Whether you live in or out of California, you are probably looking for something, anything, just one dang thing that will help you understand this impossibly complicated drought.
You’re not going to find it. No Central Valley almond, Los Angeles swimming pool, Palm Springs golf course, Fresno lawn, Nestle water bottle, Napa wine, Humboldt pot farm, or Merced River salmon is going to satisfy your craving for a culprit. Instead, allow me to divert your attention to the Sacramento-San Joaquin River Delta, a massive estuary to the east of the San Francisco Bay that is the heart of a story that will at least explain why you'll never get a satisfying explanation.
Actually, it's not about the Delta, exactly; the real story is 200 feet below it, where the governor of the Golden State wants to dig huge tunnels that will make it easier for southern California to get northern California’s water.
Officially known as Conservation Measure 1 of the Bay Delta Conservation Plan—but commonly known as the Delta Tunnels—the idea is to dig two 35-mile tunnels, each 40 feet in diameter and capable of pumping 67,000 gallons of water per second from the Sacramento River to the California Aqueduct. The tunnels are supposed to fix the plumbing that delivers water to two-thirds of the state: every coastal city from San Francisco to San Diego, and millions of farms along the way. The plan is controversial, and has been in talks for a decade. If approved, the tunnels would take about ten years and an estimated $25 billion dollars to build.
Consider that number against the following projects:
- The Golden Gate Bridge: $35 million in 1932, about $1.5 billion in 2015.
- Boston’s Big Dig: $24.3 billion.
- Masdar City, Abu Dhubai’s master-planned, eco-sensitive arcology: $22 billion.
- New York City’s 2nd Avenue Subway: $17 billion.
- WhatsApp: Acquired by Facebook for a reported $22 billion.
And then consider that this massive public works project---which will be paid for by all who drink from it---is not a response to the four-years-and-running drought. It’s just the latest attempt to solve a problem that has vexed the state for well over a century: how to move water so it satisfies all of California’s demands and desires.
Here's where things get interesting. In an effort to push forward, last week Governor Jerry Brown announced that he was scuttling key environmental provisions that would have guaranteed that the tunnels and works associated with them would improve the Delta for 50 years into the future. "We can't accurately model what things are going to look like in 50 years," says Richard Stapler, a spokesman for the California Natural Resources Agency.
The governor's change means the plan won't need line approval from the feds. It also means that any stakeholder---from the city of Los Angeles to a Central Valley water agency---is now an open target to environmental litigation. "It’s a very real fear," says Jason Peltier, deputy manager of the Westlands Irrigation District, which relies solely on water from the Delta and has already invested heavily in planning for the tunnels.
About two-thirds of California gets its water1 from this 1,100 square mile estuary. And about 90 percent of the Delta’s water comes from the Sacramento River, which is the major drainage for the mountains in the northern half of the state. Once it’s in the Delta, where it mixes with sea water from the bay, that brackish water gets drawn in by gigantic pumps and sent south. But before it hydrates crops or bathes city folk, the water needs expensive desalination. And the Delta itself is heavily farmed by people who resent the idea the south getting an express lane to their water supply. Also, a big enough earthquake could totally wipe out the whole system.
Those are all valid arguments---to some---for sending water straight from the Sacramento River to the Aqueduct, bypassing the Delta. But the main reason people want to build tunnels is that those pumps are so powerful that they reverse the outward flow of water in the Delta, which wreaks havoc on several endangered species of fish. When federal fish managers detect that the pumps are pulling too hard, they send in the order to pinch off the pipes. "If we can divert on the Sacramento river, the fish can go merrily on their way," says Peltier.
That's right, fish. In particular, one tiny fish, barely three inches long. The infamous Delta smelt. They look like something you might win at the county fair and have to carry around in a plastic bag all night. And when somebody asked you what was in the bag, you’d probably say something generic like, "guppy."
In 1997, this little fish was listed as threatened under the Endangered Species Act. It made an easy target: dry faucets, fallow fields, and dessicated lawns all to save a fish the size of a newborn’s pecker. Don't judge. These farmers and cities have been worried about California’s water situation for a lot longer than you’ve been wringing your hands over almonds. Actually, you know what? Delta smelt is the almond of endangered species.
But of course, neither almonds nor fish2 caused California's water problems. And nobody who works in water would boil the problem down to anything so simple. "It’s not a binary system that people win at other peoples’ expense," says Peltier. The dwindling smelt, like the thirsty almonds, draw attention---and blame---because they are bellwethers, canaries. They're indicators that the state is overusing water, things are going to shit, and somebody needs to pump the brakes.
Except the brakes have already been pumped (along with most of the water in the state's reservoirs). Last month, Governor Brown ordered statewide water cuts for the first time in history. Cities and towns need to cut back consumption by 25 percent. The agriculture industry was exempted from that decree, but it's already been cutting back for years. Last year, they got hit with 30 percent cuts in allocations, which forced 500,000 acres to go without irrigation. This year could dry out another million.
The tunnel is not a dimensional rift---it can only provide easier access to the water that already exists. "In theory, it would only provide a more reliable water supply," says Peter Moyle, who is ambivalent about the tunnels. But proponents say that even without the environmental add ons, the tunnels will be a net positive for the environment. "The potential positive impact is bringing back some of these fish breeding grounds," says Stapler, the state resources spokesman.
Opponents of the tunnel don't buy it. Here's their logic: The Pacific Ocean is trying to push its way inland, through the Delta. The Sacramento River is pushing back. But some anti-tunnelers say the project will let the south tap too much water, reducing the pressure against the ocean. That'd be bad for the Delta's fish, and bad for the thousands of farmers who work the land there. It also affects farmers far away from the Delta.
Check out the map of California to the left and draw your gaze to the bottom half of the Central Valley. All those red lines represent canals that feed farms on the right---eastern---half of the south valley. Most of the blue lines---the rivers---are at this point in the state's irrigational history, just for show. Farmers in the big, line-less area to the left---the west---get none of that (unless they want to buy it at market value). Instead, they have to take water from the Delta.
But federal water regulators can compel east valley dam operators to let out flows in order to satisfy downstream environmental needs. And that's exactly what those dam operators are afraid of: that they'll be asked to pick up the slack once the west valley farmers and all the coastal cities start tapping the Delta. "If you take that volume of Sacramento River water and divert it under, then they'll need additional fresh water," says Jeff Shields, manager of the South San Joaquin Irrigation District in Manteca, a small town east of Stockton. "And that’s when they look to our rivers, so we can become the flushing of the toilet to clean out the Delta."
There are 38 million stories in the dried-out state. That was only one of them.
Nobody knows exactly how Brown's declaration will affect the tunnels. His hope---and that of tunnel proponents---is that it will push the project forward. But the legal implications fog things up. And it's been a rough year for fish already. "Smelt pops have crashed, and it's fairly certain they’ll go extinct in a couple years," says Moyle, who was instrumental in getting the fish added to the Endangered Species Act.
“Water is important to people who do not have it, and the same is true with control,” wrote Joan Didion in her ode to 1977 ode to public works, "Holy Water." And while California's water managers are trying to figure out that control, the rest of us are just trying to hold a steady picture in our heads about what this whole water shortage is all about. Blame doesn't solve problems, but it does give some of that control back. Even when the targets of that blame are just a sliver in a pie chart, slimmer than a Delta smelt.
1The rest comes from small, local watersheds, or the Colorado River, or the much-smaller-than-but-still-massive engineering project that collects water from rivers coming out of the southern half of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
2The Delta is also home to four other species of endangered fish, some of which contribute to California's $1.5 billion dollar commercial fishing industry.
