New Hope for the Delta

During the worst drought in more than a century, the Colorado River may flow to the sea once more.

  • Mudflats in the Colorado River Delta, near the Sea of Cortez.

    Robert Campbell
  • Francisco Zamora, Colorado River Delta manager for the Sonoran Institute, yanks an errant salt cedar from the bank of a restored area in the Colorado River Delta.

    Erika Nortemann/The Nature Conservancy
  • At a restoration site near Mexicali, local workers plant native trees and set up irrigation systems to help restore the Delta.

    Erika Nortemann/The Nature Conservancy
  • Guadalupe Fonseca inside a nursery growing cottonwood seedlings in Carranza.

    Erika Nortemann/The Nature Conservancy
  • The Ciénega de Santa Clara, formed when a canal (the straight line, top center) was dug to keep polluted wastewater from the Welton Mohawk Irrigation District in Arizona from flowing into the Colorado River. Now, it's the largest wetland in the Colorado River Delta.

    Ronald de Hommel
  • Alejandra Fonseca of Pronatura experiments to see how much water a square meter of riverbed can absorb, which will help determine how much water is needed to sustain small pockets of wetlands in the Colorado River Delta.

    Ronald de Hommel
  • A salt cedar-choked area of the Colorado River Delta before it was restored.

    The Sonoran Institute
  • The same area of the Colorado River Delta after it was restored and cleared salt cedars.

    Erika Nortemann/The Nature Conservancy
 

Updated 1/17/14

Just outside the dusty Mexican town of Carranza, Francisco Zamora wheels his Toyota pickup off the highway and down a gravel road along an irrigation canal. To one side, irregular farm fields flash by, fringed with reeds, sunflowers and an occasional shaggy palm. On the other side lies the bone-dry bed of the Colorado River. Straitjacketed between two levees roughly a mile apart and choked with mean, gray-green tamarisk, or salt cedar, it nonetheless has an emphatic presence – like a prehistoric creature waiting to rumble back to life.

It's hard to imagine that, a century ago, wetlands and impenetrable cottonwood, willow and mesquite forests covered nearly 2 million acres here. After Aldo Leopold visited in 1922, he rhapsodized about the Delta's "hundred green lagoons," where the river twisted and split and braided together again before finally disappearing into the Gulf of California. Huge freshwater flows, powerful saltwater tides barreling up from the Gulf, and millions of tons of rich sediment converged to make the Delta an unlikely Eden on the edge of the Sonoran Desert. Home to more than 350 species of birds, it was a key part of the Pacific Flyway, a wild, immense and occasionally magical dreamscape prowled by jaguars and exploding with waterfowl.

But a series of big dams upstream gradually strangled the Delta. First came Hoover, in 1937. Just seven years later, Godfrey Sykes, an explorer and engineer who followed in Leopold's footsteps, likened the now-harnessed river to "a bird in a cage, or an animal in a zoo." In 1950, Mexico's Morelos Dam went into operation. And finally, in 1963, Glen Canyon Dam began impounding any leftover water to create Lake Powell.

Those formidable waterworks, along with the many smaller dams and diversions built throughout the Colorado's 224,000-square-mile drainage area, have transformed the river into a gigantic water-supply system for Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada and California, and the Mexican states of Sonora and Baja California. The Delta, meanwhile, has shrunk to less than one-tenth of its original size; over the past 50 years, the river has only occasionally reached the sea. And the stranglehold has tightened over the past 14 years, as the river suffers through its worst drought in more than a century.

But even as the drought has dragged on, Zamora, who works for the Tucson, Ariz.-based Sonoran Institute, and compatriots from several other environmental organizations on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border, have patiently tended to the last 90 miles of the river. Zamora's field outfit – sunhat, nylon hiking pants, fly-fishing shirt and binoculars – is classic birdwatcher, and he speaks with thoughtful reserve. He and his colleagues have hired workers from nearby towns to plant a small network of native forests, nurturing them with small amounts of water purchased from local farmers.

"It's not easy, because it's not a lot of water," he says. "We've had to do the best we can."

But that's about to change.

Last November, after five years of remarkable negotiations that unfolded far from the Delta, representatives from the U.S. and Mexico agreed to a complex, multi-part water deal that will give them desperately needed flexibility for weathering the drought. More surprisingly, the two nations will join the team of environmental organizations to release a flood of more than 105,000 acre-feet of water – 3.8 million big-rig tankers' worth – into the Delta's ancient floodplain, and chase it with a smaller, permanent annual flow to sustain the ecosystem.

It is the unlikeliest of times to pull off a deal like this. Rather than hoarding all the water for themselves in this drought –– the river supplies some 35 million people –– the West's largest water agencies have pledged to send some all the way to the sea. That move is, to some extent, a long-overdue acknowledgment that the U.S. bears responsibility for the impacts its dams have caused beyond its borders. And after years of fruitless court fights in the U.S. by environmental groups, the Mexican government finally insisted that water for the Delta be a cornerstone of the broader deal.

"This wasn't just an afterthought," says a U.S. negotiator. "This was integral to the negotiations."

But Delta restoration is still far from assured. If the drought deepens, as many fear it will, the surprising alliances that led to the deal will be tested as never before. The Delta's champions are anxiously racing against time and the drought to lay the groundwork for what they hope will become a permanent commitment to restoration, before the window to return water to the Delta closes – perhaps forever.

"It has been," Zamora says, "a pretty busy summer."

Robert Dundas
Robert Dundas Subscriber
Nov 07, 2013 12:29 PM
Has the "Tamarisk Beetle" been tried as a means of killing off Salt Cedar or Tamarisk in the Colorado Delta? We have had outstanding success with it along the Colorado River and it's tributaries in Western Colorado and Eastern Utah
Alexander Clayton
Alexander Clayton Subscriber
Jan 05, 2014 09:21 PM
After reading "Red Delta" some years ago, this is encouraging news in a very interesting article. I do question the statements about the 9% reduction in water deliveries to Lake Mead keeping the water level from dropping below the 1,075' threshold - how would reducing deliveries help that?
Sarah Gilman
Sarah Gilman Subscriber
Jan 17, 2014 09:48 AM
Thanks Alexander--Good catch. The error has been corrected.
--Sarah Gilman, associate editor
Richard Quartaroli
Richard Quartaroli Subscriber
Mar 20, 2014 11:00 AM
I am trying to find accurate mileage for the Colorado River in Mexico, Southerly International Boundary to the Delta. I realize the delta is ambiguous, given the lack of water, the sediment deposition, and the multiple channeling, but looking for something as close as possible. Perhaps Matt Jenkins, some HCN staff member, or a knowledgable reader might have some information. Thanks. RQ