Meet our Guests: James Henderson

James Henderson

Vice President, Colorado Agriculture Bureau

Walsenburg, CO 

October 25, 2024

It was a sunny October morning on the shores of Lathrop State Park and the Spanish Peaks were mirrored on the reservoir’s still surface. The Westies sat in a circle with cushiony sand underfoot while we talked with James Henderson about the ins and outs of Colorado water usage. James is the Vice President of Colorado' s Agriculture Bureau and his family has been farming alfalfa and cattle in the San Luis Valley since 1882. He graduated from Colorado State University with a degree in Natural Resource Policy and outdoor recreation. 

James describes the basics of the Colorado water rights system while exuberantly gesturing to our surroundings. The Colorado water system works by prior appropriation– meaning first in time first in rights. The earliest water rights belong to the Peoples Ditch in San Luis in 1852, before Colorado even became a state in 1876. Those who have water rights must use it to benefit the people of Colorado. Your water right is based on historical use and how much is consumed. For example, when irrigating crops, the water the farmers have the right to is the water taken in by the crops and not percolated into the water table. James also covered the tensions caused by water– those between community members, the east and west divide, as well as between the states.

Since James is an alfalfa farmer, we asked him why alfalfa, a water-intensive crop, is grown so readily in dry regions of the country. James told us, “It's basically a conversation about free market economics.” We were all at the edge of our seats as he started to discuss the role of economics in farming. It was a new subject that had not been covered much throughout the semester. Also, farms are valuable for wildlife because of the creation of green space– a place that is not developed, James says. 

James is a problem solver who likes to work with the system to create solutions for both the agriculture bureau and his family farm. His love for farming comes from his family ties to the San Luis valley. “You gotta understand that that's in my DNA for like, 142 years now, the stewardship of the land, the producing a product that people literally can't live without. My product keeps civilization intact.”

by Caitlyn Taylor

Meet our Guests: Willie Myers

Willie Myers

Potato Farmer, Mountain Valley Produce

Del Norte, CO

October 23, 2024

We’re swimming in statistics: wells pump 800 gallons per minute, 50 million potatoes sit in a shed, and an 8000-foot-deep aquifer runs under layers of stratified sediment. Willie Myers, a sixth-generation farmer whose family has tended this land for over 150 years, speaks quickly as numbers flow from his lips. It seems his brain operates in zeros and ones. 

At 7,500 feet above sea level, Mountain Valley Produce sits in the high desert of Colorado’s San Luis Valley. In a valley of methodically constructed crop circles, he owns just twelve. Due to the ever-variable economics of farming, Willie consolidated his operation to focus on producing organic potatoes: fingerlings, purples, yellows, and russets.

While Willie’s parents lived by the adage “The trashcan is just as good a customer as any,” producing over all else, he takes a different approach. A $30,000 monthly water bill and environmental lawsuits targeting his farm push him to think in terms of water scarcity. Willie involves himself in water conservation working groups where he deciphers convoluted water policy and envisions a sustainable future for farmers. Water is limited, yet water is life.

In America, where oligopolies run consumer markets and smaller farmers “perpetually gamble” in our continuously changing climate, the future of farming is grim. Willie says matter-of-factly, “I’m not terribly optimistic about the future. I do it because it’s in my blood.” 

by Ava Frans

Meet our Guests: Steve Wolff and Mo Rock

Steve Wolff and Mo Rock

Southwestern Water Conservation District General Manager and Programs Coordinator

Durango, Colorado

October 22, 2024

We met with Steve and Mo alongside the Animas River under a riparian area of quaking aspens, their fall leaves gleaming in the afternoon sun. These two are the entirety of Southwestern Water Conservation District. Together, they fight for water conservation on Colorado's western side of the Continental Divide. 

Eighty percent of Colorado’s population lives on the Eastern side of the continental divide, and the same proportion of the state's water is on the West. 26 diversion projects exist from west to east. Together, Steve and Mo advise litigation and monitor diversion projects so that as much water as possible stays on the western side of the state for the rural communities with less of a voice than the larger eastern metropolitan areas. 

An essential part of a healthy summer river flow is the snowpack reservoir in the mountains. Climate change is reducing the amount of snowpack created, and making spring melt occur earlier in the year. One of the strategies Southwestern Water Conservation District works on is weather modification through cloud seeding. Particulates are dispersed in the clouds to encourage more precipitation recovery from winter storms over the mountains and increasing the snowpack reservoir. 

