Space graffiti

A vibrant desert scene under a flawless blue sky, featuring graffiti-like markings on a large black tarp sprawled across the dry, scrubby landscape. In the distance, the rugged Sandia Mountains rise dramatically, framed by a few scattered structures that hint at human presence amidst the raw beauty of the terrain.

Space Graffiti. Photo by John Fleck, January 2025

 

And out of the ground the lord God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air; and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof.
– Genesis 2-19 (King James)

When I was a youngster experimenting with being a writer, I worked on a short story (never finished it, I was never very good at making stuff up) about naming things. The character was socially awkward, lived in a scrabbly desert town on the outskirts of L.A., settled like drift on the edge of an arroyo left behind by the summer rains. He lived in a trailer and spent his time learning the names of birds.

Map of Albuquerque, showing location of space graffiti on the city's southern edge.For Sunday’s bike ride we walked, or maybe hiked is the right word, across the marvelously dystopian frisbee golf course (disc golf course?) along Tijeras Arroyo on Albuquerque’s south side. The Brent Baca Memorial Disc Golf Course is stripped of the manicured aesthetic of golf golf (the kind with clubs and balls) – the Baca has graffiti and skulls on the top of poles and such.

This stretch of Tijeras Arroyo is an urban castoff. Back in the 1930s, the old maps show a road running south of town, across the undeveloped mesa to Hicks Dairy, which advertised tuberculosis-free cows. A combination of a World War, a Cold War, and the growth of air travel covered the mesa with an airfield and a lot of barbed wire, and Tijeras Arroyo became a stranded leftover scrap of urban fabric barely accessible via a circuitous road named after Albuquerque’s most famous boxer. There was a jail there for a while (notably site of the vaguely infamous “Slippery 7 Escape” on New Year’s day, 1970), and some sewage sludge. Today there’s a shooting range and the “Montessa Park Convenience Center,” which is a particularly inconvenient place to haul a trailer full of trash.

It would be ridiculous to try to explain why we were out there on a freezing January Sunday morning, other than that it seemed too cold to ride and “hiking” presented itself as a better option.

A young friend hipped me to the idea of “urban exploring” as a thing with a name, and as I mentioned above, I have long been entranced with the power God gave us (my atheism notwithstanding) to name things. One of the premises of our urban exploring is that no place is uninteresting, but in the hierarchy of interesting, the raggedy bits are the best – alleys and flood control channels, the circumnavigation of junkyards, the perimeter fences of the military industrial complex. Places of graffiti.

Tijeras Arroyo is delightfully raggedy.

In preparing for Sunday’s outing, I had occasion to spot this in the satellite map imagery:

Graffiti symbols on the boundary of an old sewage lagoon

Space graffiti, as seen from space.

The artists’ canvas here is the sloped plastic sides of an old sewage lagoon, about the size of a football field (take your pick of footballs, this isn’t science). It’s maybe from the old jail, or a relic of the city sewage sludge disposal operation.

On Language

Conversation with my (h/b)iking buddy landed on Roland Barthes “The Death of the Author,” about the role of the intention of the author in literary criticism. We’re not as highbrow as it sounds, but the point of these outings in part is to make sense of the world by being in it and talking about it, and I’ve been entranced lately with the gap between graffiti’s meaning and intention, and how I as an enthusiastic audience member take it in.

No right answers here. My (h/b)inking interlocutor made patiently clear that I was over-interpreting Barthes’ intent, which is kinda meta. I can see a rocket ship and a pretty enthusiastic cross in the space graffiti, but now I’m afraid to even consider whether I’m supposed to be trying to tease out the artists’ intent or just take in the piece, bringing my “urban explorer” mindset to the experience.

It was way too cold to have biked, but at the pace of walking under a winter sun it was lovely.

The January 2025 24-month study is a major caution sign for the Colorado River Basin

Graph showing current and future projected 10-year moving flow at Lee Ferry on the Colorado River, with a horizontal red line showing a "tripwire" crossed in 2027 under some scenarios.

