For our 50th anniversary, American Rivers collaborated with five artists around the country on original works that explore how important healthy rivers are to the future of humanity and nature. Get apparel featuring all the collabs at AmericanRivers.org/wearrivers.  

It was Memorial Day weekend, 2019. It was about a hundred degrees out, and it looked like just about everybody in a four-county area was at Sprewell Bluff Park. Huge family picnic set-ups lined the riverbank. Kids of all ages were playing, splashing, and swimming in the water. Little ones were in the gravelly shallows while their bigger siblings explored deeper holes, happy parents looking on. On the big jumping-rock in the middle of everything, a crew of young boys with one teenage ringleader made the leap, one at a time, plunging into the water.

Me? I was in the stern of a fully loaded canoe, my friend of 20 years in the bow, paddling nonstop and trying to make some more miles down the river in the daylight. It was Day Three of a two-week trip—four of us in two canoes—running what we could manage of the full length of the Flint River as it makes its way southward through Georgia. I had never seen so many people at Sprewell Bluff Park in my life.

And the scene that day would have been impossible if history had turned out differently on the Flint. Like so many other rivers throughout the South and the nation, the Flint’s future for a time was written in the proposals for large dams that would have blocked the river at Sprewell Bluff and two other locations, flooding the surrounding land, and destroying the river as it’s been for eons and as we know it today.

But 50 years ago, in 1973, then-Governor Jimmy Carter saw the deep flaws in those dam proposals. He studied the plans himself, and he listened to both sides of the debate over them: the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers on one side, and on the other a dedicated crew of Georgia conservationists which included among them the late Claude Terry. (Terry was also among the group that founded American Rivers the same year.) After paddling the Sprewell Bluff section of the river himself in a canoe, the Governor began to look more closely. In October of 1973, Carter sent the Corps of Engineers a letter that vetoed the plan for the Sprewell Bluff dam.

Today, the Flint River is free-flowing from its source on the south side of Atlanta well into the farm country of southwest Georgia. It faces a complex array of 21st-century challenges: runoff from its headwaters in Atlanta, the world’s busiest airport sitting on top of those headwaters, and repeated and unprecedented drought conditions—all occurring while southside Metro Atlanta communities rely on the river system for public water supply. Drought conditions in 2008 led some political leaders, including a congressman who would later become governor, Nathan Deal, to revive talk of damming the Flint at Sprewell Bluff. This talk brought the river onto the list of America’s Most Endangered Rivers® in 2009 and helped catalyze the formation of the Flint Riverkeeper organization.

Yet the river, like any river, is resilient. If it were no longer a river, but just another reservoir, we wouldn’t get to see the grace with which the Flint takes today’s challenges in stride. And if it weren’t for President Carter and an earlier generation of Georgia advocates, the reach of the river above Sprewell Bluff wouldn’t be a river at all.

Postscript

Through President Carter’s work, the Flint River’s story has informed the rest of the story for rivers all across the country. In Washington and as President, just a few years after vetoing the Sprewell Bluff dam as governor, Carter took a hard look at 18 more Corps of Engineers water projects across the country and canceled them. The era of big-dam building was coming to its end, with the President’s help. And although the Flint did its part to help, too, it still needs our help today.

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There are many paths one can take to wildlife conservation. I grew up hunting whitetail deer on my great-grandfather’s land in the headwaters of the Wild and Scenic Au Sable River in northern Michigan. For my family, this was a way to fill our freezer with healthy venison, deepen bonds with family and friends, and welcome in late Fall and early Winter. Hunting requires deep observation and intention, quietly observing one’s surroundings while using all of one’s senses for hours at a time, days on end. Hunters, bird watchers, anglers, foragers, wildlife photographers, and solo wilderness travelers observe details of the natural world in ways that most humans no longer do.