Working in court cases and community outreach, the duo has many roles that keep them busy. This was a perfect stop to wrap up our visit to Durango, CO.

by Annika Schwartz

Meet our Guests: Susan Behery

Susan Behery

Hydraulic Engineer

Durango, CO

October 19, 2024

Over the course of two days, we were provided insight on the inner workings of a hydrological engineer’s mind. Susan Behery works for the Bureau of Reclamation in the San Juan River Basin. She is responsible for operating the Navajo Dam, working on the Animas-La Plata Project, and supporting the development of other reclamation objectives. Susan has been working with The Bureau of Reclamation for since 2012, with over 15 years of experience in hydrological engineering. With her guidance, we were also able to learn from her colleagues Danielle Urich, Kelsey Deckert, and Brett Griffin. 

The Navajo Dam was finished in 1962 with the goal of flood and sediment control, recreation, and to provide water to the Navajo Indian Irrigation Project (NIIP). Due to a lack of federal funding and a shortage of infrastructure within the Navajo Reservation to financially support this project, 62 years later the goal of NIIP has not been achieved. The reservation has still been unable to receive adequate water supply, leaving many homes without running water. Susan expresses hope that the completion of the project is in sight, and the water held by the dam will be diverted to the Navajo Reservation, fulfilling the settlement agreement. Highly accomplished in her field, Susan was an excellent resource to help us wrap our head around some of the many complexities of her work.

by Kiana Potter

Meet our Hosts: Joe Pachak

Joe Pachak

Artist and Archaeologist

Bluff, UT

October 14 - 15, 2024

“Oh, here's a very good stand, a very fresh sage…take a pinch and smell it. It’s a beautiful, beautiful smell.” That’s Joe Pachak, artist and archaeologist of Bluff, Utah. Addressing the group, his voice is a captivating whisper, words spoken slowly and enunciated with a humble sincerity. Originally from Pueblo Colorado, Joe was drafted into the military in 1968 before he could get his highschool diploma. 2 years later as a helicopter guard, he was flying across the country when he happened to pass over Bluff. “I looked down and I said, an oasis in the desert!... I didn’t get back to bluff for 20 some years, but I feel metaphysically drawn to this place…I see a connection through time. I can count the steps for me to get here.” Now having lived in Bluff for decades, Joe is a beacon of knowledge and care.

Hiking together through Butler Wash, Joe stops every few steps to point out details invisible to the untrained eye: yellow ochre can be used for pigment, oakleaf sumac berries make a vitamin C rich soup, the morphology of a chert flake reveals a hertzian cone. Arriving at a water carved sandstone alcove, we carefully gather around an ancestral puebloan home. “What we're seeing is truly an amazing sight that's been ripped to holy hell. It has been disregarded.” Describing the stylistic details of the masonry, equal parts of awe and grief color Joe’s steady stone. “If I teach you an ethic, it is that another person's culture can be as sacred as yours, and it's not a possession. It's a concept. It's an idea. It grew over time and has evolved into something magnificent… if only we could understand. If we tear it up, there's no understanding whatsoever. If we don't have reverence for it, it doesn't mean anything to us.” Joe’s reverence is apparent, as is his dedication to this place and his community. The Westies couldn’t be more honored to have been given just a small piece of the inspiration Joe has to offer. 

by Ben Anderson

Meet our Guests: Nan Seymour and Eli Nixon

Nan Seymour and Eli Nixon

Lake-facing poet and activist; Artist and author

Salt Lake City, UT

October 12, 2024

How do you save a place historically deemed as a wasteland? And: celebration as resistance

“This is not normal. If there’s even a normal left,” Nan Seymour declares on the shores of the Great Salt Lake. 

It’s mid-morning and the sun is already blazing hot overhead, shimmering on the horizon of the Kennecott Copper Mine smelter behind us. Water levels in the Great Salt Lake have been on the decline for decades due to climate change and overuse: the lake is a closed basin, meaning it has no outlet. Water and minerals deposited there from the three tributaries: the Jordan, Weber, and Bear rivers, stay in the Great Salt Lake. Or, in recent years, are evaporated en masse causing the salinity of the water to increase as levels drop. 

