Today the Arizona Republic wraps up an excellent three-part series on coal, water and green jobs conflicts on Indian lands in northern Arizona.
Sunday's story focuses on the Navajo Generating Station near Page, responsible for pollution haze over the Grand Canyon and ranked as the nation's third-largest emitter of nitrogen oxides by the EPA, who now wants the plant to clean up its act:
In the two months since the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency proposed rules that would require costly new air-scrubbing equipment at the plant, the debate has escalated into a war of increasingly dire predictions: Tribal economies could collapse. The plant itself could close. The price of water sold to Phoenix and Tucson could quadruple.
The coal-fired power plant and the mine where it gets its coal -- which lies on the Hopi and Navajo reservations -- provide hundreds of jobs to the tribal communities. The plant is also the powerhouse behind the Central Arizona Project (CAP) Canal, providing the electricity to move water from the Colorado River down to the thirsty southern metropolises of Phoenix and Tucson. The EPA's proposed rules would result in costly changes to the plant, costs which would likely be passed on to power customers.
Monday's story took a closer look at Joe Shirley Jr., president of the Navajo Nation, and his battle with environmentalists and tribal concerns, something HCN editor Jonathan Thompson recently discussed. Shirley, who denies the impacts of climate change, says he's fighting for the interests of the Navajo people:
"I'm working on independence, period," he said. "If it takes green jobs to get us back to standing on our own two feet, I'm for green jobs. If it takes Desert Rock or Navajo Generating Station...I'm for Desert Rock and Navajo Generating Station."
Today's story reports on a similar dilemma on the Hopi reservation, where jobs in the coal mines and power plant clash with environmental conservation interests--leading to conflicts among tribal government members. Some believe coal is a resource that should be exploited by the tribe to boost the economy, while others see the industry threatening the tribe's ecological heritage.
All three stories present different angles of the same larger story: in the debate between economy and ecology, who wins?
Landowners unhappy with government regulations are protesting this fall -- by locking out hunters. Fred Hirschy, a Montana rancher, says he's been losing cattle to wolves and is fed up with the lack of response from Montana's wildlife department, reports The Montana Standard. For years Hirschy had allowed moose and deer hunters onto his land in exchange for state payment, but this fall he hung up the No Trespassing sign. Then he told those disgruntled hunters that he'd open his land to hunting again if they'd call Fish, Wildlife and Parks and complain about wolf management.
It's a growing trend, apparently. The Standard reports numerous incidents across Montana and other Western states of landowners denying hunter access in anger -- over grazing restrictions, shorter hunting seasons, even over a state wildlife department's purchase of a ranch. Some landowners have even asked hunters to sign a petition for a cause before allowing them onto the property.
The landowners say blocking access is an effective tool for getting government to listen to their concerns, but wildlife officials say it can create more problems than are solved:
"When people use hunter access to make a political statement or to gain leverage on a particular issue, sometimes the implications or consequences go far beyond the target that the landowner might have intended," he said.
For example, if a group of hunters has a trip planned and learns it won't have access to a particular ranch days ahead of time, it's left scrambling. The group could quickly make plans in the same area and keep its accommodations, or decide on an entirely different part of the state.
That could hurt hotel owners, restaurants and other businesses that count on hunting season business.
If you've encountered situations like this or have heard of similar cases, post a comment and let us know. Also see our story on a different but related issue: "Private landowners become lords of the public estate".
When Kaput-D enters a rodent's bloodstream, it causes the animal to bleed through several orifices. In a matter of weeks, the rodent might bleed through its skin, becoming weaker and more susceptible to predators.
Last week, the Center for Biological Diversity submitted official comments to the Environmental Protection Agency against the pending approval of the poison, which they believe could severely affect ecosystems. While the poison is meant to target the black-tailed prairie dog, other species -- gold and bald eagles, black-footed ferrets, whooping cranes and others -- could pick up the poison if they eat the dead rodents.
“This is like kicking someone when they’re already down,” said Justin Augustine of the Center for Biological Diversity in a press release. “Less than a year ago, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service determined that the black-tailed prairie dog may need to be protected under the Endangered Species Act because of already approved poisons that are killing the species. EPA should be withdrawing prairie dog poisons from the market in order to protect this imperiled species, and instead they’re considering allowing more."
The protections offered to non-target species are insufficient, agreed U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Assistant Director for Fisheries and Habitat Conservation Bryan Arroyo in a letter to EPA. Furthermore, he wrote, there haven't been enough realistic cost-benefit studies on the poison.