The Tripwire

By Eric Kuhn, John Fleck, and Jack Schmidt

On January 16th, the Bureau of Reclamation released the January 2025 24-Month Study. Based on the January 1st runoff forecast into Lake Powell, the projected “most probable” annual release from Glen Canyon Dam for Water Year 2026 is now 7.48 maf. This needs to be taken as a significant caution sign because it shows that we are on a clear trajectory to hit what Colorado’s Jim Lochhead first called the 1922 Compact’s first “tripwire” (82.5 maf/10-year) as early as 2027. Given the current stalemate between the Upper and Lower Division States over how the reservoir system should be operated, it means the potential for basin-wide litigation is now in the “Red Zone.”

The January 24-Month study is the first in each water year to be based on a published forecast from the Colorado Basin River Forecast Center’s runoff model – the first to be based on actual snowpack. The January 1st runoff forecast for unregulated April-July inflow to Lake Powell was 5.15 maf (about 81% of average). This results in a projected 12/31/2025 elevation of Lake Powell of less than 3575’ making the annual release for Water Year 2026 7.48 maf. Of course, the forecast will change as the winter progresses. In fact, the January mid-month forecast dropped by 300,000 acre-feet to 4.85 maf. At this point in the winter our confidence in the “most probable” forecast is low and in recent years, the track record has been to overstate future runoff suggesting that the we should pay equal attention to the “minimum probable” forecast. (See Wang et al, Evaluating the Accuracy of Reclamation’s 24-Month Study Lake Powell Projections.) Also remember that the actual decision on the WY 2026 release is not made until the Spring runoff is over and the August 24-Month study is released.

Measurement tower across a river with tawny desert rock bluffs in the background.

Lee/Lee’s/Lees Ferry on the Colorado River. Photo by John Fleck

A 7.48 maf release from Glen Canyon Dam bodes trouble for the basin because it takes us very close to the tripwire. Simply put, the tripwire is the ten-year flow at Lee Ferry at which the Lower Division States can claim the Upper Division States are in violation of the 1922 Compact. Under the compact, the Upper Division States have two specific flow obligations at Lee Ferry: (1) to not cause the ten-year flow to be depleted below 75 maf every ten consecutive years, and (2) to deliver one half of the annual delivery to Mexico under the 1944 Treaty if the “surplus” is not sufficient. If there is no surplus and the delivery to Mexico is 1.5 maf/year, the Upper Division’s share is 750,000 af/year, resulting in a total ten-year delivery obligation of 82.5 maf. Since under Minute 323, Mexico shares in mainstem shortages, recent annual deliveries have been less than 1.5 maf. To keep the math simple, let’s call the current obligation (with no surplus) 82.0 maf. With a 7.48 maf release in WY 2026, the ten-year flow for 2017-2026 will be about 82.8 maf.

Keep in mind that the obligation of the Upper Division States to Mexico under the 1922 Compact has been a disputed issue since the Treaty was signed in 1944. The Lower Division believes there is no current surplus, thus the obligation is one half of the Treaty delivery. The Upper Division believes that since the Lower Basin is currently overusing its 1922 Compact apportionment, this overuse is surplus, and thus, must be delivered to Mexico. Following this thread, if the overuse is greater than 1.5 maf/year, the Upper Division would have no obligation to Mexico.

With an 82.8 maf ten-year flow at the end of Water Year 2026, the Upper Division States are still slightly above the tripwire with a cushion of about 800,000 af. The problem is what happens in the next one to three years. From 2015-2019 annual the annual Glen Canyon Dam releases were 9.0 maf/year. Note, the annual release from Glen Canyon Dam and the flow at Lee Ferry are not quite the same, the Paria River and leakage around the dam contribute another 100,000 -150,000 af/year to the flow at Lee Ferry (bonus flows). Because of the way the ten-year math works, at the end of WY 2027, the Lee Ferry flow for WY 2017 (~9.2 maf) will drop out and be replaced by the 2027 Lee Ferry flow, thus, to keep the ten-year flow greater than 82.0 maf, the 2027 flow will have to be at least 8.4 maf. AND, there are two more 9.0 maf releases in the pipeline, WYs2018 and 2019! That means that when those drop out of the sequence, the risk of the basin stumbling across the tripwire into litigation grows.

