Metering water sales

To folks in many parts of the arid western United States, the notion that some California communities don’t meter residential and business water sales seems crazy.

It is. This may be, by some measures, a record drought in California. But even without it, Californians have known they have serious water stresses. That it has taken this long to get this basic water management tool in place is, in fact crazy. Here’s Paul Rogers:

Despite urgent calls for water conservation amid one of California’s worst droughts, more than 255,000 homeowners and businesses across the state can still use all the water they want without paying higher bills.

And nobody even knows how much water they are using.

Why is this? First, homes and businesses without meters, while large in number, are the exception:

Most California residents have had water meters for generations.

Los Angeles finished installing them in the 1920s. San Jose has had meters on every home since the 1930s. Oakland began installing them in 1906 and was fully metered by 1940.

But people seem to like living in a wet, green world:

But even in a large, prosperous city like Sacramento, plans to require water meters sparked controversy for decades.

“For some people, it’s like going to Alabama and saying you are going to register their guns,” said Barbara O’Connor, director emeritus of the Institute for the Study of Politics and the Media at Cal State Sacramento.

“It’s a visceral reaction,” she said. “People in some places view it as a birthright that they have big trees and green grass. They see the water in the rivers, they walk along it, and they raft on it. It’s part of the right of being a Sacramentan.”

The full article is worth reading for those interested in water policy steps that are relatively straightforward and that can make a difference in building resilience against drought and climate change. “You can’t manage what you don’t measure,” as my business school grad colleague likes to say. And kudos to the Mercury-News for publishing the full data table.

 

dead piñon

Dead piñon, Sandia Mountains, February 2014

Dead piñon, Sandia Mountains, February 2014

One of the casualties of drought is the piñon in the mountains of New Mexico. I took this picture back in February in the Sandias, the mountains on the eastern edge of Albuquerque. Where you see snow the slopes are generally north-facing. No snow is south-facing, and that’s where you see brown trees.

I tweaked the picture in Lightroom to give a false-color image of the dead trees in red:

Dead piñon, false color, by John Fleck, February 2014

Dead piñon, false color, by John Fleck, February 2014

creosote

Stove Pipe Wells, California, US, by Flickr user n8agrin, CC

Stove Pipe Wells, California, US, by Flickr user n8agrin, CC

If you have any doubt about it, know that the desert begins with the creosote.

– Mary Austin, Land of Little Rain

Stuff I wrote elsewhere: the WIPP accident that was never supposed to happen

If I was a more clever writer, I’d have a joke here about how the statistics of a WIPP accident change now that we’ve got a Bayesian prior:

The radiation leak that has shut down the nation’s only operating underground nuclear waste disposal site was, for all practical purposes, never supposed to happen.

No one knows yet how or why a waste drum leaked at southeast New Mexico’s Waste Isolation Pilot Plant on Valentine’s Day, triggering alarms, exposing workers and setting off a cascade of events that could cripple the nation’s radioactive waste disposal system.

But a Journal review of Department of Energy records shows that, before WIPP opened, the agency put the risk of such an accident at one chance in 10,000 to one in 1 million during any given year of WIPP operations.

Climate change in the West: it’s not just about more or less rain

Ben Cook at NASA’s Goddard Institute for Space Studies has a new paper that offers a reminder of why the impact of climate change on our ecosystems and water supplies involves more than “will it rain less”?

In some sense this is an old and obvious point, which I link here just to repeat said old and obvious point. Drought is a combination of how much rain and snow falls from the sky and then what happens once it hits the ground. If it’s warmer, more evaporates, and it’s the net left behind after the puts and takes that defines our available water supply and drought or lack thereof. Here’s Cook:

For many regions, focusing on the precipitation response alone will be insufficient to fully capture changes in regional water resources such as soil moisture, runoff, or reservoir storage. Instead, increased evaporative demand will play a critical role in spreading drought beyond the sub-tropics and into the Northern Hemisphere mid-latitudes, regions of globally important agricultural production.

But Ben’s a smart scientist who is doing more than what I usually do here, which is simply restate the obvious. The new in the paper is the use of the latest round of models, known as CMIP5, along with a couple of different measures of dryness, to better flesh out the picture.

There’s been some argument over whether the Palmer Drought Severity Index (the most common measure for this sort of thing) is the best way to analyze future drought scenarios, so Cook and colleagues offer up alternatives, including the Standardized Precipitation Index and a look at “vapor pressure deficit” (a critical measure for thinking about the future of our forest – see Park Williams on this):

PDSI and SPEI projections using precipitation and Penman-Monteith based PET changes from the GCMs generally agree, showing robust cross-model drying in western North America….

update: Dr. Cook kindly shared this link to an ungated copy of the paper (extremely large pdf)

Drought means we should do that thing I already knew we should do

Mark Lubell at U.C. Davis has a fascinating post about the history and politics of drought:

[N]early every scientist, commentator, and politician is using drought to make some call for their preferred political change. Regulate groundwater. More storage. Build the twin tunnels. Pass the long-delayed water bond.

