Newspaper exonerates Salton Sea of charges it stinks. Or does it?

Salton Sea, 1907

Salton Sea, 1907, photo courtesy USGS, credited to G.K. Gilbert

In a hard-hitting exposé, the Desert Sun earlier this month seems to have conclusively cleared the Salton Sea of charges that it smells really bad:

The smell seemed to be everywhere — except the place where people usually think it comes from.

A pungent, sewer-like odor in the air was noted Friday morning by people across the Coachella Valley.

“Eight o’clock, I went outside to walk the dog and said, ‘Oh my goodness. What the hell is this?’” said Bryan Cox, a resident of northern Palm Springs.

But it was a nice day Friday along the shore of the Salton Sea, the 35-mile-long lake formed in a natural basin by agricultural runoff.

But wait…

But one employee coming in from east La Quinta took note of the odor. “He said it was the Salton Sea,” Hermann said.

Palm Springs ecologist Jim Cornett said the usual suspect is, in this case, the correct one.

“I noticed it right away when I went out to get the paper, and I said ‘Oh, Salton Sea,’” he said.

I am so confused. Does the Salton Sea stink? Anyone?

New Rain Gauge

I am a weather nerd.

So it was with great excitement that I unpacked my new official CoCoRaHS RG202 4″ Rain Gauge this evening.

New Rain Gauge

New Rain Gauge

It replaces an identical old one that I put up in the back yard in September 1999 when I joined the local National Weather Service office’s CityNet group of volunteer observers. I recently signed up for CoCoRaHS, and bought a new gauge. The old one was pretty beat up, but served me well:

Old Rain Gauge

Old Rain Gauge

Will Sunbelt Growth Return?

The question of how much water we’ll need in the Southwest going forward is dominated by uncertainty over what future population growth will look like. And I confess that I’ve got no earthly idea how to think well about this question.

Consider Phoenix. In his new ebook The Gated City, Ryan Avent argues that Phoenix is an exceedingly unpleasant place to live. Population growth in Phoenix, Avent argues, has been fed primarily by the fact that people would rather live elsewhere because Phoenix is so frickin’ hot, but can’t because the places they’d rather live are so frickin’ expensive:

[C]onsider Phoenix. Arizona is a beautiful state, but the Phoenix area is less climatically diverse than coastal California; it can not uncharitably be described as a desert. For fully a third of the year, temperatures above 100 degrees are commonplace.

San Francisco’s weather, meanwhile, is lovely, Avent argues. So why, he asks, have people been leaving the San Franciscos of the world and flocking to Phoenix? Cost of living, and, in particular, “the exorbitant price of housing in the Bay Area.”

Supply and demand – here’s housing starts in Phoenix and San Francisco MSAs:

San Francisco, Phoenix housing starts

San Francisco, Phoenix housing starts

My point here is orthogonal to Avent’s central argument, which has to do with urban economies in the United States (and is really interesting, I recommend the book). My question has to do with what happens next to that blue Phoenix housing construction line and others like it all over the southwest.

A new report out of Arizona State University’s Morrison Institute argues that we should expect the blue line to begin rising again, and that therefore water policy makers need to act accordingly. The Institute hired Marshall Vest at the University of Arizona to revisit population projections he made three years ago in light of the recent drop in the blue line above:

It is clear … that population growth has dramatically slowed. But whether the trend line has changed slope, or just suffered a blip, is not entirely clear. Vest’s 2008 projections for Maricopa, Pima, and Pinal counties called for 10.1 million residents in 2040 as the “most likely” population projection.

The “low” scenario was 8.9 million. The new projection is for a “most likely” 9.0 million—virtually identical to the old “low” number. Vest concludes that overall population growth will ultimately return to the Sun Corridor at about a 2% annual rate from 2015 to 2040. Net migration—people moving into the Sun Corridor minus those moving out—will return to an “average” of 80,000 per year by 2015. In March 2011, census data was released showing that from 2000 to 2010 Arizona’s population grew by 25%, but housing supply increased by 30%. Housing stats have tended to be viewed as a proxy for population growth, leading in this decade to an overestimate. Phoenix, which had touted itself as the fifth largest city in the country, fell back below Philadelphia when the numbers were counted.

Despite the slowdown, the projection of a 9 million person Sun Corridor by 2040 remains the most likely possibility.

As I said earlier, I have absolutely no idea how to think about the question of what happens next, other than thinking it’s a dominating uncertainty.

update: Eli makes a good point in the comments that suggests I’ve chosen data poorly in the graph above, but I don’t thin it invalidates the underlying point. Rather than single-family housing (as seen above) here is all housing. It shows the same pattern. Avent’s argument is that zoning choices, rather than underlying real estate availability, is what’s driving the shape of these curves:

Phoenix v. San Francisco - all housing starts

My education in economics: Public Goods

Once this resource was provided*, those who failed to pay for it (such as me, drifting through Albuquerque’s Old Town plaza at the end of a long Saturday bike ride) could not be excluded from enjoying its benefits. In addition, my consumption of the resource (sitting in the shade listening to the music) did not, for all practical purposes**, diminish the ability of others to enjoy it on an uncrowded Saturday afternoon:

Public goods, Albuquerque style

Public goods, Albuquerque style

* As I understand it (and don’t consider this “publication quality” information, it’s very second hand), a city of Albuquerque grant funds the musicians’ presence.