To stay above 82.0 maf, the total deliveries at Lee Ferry for the three-year period of 2027-2029, the annual release from Glen Canyon Dam will have to average about 8.8 maf/year (factoring in the bonus flows). Since 2012, the average unregulated inflow to Lake Powell is about 8.2 maf/year. After deducting 500,000 af/year of gross evaporation from the reservoir, the “net-of-evaporation” annual inflow is only about 7.7 maf/year. Going back to 2000, the net inflow is about 7.9 maf/year. Thus, to avoid going below the 82.0 maf tripwire, it will take either above average (post-2000) hydrology or continuing to draw down Lake Powell levels. If the hydrology is a bit drier than the post-2000 (or post-2012) levels, maintaining at least 82.0 maf/10-year may require drawing Lake Powell below minimum power. As Lake Powell levels approach minimum power, we approach environmental and power generation tripwires.

The fact that we’re on track for another year of below-average inflows to Lake Powell, another 7.48 maf/year annual release from Glen Canyon Dam, and on a trajectory to drop below a 1922 Compact tripwire adds another level of urgency for the basin states to break their current impasse over the how the system will be operated post-2026. The chances of Lee Ferry flows dropping below the 82 maf tripwire are high. The Colorado River Basin needs to be fully prepared before this occurs. With every 24-Month study, the basin’s litigation clock is getting closer and closer to that midnight hour.

Stable on the Colorado River: When “good” is not good enough

By John Fleck and Jack Schmidt

Line graph showing total water storage trends in the Colorado River basin from 2000 to 2023. The graph displays three lines: a blue line at the top showing total basinwide reservoir storage declining from about 50 million acre-feet to 30 million acre-feet, an orange middle line showing Lake Powell and Lake Mead storage decreasing from about 45 million to 15 million acre-feet, and a green bottom line showing total storage upstream from Lake Powell declining slightly from about 10 million acre-feet. Overall, the graph illustrates a significant downward trend in reservoir storage across the Colorado River system over this 23-year period.

Stable isn’t good enough.

Preliminary year-end Colorado River numbers are stark. Total basin-wide storage for the last two years has stabilized, oscillating between 30 and 27 maf (million acre-feet), where storage sits at the start of 2025[1]. That is lower than any sustained period since the River’s reservoirs were built (Fig. 1). Stable is better than declining, but we did not succeed in rebuilding reservoir storage during 2024’s excellent snowpack but modest inflow. Although reservoir storage significantly increased after the gangbuster 2023 snowmelt year, we have not protected the storage gained in 2024 when inflow to Lake Powell was ~85% of normal from a 130% of normal snowpack. We can’t rely on frequent repeats of 2023; we must do better at increasing storage in modest inflow years like 2024.

Why is this happening?

A time series graph showing the estimated natural flow of water at Lee Ferry from 1900 to 2020. Blue vertical bars represent annual flow in Million Acre Feet (MAF), fluctuating between roughly 5 and 25 MAF. A black line shows the 10-year moving average, which has generally declined over time. Two horizontal reference lines indicate different period averages: a green dashed line at 14.33 MAF representing the 1930-1999 mean, and a red dashed line at 12.43 MAF showing the 2000-present mean. The graph illustrates a long-term decline in water flow, with the post-2000 average being notably lower than the 20th century average.

Less water.

The phrase “the new normal” can be misleading, suggesting a new, more stable state for the climate. It’s not gonna be stable. But by one reasonable measure – total estimated natural flow in the Colorado River at Lees Ferry – Calendar Year 2024 was typical of the first quarter of the 21st century, with a preliminary estimate of 12.1 million acre-feet “natural flow.” Thus, the calendar year average annual natural flow at Lees Ferry between 2000 and 2024 has been 12.4 maf/yr, down from 14.3 maf for the period 1930-1999. An additional 770,000 af/yr in side inflows between Lees Ferry and Lake Mead add to the available water supply[2].

That we made the cuts needed to stabilize reservoir levels with a natural flow at Lees Ferry as low as 12.1maf would have been a substantial achievement in the wetter “before times.” Now, it’s table stakes. The most important point is that we absolutely did not rebuild storage in 2024, despite a 130 percent snowpack. We must do better in reducing total basin consumptive use.

Once again in 2024, we saw substantial water use reductions among the states of the Lower Colorado River Basin. Total U.S. Lower Basin main stem use of 6.08 maf is the lowest since 1985 (meaning the lowest since the Central Arizona Project came on line). California’s use, based on preliminary numbers published by Reclamation seems to be the lowest since 1950, and use by the Imperial Irrigation District seems to be the absolute lowest in a dataset that goes back to 1941. These are important achievements, to be celebrated.

