the “stickiness” of drought conservation messaging

Jon Christensen makes a great point:

Christensen says experts learned lessons about the “stickiness” of behaviour change during California’s drought.

“When there’s a lot of messaging about conserving water, when there are incentives to conserve water, people do conserve water, they use less water,” Christensen says.

“And when the drought is over there’s some rebound, but those conservation measures do tend to stick at the municipal level and at the household level. You learn new patterns and then those patterns can stick.”

 

The decline of Arizona cotton

Arizona cotton acreage this year is the lowest it has been in nearly a century.

Cotton is incredibly important in the evolution of western water policy, in Arizona in particular and therefore in the Colorado River Basin in general. In Arizona, it was one of the “Three C’s” that dominated the state’s economy – cattle, copper, and cotton. The need for water to irrigate a cotton empire was foremost in the minds of state leaders when they asked the U.S. Supreme Court to intervene in Arizona’s dispute with California over Colorado River water. State leaders grasped earlier than most that their aquifers couldn’t sustain the 1950s-era groundwater pumping that was fueling the cotton boom.

In 1953, there was 695,000 acres of irrigated cotton in Arizona. In data released today by the USDA, that was down to 101,000 acres:

Arizona cotton

Arizona cotton

That is the lowest Arizona cotton acreage since 1921, according to the USDA. There are a lot of factors at play here. Water is just one of them. But Arizonans are using less of their scarce water growing cotton than they used to.

The institutional hydrograph: New Mexico’s Rio Grande in December

With fall semester over yesterday, I called “faculty prerogative” and went out with Lissa for a weekday afternoon walk by the Rio Grande. I’m just an adjunct, but I’m trying to model the behaviors of my more distinguished university colleagues, and one of them is the rhythm of the academic calendar. Finals week is still underway, and the real faculty members still have to deal with grading and the bureaucracy of the end of the semester, but I’m just an adjunct, right? So my semester’s over. A walk by the river it was.

Rio Grande water flowing through Albuquerque, on its way to Texas, Dec. 9, 2015, by John Fleck

Rio Grande water flowing through Albuquerque, on its way to Texas, Dec. 9, 2015, by John Fleck

The grad students in our Water Resources Program “Contemporary Issues” class, the introduction to their masters degree curriculum, gave their final project presentations yesterday afternoon, and I couldn’t have been more pleased. One group studied New Mexico’s state and regional water planning process, one worked on direct potable reuse (“Don’t call it ‘toilet to tap’!”), and one reviewed the institutional framework in New Mexico for instream flows, as compared to other western states. All three groups showed me things I didn’t already know, and all three really wrestled with the deep difficulties of the water management problems they were studying.

Water management is hard.

The Rio Grande was booming today (at least relatively speaking – it’s a desert river), and it’s worth pondering why, in the context of what our students have been thinking about over the semester. Our curriculum puts a lot of emphasis on institutions, those formal and informal rule systems that govern the allocation, distribution, and management of our water. There’s a plain language meaning of the word that’s narrow, where “institution” == “government agency”. But one of the critical points we work on in class is understanding institutions more broadly, as the set of rules, both formal and informal, that govern repeated interactions among people. Government agencies are a piece of this, but it’s really the rules (and critically, both formal and informal, the guiding norms) that matter.

The rules that govern flow in the Rio Grande are complex and interlocking but one of the most important is the Rio Grande Compact, a contract among the three U.S. states that share the river (and the federal government – the feds are always part of compacts). The most important rules right now, as the Rio Grande flows through Albuquerque this warm December, involve the calendar. The compact sets out how much water New Mexico can use as the river flows through the state, and how much must be passed on to Texas. The accounting is done on a calendar year basis. So at the end of December, everyone’s gotta try to make the books balance.

Source: USGS

Source: USGS

The implications for river flow through Albuquerque are fascinating. One of the basic tools of water management is the “hydrograph”, a graph of water flow relative to time. I’ve plotted up the winter hydrograph of median daily flow on the Rio Chama below Abiquiu Dam, the main regulatory structure upstream of Albuquerque. Every year in October, as the irrigation season winds down, releases from the dam steadily drop. And then in December, they tend to rise again for a few weeks. What’s up with that? There’s no phenomenon in the weather than might explain it, is there? December rainstorms?

