak water surface of 1,229-feet above sea level, the flow through the spillways is about 400,000 cfs. The elevation of the spillway crest is approximately 1,205-feet above sea level. The gates may also be controlled manually. The installation of the gates and control equipment in the Arizona spillway was completed from March to July, 1934, and in the Nevada spillway from June to November, 1934.

Concrete placement in the inclined tunnels began in the Nevada tunnel. At first, tunnel sections were placed in a single, monolithic lift. After some experimentation, this procedure was changed, and the lining was poured in sections beginning with the tunnel invert with the remaining section poured in a single operation. In the Arizona tunnel, the invert was completed for the entire length of the tunnel before work on the remaining sections began. At first, a 14- inch pipeline conveyed concrete to the work site and deposited it in a hopper at the bottom of the tunnel. Concrete then flowed into the forms through chutes. This method proved to be troublesome and was soon abandoned. Concrete was then transported to the forms down an inclined track in 4 cu/yd buckets. Concrete placement in the spillways and inclined tunnels was completed in September 1935.

On a project the size of Boulder Dam, accidents and injuries are not uncommon. One of the most notable accidents occurred during tunnel lining operations in the Arizona inclined tunnel. Three men had just finished loosening a section of the form in the tunnel invert when the cable hoisting the form upward to the next section gave way. The form, with the three men still standing on it, plummeted down the inclined shaft towards the Colorado River flowing through the diversion tunnel below. The remaining workers in the inclined tunnel heard a tremendous splash as the form hit the water below. One of them telephoned a warning to workers downstream from the tunnel portals, and a rescue team was ready when the form, with the men still clinging to it, emerged from the tunnel. The men, battered and beaten, had somehow survived their quarter-mile ride through the tunnels of Boulder Dam.

In addition to the four diversion tunnels, several other tunnels were driven in order to convey water to the powerhouses and outlet works. Two tunnels, known has the upper Nevada and Arizona header tunnels, connect the downstream intake towers with the powerhouse and canyon wall outlet works. These tunnels were connected to the power turbines via four 18-foot penstock tunnels, and to the canyon wall outlet works via six 11-foot outlet tunnels. Two inclined tunnels connect the upstream intake towers with the downstream portions of the inner diversion tunnels, known as the lower Nevada and Arizona header tunnels. These tunnels are also connected to the power turbines by four 18-foot penstock tunnels.

To excavate the upper header tunnels, construction adits were driven into the canyon walls from points near the downstream end of the powerhouses. The upper header tunnels were driven both directions from the construction adits without the aid of a pilot bore. For each shot, the entire face, minus a 5-foot invert, was drilled and blasted. The invert was removed in advance of lining operations. The tunnels were excavated to a diameter of 41-feet with a lined diameter of 37-feet. Each 20-foot section of concrete was placed in a single pour using specially designed collapsible forms. The upper Arizona header tunnel required the removal of 64,000 cu/yd of rock and the placement of 17,500 cu/yd of concrete, while the upper Nevada header tunnel required the removal of 72,000 cu/yd of rock and the placement of more than 20,000 cu/yd of concrete. Work on the upper header tunnels began in January 1933 and was completed in May 1934.

Excavations for the inclined portions of the lower header tunnels began with the driving of a 7-foot by 14-foot pilot heading. The pilot heading was driven upwards from the lower header tunnel to the base of the upstream intake tower. The heading was then expanded to its full 41-foot diameter beginning at the base of the intake tower downward to the lower tunnel. Concrete was first placed in the upper portions of the tunnels, and then upward from the lower end of the tunnels. The lined diameter of the inclined portions of the lower tunnels is 37-feet. Excavations of the two inclined tunnels involved the removal of over 28,000 cu/ft of rock and placement of 18,500 cu/yd of concrete. Work on the inclined tunnels began in January 1933 and was completed in December 1933.

One of the more unique features of Boulder Dam are the twin sets of intake towers. These structures, each 395-feet tall, contain the gates that control the flow of water through the combination power penstocks and reservoir outlet works. Each tower is made up of an inner barrel, 30-feet in diameter, supported and stabilized by twelve concrete buttresses that extend outward from the inner barrel like spokes from a wheel hub. The buttresses also provide support for the trashracks and emergency gates. Each inner barrel has twelve openings at the base of the tower and twelve at a point about midway up, allowing water to enter at two levels. Flows into the openings are controlled by two 32-foot diameter, 11-foot high, cylinder gates. Controls and hoists for the gates are located in the control house atop the tower. The outside diameter of the towers is 84 feet at the base, and 64 feet at the level of the control room floor, 342 feet above the base. The four towers are identical but for minor details. The downstream tower on each side is connected to a 30-foot diameter steel pipe that conveys water to the powerhouse and canyon wall outlet works, while the upstream towers convey water to the powerhouse and river outlet works via 30-foot diameter steel pipes installed in the downstream portions of the two inner diversion tunnels. The towers are located just upstream from the dam. A bridge from the crest of the dam to each of the two downstream towers, and a bridge connecting the upstream towers with the downstream towers, provides access to the four towers.

Excavations for the towers was carried out in conjunction with excavations for the dam abutments, and involved removal of 359,000 cu/yd of material. The towers were constructed on reinforced circular bases 88 feet across and 10 feet thick. The lower ring gates and associated equipment were placed following the completion of the tower bases. Concrete in the twelve radial buttresses and the tower barrel was placed in lifts of just over 10 feet. The sequence was to start at one buttress and progress both directions around the tower to the opposite side. Each lift involved the use of concrete forms that contained 156 separate panels. Because the design engineers believed the towers to be more vulnerable to seismic activity than other features of the dam, the towers were heavily reinforced with 4,000,000 pounds of reinforcement steel placed in each tower. Construction of the towers began in February 1932 and was completed in March 1935.

Six Companies' paydays came on the tenth and twenty-fifth of each month. When payday arrived, a long string of cars could be seen exiting the gates of the construction reservation heading northwest towards Las Vegas, twenty-eight miles away. The saloons, gambling halls and brothels of Las Vegas gave the dam workers the chance to live it up and unwind after two long weeks of hard work and danger. And many people in Las Vegas were more than willing to help the workers find their relief - for a price. For those who were married or more conservative in their pursuits, sixty cents bought admission to the Airdome or El Portal theaters. The Apache Hotel, the Golden Camel, or the Meadows offered drinks and dancing in a reasonably civilized atmosphere. But for those seeking real action, there was the Nevada Bar, the Boulder Club, the Las Vegas Club, and dozens more, each seeking to outdo the others. Free- flowing liquor and gambling tables of questionable fairness made for a delirious and wild scene. If companionship was what one sought, Block 16 was were it could be found. A constant stream of prostitutes and customers saw to it that the block prospered, and the fear of disease did little to stem the flow.

If one did not feel like traveling all the way to Las Vegas, their desires could be met at any one of dozens of bars and brothels that stretched from the settlement of Midway, about half way to Las Vegas, back to the gates of the federal reservation at Boulder City. These many "resorts" as they were called, offered a cheaper and grimier alternative to the pleasures of Las Vegas. Two of the more notorious were the Railroad Pass Club and Texas Acres. These clubs, surrounded by tents and cabins where prostitutes plied their trade, had vicious reputations, and beatings, knifings and shootings were common. When the night was over and the last dollar spent, carloads of drunken workers would race back to Boulder City trying to beat the clock and return before the start of the day shift. Because of the many accidents on the road between Boulder City and Las Vegas, the highway became known as the Widowmaker.

In order to use the four diversion tunnels as part of the spillway, power penstock and outlet systems, it was necessary to plug the tunnels upstream of the intake towers and spillway tunnels. A concrete plug at the point where the inclined tunnels from the intake towers met the diversion tunnels closed the two inner diversion tunnels. Each concrete plug is 306-feet long and consists of three conical sections that range in diameter from 62-feet at the upstream end to 52- feet at the downstream end. The downstream sections form a portion of the transition from the inclined tunnels to the diversion tunnels. The outer tunnels were sealed using a combination of concrete plugs, and steel bulkhead gates located at the upstream portals of the tunnels. The tunnel plugs are similar to the plugs used in the inner tunnels except that they are 393-feet long and the plug in the outer Nevada tunnel was constructed with four high pressure gates that were used to control the river until the level of the lake reached the level of the lower gates in the intake towers.

The inner Nevada tunnel was sealed in August 1933, followed shortly after by the closure of the inner Arizona tunnel. The upstream 214 feet of the outer Nevada plug containing the high pressure gates was constructed in 1933 during low river flow. The two bulkhead gates located at the upstream portals of the outer tunnels are 55 feet, 7 inches wide and 50 feet, 6 inches high and weigh 2,180,000 pounds each. These gates were provided so the tunnels could be sealed off during placement of the tunnel plugs allowing work to be carried out at any time, not just at periods of low river flow. In addition to the gate, a trashrack was installed with the gate at the outer Nevada tunnel portal. The bulkhead gate at the Arizona tunnel was closed on February 1, 1935, and water began to back-up behind the dam. Releases downstream were handled by the gates in the Nevada tunnel plug until the water level reached the lower gates of the intake towers.

In addition to the plugs placed in the upstream portions of the diversion tunnels, plugs were also placed just upstream from the outlets of the inner tunnels. Within each of these plugs there are six outlet conduits each controlled by 72-inch needle valves. Each of the needle valves are protected by an 86-inch emergency bulkhead gate. The valves and control systems for the tunnel-plug outlet works are contained in 115 foot long, 35 foot wide, and 66 foot tall control chambers that are constructed in enlarged sections of the diversion tunnels. Access to the control chambers is via adits from the cableway landings at the downstream ends of the power houses. Excavation of the access and construction adits began with work on the Nevada side in December 1932, and the Arizona side in March 1933. Work in the adits was completed in June 1933, and excavations for the tunnel-plug outlets and control chambers began in October 1933. Excavations were completed in early 1934, and concrete placement in the tunnel plugs and control chambers began in October 1935. Work on the tunnel-plug outlet works, including the installation and testing of the needle valves and emergency gates, was completed in September 1937.

To facilitate dewatering of the outlet tunnels downstream from the tunnel-plug outlets, 35-foot by 50-foot bulkhead gates were constructed at the downstream portals of both tunnels. These gates, when lowered, prevent the river from backing up into the tunnels so that the tunnels may be inspected and maintained. The gates are held in reinforced concrete structures 117 feet high and 79 feet wide. The controls for the gates are located atop the structures. The control houses are 73 feet long, 18" feet wide, and 14" feet high. The Nevada gate is accessed via an adit from the powerhouse road, while the Arizona gate is accessed via an adit from the tunnel- plug gate chamber to a trail excavated in the canyon wall.

Many memorable characters were involved in the construction of Boulder Dam, but perhaps the most memorable was not a person, but a black dog named "Nig." Nig came from a litter of puppies born under the floor of the first police building in Boulder City in early 1934. A Black Labrador mix, Nig became the project mascot. Nig had free reign to go anywhere he wanted to. Each morning he would ride to the dam in the company transport. At night he was always ready to head back to town with the other workers. At the Anderson Brothers' mess hall he was given anything he wanted. In the mornings the workers would pack him a lunch and he would eat with them at noon. In the evenings he would hang out at the drug store in Boulder City where the workers would buy him ice cream and candy. Once Nig got sick from all the sweets and went to the town doctor. The doctor placed an ad in the local paper that said "Please do not feed me ice cream and candy bars. It makes me sick." It was signed "Nig." After that, the people were a little more careful about what they would feed him. Nig liked to ride on the equipment at the dam. He could be seen riding on one of the trains or on one of the skips that carried men up and down the side of the canyon. Often he would spend his time riding around the construction site with Frank Crowe, the Six Companies superintendent. Once an angry worker kicked Nig while he was asleep on the porch of one of the dormitories. "Bud" Bodell, chief of the Boulder City Ranger Force, saw to it that that worker never kicked Nig again.

One hot summer day in 1936, Nig was sleeping in the shade beneath a truck. The driver didn't see him and Nig didn't hear the truck start. The truck ran over him and killed him. He was buried near the dam and the workers took up a collection and placed a plaque on the canyon wall near where he is buried. Many years later, a visitor to the dam saw the plaque and believed the name "Nig" to be racist. He started a campaign to have the plaque removed, and in 1979, the Bureau of Reclamation removed the plaque. The citizens of Boulder City began a petition drive protesting the removal of the plaque. Bob Parker, a former worker at the dam, noted that ". . .Nig was [all he was] ever known by. He was the friend of the black men and the white men and every other kind of person that worked down there."

The plaque was replaced with a new plaque that has Nig's picture on it, but not the word "Nig." When the workmen were pouring the concrete for the new plaque, they scratched "Nig" in the concrete, and its still there.

Providing water to the power turbines and outlet works required the installation of over 14,000-feet of piping that ranged in diameter from 8 feet 6 inches, to 30 feet. On June 15, 1932, Reclamation awarded the contract for manufacture and installation of the penstock and outlet pipes to the Babcock & Wilcox Company of Barberton, Ohio. Their bid was $10,908,000. Because the enormous size of the pipe sections to be manufactured prevented them from being transported to the site from existing factories, Babcock & Wilcox built and equipped a fabrication plant near the Nevada rim of the canyon, about a mile and a half from the dam. The shop building was 520 feet long and 93 feet wide. There was an attached laboratory used to make chemical analyses of the steel used in the pipes, and a 41-foot long, 36-foot wide, and 30- foot tall furnace used to relieve stress from the fabricated sections of pipe. The contractor also built 14 houses, seven 4-unit apartment houses, and a 100-room dormitory at Boulder City. Work on the fabrication plant and employee housing began in November 1932 and was completed in April 1933.

The steel plates that formed the pipes were shipped by rail to the fabrication plant at the dam. The plates were 12 feet wide and ranged in length from just over 31 feet, to more than 41 feet, and weighed as much as 21 tons. The plates were manufactured at the mills of the Illinois Steel Company of Gary, Indiana. Over 43,000 tons of steel were required for the penstock and outlets systems.

The first step in forming the pipe involved preparing the edges of the steel plate to be welded together. The second step involved bending the plate to the required curvature. This was done by passing the plates through bending rolls until the desired radius was achieved. The radius was determined using steel templates. The fabrication of the 30-foot diameter pipes required the use of three plates each just over 31 feet long. The 25-foot diameter pipes were manufactured using two plates approximately 40 feet long, and the 13 foot pipes required a single plate of over 41 feet. Once the required radius had been achieved, the sections were placed on an assembly rig and welded together by automatic welding machine. After the welding operation was completed, each section of pipe was subjected to radiographic examination to locate any faulty welds. If any were located, they were removed and the pipe rewelded. Following welding, each section was placed in the furnace where it was slowly heated to a temperature between 1,100 and 1,200 degrees fahrenheit for one hour and then cooled to about 500 degrees before being removed. This process of heating then cooling relieved stresses in the steel that had built up during the bending and welding process. Following the heat treatment, the sections were cleaned and the ends machined to ensure a proper fit with adjoining sections. While this was the general procedure for forming sections of the pipe, curved sections, "Y" sections, and other specialized sections required additional fabrication steps.

Moving the completed sections of pipe to the construction site and into their locations in the tunnels presented a significant challenge. To move the 25-foot and 30-foot sections from the fabrication plant to the cableway landing at the canyon, a specially designed trailer with a capacity of 200 tons was constructed. The trailer was 38 feet long and 22 feet wide and rode on 16 wheels. It was moved using two caterpillar tractors, one pulling, with the other attached to the rear used for braking. At the canyon rim, the pipe sections were hoisted from the trailer by the 150-ton cableway and lowered to one of the landings in the canyon.