With regard to the other two major U.S. areas of use – Lower Basin tributaries and the Upper Basin as a whole – we have no idea what 2024 consumptive use was. This is a problem. Lower Basin main stem use is quantified through Reclamation’s annual accounting reports and reported on a nearly daily basis during the course of the water year. River flows and reservoir levels across the basin are similarly reported in public, transparent ways. That’s how we’re able to provide the data you see above. Anyone can download and crunch the numbers. The general public can’t readily do that for consumptive use in the Upper Basin or Lower Basin tributaries.

As Elinor Ostrom noted in her classic book Governing the Commons, shared understanding of the resource is crucial to successful water management. Increasingly, areas of uncertainty have become contested ground, as the genuine technical uncertainties collide with the motivated reasoning of political actors across the basin.

With respect to the Upper Basin, we note that the rhetoric that Upper Basin water users suffer shortages in dry years has shifted to a broader claim that Upper Basin users always suffer shortages. We quote here from the Upper Basin states’ January 2 press release: “There are acute hydrologic shortages in the Upper Basin every year – there simply isn’t enough water in any year to satisfy current needs in the Upper Basin every year. The Upper Basin has made uncompensated cuts to their water users every year for the past 24 years.” Some of the data to support this assertion was presented at the December 2024 UCRC meeting, and we look forward to a more complete and transparent accounting of these data, because these data are crucial to a robust Colorado River management discussion. The Upper Basin’s experience of “acute hydrologic shortages … every year” is exactly what John Wesley Powell described in 1878 in the first edition of The Arid Lands Report.  Nothing has changed, and the challenge of agriculture throughout the watershed has been well known for 150 years. We also note that consumptive use data throughout the basin has not been integrated with the important findings of Richter et al (2024) who documented the proportion of water used by different agricultural sectors. They estimated that 55% of all Colorado River water use supplies livestock feed.

We leave a discussion of Lower Basin tributary use for another post but note that in both the cases of the Upper Basin use and Lower Basin tributary use, the numbers are entangled in the current Upper Basin-Lower Basin feud, which makes serious efforts to think about how to manage water at the Basin scale, rather than simply defending parochial interests, much more difficult. It is important that the general public not employed by a state or water agency, and therefore not beholden to local parochial interests, help the basin community as a whole navigate these technical issues.

Conclusion

The stable reservoir levels at the end of 2024, despite another year of deep Lower Basin water use reductions, should be cause for alarm. Deeper cuts are needed. But without a shared understanding of water use elsewhere in the basin, we’re flying blind.

 

[1] Basin-wide reservoir storage reached a peak of 29.7 maf on 13 July 2023 and was subsequently drawn down to 27.5 maf by mid-April 2024. Inflow from 2024 snowmelt rebounded basin-wide storage to 30.0 maf on 6 July 2024, and storage was subsequently drawn down to 27.4 maf by 31 December 2024. Retention of storage in Lake Mead and Lake Powell has been somewhat better during the same period. Combined storage in Lake Mead and Lake Powell peaked in mid-July 2023 at 18.0 maf, declined to 17.1 maf by mid-May 2024, increased to 18.5 maf on 8 July 2024, and was 17.3 maf on 31 December 2024. Thus, storage in the two largest reservoirs at year’s end was slightly greater than it was at its spring 2024 minimum just before storage increased when significant snowmelt reached Lake Powell.

[2] This estimate is calculated as the difference between annual flow measured just upstream from Diamond Creek in western Grand Canyon and measured at Lees Ferry.

Water for Navajo is the latest victim of Colorado River Basin governance dysfunction

A panoramic view of Monument Valley, featuring red sandstone buttes and mesas rising from the desert floor under a bright blue sky with fluffy white clouds. The rugged landscape is sparsely vegetated with shrubs and grasses.

A dry place. Photo by John Fleck

Winters rights are no match for the current dysfunction of Colorado River Basin governance.

Shannon Mullane at the Colorado Sun has been on this, and last week had some useful details:

Advocates of a deal to secure reliable water for thousands of tribal members in Arizona raced to win Congressional approval until the final hours of the session in December.

They didn’t make it.