Like many saline lakes, the Great Salt Lake has been historically seen as useless and a waste of water, making conservation efforts exceedingly difficult. The lake now occupies 950 square miles, a far cry from the 3,300 square miles of 1987. Continued rapid evaporation has led researchers to estimate that if no policy is enacted the lake will dry up completely in 2028 – that’s four years from now – causing a mass die off of endemic brine shrimp, and a loss of migration habitat for the largest populations of Eared Grebes and Wilson’s Phalaropes on the Pacific Flyway. 

The then dry lake basin would begin to stir up toxic dust storms endangering surrounding cities, creating a reality similar to that of communities around the Salton Sea and the Owens Dry Lake in California. Salt Lake City, Utah already ranks 14th in the world for worst air quality. The exponential increase of worsening air quality would contribute to higher cancer and asthma rates, especially on the west side of the lake, one of the lowest income regions in the Great Salt Lake Basin. 

So, how do you save a place historically deemed a wasteland?

This is where Nan Seymour comes in. She calls herself a lake-facing poet, keeping vigil for the quickly evaporating saline body of water. To her, the Great Salt Lake is a relational and ethical crisis, the “culture of disdain” being the driving factor behind the leniency in enacting policy to keep the lake at a habitable level. Nan spent forty days living on Antelope Island through the dead of winter during the 2022 Utah legislative session as an act of resistance, drawing attention to the lake. Her time on the island on the shores of the lake was spent writing and collecting poetry of the Great Salt Lake from community members, eventually compiled into a book, “Irreplaceable,” with over 1,400 lines of poetry from scientists, activists, and community members praising the lake and the life it fosters. Our time with Nan is spent in celebration – sitting and observing the lake life, writing poems and letters, and singing a song of support to the salty waters.

Later, we meet Nan on the Jordan River to assist with a community art build. In 2022, seeing the need for continued political action to protect the Great Salt Lake, Nan with the help of community members and artist Eli Nixon, activist and author of, “BLOODTIDE: A New Holiday in Homage to Horseshoe Crabs,” held the first vigil for the lake at the Utah legislative session. However, this protest looked different than many. Nan felt a call for presence and praise from the lake. So instead of picketing, Nan and her group turned to building puppets of endemic life of the Great Salt Lake. Protesters clad in paper mache brine shrimp and Wilson’s Phalarope costumes held billowing blue fabric in their interconnected hands dancing and singing their praises to the lake. 

It’s an honor to assist the group at the art build: Eli is the ring leader, directing us and other community members to help with cutting fabric for giant puppets, painting orange pelican pouches, and making paper mache pelican heads and hats in various sizes. The atmosphere is excitedly frantic as we work together to complete these art pieces. The hours fly by and with our project nearly complete, we all participate in a gesture of protest – students clad in still drying pelican hats, bedazzled brine shrimp costumes, holding up Wilson’s Phalarope puppets and the rippling blue fabric reminiscent of the salty lake waters circled around a central accordion-playing brine shrimp to sing and dance together. Celebration is the most powerful form of resistance, Eli reminds us, leaving us with the hopeful notion that we will all live to see the Great Salt Lake rise again.

by Gwen Marbet

Meet our Guests: Jude Schuenemeyer

Jude Schuenemeyer

Co-founder of the Montezuma Orchard Restoration Project

Cortez, CO

October 16, 2024

After leaving the desert of Southeastern Utah and heading for Durango, Colorado, we made a stop in Cortez, Colorado to meet with Jude Schuenemeyer, the co-founder of the Montezuma Orchard Restoration Project (MORP). MORP aims to restore forgotten and nearly extinct varieties of rare apples to the Colorado region. 

Jude began by showing us how to graft two apple trees together, skillfully creating two ‘Y’-shaped twigs with his grafting knife that slotted perfectly into each other. Jude’s passion and knowledge were ever-present as he spoke lovingly about the history of apple growing in Montezuma County and the people who laid the groundwork for him to continue their important documentation and preservation work. He emphasized the importance of preservation; of the 20,000 historic apple varieties, only 6,000-8,000 remain. The preservation means more to Jude than just a number, though. He sees lessons in his work that apply to our own lives. Jude believes “people and apples are very much alike” and that “we are all seedlings,” noting the relationships built on love and care required to raise and support humans and apples. 