I have been lucky enough to experience coyotes yipping at each other playfully, foxes hunting for voles in deep snow, otters fishing with their pups, chickadees eating pine nuts while calling cheerfully, a bobcat chirping loudly, and wild turkeys grooming themselves 50 feet up in a stand of white pines (yes, they fly!). As a teenage hunter, I was entranced by black bear tracks and comforted by the hoots of great horned owls in the moonless darkness while I sat quietly against an eastern red cedar waiting for dawn.

I don’t really hunt any longer, but I still treasure the chance to observe wildlife going about their daily lives – playing, napping, eating, drinking, hunting, scratching their backs, scolding their young – as I travel through their homelands. This is especially true in river corridors. Protecting wildlife is largely the work of protecting important habitat and connectivity corridors, and by far the most important places that we can protect and restore are our rivers and riverside lands.

Riparian areas comprise a relatively small percentage of the land area in the U.S., but they are among the most productive and valuable of habitats. 80 percent of all species including migratory birds rely on riverside lands at some stage in their lives, according to the Natural Resources Conservation Service. And in the arid West where I live, intact rivers, wetlands, and the clean water flowing through them are literally ribbons of life.

At the same time, freshwater mammal, bird, fish, reptile and amphibian populations declined 83% between 1970 and 2014. Migratory freshwater fish have declined 76% during that same period. In fact, nearly 40% of all species may face extinction by the end of the century (Isbell et al.). Anthropogenic climate change is exacerbating this trend, increasing droughts, floods, wildfires, and other habitat changes as our world warms. Now, more than ever, wild(life) needs rivers to adapt and survive.

There is a global movement to halt this collapse by protecting half of the Earth by 2050. AR has committed to doing our part by helping to protect 30% of all rivers by 2030 – 1 million miles of rivers – and 50% by 2050. We can do this for the creatures we share this amazing planet with, and by doing so we also do this for ourselves.

We invite you to read through our new interactive Wild(life) Depends On Rivers page, including a concept paper that explores this concept in the Southwest. Be sure to visit our bibliography page and share what you learn with friends and colleagues. It used to be common to think of river conservation as only important for “river dependent” species. We know now that all species are river dependent species.

I left my house early this morning to make the trek north to Vernal, Utah, where the rest of our crew was set to meet. It’s a Friday in early September, which normally would mean I’d be finishing up any last-minute vegetable harvesting and packing, and then heading out for deliveries. This has been my routine for the last five months, as I run a vegetable farm with my partner in Southwest Colorado, fed and irrigated by the Mancos River. 

But I’m not on the farm today. Instead, I’m cruising along in my Subaru, comfortably enjoying the air conditioning and a cold brew coffee I picked up in Moab. I’ve just turned onto I-70, heading east after passing through Moab and Arches National Park. There’s an episode of “You’re Wrong About” playing on my car’s stereo, but all I can hear are my thoughts, relentlessly asking over and over, “What are you doing?” 

I’m certainly feeling some guilt for abandoning my station at the farm. I’m also mildly ecstatic to be off the farm and headed to a river. I’m anxious about meeting the group in person, wary of the impact negative group dynamics can have, and self-conscious about my own personality traits that can come off cold or sarcastic. 

We briefly met on Zoom twice before this trip, but those calls flew by with talk of logistics and what to expect on the river. From what I can tell I’m the only person of color in the group, and instinctively my guard goes up, influenced by one too many past experiences of off-handed comments or feelings of being “othered” by my ethnic ambiguity. I’m not a writer (or would never outwardly call myself one), and this trip is a writing workshop. Yes, I try to reassure myself, I received a scholarship that allowed me access to this trip, but will I be able to hold the charade for five days with the rest of the crew? 

These thoughts all swirl in my head, but I try to keep them at bay by remembering the powerful presence of the river. It’s been a few years since I’ve had the privilege of a river trip. Still, those memories are there: camping along the Upper Klamath and floating the Rogue in Southern Oregon, the steep canyon walls and Amtrak train passage through Ruby Horsethief Canyon. It’s a feeling of home. 