“We just ran out of time to address all the issues,” said Tom Buschatzke, director of the Arizona Department of Water Resources and principal negotiator for the state on Colorado River matters.

Part of the catch is the cost. This is a really expensive settlement, though it’s reasonable to point out all the other expensive water projects built over the last century with massive taxpayer subsidy to provide water to non-Indian communities. But, as Mullane (thanks, Shannon!) reported back in December, one of the main hitches is the way the deal is entangled in broader Colorado River Basin uncertainties about who can move what water where:

State officials have asked for clarity on how water will move across state lines. And Colorado River officials in Colorado, New Mexico, Utah and Wyoming have concerns about how the settlement would allow water from their basin to be used farther downstream.

Finger-pointing for the failure to work out an agreement is appropriate, but ultimately doesn’t matter. The bottom line here is that the failure of the Colorado River governance community as a whole to work out these details means some of the most water-poor communities in the nation continue to not have water, while the people blocking the agreement do have water.

Let me say that twice, for emphasis: Communities that do have water are blocking access to water for their neighbors who don’t have water.

That’s not OK.

A functional Colorado River governance community would have been able to solve this. Its failure, rooted in parochial attempts by communities to protect their own water supply, is a concrete demonstration of how hollow talk about Tribal inclusion really is.

Do better.

 

Dying embers

Matt Pearce, formerly of the LA Times, shares the sadness I feel about the calling to which I devoted so much of my life:

One of the odd experiences of this week’s local disaster for me was that it was my first in years where I wasn’t working in a newsroom, a privileged position where information from your colleagues pummels you in the face through nonpublic channels like Slack. This time, I’m a civilian. And this time, the user experience of getting information about a disaster unfolding around me was dogshit.

 

 

Lousy Rio Grande snowpack, but the runoff forecast is not as bad as I thought!

The January NRCS Rio Grande runoff forecast is lousy: a mid-point forecast of 65 percent of average at Otowi (upstream of Albuquerque) and 37 percent of average at San Marcial (downstream of Albuquerque). Based on the current snowpack, I expected worse. Forecaster Karl Wetlaufer, in the email distributing the numbers, explains:

After a wet start to the water year conditions have become drier as of late in the Rio Grande basin. In general January forecasts are for below normal volumes across much of the basin with the exception of some headwaters points in Colorado. This temporal pattern of moisture accumulation has also led to a large discrepancy between water year precipitation and snowpack, as much of the precipitation for the water year was received before the primary snowpack began to accumulate. Forecast models utilize both precipitation and snowpack for forecast values may be higher than you would anticipate in looking at snowpack alone. Particularly in much of New Mexico. It is worth bearing in mind that early season precipitation adds to the soil moisture which can in turn aid in springtime runoff efficiency.

Wetlaufer also reminds us that there’s a lot of snowpack season ahead of us. The numbers above are the median forecast. The one-in-ten wettest side (10 percent exceedence) is ~115% of average at Otowi, and the one-in-ten dry (90 percent exceedence) is less than 20% of average.

Forecast plots here.

Can “Floating Pools” be the template for future management of the Colorado River?

By Eric Kuhn and Jack Schmidt

The press coverage of the December 2024 Colorado River Water Users Association (CRWUA) meeting mostly focused on the ongoing stalemate between representatives of the Upper and Lower Division States over their competing proposals for how the Colorado River Systems’ big reservoirs will be operated after the 2007 Interim Guidelines terminate in 2026.  The headlines included words such as “turbulent”, “bitter”, “bluster”, and “spar”. Indeed, there was tension in the air, and the potential for interstate litigation was a topic of much discussion both on the formal agenda and in the hallways where, traditionally, progress is often made between competing interests.

While the press focus on the tension and divisiveness was unavoidable, I believe that there were good reasons for some guarded optimism.

For the ongoing effort to renegotiate the post-2026 operating guidelines, a consortium of seven environmental NGOs has also made a detailed proposal.  Their proposal is referred to as the “Cooperative Conservation” proposal. One of the four action alternatives that Reclamation will analyze, Alternative #3, is patterned after the NGO submittal.  At CRWUA, John Berggren of Western Resource Advocates, who along with Jennifer Pitt and others prepared the proposal, made a presentation on the proposal.  Like the other submitted proposals, the cooperative conservation alternative proposes sophisticated operational rules for Lakes Mead and Powell based on combined system storage and actual hydrology. Where the Cooperative Conservation proposal breaks new ground is the concept of a Conservation Reserve Pool, and this idea could lead the basin toward a practical on-the-ground solution. Indeed, the Gila River Indian Community introduced at CRWUA a similar concept in the form of a Federal Protection Pool made up of stored water in both Lake Powell and Lake Mead. These proposals, taken separately, together, or in some combined and moderated form, might serve as a catalyst for compromise.