We learned about the difficult, colonial legacy of apples as well. Jude explained that during the American Revolution, George Washington ordered all of the orchards in the Seneca village to be cut down, killing them by starvation. However, when soldiers arrived at the orchards, after burning down houses and food supplies, they didn’t want to cut down the apple trees. They were unprepared for the realization that these people they saw as inferior could have grown such beautiful, well-tended orchards. As America began to take shape, orchards became a staple of wealthy plantation owners like Washington and Thomas Jefferson, whose trees were most likely planted, grafted, and tended to by slaves. Jude was vocal about the importance of confronting, acknowledging, and learning from history, no matter how hard doing that can be. 

Today, Jude feels he’s doing things the right way. Working out in the field daily, he feels a sense of relaxation. He noted the difficulties of running a non-profit organization in a rural area but emphasized that the people, place, and work make it all worthwhile. 

It was a pleasure to meet with Jude for an afternoon, and we left feeling inspired by his words and his passion for his work. Plus, we were nourished by the delicious apples and apple juice that he so graciously gave us. 

by Theo Rollman

Meet our Guests: Dan Strauch

Dan Strauch

Legislative Advocate for Utah Audubon Council

Salt Lake City, UT

October 11, 2024

The sun pierces our skin. It’s fourteen degrees above average temperatures as we sit along the salty shores of Antelope Island. Perched in the southeastern corner of the Great Salt Lake, Antelope Island is the center of the lake’s universe. Indigenous creation stories abound on these shores.

A rectangle, a large oval, and two zig-zagging lines appear on a stark white poster board. Dan Strauch, Legislative Advocate for the Utah Audubon Council, furiously scribbles a map of Utah before our eyes. The map’s simplicity quickly complicates as he draws a railroad causeway across the Great Salt Lake’s length. The concrete causeway artificially divides the lake’s salinity. The top half, 25% salt, no longer supports life. Despite the bottom half being four times saltier than the ocean, brine shrimp, nematodes, and flies still flourish. 

Ten million birds rely upon Utah’s Great Salt Lake. Whether staying as a full-time resident or just passing through, the lake’s surrounding wetlands are an oasis amidst a desolate desert. The Eared Grebe, Wilson’s Phalarope, and Red-necked Phalarope are the only bird species adapted to survive in the lake’s waters. Such saline conditions are nearly impossible to thrive in, yet they persist.

Dan, an avid birder of twenty-plus years, approaches his policy advocacy as if looking through a pair of birding binoculars. Birds are bellwethers, indicators of environmental stress. When he noticed Wilson’s Phalaropes on the decline, he spoke up. Alongside the Utah Audubon Council, he filed to list them as endangered under the Endangered Species Act. 

The lake currently sits at 4,195 feet above sea level, just three feet short of the determined “healthy level.” Although the Wilson’s Phalarope has yet to be recognized as endangered, the petition is a stepping stone to greater awareness surrounding the dire state of terminal lakes. The Great Salt Lake, and its dear bird kin, will rise again.

by Ava Frans

Meet our Guests: Carlin Gold Trend Mine

Carlin Gold Trend Mine

Carlin, NV

October 9, 2024

It was completely missed during the Gold Rush. Fifty million years ago, in what is now northeastern Nevada, gold-rich fluids traveled through porous rock fissures and folds caused by a tectonic collision; miniscule particles of gold chemically bonded to arsenic-rich pyrite, making them invisible to the naked eye. Today, the Carlin Trend Gold Mine flies under the radar as one of the largest gold mining districts in the world. In its entirety, the Gold Rush produced around 12 million ounces of gold- Carlin Trend has produced over 100 million. 

“It’s a pretty magical place.” Economic geologist Joe Becker stood at a strikingly tall 6’7 and spoke at a rapid pace. In a small conference room, he outlined the many steps carried out by the 7,800 employees: modeling, long-term planning, geometallurgy, evaluation and strategy, ore control, and reconciliation. In a historically challenging industry, Carlin trend is seeking to change the culture of mining. This includes cultivating what they called the “mining ecosystem,” which includes investing in surrounding communities and providing mental health support for their employees. 