Moving the pipe sections from the cableway landings through the adits to their final locations in the tunnels was not an easy task. Babcock & Wilcox contracted with Eichleay Engineering Corp. of Pittsburgh to supply the necessary tools and equipment, to move the sections to within one foot of their final location. Space limitations within the adits and tunnels made it impossible to turn the railcars with the sections on them or to curve the tracks. To solve this problem, a unique system of a car on a car was used. The lower car only moved in and out of the adits, with the upper car only able to move back and forth through the tunnels. The upper car sat on a section of track that was mounted atop the lower car. The pipe sections were placed atop the upper car and the entire unit was moved through the adit to the tunnel. Once in place, the upper car was rolled from atop the lower car onto a set of tracks that ran through the tunnel and the section was moved to its final location.

Once a section had been moved to its final location its was attached to the previous section using an assembly rig consisting of three "spider" sections mounted on a 20-foot long central hub. The spider sections consisted of 16 steel H-beams extending outward from the hub like spokes, with braces welded between the spokes. Mounted at the end of each spoke was a hydraulic jack. The rig was held in place in the previously placed section using two of the spiders, with the section being placed held and aligned using the third spider. When the new section was securely attached to the previous section, the jacks were released and the rig, which was mounted on wheels, was moved ahead and readied for the next section.

Assembling pipe sections in the inclined portions of the tunnels was significantly more difficult. The tunnels of the Arizona side have slopes greater than 52 degrees while the Nevada tunnels have slopes just over 37 degrees. In the lower headers, the first pipe section had to be hoisted 237feet to the base of the intake tower, while in the upper headers, the first section had to be raised 70 feet. The sections were hoisted up the inclined portions using rubber wheeled cars that rode on the tunnel lining, and a series of cable hoists. The pipe sections rode on the car until they reached a point on the incline where they could be lifted into place vertically. Each of the upper sections required about 12 hours to be lifted into place from the lower tunnels. After the first three sections had been secured, they were embedded in concrete to provide additional support for the other sections. Following placement of all sections in the inclined portions of the tunnels, the entire section was embedded in concrete.

To transport the 13-foot diameter penstock sections that run from the headers to the power turbines, a third car was added to the two-car unit used for moving larger sections. Because the 13-foot diameter penstock sections are lighter, the third car was mounted on rubber wheels and rode along on the lining of the penstock tunnels. This car was also used to transport the eight-and-a-half foot diameter sections of the outlet pipes.

The headers and penstocks are supported on piers placed along the tunnels at regular intervals. The weight of the pipe and water is transferred to the piers via supporting brackets that are attached to stiffener rings located at the center of each fabricated pipe section. The headers and penstocks are firmly anchored in place by several concrete anchors placed at various sections of the pipe. These anchors consist of concrete rings that encircle the pipe and anchor it firmly to the tunnel wall. Six anchors are used in the upper headers, and seven in the lower headers. In addition, the upstream and downstream ends of the headers and penstocks, and the entire length of the eight-and-a-half foot canyon wall outlet pipes are embedded in concrete to form terminal anchors. In the lower headers, the tunnel plugs at the outlet works form additional terminal anchors.

Because the Boulder Canyon Project straddled the Arizona/Nevada State line, the laws that applied at the site depended which side of the canyon one was on. With regards to accidents or deaths, the State of Arizona paid more to victims and their families than did the State of Nevada. If a man was killed or injured on the job, it was to his family's financial advantage if the accident took place on the Arizona side of the project. Whenever possible, workers who were killed or injured on the Nevada side of the canyon were moved to the Arizona side before the accident was reported. There are stories of badly injured workers dragging themselves through rock and dirt and across busy roads to get to the Arizona side. Determining if an accident occurred in Arizona or Nevada was sometimes difficult. Before the river had been diverted, the state line was as wide as the river. Following diversion, the line became razor thin and difficult to locate. When the location of an accident was very near the line, as often as not, the investigator placed the victim in Arizona.

One of the more notable features of Boulder Dam are the canyon wall outlet works. Built on benches excavated in the canyon walls about 800 feet downstream from the dam, these reinforced concrete structures each house six, 84-inch needle valves which were designed to control the release of water from the upper headers when power operations were suspended or to dewater the penstocks for inspection. The two valve houses are about 175 feet above the river level. Excavations for the valve houses began in November 1932 in conjunction with canyon wall stripping operations. Placement of concrete in the structures began in January 1935, following installation of the eight-and-a-half foot diameter outlet pipes, and was completed in October 1935. Installation of the needle valves and the 96-inch emergency gates that protect the needle valves from water pressure when the valves are closed began in August 1935 and was completed in November 1935. All work on the canyon wall outlet works was completed in early 1936. The two valve houses differ only slightly, with the Nevada valve house about 15 feet shorter than the Arizona valve house, which is 202 feet long. Both structures are 63 and one half feet high and just over 33 feet deep. Access to the valve houses is via pathways cut into the canyon walls from the cableway landings at the upper construction adits.

Excavation for the powerhouse was carried out in conjunction with excavations for the dam foundation and abutments. Excavations for the U-shaped structure located at the downstream toe of the dam were completed in late 1933 with the first concrete placed in November 1933. The powerhouse consists of three sections. The Arizona and Nevada wings extend from the face of the dam about 610 feet downstream and are connected by the center section that runs across the face of the dam. The center section actually rests upon the face of the dam, with the downstream edge of the dam extending some 40 feet further downstream than the downstream wall of the center section of the powerhouse. The center section houses the control room, administration offices, shops, and storage areas. The wing portions house the generating units and were designed to house a total of seventeen units: eight in the Nevada wing and nine in the Arizona wing. The wings are 650 feet long, 120 feet wide and 230 feet high. During normal operations, the bottom 220 feet of the powerhouses are submerged. Construction of the powerhouse required 255,000 cu/yd of concrete, 24,000,000 pounds of steel reinforcement, and 12,000,000 pounds of structural steel.

Initial plans called for the eventual installation of fifteen, 82,500 kilowatt (kw), and two 40,000 kw units. The power turbines are connected to the downstream ends of the sixteen, 13- foot diameter penstock pipes: eight for each power house, with the downstream penstock on the Arizona side branching into two smaller pipes to provide water to the two, 40,000-kw units. Flow to each of the turbines is controlled by 13-foot diameter butterfly valves located between the ends of the penstocks and the turbine casings. Through the use of the butterfly valves, it is possible to shut off the flow to one or more units without interrupting the operation of other units. Initial plans called for the immediate installation of four 82,500-kw units on the Nevada side, units N-1, N-2, N-3, and N-4, and one of the 40,000-kw units on the Arizona side, unit A-8. Other units would be installed when firm contracts for the sale of power were signed. In addition, there are two small 2,400-kw service units that supply operating power to the dam and powerplant. These units are located in the upstream end of the powerhouse wings and receive water via 30-inch penstocks that branch from the penstocks serving the two upstream units in each powerhouse. The service unit penstock system is interconnected so that the units can be operated if only one of the four main penstock systems is operational.

While construction of Boulder Dam led to advancements in many areas, advancements in some areas was strongly resisted. The contract between Six Companies and the Government carried a standard U.S. Government contract clause prohibited hiring of "Mongolian" labor, and discrimination on the basis of color or race was a common practice, with blacks bearing the brunt of the discrimination. Boulder City Manager Sims Ely prohibited blacks from living in Boulder City and few places in town would serve them. The few blacks who were employed on the project were forced to live in Las Vegas, thirty-five miles away. Government investigations into discrimination in hiring practices confirmed the situation, but little was done to correct the matter, and few of the concessions made by Six Companies were carried out.

Bids for 115,000 horsepower (hp) turbines to drive five of the 82,500-kw generators were opened in March 1933. The contract was awarded to the Allis-Chalmers Manufacturing Company of Milwaukee, with a bid of $1,718,000 that was the lowest of four bids. The Newport News Shipping & Dry Dock Company of Newport News received the contract for two 55,000-hp turbines to drive the 40,000-kw units. Their bid was $338,000. The $80,796 contract for governors to control the turbines was awarded to the Woodward Governor Company of Rockford.

The contract for the first two of the four 82,500-kw generators to be installed under the initial plan was awarded to the General Electric Company, with the contract for the other two units being awarded to the Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Company. The contract for the 40,000-kw unit was let to the Allis-Chalmers Manufacturing Company.

Installation of machinery in the powerhouses began in early 1935, with installation of the two, 300-ton capacity gallery cranes beginning in July 1935. Installation of the first generator by General Electric began on October 11, with Westinghouse Electric beginning installation of a second generator on October 24.

The final bucket of concrete was placed in the main dam on May 29, 1935, and grouting of the contraction joints was completed on June 7, but work was not complete. On May 1, 1936, the temporary gates in the Nevada tunnel plug were closed, and the bulkhead gate at the opening of the Nevada tunnel was closed on May 6. From that point on, all normal releases have been made through the gates of the four intake towers. Work on the penstocks and outlet system continued until September 1936, when Babcock & Wilcox completed all work under their contract with Reclamation.

The first of the five power units to be installed under the initial plan went into operation on October 26, 1936 when unit N-2 was placed on line. Unit N-4 came on line in November, with unit N-1 beginning production in December. Units N-3 and A-8 began operation in March and August 1937, completing the initial power installation.

Almost everything about Hoover Dam can be narrowed down to one word: BIG. The numbers relating to the project are enormous: 5,500,000 cu/yd of material excavated; 4,400,000 cu\yd of concrete placed; 45,000,000 pounds of reinforcement steel used; 21,670,000 pounds of gates and valves. Over 44,000,000 tons of steel were formed and welded into 14,800 feet of penstock and outlet pipes. Over 5,000,000 barrels of cement were used in construction of the dam, which weighs more than 6,600,000 tons. The average number of people employed on the project was 3,500 with over 5,200 employed during the peak of construction. One-hundred and twelve men died due to accidents or illness related to construction activities.

Boulder Dam is a concrete gravity arch structure just over 726 feet tall and 1,244 feet long. The dam is 660 feet wide at the base, and 45 feet wide at the top. The total volume of concrete in the dam, powerplant, and associated structures is 4,400,000 cu/yd. The combination power penstock and outlet system consists of four, 395-foot tall intake towers, each controlled by two 32-foot diameter cylinder gates, discharging into tunnels excavated through the abutments. The tunnels branch into sixteen, 13-foot diameter power penstocks, eight on each side of the canyon, leading to the powerhouse wings. The upper outlet tunnels that originate from the downstream intake towers terminate at the canyon wall outlet houses, while the lower outlet tunnels terminate at the tunnel plug outlet works. Peak floods are passed via two, side channel spillways discharging into inclined tunnels that connect with portions of the original diversion tunnels. The spillways have overflow concrete weir crests each controlled by four, 100-foot long drum gates. The maximum capacity of the spillways is 400,000 cfs.

Lake Mead is over 110 miles long with a 550 mile long shoreline and has a maximum capacity of over 32,000,000 ac/ft. The surface area of the lake at full capacity is 162,700 acres. The two powerhouse wings contain at total of seventeen power units, eight in the Nevada wing and nine in the Arizona wing. When the project was completed, there were fourteen 82,500-kw units, one 95,000-kw unit, one 50,000-kw unit, and one 40,000-kw unit. The total capacity was 1,344,800 kw. In addition to the seventeen primary units, each wing contains one 2,400 kw unit that supplies power to the dam and powerplant.

Post Construction History

Boulder Dam was dedicated by President Franklin Roosevelt on September 30, 1935. Among the dignitaries in attendance was Elwood Mead, Commissioner of Reclamation; Harold Ickes, Secretary of Interior; John Savage, Raymond Walter, and Walker Young, of the Bureau of Reclamation; and the Governors of California, Utah, Arizona and Wyoming. Representing the Six Companies was Harry Morrison of Morrison-Knudsen; Steve and Kenneth Bechtel of the Bechtel Corporation; and Frank T. Crowe, Six Companies Construction Superintendent. Speaking to thousands of onlookers, the President referred to the dam as "an engineering victory of the first order - another great achievement of American resourcefulness, skill and determination." On February 29, 1936, in a ceremony witnessed by only a few reporters and a lone cameraman, Ralph Lowry, who had replaced Walker Young as construction engineer, stood upon the dam crest and shook hands with Frank Crowe, accepting the dam from Six Companies. The next day, Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes officially accepted the dam and powerhouse, ending the contract with Six Companies, more than two years ahead of schedule.

Acceptance of the dam and powerplant was an event touched with sadness. On January 26, 1936, Dr. Elwood Mead, Commissioner of the Bureau of Reclamation, passed away following a heart attack. Although not in the spotlight as much as others involved in the project, he was a strong advocate of the project and had earned the respect of all who knew him. On February 6, 1936, in honor of his dedication to Reclamation and his support of the Boulder Canyon Project, the huge reservoir created by the dam was named in his honor.

To many in the political circles of Washington, Walker Young seemed destined to rise to the top the Bureau of Reclamation following the death of Mead. Young, a Republican who led survey teams in the Black Canyon in the twenties before guiding the project through to its end, reached the top of his career at the same time the Democrats were gaining power in Washington. In a purely political decision, the less senior John C. Page was picked to succeed Mead. He had served as Young's office engineer during construction of Hoover Dam. Although denied the leadership of Reclamation, Young continued his career with the Bureau. From 1935 to 1940, he was first Construction, then Supervising Engineer for the Central Valley Project in California. In 1945, he returned to the Denver office as Assistant Chief Engineer, and then finally, Chief Engineer. He retired from Reclamation in 1948.

Frank Crowe left the Boulder Canyon Project a rich man. In addition to his $18,000 a year salary, he had received bonuses in excess of $250,000. Not content to retire, Crowe continued working for Six Companies. In 1938, he brought Parker Dam in ahead of schedule. Following that he supervised construction of two smaller dams on the Colorado River Aqueduct system before turning his attention to Shasta Dam in California. The key feature in the Central Valley Project, Shasta rivaled Hoover Dam in size. Crowe spent six years at Shasta, guiding the project to a successful conclusion in spite of manpower and material shortages caused by World War II. Crowe retired in 1945 and passed away in early 1946.

In 1938, generators N-5 and N-6 were installed and placed in operation. Generators A-7 and A-8 followed in 1939, bringing the capacity of the powerplant to 704,800 kw and making it the largest hydroelectric powerplant in the world - a distinction held until surpassed by Grand Coulee Dam in 1949.

In 1938, Imperial Dam, about 300 miles south of Boulder Dam, was completed, followed by the All-American Canal in 1940, completing those portions of the Boulder Canyon Project and bringing water to the fields of the Imperial Valley. In 1941, the All-American Canal was modified to supply water to the Yuma Project, which serves 65,000 acres near Yuma, Arizona. Water for the Yuma Project had been supplied by the Laguna Diversion Dam on the Colorado River, which was abandoned in 1948. The final feature of the Boulder Canyon Project, the 123- mile long Coachella Canal, was completed in 1948.

In 1941, the level of Lake Mead reached to within one foot of the top of the spillway gates, and on August 6, the gates on the Arizona side were lowered and water flowed into the spillways for the first time. When the spill was halted in early December, inspection of the spillway tunnel revealed that a 112- by 38- foot section of the tunnel lining had been eroded away by the action of the water as it flowed through the tunnel. Repairs to the tunnel lining were completed in early 1943.

On October 9, 1941, generator A-1 was placed into operation, bringing to ten the number of units in service. On December 7, 1941, in response to the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the Government closed the dam to public access. For the duration of World War II, traffic across the dam would move under convoy. The dam reopened to the public in 1945.

Generator A-2 began operations in July 1942, followed by unit A-5 in January 1943, and unit N-7 in November 1944. In October 1946, a ceremony was held at the dam commemorating ten years of commercial power production.

In 1947, the 80th Congress passed legislation officially designating the dam "Hoover Dam," in honor of President Herbert Hoover. This brought to a close a political debate that had been raging since the early 1930s. In 1930, Secretary of Interior Ray Lyman Wilbur suggested the name Hoover in honor of Hoover's contribution to the project in seeing the completion of the Colorado River Compact through. But in 1930, with the dawning of the Depression, Hoover's name was not held in high regard. In May 1933, following Roosevelt's inauguration, the new Secretary of Interior, Harold Ickes, issued an order that henceforth, the dam would be known as Boulder Dam. Ickes claimed that Wilbur had been out of line in naming the dam after a sitting president and that the dam had already been known as Boulder Dam. The restoration of the name Hoover ended the debate once and for all.