As proposed, both the Conservation Reserve Pool and the Federal Protection Pool would be filled with water conserved by reductions in consumptive use and perhaps augmentation from programs in both basins and this water could be stored anywhere in the system. This water would be “operationally neutral” and thus invisible to the underlying system management operating rules. From an accounting perspective, this Pool would “float” above other water in the reservoirs. Floating Pools operate separately from and above the prior appropriation system of water allocation on the Lower River and are invisible to the rules that dictate annual releases from Glen Canyon Dam. Thus, these proposals impart important operational flexibility.  In many ways, Floating Pools split the baby—they incentivize innovative conservation measures that allow participants to find value they would not have been able to realize under the prior appropriation system—yet they insulate the prior appropriation system and thus are more protective of higher-priority water users than operationally non-neutral ICS.  It’s a stretch to say there is something here for everyone, but there may be enough to kick-start otherwise stalled conversations.

In their proposal, the Lower Division States have offered to take up to 1.5 maf/year of mainstem shortages. Where the two basins remain deadlocked is what happens in those years when shortages exceed the amount the Lower Division States are willing to accept.  The Lower Division States have proposed that the two basins share the additional required shortages up to a maximum shortage of 3.9 maf/year.  The Upper Division States have said, “No, because we already suffer large hydrologic shortages in dry years, and we have not used our full compact entitlement; the Lower Division should cover all of the shortages.” In their presentation, however, the Upper Division Commissioners (UCRC members) left the door open for continuing discussions between the two divisions. In his remarks, New Mexico Commissioner Estevan Lopez stated that under what he referred to as “parallel activities”, the Upper Division States might be willing to discuss conserving “100,000, maybe 200,000 acre-feet per year.”

Water in Floating Pools could be used for a variety of purposes including environmental management, fostering binational programs, and supplementing scheduled water deliveries. During his CRWUA presentation, John Berggren mentioned an obvious use for this pool.  Water stored in the Pool by conserved consumptive use programs in the Upper Division States could be used as an Upper Division contribution during years when mainstem shortages to the Lower Division States exceed a negotiated amount.  Of course, the Lower Basin is unlikely to accept Upper Basin creation of Floating Pools made up of water for which there is no current consumptive use. This water is already “system water” and is now being used by existing Lower Basin water agency. Thus, it would be necessary to develop a program to account for and certify savings in the Upper Basin.  Further, the thorny problem of shepherding (legally protecting the conserved water so that it ends up in system storage) needs to be overcome. For a perspective on this issue, see Heather Sacket. Undeveloped Tribal water is a controversial sticking-point in this regard, with strong feelings and strong arguments on all sides.

If the Upper Division States were to conserve 200,000 acre-feet per year for five years and deposit that saved water in a conservation reserve “Floating Pool”, something like 900,000 acre-feet could be available for shortage sharing (after accounting for reservoir evaporation). (We use 900,000 af as an example only, how much water the Upper Division States would have to contribute and maintain in a Floating Pool would have to be negotiated between the two divisions.)  In their presentation, the Lower Division principals pointed out that had their proposal been in place beginning in 2007, there has yet to be a year when shortage sharing would have been required. Note, this conclusion is very sensitive to “initial conditions.” In 2007, total storage in Lake Mead and Lake Powell was about 8 maf more than it is today. If the 21st century hydrology continues, shortages greater than 1.5 maf/year are likely to occur.

What would the Upper Division States get in return?  During the term of the new post-2026 operating guidelines (which we all assume will also be “interim”), the Upper Division would benefit by the Lower Division agreeing to remove the threat of litigation over a “compact call.” For a perspective on the potential impacts of a “call” in Colorado see The Risks and Potential Impacts of a Colorado River Compact Curtailment on Colorado River In-Basin and Transmountain Water Rights Within Colorado.