Much more than one physical place, I’ve found, and continue to find, this feeling of home in a variety of ecosystems – forested rivers on the Cascade-Siskiyous, sandstone deserts of Southeast Utah, alpine ecosystems of the San Juan Mountains. These places provide a respite for my overactive mind and a grounding when I feel untethered. It’s a feeling of letting the walls down, knowing these landscapes can hold me as I am, no preconceived notions.

A CONFLUENCE OF PRIORITIES

We’ve wrapped up our evening orientation the night before launching into the Gates of Lodore. I’ve just pulled up to my home for the night, a welcoming pull-out off of a dirt road on a BLM parcel just east of Vernal. My car is just big enough for me to sleep in, my own casita for the night. There’s one other vehicle camping out here, but my solitude is protected by a half mile or so. But sleep is slow to come tonight, so I gaze up at the stars out the side window. The pitter-patter of little desert mice scurrying beneath my car pulls me back from the brink of sleep. My thoughts are taken back to Mancos, and the mice that also make their homes in the walls of our house. As I finally drift towards slumber, I wonder how different this river experience will be, compared to my home Mancos River.

Forming in the peaks of the western La Plata Mountains at around 13,000 feet in elevation, the Mancos River is small but mighty. Often overlooked in comparison with the neighboring river networks of the Animas, Dolores, and San Juan, the Mancos River feeds the agricultural communities of Mancos, Mesa Verde National Park, and the Ute Mountain Ute Reservation – including us, Outlier Farm. It continues flowing onto the Navajo Nation before meeting with the San Juan River in Northwest New Mexico. Aside from the occasional impromptu river crossing or searching for rapids created by runoff flows, there is little recreational use of this river. Instead, its primary purpose is agricultural, and it is not uncommon for the river to diminish to a trickle in the late summer months.

When I began farming in the Mancos Valley in the Spring of 2019, I also began learning about the way water is administered in Colorado. As with many states in the Western U.S., water in Colorado is determined by the doctrine of Prior Appropriation. Essentially, those who used water for a “beneficial use” first, have a senior position, or a higher “priority”, in years when there is not enough water to go around. But what did that mean for the water that flowed by our farm in our irrigation ditch? How did that relate to legal terms like “prior appropriation” or “beneficial use?” What about communities like the Southern Ute Indian Tribe or the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe, who have been in these places for millenia – why did they seemingly have “junior” rights? 

As I became more and more obsessed with these questions, my pursuit of answers led me to a cohort-style educational program for farmers and ranchers I found online. This was a can of worms I’m still in today – I now run that same program I was a participant in, through the National Young Farmers Coalition. We provide education and resources not just on water administration and water laws, but supplement that with education on advocacy and the importance of being involved in the protection of water in the West. 

EMBODYING ADVOCACY

It’s now the following January, and I’m in a new place. Years of physical and mental burnout, exacerbated by drought and other climate impacts, has taken its toll on my partner and me, and we need a season of rest to reset before exploring the future and what may be next. Our current home is in the headwaters of the Animas River, high up in the San Juan Mountains. The snow has a satisfying crunch under my feet as I run up a snow-packed road. It’s been a bountiful start to the winter, and I’m hoping the frequent storms continue, replenishing the snowpack and calming my anxieties about the future to come (for now, anyways). 

As I plod along on my feet, I’m planning in my head. I am currently working with a cohort of ten farmers and ranchers in Colorado, and I’m putting together an agenda for an upcoming workshop, preparing for a massive day of advocacy in Washington D.C. with other farmers from across the country. The Green River and my time in the Gates of Lodore is a constant presence as I carry out this program, inspiring me to think creatively about how I structure our fellowship, and how I can support this cohort. 

There are very real and tangible outcomes from my work that I am proud of, such as providing opportunities for farmers to meet with their legislators, or supporting these farmers as they work on individual community projects and look for positions on decision-making groups. The lack of representation for young farmers of color and women/nonbinary farmers is stark, so it is absolutely fulfilling to watch these farmers step into these spaces. I aid in the facilitation of this path, just as was done for me, but the most important point I emphasize to my cohort is that they already have the skills they need – their stories and their voices.  