During the design of Boulder Dam, it was recognized that the tremendous weight of the dam and lake, more than 41,000,000,000 tons, might have a localized affect on the Earth's crust. Estimates made prior to construction indicated that there could be as much as three feet of deformation due to the weight. Precise measurements taken in the area surrounding the site before and after filling of Lake Mead showed seven inches of settlement in the Earth's crust in the first fifteen years following completion of the dam. In addition to settlement of the crust, construction of the dam led to another first: the creation of the first reservoir induced earthquakes. During the first ten years of operation, more than 6,000 minor tremors, the strongest in 1939, were recorded in the vicinity of Lake Mead where no tremors had been recorded for the fifteen years prior to construction of the dam.

In 1952, units A-3, A-4, and A-9 were placed into service, and during 1952 and 1953, a record of 6,400,000 kw was generated. The final generating unit was placed into service in 1961, when unit N-8 was placed on-line, bringing the capacity of the powerplant to 1,334,800 kw.

In the early 1980s, Reclamation began updating the power units at Hoover Dam, and by 1990, ten of the 82,500-kw units had been upgraded to 130,000-kw, and two to 127,000-kw. The remaining 82,500-kw units have been upgraded to 130,000-kw with the 40,000-kw unit upgraded to 61,500-kw and the 50,000-kw unit to 68,500-kw. The upgrade was completed in 1993

With the completion of the dam, many believed that Boulder City would become a ghost town, housing only the small number of workers need to operate and maintain the dam and powerplant. But this was not to be. The population of Boulder City dwindled following completion of the project, but many held on. World War II brought revival to the town. The opening of a large magnesium plant in Henderson and the growth of defense industries in the area led to housing shortages in Henderson and Las Vegas and many workers found housing at Boulder City. Having survived the post-construction era until the war related population surge, Boulder City looked to secure its future. In 1949, Reclamation began look into ways to institute self-rule in Boulder City. In 1951, the Secretary of the Interior issued an order separating Boulder City from the Boulder Canyon Project. In 1959, the municipality of Boulder City was incorporated under Nevada law, and in 1960, it was officially separated from the U.S. Government.

Many resisted separation of the town from the Government. The policies against gambling and hard liquor sales enforced by the Government appealed to many and made Boulder City immune from the growth and turmoil that towns like Las Vegas encountered. Opponents feared Boulder City would follow the same course. But following separation, the leaders of Boulder City elected to continue these conservative restrictions. While it might be expected that such restrictions would suppress growth, many found the wholesomeness appealing, and the population of Boulder City grew. The popularity of Boulder City grew so rapidly that in 1979, the city was forced to pass restrictions on future expansion. By 1985, the population of Boulder City had reached over 10,000.

In 1968, construction of the Robert B. Griffith Water Project began. This project, now called the Southern Nevada Water Project, pumps water from Lake Mead and transports it to Boulder City, Henderson, Las Vegas, and Nellis Air Force Base for municipal and industrial use. The first stage of the project was completed and placed into operation in 1971. The second stage was begun in 1977 and completed in the mid-1980s.

In October 1977, part of the operation of the Parker-Davis Project was combined with operations of the Boulder Canyon Project. Davis Dam, about 67 miles downstream from Hoover Dam, was constructed to help meet the obligations of the United States to deliver water to Mexico under the Mexican Treaty of 1944. The reservoir formed by the dam, Lake Mohave, helps meet these requirements. Parker Dam, about 88 miles downstream from Davis Dam, forms Lake Havasu, which acts as the forebay for the Colorado River Aqueduct and the Central Arizona Project. The aqueduct supplies water to the city of Los Angeles and is owned and operated by the Metropolitan Water District. The Central Arizona Project is managed by the Central Arizona Water District and supplies water to cities, farms and Indian communities in central Arizona.

Completion of the Glen Canyon Dam on the Colorado River near the Arizona\Utah border significantly altered the flood control operation of Hoover Dam. The 710- foot high Glen Canyon Dam, completed in 1964, holds back Lake Powell and provides significant flood control benefits in the area upstream from Hoover Dam. As a result of the benefits provided by Glen Canyon Dam, it was possible to reduce the capacity of the outlet works at Hoover Dam without reducing its flood control benefits. In 1979, the outlet works were modified by elimination of two needle valves from each of the tunnel plug outlet works, and six needle valves from each of the canyon wall outlets. The abandoned outlet conduits were permanently sealed with steel bulkheads and new valves to replace the worn valves are being designed for the remaining conduits.

The number of visitors to Hoover Dam and Lake Mead has steadily increased since visitor services began in 1937. In 1951, 2,000,000 people visited the Lake Mead National Recreation Area. By 1970, that number had risen to over 4,900,000, and in 1991, more than 7,000,000 people visited Lake Mead. In 1953, 448,081 people toured Hoover Dam, and by the end of 1958, over 7,000,000 people had toured the dam and powerplant. In 1959, a new annual record of 472,639 visitors was set, and in 1962, the record was raised to 500,000 visitors. In 1967, the number of yearly visitors exceeded 600,000, and in 1968, the 12,000,000th visitor toured the facilities. The 15,000,000th visitor was recorded in 1972, and in 1983, on the eve of the dam's fiftieth anniversary, the 23,000,000th person visited Hoover Dam. In the late 1980s, the Bureau of Reclamation began construction of new visitors facilities at Hoover Dam. Controversial and over budget, the new visitors facilities improve visitor safety, interpretive capability, and visitor capacity at the dam.

In 1983, Hoover Dam faced its greatest challenge. Heavy winter snows followed by a hot and rainy spring sent more than one and one half times the normal runoff down the Colorado River and its tributaries. Lake Powell and other reservoirs upriver from Lake Mead quickly filled to capacity requiring emergency spills. By early July, Lake Mead was almost at capacity, and on the evening of July 2, water flowed over the spillway gates for the first time in over forty years. The spill continued until September 6 and at its peak, water was more than four- feet deep over the top of the raised spillway gates. Upstream, at Glen Canyon Dam, the spills caused significant damage to the spillway tunnels which are similar to those at Hoover Dam. At Hoover, the spills caused damage similar to the damage caused during the 1941 spill, and during repairs, Reclamation instituted modifications to prevent similar damage in the future. Even with the operation of Hoover Dam and the other dams up river, flood damage along the Colorado River had been great. But without Hoover, the damage would have been much greater.

Even before it was completed, Hoover Dam was recognized as one of the greatest engineering feats of the modern era. In 1955, the American Society of Civil Engineers selected Hoover Dam as one of the seven modern civil engineering wonders of the United States. In 1985, the Society named the dam as a National Historic Civil Engineering Landmark. Also in 1985, in recognition if the dam's contribution to the history of the southwest, it was designated as a National Historic Landmark by the Department of Interior.

For more than two decades after its completion, Hoover Dam stood as the tallest dam in the world. Today, more than twenty dams are higher, but all owe their existence to the advancements that were made during the design and construction of Hoover Dam. The unprecedented size of the dam led to studies in almost every aspect of dam construction including concrete composition and cooling, stress analysis, hydraulic design, and hydraulic and structural modeling. Even the form of the contracting organization was a new development that changed the face of the construction world. Too large for a single contractor, the project required the formation of a joint venture of six contractors, pooling their talents and resources and sharing the risks. This organizational structure became a model for future large construction projects.

Settlement of Project Lands

The development of the Boulder Canyon Project helped provide a secure base for the settlement and development of the region along the Colorado River. By controlling the unpredictable flows of the river and securing a reliable water supply, many of the risks associated with settlement in the area were removed. One of the most obvious effects on the settlement of the area was the creation of Boulder City. The town, built as a temporary home for the thousands of workers who constructed the dam and powerplant, grew to become one of the largest cities in Nevada with a population of over 10,000 people. While many argue that the development of gambling provided the primary force behind the increased settlement in the area, the benefits provided by Hoover Dam were certainly a factor in that development. In addition to the benefits to the immediate area, securing a reliable water source for the Colorado River Aqueduct and generating large amounts of power for southern California likely had an effect on development patterns in the Los Angeles Basin as well.

Although municipal and industrial users are the primary recipients of benefits from Hoover Dam, agricultural users receive significant benefits as well. In 1965, more than 25,000 agricultural users benefitted directly from the Boulder Canyon Project. When the indirect benefits provided to the Gila and Yuma Projects are added, the number rises to over 34,000 people. During that same period, more than 265,000 non-agricultural users received direct and in-direct benefits from Hoover Dam. In 1970, the number of municipal and industrial users increased to 316,000, while the number of agricultural users dropped to just under 28,000. In 1980, following combining of the Parker-Davis Project with Boulder Canyon, and the completion of the Southern Nevada Water Project, the total number of people benefiting from Hoover Dam rose to over 12,700,000. This dramatic increase was due to the inclusion of the population served with water from the Colorado River Aqueduct which receives water from the Parker-Davis Project. In that same period, agricultural users totaled over 29,000.

In 1991, the total number of people benefiting both directly and indirectly from Hoover Dam and Lake Mead was over 15,800,000. Irrigation water supplied 7,539 farms totaling over 846,000 acres with a total crop value of more than $1,342,671,000. The total number of agricultural users benefiting from water secured by Hoover Dam during 1991 was over 25,000.

Hoover Dam and the Boulder Canyon Project helped pioneer development of multi- purpose water resource projects. In addition to controlling the unpredictable and often devastating floods of the Colorado River, the Project, acting in conjunction with the All- American Canal and the Parker-Davis Project, the Yuma, Yuma Auxiliary, and Gila Projects, the Central Arizona Project, and the Southern Nevada Water Project, provides irrigation benefits to over 1,500,000 acres of land in the southwest United States while also helping to meet the municipal and industrial needs of over 16,000,000 people. The low cost power generated by the seventeen power units at Hoover Dam provides enough energy each year to light over 500,000 homes. In addition to benefits to the people of the Southwest, the waters of Lake Mead support a variety of recreational uses and provides habitats to a large variety of fish and wildlife. The dam and lake also help to maintain water quality in the lower Colorado River.

The goal of the designers and builders of Hoover Dam was simple:

To Convert a Natural Menace Into a National Resource

They succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. The benefits provided by Hoover Dam and Lake Mead extend far beyond the arid regions of the American Southwest, touching almost all parts of the world. The lessons learned during the design and construction of the dam helped to ensure the success of large dam projects throughout the world; projects that have benefitted thousands of people who have never heard of Hoover Dam. Even though dwarfed by other dams, some over 1,000-feet high, Hoover Dam stands as one of the most successful projects of Reclamation and one of the greatest engineering achievements of the modern era.
William Joe Simonds was born and raised in Colorado and has a clear understanding of the importance of water in the American West and its influence on the development of that region. He attended Colorado State University where he received a BA in History in 1992 and a Masters in Public History in 1995. He lives with his wife and two children in Fort Collins, Colorado.

Bibliography

Archival and Manuscript Collections

Denver, Colorado. National Archives and Records Administration: Rocky Mountain Region. Records of the Bureau of Reclamation. Record Group No. 115. "Project Histories: Boulder Canyon Project." 1930-1989.

"Boulder City, Nev., History." Collection of unpublished materials. A holding of the Library of the Bureau of Reclamation, Denver, CO.

State of California, Colorado River Commission. The Boulder Canyon Project: To Convert a Natural Menace Into a National Resource. Sacramento: California State Printing Office, 1930.

United States Department of Interior, Bureau of Reclamation. 1980 Annual Report. Appendix I: Crop and Related Data. US Government Printing Office, 1981.

________ Boulder Canyon Project: Final Reports, Part IV - Design and Construction, Bulletin 1, General Features. Denver, 1941.

________ Boulder Canyon Project: Final Reports, Part IV - Design and Construction, Bulletin 2, Boulder Dam. Denver, 1941.

________ Boulder Canyon Project: Final Reports, Part IV - Design and Construction, Bulletin 3, Diversion, Outlet, and Spillway Structures. Denver, 1947.

________ Boulder Canyon Project: Final Reports, Part IV - Design and Construction, Bulletin 5, Penstocks and Outlet Pipes. Denver, 1949.

________ Federal Reclamation Projects: Statistical Appendix to 1965 Crop Report and Related Data.

________ Federal Reclamation Projects: Water & Land Resource Accomplishments, 1970. Statistical Appendix. 1970.

________ "General Information Concerning The Boulder Canyon Project." November 1, 1937.

________ Hoover Dam, Arizona/Nevada. Pamphlet. May 1992.

________ Hoover Dam: Fifty Years. Washington D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1985.

________ Hydropower 2002. Reclamation's Energy Initiative. November 1991.

________ "Policing on the Boulder Canyon Project" February 12, 1936. Unpublished manuscript contained in a larger collection of material labeled "Boulder City, Nev.: History." A holding of the Library of the Bureau of Reclamation, Denver, CO.

________ Safety of Existing Dams, Analysis Summary: Hoover Dam, June 3, 1992.

________ Summary Statistics. Land, Water and Related Data. 1991.

United States Department of Interior. The Construction of Hoover Dam, Preliminary Investigations, Design of Dam, and Progress of Construction. by Ray Lyman Wilbur and Elwood Mead. Washington: United States Government Printing Office, 1933.

United States Department of Interior, Water and Power Resources Service. Project Data, 1981. Denver: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1981.

"Bids Opened on Large Turbines for Hoover Dam Power Plant." Engineering News-Record. March 30, 1933, 418.

"Boulder Dam Generators to Be World's Largest." Engineering-News Record. December 7, 1933, 682.

The Reclamation Era. May 1933. 16.

Dunar, Andrew J. and Dennis McBride. Building Hoover Dam, An Oral History of the Great Depression. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1993.

Kleinsorge, Paul L. Boulder Canyon Project, Historical and Economic Aspects. California: Stanford University Press, 1941.

Kollgaard, Eric B. and Wallace L. Chadwich, eds. Development of Dam Engineering in the United States. New York: Pergamon Press, Inc., 1988.

Stevens, Joseph E. Hoover Dam, An American Adventure. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1988.

Doyel, David E., "The Hohokam: Ancient Dwellers of the Arizona Desert." In The Hohokam: Ancient People of the Desert, ed. David Grant Nobel, 3-15. Santa Fe: School of American Research Press, 1991.

Heinemann, E.H. "The Building of Boulder City-Six Companies Inc." Unpublished manuscript contained in a larger collection of material labeled "Boulder City, Nev.: History." A holding of the Library of the Bureau of Reclamation, Denver, CO.

Walsh, Robert. External Affairs Officer, Bureau of Reclamation, Lower Colorado Region, Boulder City Nevada.

Last Updated: 8/4/15

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Throughout human history, mankind has built monuments to its ingenuity and skill. In Egypt it was the Pyramids. Rome, built the Colosseum. The Greeks built the Acropolis. The great cathedrals of Europe raised the skills of their builders to unequalled heights, creating awe inspiring structures.

# data[].attributes.headline
The official site for a film titled, "DamNation," (2015) which discusses dam removal projects from settler and Indigenous perspectives. 

# data[].attributes.subject
The official site for a film titled, "DamNation," (2015) which discusses dam removal projects from settler and Indigenous perspectives. 

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Free the Snake: Watch the Flotilla Action!

# data[].attributes.headline
“Hoover Damn: Land, Labor, and Settler Colonial Cultural Production,” by Jane Griffith, April 2016

# data[].attributes.subject
“Hoover Damn: Land, Labor, and Settler Colonial Cultural Production,” by Jane Griffith, April 2016

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Hoover Dam is a settler-colonial project, requiring Indigenous land and waterways while producing energy that enables further non-Indigenous settlement. In addition to the Dam's engineering feats, its cultural production-art, pageantry, commemoration, and media-helped to buttress these claims to land. In this article, I offer the concept of dam/ning: how tactics used to preserve White settler memory, history, and claims to land and water seemingly appear to affirm Black and Indigenous lives but in fact veil violence. Also embedded in the term is damning: the strategies used to resist settler-colonial violence, dehumanization, displacement, and land theft. Dam/ning analyzes whose land these actions take place on, who claims this land and how, and what techniques people have used to resist. I draw from a tripartite archive: personal letters from Hoover Dam's official artist (1920s-1940s), the Bureau of Reclamation's magazine (1930s), and the town site's local newspaper (1979). This article begins by establishing the practices of damming-the physical and cultural practices that enabled White settlement, which denigrated Indigenous and Black peoples while requiring their knowledge, art, and bodies; the second half of the article establishes the practices of damning, exposing ways Indigenous and Black communities fought these settler-colonial practices throughout the 20th century.