We drove to a point that offered a panoramic view of one section of the mining operation; an unrecognizable landscape stretched for miles, composed of man-made craters, tailings piles, terraced pits and an industrial district at the center. Trucks moved around on the temporary roads, spraying piles to prevent harmful dust carrying away on the wind. From above, the operation looked like a miniature toy set in a sandbox. However, this is no game: the scale of operation was a sobering reminder of the capacity of humans to alter a landscape on a massive scale. When asked what the area would look like after they finished mining, Joe pointed at distant hills covered in sage brush, where the land has been reclaimed and re-contoured. The one thing they can’t do much about is their large open pits, which he says will turn into lakes. Actually, they’ve seen birds nest along high walls of open pits: “we’re unintentionally creating new habitat.”

In one of the recently mined pits, Joe and the others let us search the massive rock piles, helping us find ones with sulfur or pyrite composition that likely contained gold. To our excitement, we were allowed to keep them- although there was no chance we could get out the gold without their equipment, laughed Joe. “This is a business of scale,” he reminded us. It would take 220 truckloads of these rocks to produce a single bar of gold. For the last part of the day, we toured the industrial complex where the ore is processed depending on its chemical composition with high amounts of heat, oxygen, pressure, and- surprisingly- coconut shells, rich in carbon. “Either mother nature does it over millions of years for us, or we do it in a matter of…  hours.” 

At the end of the day, Joe repeated his most frequent message; “if it can’t be grown, it is mined.” He acknowledged that resource extraction is a destructive industry, but he gestured at our synthetic shirts, iPhones, and metal zippers, pointing out that mined materials are “the glue that holds everything together around us.” He also mentioned copper and lithium in electric vehicles, adding that “if you believe in the green economy, you absolutely believe in mining.” During our long day at the Carlin Trend, we saw what the essential and improving- though inherently destructive- mining industry looks like in the modern United States. 

by Alice O’Brien

Meet our Guests: Abigail MacKay

Abigail MacKay

Environmental Educator for Friends of Great Salt Lake

Antelope Island, UT

October 11, 2024

The Great Salt Lake’s briny waters expand into the stillness of the horizon; the smell of stale dry salt lingers through the warm breeze and a hot sun shines down onto the sand nestled in between my toes. It is 15 degrees hotter than average for autumn in Salt Lake City. Here we meet with Abigail MacKay, an environmental educator with Friends of Great Salt Lake, an organization dedicated to protecting the essential waters of Salt Lake. 

Part of Abigail’s job is guiding field trips on the lake shores for school groups, and her passion for environmental education was present throughout our time with her. She explains that her love for enacting change drew her to studying law, but she soon discovered that the best way to make a populous change in the world is through education. By digging in the oolitic sand, building water basin models with fourth graders and opening their eyes to water conservation Abigail is changing the world. Not to mention it is fun, “Taking kids outside is just the best thing ever.” 

After playing in the sand, catching brine shrimp, wading in salty waters then watching the salt crystallize on our feet as the sun wicked away the wetness of the lake, we made our way back to the parking lot. We ask Abigail about the complexities of water rights in the area and the community’s response to conservation efforts. Water is a contentious issue and as we look out over the glassy waters, I can imagine a hopeful future for this lake. A lake with high waters and a bustling refuge for birds as it once was.  

by Cameron Collister

Meet our Guests: Russ Thurow

Russ Thurow

Emeritus Fisheries Biologist

Stanley, Idaho

September 20, 2024

In a circle of chairs nestled in the hills of the White Clouds Preserve in Central Idaho, Russ Thurow points at a Mountain Bluebird perched atop a nearby fencepost, its feathers ruffling in the wind. As an Emeritus Fisheries Biologist from the US Forest Service Rocky Mountain Research Station, Thurow joined our group to speak about salmon, the watershed they inhabit, the ecology that connects them, and the dams that divide them. Raised on a farm in rural Wisconsin, Thurow was introduced to a sense of wonder of the natural world at an early age. When he visited a navy shipyard with his father, instead of looking at the ships, he was drawn towards the starfish peaking out as the tide receded. From that moment on, he told us, he knew he wanted to be a biologist.