This is a Farm Bill year, happening every five(ish) years, and it presents a huge opportunity for us to share our intersectional stories of land, water, and climate issues: the challenges we face and ideas for solutions to make the future seem a little more attainable. I often need to remind myself that just as impacts to the headwaters of a river are felt downstream, this federal advocacy is also felt on the ground at the farms of our network members. 

But perhaps most important are the relationships that form amongst the cohort, and the embodiment of being an advocate for water, land, community, and the places that make us whole. This embodiment, something I continue to strive for, offers an ethos, a foundation upon which more holistic decisions can be made long into the future.

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Each year American Rivers’ Southwest River Protection Program partners with the Freeflow Institute to provide 1-2 scholarships to support regional writers and artists interested in river conservation in attending on-river workshops hosted by established writers. Megan Davey received the 2022 Southwest Emerging Artist Scholarship from American Rivers to participate in a FreeFlow Institute writing workshop with Heather Hansman on the Green River, which led to this essay.

The Grand Canyon is magical in any season, but fall may take the cake for the perfect boating season on that stretch of the Colorado River. Cool mornings, warm days that are still long enough to dry out your gear after a day of getting hammered by huge waves, and starry nights that appear after the sun has dipped below the ramparts of rock in the distance. This year, canyon explorers are lucky to experience the additional gift of abundant sand from the High Flow Experiment(HFE) that was conducted in April, 2023.

I was on the river a couple of weeks ago, conducting survey activities alongside scientists from the United States Geological Survey’s (USGS) Grand Canyon Monitoring and Research Center (GCMRC). This is part of a long-running program to quantify impacts to various resources throughout the canyon from the construction of Glen Canyon dam in the early 1960s. Since the early 1990’s, scientists from GCMRC and Northern Arizona University have been using geodetic survey techniques to measure sand volume, in three dimensions, to a select group of around 40 beaches and sandbars from Lee’s Ferry to Diamond Creek. The changes are compared year over year and show trends of how these beaches shrink or grow based on Colorado River flow conditions over the year. These measurements are coupled with photographic evidence from cameras also placed throughout the canyon to observe these changes across an entire year or multiple years.

My observation? There is a lot of sand down there, with huge beaches the likes of which I have not seen in many years. The last time an HFE was conducted in the canyon was 2018, and the last time a spring high-flow was conducted was in 2008. Without these HFEs, the sediment-reduced water coming out of Glen Canyon dam actually erode beaches and sandbars, deteriorating conditions over time that impact not only beaches for recreation but allow greater encroachment of vegetation as well as the gradual uncovering of cultural resources near the river throughout the 277-mile corridor. Nearly every beach that was either surveyed, seen from a distance, or camped on was larger – much larger – than what I have seen before. And many of the beaches actually had two stages of sandbars; a lower, very large bench of flat sand, and a higher, more piled berm of sand behind it which formed a tall dune crest or back-bench of soft sand. The volumes we witnessed in places were surprising to say the least.

This configuration of sand was created by the flow regime that was the HFE itself as well as the summer flows that followed. When the HFE was conducted in mid-April, about 42,000 cubic feet per second of water (a very high flow!) was released continuously for 72 hours before the flows were brought back down to normal (~10,000cfs). That mobilized more than 1.5 million tons of sand that had been deposited by the Paria River (roughly 15 miles downstream) over the past couple of years – this is the sand that rebuilt the beaches and sandbars I saw on my trip. After the HFE, though, Bureau of Reclamation moved nearly 10 million acre-feet of water from Lake Powell to Lake Mead, creating unusually high flows (topping out at about 19,000 cfs) each day all summer long. These higher daily flows actually stripped some of that new sand at the lower elevations of the channel, shooting it downstream. In September, Reclamation pulled the flows back a bit more, revealing those lower, expansive benches of sand.