References

Smithsonian Institution Archives of American Art, "The Allen Tupper True and True Family Papers, 1841-1987" (after this, "SM") , Washington, D.C., microfilm reel.
Google Scholar

Dinur, E. (2001, January 5). Unrepentant Red. Isthmus. Retrieved form http://isthmus.com/archive/from-the-archives/unrepentant-red-clarence-kailin-looks-back-on-a-lifetime-of-fighting-the-good-fight/
Google Scholar

King, T. (2014, June). Labor's aphasia: Toward antiblackness as constitutive to settler colonialism. Decolonization. Retrieved from https://decolonization.wordpress.com/2014/06/10/labors-aphasia-toward-antiblackness-as-constitutive-to-settler-colonialism/
Google Scholar

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Hoover Damn: Land, Labor, and Settler Colonial Cultural Production - Jane Griffith, 2017

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Hoover Dam is a settler-colonial project, requiring Indigenous land and waterways while producing energy that enables further non-Indigenous settlement. In addition to the Dam's engineering feats, its cultural production-art, pageantry, commemoration, and media-helped to buttress these claims to land.

# data[].attributes.headline
“The Diversity of the Hoover Dam” NPS site, April 2017

# data[].attributes.subject
“The Diversity of the Hoover Dam” NPS site, April 2017

# data[].attributes.body
Another dominant settler perspective on the history of the Hoover Dam, coming directly from the National Park Service's website.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
News Release Date: April 13, 2017 Lake Mead wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for the 21,000 men who worked to construct the Hoover Dam from 1931 to 1936.

This was a challenging time for America. It was during the Great Depression when millions of people were unemployed. People across the nation were struggling to ﬁnd work. The dam project provided opportunity for hope.

As the contractor, Six Companies, Inc. began hiring workers, none of the ﬁrst 1,000 were African American. This was a time when housing, bathrooms and drinking water were segregated.

The Colored Citizens Labor and Protective Association of Las Vegas and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People met with the contractor and Secretary of Interior Ray Wilbur to discuss diverse hiring.

Within a few months, a couple dozen African Americans were employed. According to Bob Parker, as documented in the book Building Hoover Dam: An Oral History of the Great Depression, one of the jobs involved brushing the scale and rust oﬀ of steel. He said the black men did it with a rhythm going back and forth while singing hymns.

He also recalled Charlie Rose's crew. Rose was a white man who supervised the black crew in the Arizona gravel pits. Parker said the crew built the parapet walls along the highway and spillways, adding that it's the most beautiful piece of rock work you'll ever see anywhere in the country. Parker said the crew would only work for Rose because "Charlie Rose knew how to treat them."

A handful of Native Americans were hired for the project, as well. Some worked with former sailors and circus acrobats as high scalers. This was often considered one of the most dangerous jobs.

The men would climb down the canyon walls with ropes. Once in place, 44-pound jackhammer drills were lowered down to them. They drilled holes into the rocks and loaded the holes with dynamite.

Although women were not key workers at the project site, many women worked hard to provide suitable living conditions for the men and children.

A makeshift town was created in an area that now rests under Lake Mead's Boulder Basin. Within "Ragtown," women would create furniture from anything they could ﬁnd. They would also hike to the Colorado River for water, so they could keep their babies cool with damp cloths amid the scorching desert heat.

The National Park Service takes great pride in telling the stories of America and our nation's history. Without the perseverance and dedication to the hard work it took to build the dam, we wouldn't have Las Vegas, Henderson or Boulder City as they're known today. Thanks to the workers that built the dam, Lake Mead can supply many cities with water, electricity and recreation.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
The Diversity of the Hoover Dam - Lake Mead National Recreation Area (U.S. National Park Service)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
News Release Date: April 13, 2017 Lake Mead wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for the 21,000 men who worked to construct the Hoover Dam from 1931 to 1936. This was a challenging time for America. It was during the Great Depression when millions of people were unemployed.

# data[].attributes.headline
“A new era of uranium mining near the Grand Canyon?” by Kapoor, June 2018

# data[].attributes.subject
“A new era of uranium mining near the Grand Canyon?” by Kapoor, June 2018

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
A new era of uranium mining near the Grand Canyon?

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
With scant data on risk, Republicans push to open a ‘perfect’ mining opportunity.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Environmental experts push back on Canadian company’s plans to mine for metal in Maine” from The Maine Monitor, February 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Environmental experts push back on Canadian company’s plans to mine for metal in Maine” from The Maine Monitor, February 2021

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
The neighboring mines, which shuttered in the 1970s, caused significant water pollution that is still being cleaned up - on the taxpayers' dime. After a decades-long standoff on how to regulate the industry, an out-of-state company is seeking to open two mines in rural parts of the state.

The two sites are among less than a dozen significant metal deposits across the state, according to the Maine Geological Survey .

It's been just over a year since Wolfden submitted a petition to Maine's Land Use Planning Commission (LUPC) to rezone 528 of its 7,000 acres of land in an unorganized territory near Patten - less than 25 miles from the Katahdin Woods and Water National Monument, and Baxter State Park.

The commission also pointed out several "significant inconsistencies" between Wolfden's water management plan and its preliminary economic assessment.

The public hearing process for the Pickett Mountain rezoning is expected to begin "mid-summer," according to Stacie Beyer, planning manager at the LUPC.

If the LUPC grants the rezoning request, Wolfden must still secure a permit from the state Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) before it starts mining the area.

Wolfden's Pickett Mountain project hinges on doing something no other mine has been required to do before: inject treated water back into the ground while keeping surrounding water quality levels equal to or better than they were.

" We were really surprised when (Wolfden) came forward and said they could meet the toughest mining laws in the country," said Nick Bennett, staff scientist at the Natural Resources Council of Maine (NRCM), who helped write the regulations.

Wolfden claims its Pickett Mountain project will add $230 million in community investments, and create 250 to 300 jobs in Penobscot and Aroostook counties over the 10 to 15 years the mine would be active.

Though the company owns several properties in Canada, Pickett Mountain would be the first Wolfden actually operates as the company attempts to leap from a junior exploration mining company to a developer.

As a junior company, Wolfden finds resources it anticipates will increase in value to spark investor interest, which would fund mining infrastructure and operations. Based on test drills near Pickett Mountain, Wolfden has pegged the site's value at $1.2 billion. But since the company has no revenue stream until the mining starts, advocacy groups including the NRCM have questioned its financial ability to pull off an unprecedented plan.

At least one of the two major investors has been accused of wrongdoing in recent years. In 2018, Kinross Gold faced federal after two African subsidiaries it owned contracted with politically favored companies and individuals, and ignored proper payment policies with consultants. Kinross settled the case with a $950,000 .

Wolfden's vice president, Jeremy Ouellette, is confident in the company's ability to abide by Maine's tight regulations.

"If we're given the opportunity to operate, we will make a fantastic example of mining in Maine," said Ouellette. "Mainers will become miners."

The rise and fall of mining in Maine

" There's always been some type of exploration going on since these deposits were found in the '70s," said Mark Stebbins, who has worked for the DEP for 31 years and served as its mining coordinator from 1990-2018.

As interest continued to increase into the 1990s, the DEP and Land Use Regulation Commission (now LUPC) established joint mining rules to ensure Maine's natural resources would not be damaged.

"The big dog in the fight was groundwater standards," said Stebbins.

These 1991 joint mining rules required mines discharging water to meet state groundwater and reflect natural background levels. Pro-industry voices saw the rules as practically a ban on mining in Maine; some companies that had been conducting exploratory drilling lost interest.

In 2012, Republican Gov. Paul LePage reopened Maine for mining as part of his larger aim to "open Maine for business." That April, LePage to streamline mining permits in Maine and throw out the requirement for mining companies to meet the state's groundwater standards, effectively allowing them to leach toxins into the surrounding waterways.

"It's just not worth it," said former Sen. Brownie Carson (D-Harpswell), who led the NRCM for 27 years. "The long-term costs far outweigh the short-term benefits of having weak regulations and allowing mining interests to cut corners."

Carson, the NRCM and other groups concerned with loose mining regulations introduced a in 2017 that would implement what may be the most protective mining laws in the country. Its passage in 2017 settled the legislative deadlock by repealing and replacing the 2012 bill with requirements similar to the pre-LePage level of strictness, but with some compromises given to pro-mining groups.

More than three years later, Wolfden is the first company to attempt to open a mine under those new regulations.

'A very high threshold of environmental protection'

Marvinney said Wolfden would be required to monitor the 100-foot area and meet strict state groundwater standards outside the discharge zone to comply with DEP regulations. The requirements come on top of state rules prohibiting the of treated water into small streams and vulnerable waterways.

"It's a very high threshold of environmental protection," said Marvinney.

In addition to banning mines that require indefinite treatment, the rules prohibit toxic mining byproducts to be buried underground to prevent the materials from leaching into groundwater; ban open-pit mines like the project Irving proposed at Bald Mountain; and require companies to prove their financial viability by setting aside money to cover the cost of "worst-case mining disasters," and avoid taxpayer cleanup.

"This law was saying to mining companies, if you want to come mine in Maine, you better know what you're doing and have the financial backing," said Bennett. "(Wolfden is) exactly the kind of company this law was designed to prevent from coming to Maine."

Wolfden anticipates paying a $13.7 million deposit to the DEP for a "worst-case" scenario if its rezoning and mining permits are approved. The LUPC questioned this figure on Thursday, saying it "appears low."

Those opposed to mining pointed to past disasters that cost taxpayers millions to clean up - like the mine in Brooksville and Kerramerican mine in Blue Hill. Both were legacy mines operated by out-of-state interests producing metal concentrations that eventually created acid waste, and still require monitoring of polluted groundwater and soil.

The Callahan metal mine is a Superfund site still being remediated that will cost taxpayers roughly , and the Kerramerican mine, also known as the Black Hawk Mine, cost to clean up. Both mines predate regulatory agencies like the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency and the Maine DEP.

Wolfden's plan

Wolfden's goal is to extract ore minerals - including copper, zinc, lead, gold and silver - from a massive sulfide deposit near Pickett Mountain. The company would produce a metal concentrate to sell to international smelter companies that would melt down and separate the metals to provide materials for a range of uses, from sunscreen and toothpaste to medical devices, ships and money.

The test drilling includes exploration around the known ore deposit, which the company values at $1.2 billion. On and , Wolfden reported that test drilling found previously undiscovered mineral deposits it hopes to mine in addition to the deposit discovered in the late 1970s.

"We always anticipated it was there, but there's going to be more than we originally thought," said Ouellette, Wolfden's vice president.

Wolfden bought the rights to do this type of exploration drilling at its Big Silver site in Calais but has not shared detailed plans with the public.

At the Pickett Mountain site, Wolfden plans to blast 32-foot wide and 16-foot tall tunnels underground that are big enough to fit trucks, according to documents submitted to the LUPC and interviews with The Maine Monitor. After extracting the material, the company would separate the valuable ore from the non-valuable leftovers, called tailings.

Wolfden has proposed an on-site ore processing facility that will prepare the ore to be trucked off to smelter companies.

Wolfden's proposal also includes an on-site tailings facility where water is squeezed out of the toxic tailings to produce a moist, flour-like substance that will be stored in humps just above ground, in line with DEP regulations. When the mine closes, the humps - called tailings ponds - will be covered in grasses and shrubs as part of the reclamation process.

Environmental risks

Some of the most irreversible damage mining causes happens when toxic reactions take off on mining sites and have to be managed indefinitely. The extraction process Wolfden proposed raised concerns from environmental advocates and groups that have worked to keep the irreversible impacts out of Maine.

The crushed rock waste that is stored in the ground poses a risk to groundwater resources because when ground-up rock rich in metal and sulfur is exposed to water and oxygen, acid is born, microbes multiply and the material becomes toxic. The contaminates drinking water, kills aquatic organisms and causes damage downstream as heavy metals like copper, lead, arsenic and mercury bioaccumulate.

"There's always risk. The grinding up (of) rocks makes them much more reactive and it's not necessarily something that you can control after it's been done," said Dr. Jean MacRae, a professor of civil and environmental engineering at the University of Maine.

The balloons of toxic rock material will be sealed in two layers - an outside layer of clay and inside layer of polyethylene. MacRae called the plan a "belt-and-suspenders" approach to toxic tailings management but raised concerns even with the safety net.

"Mines are extremely dangerous to the environment," said MacRae. "There's no foolproof (solution). There will be potential for failure of any of these engineered solutions."

Also, Wolfden's water treatment plan - which informs the background levels the company must meet to discharge treated wastewater back into the ground at better or equal water quality levels of nearby lakes and streams - appears incomplete, said Dr. Stephen Norton, professor emeritus at the University of Maine's School of Earth and Climate Sciences. Norton said background surface waters were sampled only once during the driest time of 2018 and methods weren't included for review.

Indigenous concerns

As the rezoning process continues, concerns about the external costs and loss of ecosystem services that come with unplanned pollution from industrial processes like mining remain crucial to groups like the NRCM and Maine's indigenous communities.

Dan Kusnierz, longtime water resources program manager for the Penobscot Nation, said the proposed mine could threaten culturally sacred waters that provide sustenance fishing rights to the tribe, including Grand Lake Matagamon, Mountain Catcher Pond and the Penobscot River.

"That area is really important to the health and wellbeing of the tribe," said Kusinerz. "People go in those areas to hunt and fish and gather medicines and lots of other cultural(ly) important activities."

Theresa Secord, a former geologist with the Penobscot Nation who sat on the land use committee that preceded the LUPC, said that while she's concerned about the impacts on Maine's environment, modern society "can't live without mining."

"Where do these places belong is the bigger question," she said. "And do indigenous people in other parts of our hemisphere - are they the ones that are supposed to pay the price?"

"There's not going to be any clean mine," said Secord. "Eventually, there's the potential for something to happen. And if it doesn't - still, there's going to be tailings ponds and people are going to have to tend to that in perpetuity."

Secord, Kusnierz, and Bennett of the NRCM are concerned about water resources being tainted in the process.

Bennett said there are no examples of mines that have injected treated water back into the ground that parallel what Maine requires. Other states have looser restrictions or larger bodies of water that can dilute the injected material.

"If you can't prove the concept, if there's nothing like this anywhere - and there isn't - how can you say it's a well-planned development? It's not a well-planned development, it's a wing and a prayer," Bennett said.

What lies ahead

Wolfden's vice president hoped to address concerns over acid mine drainage and the company's ability to meet Maine's strict requirements for injecting treated water back into the ground down the line. But, the LUPC's request this week will force more details to emerge in the next two months.

The LUPC's request this week comes on top of continued pushback from Wolfden about the level of detail it must provide to the commission.

After the agency requested additional information from Wolfden during an Aug. 12 , Wolfden's lawyer filed an objection to the request on Aug. 26. The lawyer that parts of the LUPC's request would be covered in its DEP mining permit application and asked the planning commission to " " those areas from its analysis.

"We've sort of taken a leap of faith," said Ouellette. "We know that we can operate this thing and make Mainers very proud of mining again."

But the risks cannot be ignored, said MacRae, the civil and environmental engineering professor.