We traveled as a group through the charred and twisted trees of the Wapiti Fire, which had burned just months before we had arrived. We arrived at a large marshland split by a meandering stream, with the Sawtooth Mountain Range poking up in the distance. Short golden and red willows swayed and flickered in the wind, ends gnawed to a point by beavers. Thurow walked along the waters’ edge, eventually stopping to point out the outline of a salmon “redd” in the creek, a small pocket of gravel constructed by a female salmon as a spawning ground. He described the process of making such a structure, often breathlessly, as if he was watching them swim in front of his eyes. "I've tried to make them before with a shovel, and boy is it hard work. The female salmon does it all with her tail, right before spawning.”

Describing the importance of the species, Thurow said "These salmon are a part of who we are as a nation." He emphasized their significance to the tribes, to the fisherman, to the economy of the state of Idaho, to the delicate ecosystems, and their inherent natural value as beautiful animals. "[Senator] Mike Simpson called them 'One of God's most amazing creatures,’ and I think that's pretty accurate." One student asked about one of the hardest parts of his job. Thurow thought for a moment then said, "When the female salmon make it all the way back to their spawning grounds, through the whole ocean and the dams, and then die before being able to lay eggs…passing through dams tire salmon out, and sometimes, they don't have any energy left."

Ecologically speaking, in order to maintain a healthy and fluctuating population of salmon, a Smolt-to-Adult Ratio (SAR) of 2.0 is needed, so that newborn fish can repopulate those lost. Currently, the average SAR for Chinook Salmon at the upstream-most dam on the Snake River, the Lower Granite Dam, is sitting roughly at 0.7. When asked about what might happen if the Lower Snake River Dams stay in place, Thurow gave us the hard truth. "By the time my two-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter graduates high school, salmon in the Snake River Basin will be extinct."

Work done by Thurow throughout his career suggests that if the four Lower Snake River Dams were to be removed, populations could rebound four-fold. "Snake River Salmonids can't be recovered with eight dams in place. With only four, it's possible." Despite the immense task of actually having the dams removed looming over him, he never loses hope. Seeing their persistence and determination to leap waterfalls and cross oceans, he feels inspired. To continue fighting, just as they do. "Salmon never give up,” he said, “so neither do I."

by Henry Anderson

Meet our Hosts: People of Red Mountain (Atsa Koodakuh Wyh Nuwu)

Chanda Calloa, Myron Smart, Cale Christi, Ka’ila Farrell-Smith, and Gary McKinney

People of Red Mountain (Atsa Koodakuh wyh Nuwu)

Fort McDermitt, NV

October 8, 2024

In the morning light as Westies set out cheesy eggs and toast, Chanda Calloa, Myron Smart, Cale Christi, Ka’ila Farrell-Smith, and Gary McKinney, all members of the organization People of Red Mountain (Atsa Koodakuh wyh Nuwu), filtered into camp. As everyone exchanged greetings and collected breakfast, Cale and Ka’ila’s two happy-go-lucky black dogs wagged through the kitchen, closely followed by Chanda’s young child. People of Red Mountain is a group composed mostly of Paiute, Shoshone, and Bannock people fighting against the mining of the McDermitt Caldera (located in northern Nevada) by Lithium Nevada. They have connections to the land and mining protest through family and tribal history and history of environmental and Indigenous activism. 

Looking out at the floor of the sage-covered caldera from which Lithium Nevada plans to extract lithium within the next few years, Westies listened to the songs, stories, and concerns of the People of Red Mountain. In contrast to geologist Randal Burns’ explanation of the planned lithium mine’s benign and even beneficial potential, these speakers expressed concern for their community’s health, frustration with the mine’s disregard of their objections, and sadness at the past and ongoing harms to Indigenous people in the area. As a chorus of deeply personal voices in opposition to the mine, the People of Red Mountain emphasized that lithium mining does not yield “green” results, as it is often said to because of battery production, when it harms the land, water, and people and necessitates the creation of “sacrifice zones.”

Ka’ila explained that for People of Red Mountain’s activism to have an impact, “you have to fight the narrative…. The more people that learn about this and hear the other side of this is really important.”

by Juliette Silvers

Meet our Guests: Randal Burns

Randal Burns

Chief Geologist with Lithium Nevada

Thacker Pass, NV

October 7, 2024

We spent a day with Randal Burns, the chief geologist for Lithium America touring the area of the Thacker Pass mine in Northern Nevada. It’s currently set to become the largest lithium mining operation in North America. As electric vehicles and battery technologies become further promised as important parts of the green energy movement, lithium has become the keystone element in their production. 