Kaput-D's label would instruct people not to use the anticoagulant in places where non-target species could be harmed, but such areas might be difficult to avoid because the black-tailed prairie dog inhabits about 2.4 million acres in the Western United States.
Rural communities in the West aren't always receptive to the furry, little rodents. The prairie dogs mow down grass that ranchers would rather see going into their cows and chew through fence posts and phone lines (check out Mark Matthews' 1999 feature story "Standing up for the underdog").
But does that merit slowly bleeding to death?
Has it come to this already?
Time to Eat the Dog: The real guide to sustainable living is the name of a new book written by two Victoria University professors, Brenda and Robert Vale. The couple -- both architects who specialize in sustainable living -- have computed the carbon emissions created by pets, taking into account the ingredients of pet food and "the land needed to create them."
"If you have a German shepherd or similar-sized dog, for example, its impact every year is exactly the same as driving a large car around," Brenda Vale told The Dominion Post. (Be sure to check out the comments after the article, including this one:
The "role" of the conspicuously useless pet has in our modern lives seems only to prove Thorstein Veblen right. When once pets ate mice or hunted with us now they are trophies of their own uselessness. That owners become emotionally attached to them is perhaps simply even more indicative of the inappropriate emotional role played by pets in the lives of the lonely modern person/family.)
The Vales believe that the reintroduction of non-carnivorous pets into urban areas would help slow down global warming. "If we have edible pets like chickens for their eggs and meat, and rabbits and pigs, we will be compensating for the impact of other things on our environment," says Robert Vale.
Cats have an eco-pawprint equal to a Volkswagen Golf. If you have two hamsters, it's equivalent to owning a plasma TV. Goldfish have an eco-finprint equal to two cellphones.
The study was published in New Scientist.
Stimulus funds are now being used to tackle one of the West's biggest nuclear messes: The 65-year old atomic dump in Los Alamos, N.M. is finally getting some much-needed attention. On Thursday the New York Times reported that a team of workers using $212 million in federal stimulus money will clean up the site on the Pajarito Plateau—part of a larger stimulus-funded program of $6 billion to “clean up the toxic legacy of the arms race.” Another site in Hanford, Wash., is receiving $1.9 billion for a similar undertaking.
The projects will also provide employment—more than 10,800 positions have been saved or created with the money, according to the New York Times. However, the Times added that:
…the money was only a down payment on what is still a staggering task: the Department of Energy is responsible for cleaning up 107 sites, with as much acreage as Delaware and Rhode Island combined, in work that could take decades and cost up to $260 billion to complete.
Some residents of the town that has grown up around the old laboratory, including businesses across the street from the dump, are suspicious of the clean-up operations. Over the years many lab employees have suffered from chemical exposure-related health problems as a result of the dangerous materials used on site. Yet officials are taking extreme care to protect the public:
They asked scientists at Los Alamos National Laboratory to come up with the worst-case scenarios of how explosive the chemicals dumped there might have grown over the years—and then they blew up the equivalent amounts of dynamite to test all the safety measures that they would be taking.
Officials say that after the clean-up and waste removal, houses can someday be built on the land.
For more on atomic experiments at Los Alamos, see our story: “New Mexico goes head-to-head with a nuclear juggernaut.”
Watch what you drink in the Yakima Valley. Groundwater contaminated with nitrates and bacteria, which is pumped by private well owners for drinking, is turning the lower valley into “the toilet bowl” of Washington, as one resident puts it.
Dirty drinking water is a “widespread and long-standing” problem in the valley, according to the Yakima Herald. So the EPA’s announcement this week that it finally plans to crack down on area polluters and enforce clean water laws was welcome news. The agency will start sampling well water and inspecting dairies and feedlots, which have long been eyed as potential culprits behind the pollution.
The Yakima Valley isn’t alone in its well-water woes. According to a piece from the New York Times’ excellent series, “Toxic Waters”:
Agricultural runoff is the single largest source of water pollution in the nation’s rivers and streams, according to the E.P.A. An estimated 19.5 million Americans fall ill each year from waterborne parasites, viruses or bacteria, including those stemming from human and animal waste, according to a study published last year in the scientific journal Reviews of Environmental Contamination and Toxicology.
… In California, up to 15 percent of wells in agricultural areas exceed a federal contaminant threshold, according to studies. Major waterways like the Chesapeake Bay have been seriously damaged by agricultural pollution, according to government reports.
In Arkansas and Maryland, residents have accused chicken farm owners of polluting drinking water. In 2005, Oklahoma’s attorney general sued 13 poultry companies, claiming they had damaged one of the state’s most important watersheds.