Carefully crafted with appropriate guardrails, Floating Pool concepts can be a catalyst for compromise between the two divisions that give both parties something they need.

How do Floating Pool alternatives fit with the Schmidt, Kuhn, Fleck management approach?  Based on our conversations with the authors of the cooperative conservation proposal, we believe the two approaches agree — that our management proposal fits on top of and complements their proposal quite well.  In my presentation at CRWUA, I emphasized that, like future hydrology, there is great uncertainty in the future needs of the river’s ecosystem and society’s values.  It’s almost a certainty that in the future, prescribed annual releases from Glen Canyon Dam will cause an unacceptable and unanticipated outcome to some river or reservoir resource. When that happens, our flexible management approach and accounting system keeps the basins “whole.”

Is using the concept of Floating Pools as a catalyst to break the stalemate between the two basins without warts? – of course not.  There are important considerations regarding the use of undeveloped water—Tribal or otherwise, and the devil is in the details when it comes to developing appropriate guardrails for annual and total accumulation in such a Pool, the number and type of participants, annual debits, and other important qualifications. Even conserving 100,000 acre-feet per year in the Upper Division States, with acceptable verification, could be a stretch, especially if there is less federal money in the future, as there almost certainly will be.  Finally, it might put off addressing fundamental problems with the law of the river until the new post-2026 operating rules again expire. When they do, the 1922 Compact and 1944 Treaty with Mexico will still be in place, and these agreements collectively allocate 17.5 maf/year of consumptive use on a river that is only producing 13-13.5 maf/year of water at the international boundary (and runoff continues to decline).  What the Floating Pool concept might accomplish is to significantly reduce the temptation and threat of unpredictable interstate litigation, keep the basin’s stakeholders talking to each other, and give us time to move toward more foundational change in how the river is managed.

“the sensation of vastness”

Desert scrub landscape in the foreground with a ridge of dark mountains in the distance, a blue sky, and a barely visible crescent moon.

The Sandia Mountains, seen from Rio Rancho, New Mexico. Jan. 5, 2025, by John Fleck

We took the New Mexico Rail Runner train north for yesterday’s bike ride to Bernalillo, crossed over the Rio Grande, and worked our way down through the weird neighborhoods of Rio Rancho, New Mexico. The homes in that part of Rio Rancho are scattered one-offs, with a lot of unpaved roads wrapping their way up and down, in and out of arroyos where water has sculpted a desert mesa.

On every one of the ups – every one – were were gifted with these amazing views of a desert valley and the Sandia mountains and their alluvial fans.

Kyle Paoletta has a marvelous description in his terrific new book American Oasis of what it’s like being a westerner living on the east coast.

The only setting I’ve found that can approximate the sensation of vastness bestowed by cresting a ridge in the desert and then watching the titanic bowl of an arid valley extend out the other side is the Cape Cod National Seashore.

We felt that “sensation of vastness” approximately umpty times yesterday as we topped one rise after another. It never gets old.

(Kyle’s book will be out next week, I strongly recommend it, I’ve got an advance reader copy, and I’ll be having a conversation with Kyle Jan. 23 at Bookworks in Albuquerque if you’re in this particular town.)

2024 on the bike

Large red dinosaur sculpture surrounded by a low fence with a bicycle leaning against the fence and the shadow of the photographer poking into the bottom right corner of the picture.

Shadow selfie with dinosaur and bike.

My usual Sunday riding buddy was gone last week, so I took my road bike out for a longer-than-usual spin, out past the dinosaur sculpture I call “My Red Friend.” I got the requisite Blake’s breakfast burrito early (they’re the right shape to fit in a bike shirt pocket, and properly nibbled over time can fuel four or five hours on the bike, which is as much as I’m capable of).

Most of my long Sunday rides these days are on my e-bike, a happy accommodation for my age. But I’d been riding the road bike lately for my around-town rides, and it’s so much fun – light, playful.

I’ve been riding since forever, raced a bit (and poorly) when I was younger, but it’s only been in the last decade, in my crazy new life as an academic, that I’ve had the work life flexibility to ride as much as I want. This year, that was an average of an hour a day (364 total hours on the bike through Dec. 29), and it’s a very important hour.