"I would not like to see something happening in this state where due diligence wasn't done and groundwater became contaminated ... It is a big job to try to fix something like this after the fact."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Environmental experts push back on Canadian company's plans to mine for metal in Maine

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The neighboring mines, which shuttered in the 1970s, caused significant water pollution that is still being cleaned up - on the taxpayers' dime. After a decades-long standoff on how to regulate the industry, an out-of-state company is seeking to open two mines in rural parts of the state.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Nevada lithium mine kicks off a new era of Western extraction” by Kapoor, February 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Nevada lithium mine kicks off a new era of Western extraction” by Kapoor, February 2021

# data[].attributes.body
One of the first publications I found online about lithium mining in the southwest and its impact on Indigenous communities. This one focuses more on threats to clean water. #lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Editor's note: In April, the Fort McDermitt Paiute Shoshone tribal council voted unanimously to withdraw the tribe from its agreement with Lithium Nevada, based on a petition from tribal members.
In the Great Basin Desert of northern Nevada and southern Oregon, Thacker pass cuts a wide swath of sagebrush and bunch grasses between narrow ribbons of mountain ranges. The region is a caldera - a collapsed volcano - that formed an ancient lakebed. For millennia, Indigenous peoples used the verdant valley as a pathway between their winter and summer homes. Today, the Fort McDermitt Paiute Shoshone Tribe's reservation is located nearby, along with the small agricultural community of Orovada, clusters of buildings surrounded by circular green fields of alfalfa.

The ancient lakebed clays are rich in lithium, and in January, the Bureau of Land Management approved the Thacker Pass lithium mine, an almost two-square-mile open-pit mine that will dig up the nation's largest-known lithium supply. The mine will be run by Lithium Nevada, a subsidiary of Canadian-owned Lithium Americas. But its approval was rushed through during the coronavirus pandemic, and tribal members, ranchers and environmentalists have concerns about the mine's potential long-term consequences.

Until now, lithium typically has been extracted from saline areas, such as Chile's Atacama Desert, through an evaporative process. A relatively new technique using sulfuric acid to extract it from clay means the West is facing a new mining boom - and Nevada may soon be a global lithium-mining hotspot.

Lithium, the lightest metal, shines silvery when stored in protective oils. (Otherwise, it's extremely flammable.) That lightness makes lithium ion batteries essential to everything from cellphones, to tablets, to Teslas. Lithium ion batteries also store energy for much longer than other batteries, so they can be important parts of solar and wind energy systems.

Electrovoltaic, or EV, vehicles are a growing part of efforts to combat climate change. For example, General Motors announced in January that it planned to stop making combustion-engine cars by 2035.

But as anyone with an aging cellphone knows, lithium ion batteries degrade over time. What's more, companies seldom recycle the batteries to reuse the rare metals inside them; it's more cost-effective simply to mine for more.

In the Western U.S., companies are rushing to develop lithium mines, partly because of new extraction methods, but also because the federal government is fast-tracking lithium mining. In 2018, the Interior Department listed lithium as a critical mineral, speeding up the mine permitting process. Last year, the Trump administration weakened and sped up the environmental review process for projects on federal lands, favoring mine approvals. Even as the Biden administration clamps down on extractive industries, such as by pausing oil and gas leases on public lands and offshore waters, lithium mining exploration continues apace, as part of the nation's plan to wean itself from petroleum-powered cars.

This sped-up approval process makes public participation hard. As early as 2019, the BLM published a notice online that invited public comments on the Thacker Pass project, but included the wrong internet link for information about it. In 2020, the BLM held virtual public meetings about the mine's potential environmental impacts less than a month before the public comment period closed. According to E & E News, the environmental review, often a multiyear process, took less than a year, with the final public comment period held over the winter holidays.

Although some commenters requested more time, citing the coronavirus pandemic, the Interior Department recommended expediting the mine's approval to support economic recovery. Neither Lithium Nevada nor the Bureau of Land Management agreed to speak to High Country News about the project.

Lithium Nevada will work approximately 18,000 acres of BLM land about 26 miles from the Fort McDermitt Paiute Shoshone Reservation, in a sea of sagebrush on the Nevada-Oregon border hemmed to the north by the Montana Mountains. The region is the traditional homeland of several related Indigenous nations, including the Shoshone-Paiute Tribes of the Duck Valley Reservation, the Shoshone-Bannock Tribes of the Fort Hall Reservation, the Fort McDermitt Paiute Shoshone Tribe and the Burns Paiute Tribe.

Workers will build the mine 24 hours a day for the first two years. Starting in the second year, actual mining operations will occur 24 hours a day for four decades.

Workers will build the mine 24 hours a day for the first two years. Starting in the second year, actual mining operations - such as digging the open-pit mine, pumping the ore to a processing facility, processing the lithium in industrial scrubbers, hauling waste rock to a stockpile, and trucking in materials to make sulfuric acid - will occur 24 hours a day for four decades. In a region where the average 2019 salary was about $21,000, Lithium Nevada says the mine's average salary will be nearly quadruple that. The company predicts it will bring approximately 1,000 construction jobs to the region for two years of construction, and employ an operational staff of about 300 until the mine closes. The mine has been approved to run for about 40 years - longer, if the company finds more lithium.

Fort Mcdermitt Paiute Shoshone Tribal Chairperson Maxine Redstar hopes the mine will provide well-paid, highly skilled work to the reservation's isolated community of approximately 340 people. But details about those jobs are scarce. Lithium Nevada is working closely with the tribe to do outreach and has worked with Great Basin Community College to develop construction training. In its environmental impact statement, however, it describes plans to bus operational workers in from Winnemucca, an hour away from the mine, where the population is less than 4% Native American.

Throughout 2020, the Fort McDermitt Paiute Shoshone Tribe contended with devastating coronavirus infection rates, and Redstar hopes that Lithium Nevada will commit to more community engagement, such as the youth summit and powwow Redstar organized with financial support from the company.

Previously, she worried that the much-needed economic stimulus would come at too high a cost, either to local communities or the environment, impacting native habitat, cultural foods, or the wild game that some tribal members still hunt traditionally. But at a February tribal council meeting, Lithium Nevada reassured Redstar that it will seriously consider any concerns raised by the tribe. "They are going to be doing reclamation every seven years," Redstar said. "I'm feeling a little bit confident that they are doing everything they can to restore the way it was going to be." Lithium Nevada also said it would help identify what kind of professional training tribal members needed in order to be employed at the Thacker Pass mine.

Still, others worry that the tribe doesn't have enough information about the mine's possible consequences, good or bad. Tribal Councilmember Billy A. Bell said he only learned about the mine's approval by the BLM after High Country News asked for his comments. "It's interesting how the tribe didn't comment" on the project, Bell said. "And it's too late now."

"It's interesting how the tribe didn't comment. And it's too late now."

This rushed approval process has frustrated local rancher Edward Bartell. Bartell's family - fifth- or sixth-generation ranchers - has run cattle in Thacker Pass for a dozen years. His family's cattle graze private property, where sturdy Great Basin wild rye sways across acres of land. Bartell believes that the project's fast approval means that the BLM relied on the mining company for all the science, and he worries about the mine's long-term effects on the region's air and water quality.

Bartell didn't start out opposed to the mine - in fact, the green energy angle sounded good to him. But as he looked into the potential impacts on his family business, he started to get worried. "My big thing is the BLM hasn't done any other independent science," Bartell said.

Bartell has not found direct communications with the company reassuring. For example, in an email sent in November 2019, Alexi Zawadzki, president of Lithium America's North American operations, told him, "You'll be pleased to know our operation will use very little water - approximately 2,500 acre-feet of well water per year." However, when Bartell read the BLM's final environmental impact statement, he learned that that estimate was for just the first four years of operation. After that, the mine will use twice as much water.

Bartell fears that the water table will drop dramatically.

"It is a big devaluation of land value, if you have productive grassland, like you're seeing out here, and suddenly it turns into barren dustbowl," Bartell said. He has asked Lithium Nevada to compensate his business, but to no avail. In February, Bartell sued the BLM for rushing the environmental review.

He also worries about the approximately 5,800 tons of sulfuric acid the mine will eventually produce on-site each day. To make sulfuric acid, Lithium Nevada will ship the necessary chemicals in via rail to Winnemucca. From there, trucks will rumble down quiet roads, making up to 200 trips day and night between the town and mine facility - carrying hazardous materials to the mine's on-site processing center, and mine products back to the railroad.

"What they're going to have is more of an industrial facility here than just a mine. It's going to have a chemical complex as well," said John Hadder, director of the nonprofit Great Basin Resource Watch. "So there's a lot of concerns about emissions, air quality, leaks, spills, all that kind of stuff."

The fast-tracked approval process means that the BLM produced scant details about how the mine will affect rare species or unique habitat. The greater sage grouse, for example, stands to lose thousands of acres of habitat. A sage grouse lek, or courtship area, lies less than a mile from the future mine.

Even federal biologists have expressed concern about the rapid approval process. In a January letter to the Bureau of Land Management, Environmental Protection Agency project manager Jean Prijatel questioned the plan for long-term management after the mine closes down. According to Prijatel, without proper management, the mine will contaminate local groundwater with dangerous heavy metals, in particular a "plume" of antimony, for at least 300 years. Prijatel noted that though the BLM had "conceptual options" to address this plume, it offered no detailed mitigation plans, yet approved the mine anyway. She also questioned how the mine will monitor water pollution or share that information with the public. Prijatel did not respond to a request for comment from High Country News, although an EPA representative offered to answer questions provided in writing.

Hadder explained that the mine will eventually be dug deeper than the groundwater level. To keep it dry, the mining company will have to continuously pump water out. When the mine shuts down and the pumping stops, groundwater will seep back in, picking up newly exposed toxins, such as antimony. Lithium Nevada plans to treat groundwater for antimony pollution caused by the mine for several years after it closes. But Hadder worries that the antimony pollution may last far longer. "It has the potential of being an intergenerational pollution source, requiring perpetual management," he said. "This is something that's not getting a lot of play. And I think it's part of the problem with the whole process, in not really giving people a full sense of what could happen."
Note: This story has been updated to clarify Maxine Redstar's role as tribal chairperson.
Maya L. Kapoor is an associate editor atHigh Country News. Follow @Kapoor_ML

Get our Indigenous Affairs newsletter ↓

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Nevada lithium mine kicks off a new era of Western extraction

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Editor's note: In April, the Fort McDermitt Paiute Shoshone tribal council voted unanimously to withdraw the tribe from its agreement with Lithium Nevada, based on a petition from tribal members. In the Great Basin Desert of northern Nevada and southern Oregon, Thacker pass cuts a wide swath of sagebrush and bunch grasses between narrow ribbons of mountain ranges.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Mining for lithium, at a cost to Indigenous religions” by Kapoor, June 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Mining for lithium, at a cost to Indigenous religions” by Kapoor, June 2021

# data[].attributes.body
a second publication about lithium mining in the West, this time focusing on Ivan Bender's account and protection of sacred sites #lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
One autumn evening four years ago, Ivan Bender, a Hualapai man in his mid-50s, took a walk with his fluffy brown-and-white Pomeranian, Sierra Mae, to check on the ranchland he tends. Nestled in western Arizona's Big Sandy River Valley, the ranch protects Ha' Kamwe' - hot springs that are sacred to the Hualapai and known today in English as Cofer Hot Springs. As the shadows lengthened, Bender saw something surprising - men working on a nearby hillside.

"I asked them what they were doing," Bender recalled. "They told me they were drilling." As it turns out, along with sacred places including the hot springs, ceremony sites and ancestral burials, the valley also holds an enormous lithium deposit. Now, exploratory work by Australian company Hawkstone Mining threatens those places, and with them, the religious practices of the Hualapai and other Indigenous nations. But this threat is nothing new: Centuries of land expropriation, combined with federal court rulings denying protection to sacred sites, have long devastated Indigenous religious freedom.

Cholla Canyon Ranch, where Bender is the caretaker, includes approximately 360 acres about halfway between Phoenix and Las Vegas, flanked to the west by the lush riparian corridor of Big Sandy River. The valley is part of an ancient salt route connecting tribes from as far north as central Utah to communities in Baja California and along the Pacific Coast, documented in the songs and oral traditions of many Indigenous nations.

"There are stories about that land and what it represents to the Hualapai Tribe," Bender said. "To me, it holds a really, really sacred valley of life in general." According to tribal councilmember Richard Powskey, who directs the Hualapai Natural Resources Department, the Hualapai harvest native plant materials along the river corridor for everything from cradle boards to drums.

The mining company (USA Lithium Ltd., which has since been acquired by Hawkstone Mining Ltd.) hadn't told the Hualapai Tribe it was searching for lithium on nearby Bureau of Land Management lands. That evening, Bender was shocked to see the destruction taking place. The company eventually bulldozed a network of roads, drilling nearly 50 test wells more than 300 feet deep in the sacred landscape.

This summer, Hawkstone plans to triple its exploratory drilling, almost encircling Canyon Ranch and the springs it protects. In the next few years, Hawkstone hopes to break ground on an open-pit mine and dig an underground slurry to pipe the ore about 50 miles to a plant in Kingman, Arizona, where it will use sulfuric acid to extract the lithium. Lithium, which is listed as a critical mineral, is crucial for reaching the Biden administration's goal of replacing gas-guzzling vehicles with electric vehicles, and Big Sandy Valley is relatively close to the Tesla factory in Nevada. Altogether, Hawkstone has mining rights on more than 5,000 acres of public land in Arizona for this project. Yet tribes whose sacred sites are at risk have almost no say in its decisions.

Public lands from Bears Ears to Oak Flat contain countless areas of cultural and religious importance. But when tribes have gone to court to protect these sites - and their own religious freedom - they've consistently lost. Courts have narrowly interpreted what counts as a religious burden for tribes, largely to preserve the federal government's ability to use public lands as it sees fit.

The roots of this policy are centuries deep. In the landmark 1823 case Johnson v. M'Intosh, the Supreme Court ruled that Indigenous people could not sell land to private owners in the United States, because they did not own it. Instead, Christian colonizers were the rightful owners, based on the Spanish colonial "Doctrine of Discovery," a racist and anti-Indigenous policy holding that non-Christian, non-European societies were inferior, and that Christian European nations had a superior right to all land.

"Part of what justified the claiming of the land was that (colonizers) would teach the Indigenous people Christianity," Michalyn Steele, an Indian law expert at Brigham Young University and member of the Seneca Nation of Indians, said. "If they rejected Christianity, then they essentially forfeited their rights to the land and resources."

By the late 1800s, the United States had banned Indigenous religious practices, forcing tribes to socially and politically assimilate, and to adopt Christianity through agricultural, lifestyle and religious practices.

More recently, courts have continued to weaken protections for Indigenous religious freedom on public lands. In the precedent-setting 1988 case Lyng v. Northwest Indian Cemetery Protective Association, the Supreme Court ruled that the Forest Service could widen a logging road in Northern California's Six Rivers National Forest, even though it would destroy a region that was essential to the religious beliefs of tribes including the Yurok, Karuk and Tolowa. The Supreme Court reasoned that although the location might be utterly wrecked, that destruction did not violate the Constitution, because it would not force tribal members to violate their religious beliefs or punish them for practicing their religions.

"Even assuming that the Government's actions here will virtually destroy the Indians' ability to practice their religion, the Constitution simply does not provide a principle that could justify upholding respondents' legal claims," Justice Sandra Day O'Connor wrote in the majority opinion.

The court ruled, in part, to avoid granting tribes broad control over their ancestral lands through the exercise of their religious freedom. "Whatever rights the Indians may have to the use of the area ... those rights do not divest the Government of its rights to use what is, after all, its land," the ruling said.

Though Congress partially protected that sacred region by adding it to the Siskiyou Wilderness Area, the Lyng ruling still reverberates across Indian Country today, creating what Stephanie Barclay, the director of the University of Notre Dame's Religious Liberty Institute and a former litigator at the Becket Fund for Religious Liberty, calls a "double standard" in how Indigenous sacred sites are treated.

Barclay compared the situation of tribes such as the Hualapai, which rely on the federal government to access sacred sites, to that of Jewish prisoners who adhere to a kosher diet, or Sikh members of the military whose faith forbids them to cut their hair. In all of these cases, religious freedoms are controlled by the government. But, Barclay said, tribal members don't get the same religious protections.