For more on problematic wells in the Yakima Basin, see my recent story, "Death by a thousand wells," which covers controversy in Kittitas County over the impact of unregulated domestic wells.
Christina Davidson, a correspondent for The Atlantic, has been touring the country on a "Recession Road Trip."
One recent stop was in Lolo, Mont., where local rancher Tom Maclay has been trying to build a major ski resort called Bitterroot on Lolo Peak. Some ski runs have already been cut.
Now it appears that the project could be a victim of the recession, with a major creditor threatening foreclosure.
According to Davidson's piece, most locals see this as a silver lining:
"Nope. I don't feel sorry for him one bit," one longtime resident says when I approach him in the parking lot of a local deli. "We didn't want it and he didn't give a damn. This isn't the perspective of poor folk resenting the wealthy local landowner. It's practicality. We didn't want the traffic, higher property taxes, expensive housing, and all the rich la-di-da yuppies that would have come with it. God bless this recession if it puts an end to that nightmare."
If you've enjoyed HCN's coverage of Las Vegas' groundwater machinations, you should tune in to this interview.
From KUNC, Community Radio for Northern Colorado:
In the latest in our occasional series of conversations with the writers at High Country News, Editor Jonathan Thompson tells KUNC's Kirk Siegler that (massive water pipeline) projects are back under consideration because reservoirs like Lake Powell along the Colorado River are lower than they've been in decades.Click here for a listen.
When University of Utah professor Jim Steenburgh and a team of climatologists issued a scientific report on climate change in 2007 to then-Governor Jon Huntsman, they emphasized their "very high confidence" that humans were mostly responsible for recent warming patterns.
But many Utah lawmakers didn't take their word for it. And while the state’s new governor, Gary Herbert, has trumpeted his plans to let "good science" guide policy and lead a "legitimate" debate on man’s role in global warming, the Legislature has so far left climatologists out of the conversation.
This Wednesday, Steenburgh will become the first climate scientist "ever to testify to state lawmakers about likely climate changes in store for Utah," according to the Salt Lake Tribune. He plans to summarize the two-year-old report for legislators, which projected that Utah would "warm more than the average for the entire globe."
The annual Headwaters Conference at Western State College in Gunnison often presents some concepts worth chewing on, and this year's gathering (held Oct. 16-18) was no exception. Headwaters, as I've come to understand it after 20 years of attending, is something of an idea fair for little mountain towns.
For some time I've been mulling about "sustainability," which sounds like a noble goal, until you try to figure out the difference between "sustainability" and "stagnation."
Further, I had a problem with local sustainability advocates, who've been devoting lots of time and energy to opposing a relatively minor water project (200 acre-feet a year, and augmented so there is no net export) while ignoring other sustainability issues that seem more important, at least to me.
For instance, we just lost our salvage yard, and the availability of parts to keep our old pickups on the road certainly has something to do with the sustainability of our community. Salvage yards reduce resource consumption and keep money in town. Why aren't the activists agitating about that?
So I had receptive ears when the first keynote speaker, Dr. Devon Pena of the University of Washington (and a farm near San Luis, Colo., and the Acequia Institute) ripped into "sustainability" as a buzzword and an unworthy goal.
He proposed that communities seek "resilience," rather than "sustainability."
For instance (and this is my theorizing, not his), consider the imaginary mountain town of Mofeta. For generations, they've raised sheep, and they do it in a sustainable way without overgrazing.
But then the bottom drops out of the wool market. Or demand seriously declines for lamb chops and mutton. Or the Chinese start exporting cheap sheep products. We are, after all, in a global commodity market, and this stuff happens.
Sustainable practices won't keep Mofeta's shepherds in business.
If they're resilient, though, they'll look for ways to add value to what they know how to make -- maybe by encouraging local weavers and production of classy wool sweaters.
Or they'll shift to goats and build a little dairy in Mofeta to supply gourmet goat cheese. Or they'll come up with some other way to employ their knowledge and resources; that's resilience, rather than sustainability.
This model seems to fit with my own town of Salida, Colo., founded in 1880 as a railroad division point with shops and roundhouses. It's been a decade since a train came through town, and the railroad cutbacks started long ago, just after World War II.
Mining carried the local economy until the early 1980s. After that crash, ghost-town status loomed. But people here were resilient. They took what they had -- the Arkansas River, abundant scenery, a charming if dilapidated old brick downtown -- and found a way to earn a living from those resources.
Are art galleries and outdoor recreation sustainable? Maybe not, if gasoline hits $5 a gallon. But that's something we have no control over. We do have some control over how we respond and adapt -- that is, we can be resilient. I like that concept.