No. It’s accounting. Frequently at this time of year, water that had been held in storage is moved downstream through Albuquerque and into Elephant Butte Reservoir, which is essentially the Texas compact bank account. It’s an accounting transfer, to make the books balance by the end of December.

One could imagine different sorts of institutional arrangements that might find advantages to moving that water at a different time of year. Perhaps (just speaking hypothetically) one might find advantage to moving it in the spring, for example, when additional water to support spring spawning of an endangered fish of some sort might be of value. But the institutions are what they are, and the calendar is what it is, and the water’s moving now. Check it out, it’s really nice down by our river right now.

You see these “institutional hydrographs” all over. My favorite is the Grand Canyon, where the Colorado River rises and falls in a diurnal cycle that’s linked to the use of Glen Canyon Dam to generate peaking power during times of high electricity demand. Big dams are great for that.

This year the Rio Grande accountants are unusually busy, with a lot more water flowing through Albuquerque than usual and a lot more interesting accounting. The institutional stuff gets complicated in a hurry. Right now there are three different accounting systems being balanced with a lot of water moving as a result. But the thing to watch is that January dropoff. If you’re in Albuquerque and enjoy a bit of water in your river, check it out now. The accountants should have their books balanced by the end of December, and the river will settle back into the quiet of winter.

Inkstain holiday gift guide

It's a drought. We need more rain.

It’s a drought. We need more rain.

Just give ’em Rain. I don’t mean the stuff falling from the sky. I mean Cynthia Barnett’s natural and cultural history of the stuff falling from the sky. Terrific book, just made the list of finalists being considered for the PEN/E.O. Wilson Literary Science Writing Award. Even if they’re not a water nerd, they’ll love it.

If they’re a kid? Give ’em The Tree Rings’ Tale, which I wrote a while back. Nah, who am I kidding, the kids’ll like Rain too. Just give ’em that.

Water conservation’s dark underbelly

I tend to enthusiastically and often uncritically embrace every new water conservation number, as if using less water is an unqualified good. I generally believe that, and you’re going to have a hard time pushing me off that intellectual turf. But there’s a flip side I’m trying to think through. It’s what economists might call the “non-market value” of the green stuff in our cities.

Ben Jones, a recent University of New Mexico economics graduate now doing a postdoc at the University of Oklahoma, presented some data as part of his recent thesis defense about the health and wellbeing values of urban trees. In particular, Ben was looking at the impact of the emerald ash borer, an invasive pest killing trees in the eastern United States. Loss of ash trees comes with a non-market cost that’s difficult but important to measure. There’s a direct health benefit as trees clean air, and a less direct but no less important benefit because green amenities make us happy. That’s why we plant and water stuff around our houses. Ben and UNM economist Shana McDermott* have a paper here that digs into the details. While specific to the eastern ash trees, they’re raising issues that are worth applying to our municipal tree coverage here in the western United States, where we’re in the midst of a vast undirected experiment in using less water in our cities. One result of using less water is having fewer trees. This comes with a cost that I don’t feel as though I’ve properly conceptually matched up against my unbridled enthusiasm for water conservation.

water conservation’s California costs

I was thinking about this hole in my thinking today while reading this Sacramento Bee op-ed by John Woodling, bidding us think about the tradeoffs associated with California’s impressive water use reductions:

These reductions have come at a cost.

Most notably, our trees and landscapes suffered as most water agencies limited irrigation to two days per week or less, even in hot, dry summer months. Our trees are an important environmental resource, a source of tremendous community pride and a gift from one generation to the next. Many of them are showing signs of severe stress, making them susceptible to pests and disease. Some have died or eventually will – a sad legacy that will extend far beyond this current drought.

* By way of full conflict of interest exposure, I recently lectured in one of Shana’s classes, for which she compensated me with a gift card to the Frontier restaurant, which funded a delicious and large burrito on Friday. #universitylife

Federal California drought legislation looking increasingly dead

dead

“I’m getting better!” “No, you’re not — you’ll be stone dead in a moment.”

Michael Doyle reports in the Sacramento Bee on the apparent death of California drought legislation:

A California water bill that skeptics say has been cloaked in excessive secrecy will probably miss its Capitol Hill train this year.

Facing criticism from fellow Democrats, and with key details still unresolved, Sen. Dianne Feinstein conceded Friday that the water legislation needs additional work despite “significant progress.”