"To me, it holds a really, really sacred valley of life in general."

"If the government is unwilling to accommodate an access for different Native peoples so that they can practice their religion in those sacred sites, then it won't happen," she said. But the Supreme Court has narrowly interpreted religious protection of Indigenous sacred sites on public lands, to the point of allowing wholesale destruction.

In a recent Harvard Law Review article, Steele and Barclay urge the federal government to protect Indigenous religious practices as one of its trust responsibilities, and to be very cautious about allowing destruction of sacred sites on public lands.

As things stand, state and federal agencies may permit irreversible damage with little input from affected Indigenous communities. Indeed, communication between the BLM and Hualapai Tribe about Hawkstone's Big Sandy River Valley lithium impacts has been almost nonexistent. Although the BLM invited the Hualapai Tribe to consult with the agency in June 2020 about Hawkstone's exploration plans, the agency later rebuffed the tribe's request to be a coordinating agency on the project. It also rejected the suggestion that a tribal elder walk through the area and educate the agency about the cultural resources and history that mining might imperil.

The BLM said that it found only four cultural resource sites in the proposed drilling area. Of those, it said it would attempt to avoid one, which was eligible for protection under the National Historic Preservation Act. Meanwhile, in its publicly available environmental assessment, the agency stated that effects to Native American religious concerns or traditional values were "to be determined," and that it was consulting with the Hualapai Tribe, among others. As of this writing, BLM staff had neither agreed to an interview nor responded to written questions from High Country News.

For its part, in March Hawkstone said that "All (I)ndigenous title is cleared and there are no other known historical or environmentally sensitive areas." Hawkstone's report ignores the fact that even when tribes lack legal title to their traditional lands, those spaces still hold religious and cultural importance.

When asked for comment, Doug Pitts, a U.S. advisor at Hawkstone Mining, emailed HCN that, given the early stage of the project, "we do not feel a discussion on the project is worthwhile at this time."

Even without a clear legal path forward, the Hualapai Tribe has not given up on protecting its religious practices from lithium exploration. Nor is it alone: In April, the Inter Tribal Association of Arizona, representing 21 nations including the Hualapai, passed a resolution objecting to the lithium mining, calling the BLM's environmental analysis "grossly insufficient." Recently, the BLM agreed to extend the comment period until June 10. But Councilmember Powskey pointed out that during the Standing Rock protests against the Dakota Access Pipeline - which in part concerned the destruction of burials - the authorities' response was violent, and tribal nations, for a long while, were the only ones who seemed to care. And in the end, the pipeline was built.

Big Sandy is not the first battle the Hualapai have fought to protect sacred landscapes in this remote corner of Arizona, where wind turbines, gold mines and other private interests already have destroyed culturally important places - and it won't be the last. "You know, there's more to come," Powskey said.

Meanwhile, the likelihood of more lithium exploration around the ranch upsets caretaker Ivan Bender. The double standard in how Indigenous sacred sites are treated galls him.

"They come in here and desecrate your sacred land," he said. "Would they appreciate me if I go to Arlington Cemetery and build me a sweat lodge and have me a sweat on that land?" he asked. "I'd rather they go somewhere else and leave history alone."

Maya L. Kapoor is a writer and editor based in Lotus, California. She was formerly an associate editor at HCN. Follow her on Twitter @kapoor_ml. Email High Country News at [email protected] or submit a letter to the editor.

Get our Indigenous Affairs newsletter ↓

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Mining for lithium, at a cost to Indigenous religions

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
One autumn evening four years ago, Ivan Bender, a Hualapai man in his mid-50s, took a walk with his fluffy brown-and-white Pomeranian, Sierra Mae, to check on the ranchland he tends. Nestled in western Arizona's Big Sandy River Valley, the ranch protects Ha' Kamwe' - hot springs that are sacred to the Hualapai and known today in English as Cofer Hot Springs.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Tribe, Ranchers Say Proposed Lithium Mine in Wikieup Will ‘Ruin’ Their Water,” from Phoenix New Times, June 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Tribe, Ranchers Say Proposed Lithium Mine in Wikieup Will ‘Ruin’ Their Water,” from Phoenix New Times, June 2021

# data[].attributes.body
#lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
On a recent hot afternoon in Wikieup, a rural community of around 100 people located on U.S. Highway 93 in western Arizona, locals, some wearing cowboy hats, sat in metal folding chairs at the local elementary school to learn about a potential new lithium mine project coming to the region. A representative of Hawkstone Mining, the Australian company behind the project, stood in front of a projected PowerPoint presentation, trying to convince them that the planned mine would be safe.

But the attendees weren't buying it. To them, the mine poses an existential threat to their water supply during an ongoing severe drought. And the notion that the community might sacrifice their water so that a foreign company can extract lithium, which is used in batteries to power consumer electronics and electric cars, seemed ludicrous.

"Why are you here trying to take our water?" said one long-time resident, who identified himself to Phoenix New Times as Douglas. "That's wrong for you to take our water away from us."

"We're not going to have electric cars here," one woman scoffed, prompting laughter from the room.

Members of the Hualapai Tribe argued that the project would desecrate their cultural sites. The tribe's land in Wikieup includes a natural hot spring they consider sacred. Hawkstone Mining wants to drill holes in the land adjacent to their property.

"This mining exploration surrounds Hualapai land on three sides," Peter Bungart, a tribal historic preservation officer with the Hualapai Tribe Department of Cultural Resources, said at the meeting. "It would destroy the land there."

The mine isn't a done deal yet. After conducting some initial exploratory drilling on federal land in Wikieup back in 2019, Hawkstone Mining is now seeking permission from the U.S. Bureau of Land Management to go back for another round of drilling before pursuing a full-scale mine.

The brewing tension surrounding the project in Wikieup represents a broader fight over lithium mining that is taking place in other states. Increasing use of electric cars and renewable energy has caused demand for lithium to soar, with projections for even more needed in the near future. But some observers are raising red flags, like in Wikieup, about the potential harmful environmental impacts of lithium mines.

Modern Gold Rush

Lithium is an element used to manufacture rechargeable lithium-ion batteries for a wide range of products, from cellphones to large-scale battery storage. Inside the batteries, lithium ions move between electrodes to produce electrons, producing power. Historically, the world's lithium supply has primarily come from the so-called " lithium triangle" in South America, where it is extracted from the brine in groundwater, and in Australia, where it is mined from hard rock. Now, with electric vehicle sales surging and the Biden administration pushing electric vehicles as a way to cut emissions, demand for lithium - and its value - is projected to skyrocket.

President Biden is seeking to bolster national security by localizing certain "critical" supply chains. In an executive order signed in late February, Biden directed the federal government to review weaknesses in supply chains for strategic minerals, pharmaceuticals, semiconductors, and large capacity batteries. The issue, according to a June 2021 White House report, is that the U.S. is "dangerously dependent" on other countries, like China, for key parts of the supply chain for those crucial products and resources. Lithium, in particular, is called out as a highly important resource that is primarily refined in China, a competing global power.

"Today, China refines 60 percent of the world's lithium and 80 percent of the world's cobalt, two core inputs to high-capacity batteries - which presents a critical vulnerability to the future of the U.S. domestic auto industry," the report states. "Maintaining America's innovative and manufacturing edge in the automotive sector and other key industrial sectors will require the United States to undertake a concerted effort to shore-up sustainable critical material supply and processing capacity, expand domestic battery production, and support EV and storage adoption."

While the U.S. is thought to have some of the largest untapped lithium reserves in the world, it currently only has one operational lithium mine: Silver Peak in Nevada. The spiking demand for lithium has led to something of a lithium gold rush, with mining companies scrambling to establish new projects in Nevada and near the Salton Sea in California. South of the border, Mexico is trying to attract investors to extract its own lithium reserves.

But already, some of the projects are running into opposition. The proposed new mine in Nevada, Thacker Pass - a project originally approved by the Trump administration - has garnered backlash from local environmental watchdogs and indigenous communities. Several lawsuits have been filed to halt the project.

"We have a set of materials that are associated with green energy and the 'green economic transition' more broadly. They go into batteries, they're about moving beyond fossil fuels," said Aimee Boulanger, executive director of the Initiative for Responsible Mining Assurance, a group that rates mining operations. "Indigenous communities and rural communities are saying that they won't see the benefit of this."

Wikieup is thought to be sitting on an immensely valuable amount of lithium located in sedimentary clay. In 2019, Hawkstone Mining completed its first round of exploratory drilling in the area. Based off of those findings, Doug Pitts, U.S. general manager for Hawkstone Mining, told Phoenix New Times that there is at least 320,000 metric tons of lithium in the area, and at lithium's current market price, the company stands to make a considerable profit. Pitts said that if they can produce 20,000 tons of battery-grade lithium per year, that will net an estimated $260 million in annual gross revenue.

"It's an attractive deposit," he said. "The prices are still going up."

Rodney Crum, a spokesperson for the Bureau of Land Management's Colorado River District, said that he isn't aware of any top-down mandates or pressure from the Biden administration to fast-track the permitting process for Hawkstone Mining's exploratory drilling. He referred Phoenix New Times to a news release about how the agency had extended the deadline for public comment on the drilling. The comment period closed June 10.

Pitts is reluctant to disclose specific plans for the mine since they want to do a second round of exploratory drilling.

"We won't know until we do the drilling," he said.

But Hawkstone Mining's basic concept of the mine is fairly established. Assuming that the new drilling yields good results, the company plans to build a mine in Wikieup on BLM land extract the lithium-filled clay sediment. It will be mixed with water to create a slurry and piped to a processing facility in nearby Kingman, where it will undergo a process called acid leaching, which involves using sulfuric acid to extract the lithium. The mine will be operational for 30 or 40 years and Hawkstone Mining wants to create some sort of apprenticeship program at Mohave Community College in Kingman so that locals can get jobs with the project.

While Pitts said that the acid leaching process is safe, adding that no acid or chemicals would contaminate the region, some environmental advocates say that the technique could have potentially harmful side effects.

"A lot of people are concerned about the acid leach process," said John Hadder, executive director of the Great Basin Resource Watch, which is currently suing the BLM in federal court to stop the proposed Thacker Pass lithium mine in Nevada. "It's likely there's residual acid that will leach out of something."

Some residents of Wikieup see Pitts' promises of the jobs and responsible environmental stewardship as all talk. Ranchers worry that the exploratory drilling phase - which would involve 145 separate drill holes on federal land - and the mine itself will puncture or pollute the groundwater that feed the wells that residents rely on to survive. And members of the Hualapai Tribe say that the project amounts to an attack on their heritage and historical territory.

"They should look for lithium at another site," Damon Clarke, chairman of the Hualapai Tribe, told New Times. "It's desecrating our cultural and historical land, our sacred sites."

Tribal Concerns

Standing amidst blooming saguaro cacti on Sonoran desert land owned by the BLM near Wikieup, Ivan Bender, a 56-year-old member of the Hualapai Tribe, points out bare patches of dirt where Hawkstone Mining conducted its initial exploratory drilling in 2019. Below the elevated plateau is a tightly clustered palm grove located on the nearby Cholla Canyon Ranch, where he works as the ranch caretaker. The ranch, which on tribal land, consists of low-slung plywood buildings and other structures, all of which is surrounded by a bright white picket fence. In the middle of the ranch, Cofer Hot Springs - or Ha' Kamwe' as its called by the Hualapai - is fed by hot water forced up through a volcanic fault. The springs and the surrounding land are considered sacred by the Hualapai.

So when Hawkstone Mining began drilling on federal land adjacent to the ranch in 2019, Bender took it personally.

"It was noisy, you heard the loud drilling going on up there, and then you've got vehicles going up and down the road," he said. "Would it be alright if I went to Arlington Cemetery and built me a sweat lodge on top of the Arlington Cemetery? Would they allow me to do that?"

The Hualapai people have lived in the region for thousands of years. Their territory covered large swaths of northeastern Arizona along the Colorado river, going as far south as the Bill Williams River and east to modern-day Prescott. Cofer Hot Springs was located along a route that traversed the southwest known as the Salt Song Trail, which Native American medicine men used to visit sacred sites, according to the tribe. After gold was discovered near Prescott in 1863, an Arizona State University research project states, Anglo-American miners and military units began arriving in the region, and fighting broke out between them and the Hualapai. Eventually, after the Hualapai were forcibly removed by the U.S. Army - only to later return to find white settlers occupying their homeland - President Chester A. Arthur created a reservation for the tribe in 1883. The reservation currently spans the south bank of the Colorado River west of the Grand Canyon with Peach Spring as its capital. It also includes small satellite reservations in Valentine and Wikieup.

Today, the Cholla Canyon Ranch serves as a gathering place for the Hualapai and other regional Native American tribes. There's a sweat lodge on the property and drug addiction workshops are held there. Before the COVID-19 pandemic hit, the tribe was considering holding ranching educational programs for young people.

"This spring is a place for healing and medicine and other things that they have here. Our people are buried all through here. There's a grave just on the other side of this hill right here," Hualapai Tribe Councilmember Richard Powskey said while standing near Cofer Hot Springs. "Just because this environment is harsh and hot doesn't mean it's not good for anything. It serves a purpose."

To the Hualapai, Hawkstone Mining's plan to conduct another round of exploratory drilling is particularly dangerous. The drill holes would be placed on federal property that surrounds the ranch on three sides, and they fear the the drilling will damage the underground aquifer and harm Cofer Hot Springs. Bender, the ranch caretaker, claimed that water flow from the well that feeds the spring has already decreased after the initial 2019 drilling. On April 22, 2021, the Hualapai Tribal Council passed a resolution opposing the project. Chairman Clarke said the tribe is considering legal action to stop the mine.

"There is no water in the state of Arizona. Everyone is fighting for water. Here, in this area, it's arid and there's not a lot of water. Whatever water there is here has already been taken by farming and ranching. To allow a big industry to come in that's going to use tons of water and ruin our water system ... then it's a big problem," Powskey said. "This place can't support something that uses a lot of water, whether it's lithium or not. We're all in support of changing our consumption of fossil fuels. But at the cost of the environment just to get that for more cellphones and whatever else, it's a problem."

Pitts claimed that the exploratory drilling won't go deep enough to hit the aquifer that feeds Cofer Hot Springs. The max depth for the drill holes will be 360 feet, and he believes the water table is located at 700 feet. But the Hualapai Tribal leadership thinks the water table is much higher. Bungart, the tribe's historic preservation officer, said that measurements recently taken at a nearby well by a geo-hydrologist contracted by the tribe show that the bottom of the well is located at 306 feet. The geo-hydrologist allegedly first encountered water at 69 feet, according to Bungart.

"If this was Palm Springs would they do the same thing? No, you'd have all them rich people over there fighting to put a stop to it. But here we just have local ranchers, ordinary people that are trying to make a living off the land and trying to protect what they have here and take care of it because they need it in the future," Powskey said. "This spring has already been impacted. Something has happened. They've probably already punctured the aquifer and they're not telling anybody."

Pitts said that he's offered to meet with the Hualapai Tribe and their geo-hydrologist to go over their findings. Hawkstone Mining is also open to putting up "sound berms" near Cholla Canyon Ranch to mitigate the noise from the drilling, as well as financing a new cultural center for the tribe. But, ultimately, the company has "no intention" of scuttling the project due to the tribe's concerns.

"If they say 'we don't want anything you have to offer,' it's probably going to come down to a decision that federal agencies make and there's probably going to be a lot of litigation," Pitts said. "We think the project is going to be so good and enough in it for all of us, including them. We're not going to give up yet."

'Shallow' Water Table

Local cattle ranchers and farmers are also concerned about the lithium mine's potential impact on the local supply. In Wikieup, where residents have to drive an hour away to Kingman for groceries, there is no municipal water supply. All residents get their water from groundwater wells. The prospect of an outside mining firm jeopardizing their water supply alarms them.