** These guys are awesome, so one can imagine that the plaza could grow increasingly crowded in future as my global blog readership is increasingly drawn to Albuquerque on Saturday afternoons, raising questions about the long term nonexcludability of this good. There were only so many seats in the shade.

Public goods definition adapted from Environmental & Natural Resource Economics (8th Edition)

Drought by the numbers

For the current water year, Oct. 1, 2010, through the end of August, I’ve had 4.39 inches (11.15 cm) of rain at my house in Albuquerque’s near northeast heights. That’s 51 percent of the mean going back to the 1999-2000 water year. Just one of the months, December, was above my long term mean, and nearly all that came in a single storm. I remember it because the roof leaked – 1.41 inch in a single night. Another way of putting it is that nearly a third of the rain this year came in a single unpleasant burst.

Drought Monitor, Aug. 30 2011

Drought Monitor, Aug. 30 2011

We just can’t win.

It’s not actually the driest first 11 months of a water year in my little personal instrumental record. In 2001-02, we had just 4.33 inches (11 cm even) over the same October-August stretch. That was year one of the epic two-year drought that killed so much of the piñon-juniper woodlands of the Four Corners. Dave Breshears did a nice job with that story:

At an intensively studied site within the region, we quantified that after 15 months of depleted soil water content, >90% of the dominant, overstory tree species (Pinus edulis, a piñon) died.

Driving across the high country here, you can still see the dead trees from back then. (A lot of them haven’t burned in the years since.)

I don’t keep a temperature record for my yard, but the big guys’ thermometers suggest it’s been a hot year here in New Mexico’s Middle Rio Grande Valley, which is the sort of thing Dave was looking at back in 2005 when he was trying to assess the effects of the remarkable 2001-03 event. It wasn’t just dry. It was warm:

This recent drought episode in southwestern North America may be a harbinger of future global-change-type drought throughout much of North America and elsewhere, in which increased temperature in concert with multidecadal drought patterns associated with oceanic sea surface oscillations can drive extensive and rapid changes in vegetation and associated land surface properties.

Worth noting: the forecasters are starting to talk seriously about another La Niña winter.

The Law of the River as a model for dealing with the loss of stationarity

Climate change and the resulting changes in rivers flows pose significant problems for transboundary water management agreements. But a new paper by Heather Cooley and Peter Gleick at the Pacific Institute finds a hopeful model in recent tweaks adding flexibility in the face of drought to the “Law of the River” governing distribution of water from the Colorado River:

In 2007, the USA implemented the Colorado River Interim Guidelines for Lower Basin Shortages and Coordinated Operations of Lake Powell and Lake Mead (referred to as the “Interim Guidelines”). This agreement, developed in the eighth year of the worst drought in over 100 years of record keeping, establishes specific guidelines for reduced water deliveries among the seven Colorado Basin states under drought and low-reservoir conditions. These shortage guidelines, which were developed in consultation with the Mexican government, are triggered at specific reservoir water levels in major reservoirs on the Colorado River (Lake Mead and Lake Powell), thereby providing water users with some indication of the frequency and magnitude of these events. The Interim Guidelines also create a novel multi-year water augmentation and banking programme known as “Intentionally Created Surplus”, allowing lower basin water users to invest in extraordinary conservation efforts and store the water saved or generated by such efforts for delivery in future years. A related programme, called “Developed Shortage Supply”, creates similar mechanisms to generate and store water to be delivered during declared shortages, buffering the users against major reductions. These guidelines were drawn up among the USA Colorado Basin states and do not address deliveries to Mexico. Adoption of the Interim Guidelines, however, has provided impetus to Mexico and the USA to begin negotiations to determine the conditions that would prompt Mexico to accept reduced deliveries of Colorado River water, as well as potential mechanisms for adapting to such changes.

The paper is here (pdf) and Felicity Barringer has a nice writeup of some of the broader questions addressed.

Best training run ever?

My friend Jaime Dispenza, a triathlon coach, was out for a training run recently, when… I’ll let him describe it:

After my second of four intervals I approached the river and there standing in ankle deep water was a couple holding hands. OK, no biggie I have seen this before. Then I noticed there was a woman in a dress, holding a book and then it clicked, they were getting married. It truly was a beautiful setting with the cottonwood trees providing the shade and the rustling leaves a light background of noise.

I turned my iPod back on and continued to run hoping not to break their magical moment in the river. As soon as they saw me, they called me over because they needed another witness for the marriage and also another signature on the wedding license. Before I knew it they had me take off my shoes, socks and get into the water with them for the rest of the ceremony.

Best training run ever?

My water policy nightmare

I had a really scary dream this morning. My memory is vague, but I was somehow involved in making decisions about how to allocate the water in a big river among various users. But we didn’t have good data on how much water the river actually held.

Terrifying.

Some call it “maize”

On my way home from a bike ride this afternoon, I stopped by the vendor selling sweet Moriarty corn out of her pickup truck on old Route 66 just west of Tijeras Canyon:

Maize

Maize, Augl. 28, 2011

I could only fit three in my shirt pockets, which will not be enough to get my family through the winter.