I read an essay (I can’t find it, sorry.) a few years back by a neuroscientist who also was a cyclist and meditated, about cycling and flow. Flow, popularized by the psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, is the experience of being so connected with an activity that everything else slips away. At its best, cycling offers that up for me, as I move through space and my mind is fully enveloped in the space I’m moving through, and the activity of moving through it. Part of it I suppose is the rhythmic nature of the pedaling. Part of it is feeling one with the bike, like it’s an extension of my body. (The road bike above, my All-City, does that. The e-bike less so – it’s big and demands my body’s attention to muscle it in a way that the road bike doesn’t. I have to think more on the e-bike.)

The bike rides over the last five years became an integral part of the research for our book, which is about Albuquerque’s relationship with the Rio Grande. There were some specific “book research” rides, to see specific places and things we were writing about. But the more important connection was the sense of the relationship between the human and natural landscape that came from moving across that landscape over and over again on a bike – the feel I got for the geography, the intuitions about how the pieces of our community fit together.

As you can see from the map below, I ride everywhere.

Bernalillo to Belen

Map of Central New Mexico with colored square tiles along the Rio Grande from top to bottom.

2024 on the bike

The combination of the Rail Runner (New Mexico’s commuter train) and the e-bike made it possible again this year to cover the Rio Grande Valley from Bernalillo on the north to Jarales on the south, more than 50 miles of river valley (Not all at once!). We GPS all our rides, and a “tile” (squares a bit more than a mile on a side) is colored if I visited it over the course of the year.

Without meaning too, it seems I rode nearly all of urbanized Albuquerque, short a few neighborhoods in the far northwest and out on the edges of Rio Rancho. Goal for 2025!

Of special note on this map are those scattered squares up in the mountains east of town. Those are hikes. Between my bad knee and arthritic feet, I’d resigned myself to never hiking again, but diligent physical therapy and ridiculously expensive marathon shoes have opened up a new kind of flow. (I cannot run a marathon. I can barely run across a street if a car is coming. But the carbon fiber plates in fancy marathon shoes really help my feet.)

One of the games we play is Wandrer. You feed it your GPS traces and Wandrer’s elves figure out which roads you’ve ridden, and which roads you haven’t. It’s a hoot (“Number go up!”), encouraging me to visit new places. I’ve been riding in weirdly wandering ways for so long that there are fewer and fewer roads in Albuquerque I haven’t ridden, but I’ll never run out. Between that and the tiling games (that’s “tiling” on the map on the right) there is endless gamification of the bike ride, even for an old guy for whom going fast is no longer an option.

Final 2024 stats

With two days to go, including all my hikes and walks and such:

  • Total distance: 3,581 miles
  • Total tiles: 355
  • Total time: 574 hours
  • Total new Wandrer miles, Bernalillo County: 252
  • Eddington number (the largest value for “n” such that I’ve gone “n” miles on “n” days this year): 31 miles, 43 km

Inkstain 2024 – y’all really like Eric Kuhn’s writing

If traffic to this blog is an indicator, y’all are really interested in thoughtful independent analysis of the standard talking points in the Colorado River negotiations. Also, the work of my longtime collaborator Eric Kuhn (which is unsurprising, I’ve long been really interested in Eric’s work).

Three of the four most-read Inkstain posts this year were Eric’s (one of the three a double-byline piece with me):

  1. No Simple Disputes, Eric’s explanation of the problems posed by the failure to define “consumptive use,” and how that failure weakens the Upper Basin’s argument about Lower Basin tributary use. (Eric’s version is wonky, I came back a day later to de-wonkify it for Inkstain readers, though Eric’s technical version got way more reads.)
  2. The Compact Tripwire, a post Eric and I wrote together on the risk of total Upper Basin deliveries past Lee Ferry dropping below 82.5 million acre feet over a ten-year period, and the risk of Compact litigation that sets up.
  3. What happens if there is no agreement on post-2026 Colorado River Management is Eric’s dive into the rules that would apply if we don’t have any agreement or federal intervention – Eric’s version of the “no action alternative.”

(The fourth was a weird riff on the Russian anarchist thinker from the late 1800s-early 1900s Peter Kropotkin, a pair of wire cutters, and a pedestrian alley behind the gas station by my house. It had a bit of a viral moment, though my efforts to think through the connection between Kropotkin and Colorado River governance failed.)