Pat Sherrill, 63, lives with his wife on a 45-acre farm just off of U.S. Route 93, which cuts right through Wikieup. They've lived there for over 30 years and grow produce like lettuce and tomatoes, as well as nursery stock. They get water from two wells on their property, which, according to Sherrill, don't run that deep.

"The water table is very shallow here, the level of water in my well is like 45 feet," he said. "I'm absolutely concerned about the pollution. Once they start doing this thing it's going to get in the waterway. I just don't see how it can't. It's too close."

"I've got a huge investment in this property," Sherrill added. "The last thing we need is for it to be destroyed."

Locals already have experience with mining operations coming in and out and consuming regional water supplies. The massive open-pit copper mine in Bagdad to the south, which is run by the Phoenix-based international mining firm Freeport-McMoRan, pumps in water from wells along the Big Sandy River north of Wikieup, according to the Arizona Department of Mines and Mineral Resources. And Bell Copper, a Canadian mining firm that has been operating in the area for years, began a new round of drilling in March 2021.

April Drane, a 48-year-old manager of the local Shell gas station and a lifelong resident of Wikieup, said that local water wells have been steadily depleted over time.

"I have three generations buried right here in the valley," she said. "The well my grandparents dug, they hit water at 30 feet. But over the time that Bagdad has taken our water, it dropped down to where we had to go 60 feet and over time."

"My grandfather used to ranch all of this area and the ranchers are having a hard time," she added. "I would like to see Wikieup have something. But not mining."

It's unclear exactly how much water the Big Sandy Lithium Mine Project would use. Pitts said that the mine itself will require, at most, an estimated 130,000 gallons of water per ton of lithium produced. And with the possibility of producing 20,000 tons of battery-grade lithium per year, the total water usage figure starts to add up quickly.

However, Pitts also claimed that Hawkstone Mining will be able to reduce their water consumption by using effluent water from Kingman, which is treated sewage water that isn't potable. He also said that the company is considering shipping the extracted lithium to Houston, Texas for processing. But, ultimately, some groundwater will likely be used from both Kingman and Wikieup.

"We'll never get to zero. We're still going to need water," Pitts said. "Our biggest challenge is getting that water."

He added that buying privately held land in the region and building wells would be one way to get water for the project. But Pitts acknowledged that using local ground water will attract "real hard scrutiny."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Tribe, Ranchers Say Proposed Lithium Mine in Wikieup Will 'Ruin' Their Water

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
On a recent hot afternoon in Wikieup, a rural community of around 100 people located on U.S. Highway 93 in western Arizona, locals, some wearing cowboy hats, sat in metal folding chairs at the local elementary school to learn about a potential new lithium mine project coming to the region.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Sacred Is as Sacred Sells” by Wallace Kaufman, July 2021 on lithium mining connections to Biden

# data[].attributes.subject
“Sacred Is as Sacred Sells” by Wallace Kaufman, July 2021 on lithium mining connections to Biden

# data[].attributes.body
a settler take on the conflict between the Biden admin's increased interest in lithium and the Hualapai nation -- represents misunderstanding of Indigenous history and worldview #lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
“While a precise value of sacred claims that stop mining or pipelines cannot be assigned, the impact of successful claims can certainly be measured in the value of lost jobs, higher prices for less abundant materials like lithium, delays and costs in slowing global warming.” ~ Wallace Kaufman

# data[].attributes.headline
“Past, Future Collide in Dispute Over Northern Nevada Lithium Mine,” from Nevada Public Radio, August 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Past, Future Collide in Dispute Over Northern Nevada Lithium Mine,” from Nevada Public Radio, August 2021

# data[].attributes.body
#lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Supporters of a planned lithium mine in remote far-north Nevada say it will create jobs and help the transition to a clean energy future, with the metal serving as a vital component in EV and other batteries.

Opponents respond that the mine near Thacker Pass, close to the Oregon border, poses a threat to the environment and would defile land sacred to Native Americans.

The dispute will be on the docket Friday in federal court in Reno, where a judge will hear a request by tribal opponents of the project for a temporary injunction to halt work there.

"If the judge does decide to approve our injunction, that would mean that the Bureau of Land Management would have to re-consult with many, many tribes, taking at least one or two years," said project opponent Daranda Hinkey, a member of the Fort McDermitt Paiute and Shoshone tribes who is against the mine. "So it's just a temporary delay, but it's not going to stop the mine completely."

She said a minority of tribal members support the project because of the jobs it will bring, but the majority oppose the project because of environmental concerns and that it will be built on land considered sacred.

Lithium is a critical part of plans to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, because it's used for the batteries in electric vehicles, including at Tesla's Gigafactory outside of Reno.

"We simply don't believe that it is right to destroy this land for what amounts to a luxury good, because most people on the planet don't have cars today," said project opponent Max Wilbert, who set up a protest camp at the site of the mine. "And we don't need cars to survive, or is it right to poison the land? Poison the water and destroy the land for that luxury?"

A UNR political science professor who favors the mine says the project could play an important role in national security by onshoring access to a strategic resource.

"We are totally dependent on China to process the lithium that's produced in Australia and Chile," said John Scire, who has taught U.S. foreign policy and energy policy at UNR for nearly two decades. "So China has control of our lithium supply, and they could just turn it off tomorrow."

Humboldt County Manager Dave Mendiola said the $1.2 billion mine, which would require 1,000 people to build and 200 to run, could change the complexion of the sprawling, sparsely populated county. It runs north from the county seat of Winnemucca and includes hamlets that dot the rural highways along and north of Interstate 80.

"There's no question that something like this mine will change those communities," Mendiola said. "If we work through it early on, and we plan to, these don't have to be negative impacts.

Mendiola said he has faith in environmental regulators to make sure the project doesn't pollute groundwater.

I'm not here in any capacity as a professional or expert, but what I can tell you is that the Nevada Department of Environmental Protection is an outstanding group. I just trust them wholeheartedly because I know how they treat us for our small water system in McDermott," he said. "They've got the rules and regulations and the personnel in place."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Past, Future Collide In Dispute Over Northern Nevada Lithium Mine

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Supporters of a planned lithium mine in remote far-north Nevada say it will create jobs and help the transition to a clean energy future, with the metal serving as a vital component in EV and other batteries.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Local tribal members join stand against lithium mining in Arizona and Salton Sea” from East County Magazine, October 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Local tribal members join stand against lithium mining in Arizona and Salton Sea” from East County Magazine, October 2021

# data[].attributes.body
shows broader resistance to multiple lithium mining projects in the Southwest, along with the demands made to the mining company and BLM #lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
By Miriam Raftery

Photo, left: September 30 protest at Barona reservation in Lakesid e

October 19, 2021 (Lakeside) - Members of the Barona band of Mission Indians and other tribal nations have joined a fight aiming to stop the proposed Sandy Valley lithium mine in Arizona and proposed lithium mining at the Salton Sea in California that could adversely impact Native Americans.

Local activist Bobby Wallace led a local contingency of tribal members who traveled in late September to Arizona, where the Hualapai people are battling to stop the federal Bureau of Land Management from issuing permits for lithium mining that could threaten tribal water supplies.

Participants included tribal leaders and/or tribal council members from the Hualapai Nation and the Peach Springs tribe, as well as tribal youths and members of the Yavapai Apache People, Mohawk/Oneida tribe, Pueblo, Navajo, Zuni, and San Diego County tribal members from the Kumeyaay and Luiseno, as well as representatives of other activist groups.

Lithium is prized for use in cell phones, computers, batteries and other technology devices -- but at a high environmental price for those impacted by hard-rock and open-pit mining used to extract it. Now tribal members are urging the federal government to prioritize metal and rare earth mineral recycling over issuance of new mining permits. The Environmental Protection Agency reports that metal mining accounts for 41 percent of toxic substances released and hard rock mines may have already contaminated 40% of watersheds in the West, the Arizona Republic reported on October 2.

"This is a travesty that endangers the livelihood of everyone and everything in that town," Wallace says of the proposed lithium mining operations near Hualapai lands. "The hot springs and water we are trying to save has been used by the Hualapai people and other first nations since the beginning. It is an oasis in the desert and very beautiful," he says, adding that test holes punctured part of the water source at the historic site.

Wallace adds, "This lithium `drive-new gold rush' is starting in Thacker Pass/Paiute historical sites, moving south to Wikiup, then moving all the way to the Salton Sea, which is known for sacred sites and oral history since the beginning for the Kumeyaay, Quechan and Luiseno people."

According to Wallace, about 70 people joined in walking and running across Arizona with the Red Road Warrior Society and American Indian Movement Yuman Grassroots to draw attention to the cause.

Photo; Bobby Wallace, right, with protesters in Arizona.

Wallace told ECM that on Sept. 25, "We served the drilling contractors a paper stating that the Hualapai Tribe oppose what the are doing and should stop." (View the Hualapai resolution, page 1 and page 2) Two days later, the group served a paper to the Bureau of Land Management in Kingman, AZ, informing the BLM of the tribal opposition.

The tribal coalition is asking the U.S. Department of the Interior to create new rules to prioritize urban mining - recycling from discarded cell phones, computers, monitors and batteries - over issuing new mining permits. The Clinton administration had issued restrictions that the Bush administration largely repealed. The group also wants updates to the General Mining Act which dates to 1872, with tougher environmental evaluations. Mining companies don't even pay royalties on the 83% of mines which operate on federal land - they're not required to, under the law that predates most Western development. In addition, tribes are asking the Biden administration for meaningful tribal consultation to protect indigenous resources.

The U.S. lags behind other countries in lithium-ion battery recycling capacity, according to Jeffrey Spangenberger, director of the ReCell Center, a consortium of industry, university and government labs working to create new means of economically recycling lithium-ion batteries, including those in electric vehicles soon to reach the end of their lifespan of 12 years.

The California Energy Commission wants to cash in on the spike in demand for lithium, known as "white gold" for its uses in powering electric vehicles in a fossil-fuel free future potentially. So, the Commission has become an angel investor offering $16million in grants to companies working to find technically and commercially feasible means of extracting lithium from the brine resulting from geothermal plants at the Salton Sea in Imperial County. Cal Energy Resources, a grant recipient, plans to build a small-scale demonstration plant to start up next year. The Desert Sun reports that it potentially could produce nearly a third of the world's lithium.

But at what cost to the people who live in the region, which already has the state's highest rate of asthma and is ranked among the state's most polluted places?

The 350-square mile Salton Sea, cut off from its freshwater supply, has been evaporating, leaving "generations of toxic sludge" in its wake that have killed fish and sent dust clouds whipped by the winds to aggravate respiratory health problems. One geothermal developer has reportedly proposed contributing funds to remediation efforts to restore wetlands and air quality. But the environmental impacts of the proposed new lithium extraction process from geothermal brine is currently unknown. The pilot project was exempted from environmental review, though a full-scale project would presumably go through more rigorous testing. But past citations of some geothermal facilities in the area for failing to properly dispose of hazardous materials and operating without emissions permits raise concerns.

For Wallace, the concerns over lithium extraction focus mainly on the impacts on water, but he also raises serious questions over how to dispose of the growing number of lithium batteries being produced, increasing the need for recycling valuable raw materials.

"Is this lithium battery the fourth industrial revolution that will put the nail in the coffin for the planet, killing all water?" the Barona tribal member asks. "By 2035, where are we going to put all this non reusable energy source material - hundreds upon hundreds of millions of batteries or more on our planet?"

The group is planning another action on November 8. "We will be delivering another letter to the Bureau of Land Management, having another protest, and also be delivering another letter to the drilling company," Wallace told ECM. "This letter will include the right to protect and preserve Sacred Sites, Water, and Mother Earth for the Ancestral Land of the Hualapai People."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
LOCAL TRIBAL MEMBERS JOIN STAND AGAINST LITHIUM MINING IN ARIZONA AND SALTON SEA

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
By Miriam Raftery Photo, left: September 30 protest at Barona reservation in Lakesid e October 19, 2021 (Lakeside) - Members of the Barona band of Mission Indians and other tribal nations have joined a fight aiming to stop the proposed Sandy Valley lithium mine in Arizona and proposed lithium mining at the Salton Sea in California that could adversely impact Native Americans.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Native opposition to Nevada lithium mine grows,” by Maddie Stone, October 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Native opposition to Nevada lithium mine grows,” by Maddie Stone, October 2021

# data[].attributes.body
#lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
When Daranda Hinkey, a 23-year-old member of the Fort McDermitt Paiute and Shoshone Tribe in northern Nevada, gazes across the austere expanse of old growth sagebrush 25 miles southwest of her tribe's reservation, she doesn't see Thacker Pass, the future site of America's largest lithium mine. She sees Peehee Mu'huh, or " rotten moon," the Paiute name for a place made sacred by the bones of her ancestors.

According to stories told by elders, Peehee Mu'huh got its name many generations ago, when Paiute people were massacred there by members of a warring tribe. Later, a second massacre took place: On September 12, 1865, the 1st Nevada Cavalry snuck into a Paiute camp in the Thacker Pass area before dawn and murdered dozens of men, women, and children in cold blood. This massacre, which is described in government survey documents, contemporaneous news articles, and eyewitness accounts, appears to have had just one adult survivor: Ox Sam, Hinkey's great-great-great grandfather.

Hinkey is one of the founding members of Atsa Koodakuh wyh Nuwu, or People of the Red Mountain, an organization formed by members and relatives of the Fort McDermitt Tribe who want to stop Lithium Nevada Corporation from placing a mine on land they believe is a mass grave. Most of the People, as members of the group call themselves, are blood relatives of Ox Sam and feel a special connection to this place. "We're all descendants of a survivor," Hinkey told Grist. "We feel like we were meant to be here at this time, fighting for the land."

Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

Hinkey and her family are not the only ones who want to protect Thacker Pass. In recent months tribes throughout the region, as well as state and national organizations representing Native Americans, have spoken up in opposition to the lithium mine, citing the cultural, historical, and spiritual significance of the land, concerns over environmental impacts, and a lack of tribal consultation. While the Bureau of Land Management, or BLM, sent letters to four nearby tribes notifying them about the mine during the federal environmental permitting process in late 2019 and 2020, none of those tribes' leadership offered input before the agency formally approved the mine in January. Other tribes that have ancestral ties to Thacker Pass weren't contacted at all.

Janet Davis, the chair of the Pyramid Lake Paiute Tribe, said that the BLM's outreach to the tribe about the mine was inadequate. "One letter and some emails to the THPO [Tribal Historic Preservation Officer] during the pandemic when she was furloughed does not constitute 'meaningful consultation,'" Davis wrote in an email to Grist. "If the BLM permits the mine at Thacker Pass it will mean our history and culture have been destroyed."

The conflict starkly illustrates the tradeoffs involved in tackling climate change in a business-as-usual way. According to the International Energy Agency, demand for lithium could rise forty-fold by 2040if the world rapidly embraces electric vehicles, which use lithium-ion batteries. Over its 41-year projected lifespan, Lithium Nevada expects the Thacker Pass mine to generate up to 80,000 tons of lithium carbonate a year - equal to roughly a fifth of global lithium production in 2020. But Native opponents on the front lines of mining say that the price of that lithium is too high.

"Annihilating old growth sagebrush, Indigenous peoples' medicines, food, and ceremonial grounds for electric vehicles isn't very climate conscious," said Arlan Melendez, the chair of the Reno-Sparks Indian Colony, a tribe in Nevada whose members have cultural ties to Thacker Pass.

While the BLM contacted the Fort McDermitt Tribe's leadership about the mine last year, Hinkey wasn't aware of the project until after it was approved and she read about it in the news. In March, Hinkey traveled to Thacker Pass with several family members to see the land for herself. There, she met Max Wilbert and Will Falk, two non-Native environmental activists who had been camped out protesting the mine since January. After speaking with them and seeing where the mine would be built - on land filled with traditional foods of her people, like chokecherries and mule deer - Hinkey felt compelled to take action.