By “dead” I think I mean “unlikely to get through Congress this year”. Next year’s an election year, making it even harder for Congress to do difficult things. Plus it might rain or snow in California.

New Mexico is “drought free”, sort of

New Mexico is "drought free"

New Mexico is “drought free”

For the first time since Nov. 30, 2010, New Mexico has been categorized as entirely free of “drought” in this morning’s federal Drought Monitor. 26 percent of the state remains “abnormally dry”, but none of the state is in any of the monitor’s formally designated drought categories.

This does not mean that we are free of the sort of problem that one might normally label as “drought”, because it is a word with no one meaning, which is one of its difficulties. It depends entirely on how you use and perceive your need for water. If you are a farmer dependent on snowpack and reservoir storage to water your Hatch chiles, “drought” is not over. If you are a piñon in the low mountains of northern New Mexico sapped of soil moisture by warming temperatures, “drought” may never be over. If you are me, sitting in Albuquerque with a full reservoir of banked water upstream, a backup supply of groundwater in an aquifer that has been rising despite a long term precipitation deficit, and water demand that continues dropping because of conservation success and population growth that has nearly stopped because of a tanked economy, “drought” may be an increasingly unhelpful conceptual category.

Defining drought’s end

Otowi Index Flow

Otowi Index Flow, not drought free

Some good numbers:

  • The Albuquerque National Weather Service gauge has received 10.5 inches of precipitation in 2015 to date, 17 percent above the long term mean.
  • The aquifer at Jerry Cline Park, near my house, has risen 18 feet since the winter of 2008, which is the turning point for Albuquerque groundwater management.
  • Flow on the Rio Grande through Albuquerque this morning is 1,830 cubic feet per second, more than double the mean for this date.

Some bad numbers

  • Elephant Butte Reservoir remains extremely low, at 11.5 percent of capacity. This is the reservoir that serves the most economically productive farmland in New Mexico.
  • Since 2000, we have had just two years of above-average flow in the Rio Grande.
  • The average temperature in the state’s forested northern mountains in 2010 has been 2.5F above the long term average. The last year that was below the long term average (as measured by a bit more than a century of records) was 1991.

Tamarisk beetle now entrenched on New Mexico Rio Grande

The Tamarisk Coalition’s latest survey maps for work done over the summer of 2015 show that the beetle has now spread along the entire Rio Grande in New Mexico. The light blue dots are areas where the beetle showed up this year:

tamarisk beetle map

Courtesy Tamarisk Coalition

The beetle was originally introduced in Colorado and Utah as an experiment in invasive species control, an attempt to halt the spread of the Eurasian tamarisk tree, seen (rightly or wrongly, the science is mixed) as a water hog. But the bugs quickly spread farther than expected, and as you can see they’re now pretty widespread across the West. (Background here.)

Notice the populations also showing up on the Montana-Wyoming border. What’s up with that?

New Mexico, borderlands

New Mexico has always seemed the least borderlandish of the U.S.-Mexico borderlands states. Unlike Texas, Arizona, and California, we don’t really have a large twin city spanning the border (think Laredo-Nuevo Laredo, El Paso-Juárez, the Nogales’s, San Diego-Tijuana). My former Albuquerque Journal colleague Lauren Villagran in a poignant column this morning on the scars left by Juárez drug violence bids us not forget:

If it’s easy in Albuquerque to forget New Mexico is a border state, but it’s not so simple down south, where families often have connections on both sides and many people, their friends or family were in some way touched by the violence.

She tells the story of a young Juárez-El Paso rapper named Luis Barron:

Barron, 35, was born in Juárez, grew up there, went to school in El Paso and, like many other people in the region, crisscrossed the border daily. A U.S. legal resident who works as a driver for an El Paso health clinic, he was raising three daughters on the El Paso side when his wife was deported in 2008 and given five years before she could apply to return. The family went with her to Juárez.

This is the life that’s hard to understand when you’re farther away from the mysterious line we’ve drawn on the map – a community that spans the border, moving back and forth, with connections often tighter across the border than to the distant national centers of power and influence – borderland as third nation.

The drug violence that so devastated Juárez during those awful years was not a thing just in “Mexico”, but in that shared third nation of the borderlands.

Juárez, at peace, wants to move beyond its violent past, but there are scars that no slogan can erase.