His passion for the project was clear as he taught us about the geologic formations of the area and why the lithium deposits were so high-quality. They were formed by an old lake bed, where lithium had been leached by ground water and deposited in the lake bed, composed of uniquely soft rock. Randal was excited to speak about the extensive environmental and ecological surveys of the area that have gone into the planning for this mine. He showed us hundreds of feet of core samples from the deposits, drilling deep into the Earth to examine the lithium content. He explained that this mine should set a new standard regarding its lack of impact on the surrounding people, animals, and environment. In conducting extensive surveys of groundwater contamination, ecological impact on flora and fauna, and economic analysis of the mine’s impact on the region, Randal hopes to minimize any negative impacts associated with the project. 

Mining is certainly a contentious topic, but Randal was open to acknowledging many of its past shortcomings and humanitarian issues while speaking excitedly about the future of the Thacker Pass project and how they’re going about things the right way.

A geologist at heart, his enthusiasm for his job and the rock formations he gets to explore hands-on was memorable. We learned and spoke at length about all of our passions, questions, and concerns related to the mine with Randal throughout our day with him, and we couldn’t be more thankful to him for making himself available and giving us his time. 

by Theo Rollman

Meet our Guests: Ryan Garrett

Ryan Garrett

Education Director of the Mono Lake Committee

Mono Lake & the LA aqueduct in the Mono Basin

October 4 - 5, 2024

Amongst the arid Eastern Sierra Nevada sits a blue, saline lake sitting at 6383 feet above sea level. On the briney, frothy shores of Mono Lake, Ryan Garrett, Education Director of the Mono Lake Committee, tells us why Mono Lake’s water level has receded 34 feet since the tributaries of Mono Lake started being diverted in 1941. As the city of Los Angeles exploded in population in the early 20th century, so did its demand for drinking water. As a result, the city constructed the LA aqueduct spanning from the Eastern Sierra, through the Mojave Desert, traversing nearly 330 miles. As the lake level recedes, the salinity increases, threatening the wildlife that relies on the lake ecosystem. The two organisms that can thrive in the salty waters of Mono Lake are small brine shrimp and alkali flies. Kutzadika’a people of the Mono Basin harvested the alkali fly pupae. Also known as kutsavi, these pupae are rich in fat and protein and are dried to be used in stews. These species support up to 2 million birds that stop at Mono Lake as they migrate through North and South America on the Pacific Flyway every year. Ryan leads us on a walk around the tufa towers of the lakeshores. Tufas are fossilized freshwater springs that grow under the surface of the lake, ultimately revealed by its lowered levels. As we walk along the shore, we see clouds of alkali flies swarm at our feet. 

We meet Ryan for the second day at the Mono Lake Committee building in Lee Vining; an array of nature books and Mono Lake postcards taunt us. After browsing, we begin our journey. Ryan takes us to the first stop of the day: West Portal, a former town of 1500 people, built for the purpose of tunneling the LA aqueduct through the Mono Craters. Among the concrete remnants, we put our ears to the metal roof that covers the rushing water of the aqueduct, straining to hear. Ryan then takes us to our second stop of the day: Grant lake, a reservoir nestled in the Sierra foothills. Standing upon the earthen dam, a cool breeze cuts through the heat as we listen to Ryan’s engaging tour. He leaves us with cliffhangers at every place we stop, asking us questions and leaving us to ponder in the short car rides. Grant lake is one of multiple sources of water from the Mono Basin into the LA aqueduct. Rush Creek and Lee Vining Creek are two of the original 4 creeks that are still diverted for LA's water supply, which makes up only 1% of the total water diverted. At the next couple of stops, looking out over the sagebrush and the distant gray-blue Mono Lake, Ryan explains the important role that water plays in the Mono Basin ecosystem.

by Johanna Duncan and Antonia Prinster

Meet our Guests: Carlie Henneman and Kat Dow

Carlie Henneman and Kat Dow

Director and Manager for Walker Basin Conservancy Water Program

Walker Lake, Nevada

October 3, 2024

Walker Lake and its light blue, reflective waters sits starkly against a sea of dusty sagebrush and mountainous expanse. Here, we met Carlene Henneman and Kat Dow, director and manager for the water program of Walker Basin Conservancy (WBC), an organization dedicated to preserving this oasis. 