In late March, Hinkey and her family set up their own protest camp at Thacker Pass and began inviting others to join them. Native people from around the area started coming to Thacker Pass to gather traditional food and medicine, conduct ceremonies, and protest the mine. At camp, elders shared what they had been told about the area: how their ancestors used Thacker Pass to travel through the mountains, how they hid from U.S. soldiers there when Native Americans were being rounded up and sent to live on reservations in the late 19th century, and the tragic history buried in these soft, lithium-rich soils.

Visiting Thacker Pass "opened people to speak their story," Hinkey said. "It has brought so many people together, especially after COVID and being apart."

Members of the Fort McDermitt Tribe and supporters gather for a circle dance for healing during a gathering in opposition to the proposed lithium mine at Thacker Pass. Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

That includes tribes headquartered hundreds of miles away, like the Reno-Sparks Indian Colony. Melendez says he only learned about the mine in the spring when concerned elders from the Fort McDermitt Tribe reached out. "Our tribal council had no idea" about the scale of the project, Melendez said. "We felt that was unacceptable."

In July, the Reno-Sparks Indian Colony and the People of the Red Mountain intervened in a federal lawsuit against the mine. In August, the Burns Paiute Tribe, headquartered in southeastern Oregon, joined the suit as well. The lawsuit, launched by a rancher and several environmental groups in February, alleges that the BLM illegally ignored potential impacts on water resources and threatened wildlife like the greater sage grouse when it approved the mine. The tribes, meanwhile, are alleging that the agency violated the National Historic Preservation Act by failing to consult them.

So far, things haven't worked out in the tribes' favor. In September, U.S. District Court Judge Miranda Du denied their motion for an injunction to stop Lithium Nevada from carrying out an archaeological survey of Thacker Pass without further consultation. In her opinion, Du wrote that while there was "no question BLM could have done more" to consult tribes, the agency made a "reasonable decision" about which ones to contact. Du also felt the evidence presented in court for a massacre at Thacker Pass - government survey notes from 1868 describing "Indian skulls" scattered across nearby land - didn't prove human remains are present in the area Lithium Nevada will disturb. The tribes are now appealing her decision, citing new evidence that they claim shows that the 1865 massacre occurred "at least partially" within the project area, including an eyewitness account Ox Sam gave to American labor organizer Big Bill Haywood.

Even if the tribes lose their appeal, Du has yet to rule on the merits of the underlying case, which will determine if the BLM's permit was legal or not. Lithium Nevada is also waiting on a state water pollution permit before construction of the mine can begin, as well as an " eagle-take permit " from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

The local opposition at Thacker Pass is "very alarming to the mining industry," said Thea Riofrancos, a political scientist at Providence College in Rhode Island who studies the lithium industry. Nevada, Riofrancos said, is perceived by miners to be "the most friendly jurisdiction in the world" due to lax regulations and a "perception that you don't get militant resistance" there.

"With Thacker Pass, what you're seeing is the potential for more community-level opposition to stall, and potentially obstruct, a mine considered to be really strategic to the U.S.," Riofrancos said. "It represents a renewed era of protest in Nevada."

A spokesperson for Lithium Americas Corporation, Lithium Nevada's parent company, told Grist the company is "committed to doing the pre-construction work right and has engaged a highly experienced archaeological firm," Far Western Anthropological Research Group, "to follow strict standards when handling any artifacts found."

Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

"We're thrilled members of the Ft. McDermitt tribe will work alongside Far Western Anthropological Research Group to monitor the project and ensure Native American interests are respected," the spokesperson wrote.

Fort McDermitt tribal chair Maxine Redstar declined to be interviewed for this story. But in past interviews, Redstar has described the challenge of balancing competing viewpoints about the mine within her tribe. Some tribal members appear interested in the jobs and job training Lithium Nevada is offering, while others might be swayed by the company's promises of a larger economic boost for the region. Redstar herself has expressed optimism at the prospect of well-paid mining jobs for her small, rural community, but she has also voiced concern over a lack of consultation on the cultural significance of Thacker Pass in correspondence with the BLM.

Lithium Nevada declined to comment on either the BLM's tribal consultation process or its own efforts. But in court documents, the company describes a more than decade-long history of outreach to local community members, including local tribes, about the mine. The BLM and its parent agency, the Department of the Interior, declined to comment for this story.

Whatever the courts decide about the mine, opponents seem committed to resisting it. Protestors continue to camp out at Thacker Pass, spread the word on social media, and hold awareness-raising events. On September 12, roughly 100 people showed up to commemorate the 1865 massacre. Hinkey says the "one person" the People are most hoping to attract the attention of is Debra Haaland, the first Native American secretary of the Interior Department and a longtime champion of Native rights.

"Her administration, the Biden administration, says they are going to have their ears open more and listen to what Indigenous people have to say," David Hinkey, Daranda Hinkey's great-uncle, told Grist. "Now is the time to step in."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Native opposition to Nevada lithium mine grows

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
When Daranda Hinkey, a 23-year-old member of the Fort McDermitt Paiute and Shoshone Tribe in northern Nevada, gazes across the austere expanse of old growth sagebrush 25 miles southwest of her tribe's reservation, she doesn't see Thacker Pass, the future site of America's largest lithium mine.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Mining Atop a Massacre,” by Yessenia Funes, October 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Mining Atop a Massacre,” by Yessenia Funes, October 2021

# data[].attributes.body
#lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
U.S. law doesn't require this, of course. It only requires consultation, a major limitation in what legal protections are available to Indigenous people, said Hannah Perls, a legal fellow at Harvard Law School's Environmental and Energy Law Program. Consultation isn't even required for tribes that aren't federally recognized-not that consultation really benefits them. Companies don't have to change their minds just because tribes raised red flags. They just have to worry about checking off that they asked tribes for their input.

Back in Nevada, locals are fighting for consultation in court, but consent is what tribal advocates ultimately want. Tribal communities want the ability to say no-to projects they don't want, as well as to the men who come into their communities to build these projects. The mine's construction would bring in some 1,000 temporary workers, raising concerns around sexual violence , which has been shown to follow such development on or near tribal lands. In response, opponents have set up two protest camp areas in Thacker Pass to raise awareness and stop the mine.

Max Wilbert, author of Bright Green Lies and a community organizer, set up the first camp back in January 2021. After visiting Thacker Pass a few months earlier, he felt compelled to defend it. Since then, he's been working in allyship with local Indigenous peoples to ensure their voices are front and center.

"When I visited the land, I had the experience of connection, of love," Wilbert said. "When you are in love with the land, it's hard to sacrifice it."

Wilbert eventually captured the support of his friend Will Falk, who became the attorney representing tribal members in the lawsuit against the project. Falk had visited the area for years, but he became engrossed in the lithium mine after realizing how quickly the federal government was moving to approve it. Other lawsuits sprung up in opposition-from a landowner worried about water to environmental groups defending endangered species. Once Falk met some of the local Indigenous leaders, they teamed up to make a case for their culture and history. So far, it hasn't been enough to pause the project. Archaeological digs on the site are scheduled later this month.

"The federal government invaded Paiute land, murdered Paiute people, and then said, Now, this land is ours ," Falk said. "This is the new colonialism."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
U.S. law doesn't require this, of course. It only requires consultation, a major limitation in what legal protections are available to Indigenous people, said Hannah Perls, a legal fellow at Harvard Law School's Environmental and Energy Law Program. Consultation isn't even required for tribes that aren't federally recognized-not that consultation really benefits them.

# data[].attributes.headline
“First Person Accounts – Saying No to The Lithium Mine at Thacker Pass,” by Opposition Voices to Thacker Pass Lithium Mining Project, October 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“First Person Accounts – Saying No to The Lithium Mine at Thacker Pass,” by Opposition Voices to Thacker Pass Lithium Mining Project, October 2021

# data[].attributes.body
Amazing prose by members of the tribal nations impacted by the Thacker Pass project, Gary McKinney and Jeremiah Johnson #lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Opinion
Lithium Nevada, LLC, a subsidiary of Lithium Americas Corporation has proposed a significantly large lithium mining project less than a one-hour drive north of Winnemucca Nevada. The mine will be located at Thacker Pass, adjacent to the Fort McDermitt Paiute-Shoshone Tribes of the Fort McDermitt Indian Reservation. Approval of the project by the Bureau of Land Management in early 2021 continues to face legal challenges and various forms of onsite protests.

A final ruling from the federal court is expected by early 2022.

What follows are the viewpoints, submitted to the Ally in writing, of two Indigenous Peoples' protesters of the project.
Gary McKinney
This (week's Indigenous People's Day) gathering was to Honor one of three survivors of that September 12, 1865; Ox Sam. Ox Sam was my great great great grandfather, according to Census Rolls from the late 1800's, those have 'Ox Sam (Chief)' documented in Indian history. Our Family statements from back in the day identified Ox Sam as Chief Santomeco in the Idaho Historical Society.

Whether somebody living in a City 100 -1,000 miles away from Thacker Pass, or on the other side of the globe, most will never know of the pollution the mining will leave behind for us with its Plan of Operations(PoS). Can they Unpollute what they contaminate? Can they restore what took billions of years to create?

The Canadian company endorses the slogan of "Green Energy" and says they are willing to try, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think it is the solution to global warming, right? Well, that "solution" may not be possible if the compassionate leaders who're paying attention knew of the environmental devastation & its roughshod sneak tactics performed and exercised on the most vulnerable tribe in Nevada JUST to start the mining.

Back in the day, agents would get Indians under the influence of whiskey just to get their mark on a paper. High probability of irreparable damage that this sort of mining has, major potential. Their "Solution to Pollution is Dilution," at all costs.

Mining is one thing, but disregarding our rich Culture to mine for the rich means the absolute disrespect of everything we knew of. In our ancestors' day it was the Railroads and train tracks, today it's mining for lithium. Starting with the desecration of Sacred Sites.

WHY NOT ASK US, we're still among the living. Our Spirits must make us invisible. Do you see the strength our Warrior Spirits represent? Not only are we - federally recognized tribes - forced to watch but We have NO say in the matter.

Perhaps if shovels were taken to Arlington Cemetery; they'd understand. Here is my message to you: we are in your conscience, we ARE your conscience, we preserve Mother Earth and you KNOW it, still you ignore us trying to pull you back from going too far, your paycheck is damaging everyone's Mother Earth. W e all share our lives with Mother Earth and her creations and you are telling the country it can be repaired. That it's absolutely in everyone's best interest to use more lithium. "The Great Lie."

We need more of you to wake up and speak, support those Who Speak, Reach Out, make your thoughts available, Honor Life, Not Lithium.

And the funny thing is, we never became successfully "all-the-way" exterminated, despite the Massacres, smallpox, sterilizations, boarding schools, r esidential schools, Reorganization Acts. Then there are the r esidential and boarding school grave discoveries, now you begin to resent the justice system a great deal more for misjudging their "good intentions" consistently, and doing absolutely nothing about it consistently. We protect ourselves. We do.

It is up to Indigenous voices to lift up our traditional values and continue the prayer to honor the lives we lost over time. Their descendants will not live in vain. It starts by paying close mind to the world around us. This Lithium mine has a lot of gears to it, we are currently in the Phase of asking for Historical Site Protection to preserve the artifacts dropped or left behind during the heavy migration through the northern Nevada, s outheastern Oregon, and southwestern Idaho areas prior to Lewis and Clark's 1804 exploration of land west of the Missouri River.

We're still here in 2021 fighting for the land, that's what my family has been doing since Western Expansion.

We won't stop talking about this.

They can't silence us all, We are your conscience...
Gary McKinney is "Newe/Numa (Shoshone-Paiute), Tagotoka Band(s) (Duck Valley IR)," Atsa Koodakuh Wyh Nuwu/People of Red Mountain, American Indian Movement-NNV CH. Jeremiah Jones
Good morning, good afternoon, or good evening to those who are reading my concern. For while now I am aware of the proposed mine that wants to take place, for that I say no and give no consent.

Peehee Mu'huh all our prayers are taking place now. Home of the sage grouse, the endangered species that is supposed to be protected and their home is endangered of being destroyed. Our mother earth has suffered enough I SAY NO, WE SAY NO! to the lithium mine. Put a stop to this and all may be forgiven.
Jeremiah Jones is a member of the Western Shoshone Nation, also known as the state of Nevada The opinions expressed above are not necessarily those of the Sierra Nevada Ally. Our newsroom remains entirely independent of our opinion page. Published opinions further public conversation to fulfill our civic responsibility to challenge authority, act independently of corporate or political influence, and invite dissent.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
First Person Accounts - Saying No to The Lithium Mine at Thacker Pass - Sierra Nevada Ally

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Opinion Lithium Nevada, LLC, a subsidiary of Lithium Americas Corporation has proposed a significantly large lithium mining project less than a one-hour drive north of Winnemucca Nevada. The mine will be located at Thacker Pass, adjacent to the Fort McDermitt Paiute-Shoshone Tribes of the Fort McDermitt Indian Reservation.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Ivan Bender of the Hualapai Tribe on Sacred Spring of Ka’kamwe’ Threatened by Lithium Mining in AZ,” youtube video, September 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Ivan Bender of the Hualapai Tribe on Sacred Spring of Ka’kamwe’ Threatened by Lithium Mining in AZ,” youtube video, September 2021

# data[].attributes.body
taken by Max Wilbert in protest camp at Thacker Pass, Bender visits in solidarity. He mentions his visit to Standing Rock as well #lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Ivan Bender of the Hualapai Tribe on Sacred Spring of Ha'kamwe' Threatened by Lithium Mining in AZ

# data[].attributes.headline
Main site for opposition to lithium mining in Wikieup: "Protect Ha'Kamwe'/No Lithium Mine." 

# data[].attributes.subject
Main site for opposition to lithium mining in Wikieup: "Protect Ha'Kamwe'/No Lithium Mine." 

# data[].attributes.body
Information and gofundme page for protectors of Ha'Kamwe' sacred site protectors/protesters against lithium mining. #lithium

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Hualapai tribal members, local community members, and allies are working to prevent further exploration drilling for the Big Sandy Lithium Project that would desecrate Ha'Kamwe' and the ancestral homelands of the Hualapai people.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Hualapai tribal members, local community members, and allies are working to prevent further exploration drilling for the Big Sandy Lithium Project that would desecrate Ha'Kamwe' and the ancestral homelands of the Hualapai people.

# data[].attributes.headline
A reply tweet from @sari_diplonerd about bitcoin mining and Navajo sovereignty 

# data[].attributes.subject
A reply tweet from @sari_diplonerd about bitcoin mining and Navajo sovereignty 

# data[].attributes.body
This tweet responds to an article on coindesk.com and cites an article from the New Yorker.

# data[].attributes.wish_content.attachment_props.text
@NavajoTweets @CoinDesk “Bitcoin promises sovereignty” LOL

https://t.co/mUdDb44Ts6

This is another example of wealthy individuals not being able to create this much energy consumption in their backyards, so they exploit Native lands (similar to other mining endeavors).

# data[].attributes.wish_content.attachment_props.entities.urls[].description
Cryptocurrency mining uses huge amounts of power—and can be as destructive as the real thing.

# data[].attributes.wish_content.attachment_props.original_text
@NavajoTweets @CoinDesk “Bitcoin promises sovereignty” LOL

https://t.co/mUdDb44Ts6

This is another example of wealthy individuals not being able to create this much energy consumption in their backyards, so they exploit Native lands (similar to other mining endeavors).

# data[].attributes.wish_content.attachment_props.referenced_tweets[].text
Why Shouldn’t the Navajo Mine Bitcoin? https://t.co/nmxdM9CJc4 via @coindesk

# data[].attributes.wish_content.attachment_props.referenced_tweets[].entities.urls[].description
Bitcoin promises a sovereignty the Navajo and other First Nations have always been promised but have never received.

# data[].attributes.headline
“Mining Bitcoin with the Navajo Nation/Everyone Can Mine Bitcoin,” youtube video from November 2021

# data[].attributes.subject
“Mining Bitcoin with the Navajo Nation/Everyone Can Mine Bitcoin,” youtube video from November 2021

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Mining Bitcoin with the Navajo Nation | Everyone Can Mine Bitcoin