So given that we’ve been here before (click through for useful historical examples), did the hair-on-fire response to previous drought create water systems in California that are more resilient and able to handle the current one?

Therefore, the second key question is whether or not the policy changes stimulated by past droughts have actually improved water management in California. Have we learned anything from our past experiences? Stated more precisely, the question is how much damage will California suffer, given the same level of drought?

I would argue that Southern California’s relative stable situation supports a “yes” answer to the question, but I’d defer to people in the midst of the California drought for a more informed response.

Here’s an upside to the decline of Lake Mead I never thought of

While Lake Mead’s drawdown might be viewed negatively from a perspective of maintaining full-pool water storage, it has re-exposed a vast area of new terrestrial habitat increasingly colonized by native species as invasive species abundance declines through time.

That’s from “Plant colonization and soil properties on newly exposed shoreline during drawdown of Lake Mead, Mojave Desert,” by Engel et al., in the latest issue of Lake and Reservoir Management

The origins of the “practicably irrigable acreage” standard, part II

tl;dr – It wasn’t the U.S. government “reserving” water rights on behalf of the Indians. It was the Indians keeping the rights they already had.

Longer version: After I last took a stab at writing about the “practicably irrigable acreage” standard that sort of underpins U.S. Native American water rights in the west, a member of the brain trust sent me a fascinating law review article by Dana Smith that showed me I haven’t been thinking about this quite right.

Interestingly, my confusion about the underlying issue seems to be the same as that held by Simon Rifkind, the U.S. Special Master in the famous Colorado River case of Arizona v. California – the place the PIA standard was first made explicit. (Can I blame Rifkind?)

The PIA standard is rooted in the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision in the case of Winters v. United States, which basically said that Indian communities are entitled to the water rights necessary to make a living on their land. Importantly, the entitlement comes with a priority date (critical under the doctrine of prior appropriation used to allocate water in the West) equal to the date their reservation was created. The term for this is “reserved rights.” Here’s how Rifkind put it:

I have concluded that the United States effectuated the intention to provide for the future needs of the Indians by reserving sufficient water to irrigate all of the practicably irrigable lands in a Reservation and to supply related stock and domestic uses.

Smith argues that Rifkind is not quite getting this right. It’s not the U.S. government doing the reserving, Smith argues:

[T]ribes have a right to water not because it was given to them when they were put on reservations, but because the tribes kept their right to use water when they ceded parts of their land.

Smith points out that in the Winters case, the U.S. Supreme Court relied for this bit of jurisprudence on a case three years earlier, that of the United States v. Winans. Winans involved not water but fishing – in particular fishing rights under the 1859 treaty between the Yakima Nation and the United States:

Winans involved the interpretation of an 1859 treaty between the Yakima Nation and the United States in which the Yakima tribe ceded their interest in a specified parcel of land, while reserving the right to fish “at all usual and accustomed places,” even off of their new reservation land. The United States brought the action on behalf of the Yakima Nation to enjoin non-Indians from obstructing the Yakima’s off-reservation fishing rights. In holding that the State of Washington had no authority to regulate Indian fishing rights, the Court relied heavily on the canon of construction applied to Indian treaties that treaties are to be construed as the Indians would have understood them. Since the right to fish was one “not much less necessary to the existence of the Indians than the atmosphere they breathed,” the treaty could not have been understood by the Indians as limiting their right to fish. Instead, the treaty was to be interpreted “not [as] a grant of rights to the Indians, but a grant of rights from them–a reservation of those not granted.”

In Winters, the court concluded the same principle applied to water. Here’s how the great western water law scholar David Getches put it (pdf):

(Winters) preserves tribal water rights that were not expressly ceded by the Indians or extinguished by the government…. [T]he Indians’ right to sufficient water to fulfill the intent of their agreement survived the cession of land.

This question of who’s doing the reserving seems a critical distinction. If it’s the U.S. government doing the reserving, then there’s an argument that one needs to look at the purpose for which the “reservation” (by “reservation” I here mean the land set aside for the Indians to live on) was created, which Rifkind did. If the purpose was to turn the Indians into an agrarian people, then an “irrigable acreage” standard might make sense. But if it’s the Native American community simply reserving their own previously existing right to water, then shouldn’t it be up to them to decided what to do with that water? Smith writes (the embedded quotes are from an Arizona court decision that concluded PIA is too narrow):

(PIA) forces tribes to pretend to be farmers, which is especially counterproductive in an era where large agricultural projects are risky, and according to some, no longer economically feasible in the West. Additionally, “a permanent homeland requires water for multiple uses, which may or may not include agriculture.” The PIA standard encourages tribes to create unrealistic irrigation projects and deters consideration of the actual water needs of the reservation.