Walker Lake is especially close to Kat’s heart, “Growing up here, I’ve never not been aware that water is an issue out here. ” The lake that once stretched over the highway has shrunk immensely, primarily due to the diversion of Walker River for agriculture. Less water flowed into the basin, and consequently, water salinity became highly concentrated. Now it is uninhabitable for fish, including the threatened Lahontan Cutthroat trout that historically thrived in Walker Lake. Consequently, migratory birds can no longer utilize the lake to rest and feed. 

Carlee and Kat speak passionately about the progress WBC has made to reverse these effects, primarily by purchasing water rights from farmers to flow into the lake. Much of the organization’s efforts are directed at restoring riparian areas with native plants. Carlee and Kat are dedicated to conserving Walker Lake and its watershed for the community as well, from creating local parks to involving youth in environmental education.

As we look upon the lake together, we can envision what this stunning landscape could look like with a recovered ecosystem- a place of refuge for fish, birds, and a thriving area of community recreation. 

by Sofia DeFanti

Meet our Guests: Mia Groff, Carlie Sharpes, & Brad Parrish

Mia Groff, Carlie Sharpes & Brad Parrish

Chemist, Ambodat Fish Hatchery; Aquaculturist, Ambodat Fish Hatchery; Water Rights Specialist, Ambodat

Chiloquin, OR

September 24, 2024

As the SITW crew drove up the driveway of the Klamath Tribes’ Ambodat facility, we observed two greenish fish ponds backdropped by an under-construction office building. Ambodat (meaning in, at, or near the water) was established in the 1980s. Their website describes their mission to “implement programs to restore and enhance the aquatic resources upon which the Tribal Members depend for their livelihood.” One of Ambodat’s main goals is restoring wild C’waam and Koptu suckerfish populations, which are endemic to Upper Klamath Lake, and are central to the Klamath tribes’ way of life.

Westies were greeted by Mia Groff, a chemist at the Sprague River Water Quality Lab at Ambadot. Mia graduated from Whitman in 2022 with a B.A. in Geology and a minor in Chemistry. “This is my van for sale, if anyone is interested,” she mentions as we walk by a built-out Ford Transit Connect.

At the edge of the Sprague River, Mia explained how the C’waam and Koptu are endangered by dam-diminished water levels and rising concentrations of toxic phosphates, thanks to volcanic rock, logging, and ranching upstream.

Aquaculturist Carlie Sharpes met us in the rearing pool room. She informed us that the bottleneck of the C’waam and Koptu project is mortality between release at ages 3-4 and sexual maturity at ages 7-9. The high temperatures, low water levels, and phosphate concentrations in Upper Klamath Lake are killing these fish before they can reproduce.

Finally, we met with Brad Parrish, a water rights specialist who manages the 1200-acre Hog Creek Ranch upstream of Upper Klamath Lake. Since the Klamath Tribes purchased the property in 2023, Brad and his team have celebrated several successes. They’ve raised the water table about a foot, transformed the landscape from barren dirt to lush grasses, and found a tui chub, a native fish previously thought to be gone from the property. Westies worked with Brad and his team of aquatic resource technicians to build two beaver dam analogs to moderate the flow of water into Upper Klamath Lake, so it doesn’t get as low in the summer. We drove home, hopeful that the dams we built would allow more C’waam and Koptu to survive the summers.

by Jackson Schroeder

Meet our Guests: Sam Allen

Sam Allen

Recent Whitman Graduate, Unemployed

Chiloquin, OR

October 1, 2024

Sam Allen drove from Lake Oswego down to our campsite on the Williamson River outside of Klamath Falls, Oregon.  A Whitman graduate of the 2024 class and a 2022 Westie, Sam Allen joined us to share his knowledge of the history of the Klamath River dams and their removal; the topic of his thesis. A familiar face, when he stepped out of his white Toyota, clad in ripped khakis and hiking boots, many members of the group excitedly rushed to greet him. Armed with the context and knowledge of the region provided by Sam Allen’s thesis, us Westies entered the Klamath primed and ready to go. Sam joined us on our excursions throughout the week as our personal on-site fact checker and we couldn't be more thankful for his presence.

by Irving Baldwin