Where is all this leading? Well, in early October Reclamation issued a Notice of Intent for scoping some supplemental rules related to the Long-Term Experimental Management Plan, or LTEMP. While much of what is being considered is related to a situation where invasive small mouth bass have come into the canyon from Lake Powell, threatening the humpback chub population in the canyon, it also is proposing to amend the guidelines for how HFEs are conducted. The new rules would make it so the period of time that sand is accounted for in the canyon would be longer (on an annual basis rather than two, shorter timeframes) as well as lengthening the one of the periods that HFEs could be conducted (importantly making it so HFEs could be triggered in May and June, which they cannot be under the current rules.)

Importantly, you can comment on these new rules. You can read more at the Notice of Intent link above and send your comments by email to LTEMPSEIS@usbr.gov. But you only have until November 3 to make your voice heard.

Seeing these beaches and sandbars firsthand is an extraordinary experience, but being able to speak up for the canyon and all that depend upon it is both a privilege and responsibility. I know that I for one am proud to be able to put my energy into making my voice heard for such a special place. And for even more Grand Canyon exploration, check out our award-winning storymap, Caught in the Middle, which we published last spring.

2023 marks 50 years of American Rivers! To celebrate, we are sharing 50 things we are grateful for because the only way an organization can survive this long and achieve the level of impact American Rivers has enjoyed is with consistent support from dedicated people who believe in its mission.

Thank you for standing by our mission to protect wild rivers, restore damaged rivers, and conserve clean water for people and nature.

American Rivers is thankful for…

Tucked away in northern Arizona, sheltered from the generally dire news about water in the West and especially the Colorado River basin, lie the headwaters of the Verde River. The upper section of the Verde River, between Paulden and Clarkdale, along with its critical tributaries Granite and Sycamore creeks, are some of the most ecologically healthy and economically important free-flowing rivers remaining in Arizona.

Local advocates have been working to protect the Upper Verde for over a decade because of its uniquely intact ecosystem and cultural importance. Notably, nearly 15 years ago, the Upper Verde was facing the existential threat of the Big Chino pipeline, a now dormant but not dead groundwater pumping project that would have effectively dewatered the Upper Verde River. But while the river has so far evaded serious development proposals, its flow has certainly been reduced by regional groundwater withdrawal and climate change-driven aridification. And there’s nothing in place to permanently safeguard the river to remain as it is—incredibly wild, undeveloped, and free-flowing.

The Upper Verde has already been found by Prescott National Forest to be both eligible and suitable for Wild and Scenic designation because of its free-flowing status and numerous outstanding values. In a revamped effort to bring permanent protection to this special river through Congressional designation, in late 2021, American Rivers and numerous partners formed the Upper Verde Wild and Scenic River Coalition. Building upon the existing foundation of community support, the coalition over the last two years has made significant progress towards the goal of designating the Upper Verde as Arizona’s next Wild and Scenic River, including introducing the effort to Arizona delegates this past March.

But why the Upper Verde?

The Upper Verde and the campaign to designate it a Wild and Scenic River exemplifies American Rivers Southwest River Protection Program’s goal of protecting our region’s most ecologically and culturally important rivers that remain. Unlike many of our rivers in the Southwest, the Upper Verde is not (yet) in crisis, nor has it been so seriously altered by the consequences of human consumption that it is no longer recognizable. Certainly, the river faces unprecedented threats from climate change, unconstrained groundwater withdrawal, mismanaged recreation, and invasive species. But with the Upper Verde, we have the increasingly rare opportunity to act proactively to protect a wild river. Imagine if we reflected on the consequences of not acting this way for the majority of our waters in the Southwest, but for this river, this time, we made a different choice.

Why Wild and Scenic River designation?

Designation under the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act is the highest form of protection for free-flowing rivers in the United States and recognizes rivers of outstanding regional and national significance. The Verde River is the longest free-flowing river remaining in Arizona and holds immense ecological and cultural value, particularly for the Yavapai-Apache Nation. The birthplace of the Verde, the Upper Verde is a crown jewel of the state, providing clean drinking water, exceptional habitat for rare plants and animals, and excellent outdoor recreation opportunities.

The Verde River watershed is only 5.8% of the land area in Arizona, but it contains some of the best remaining riparian areas in our arid region – lush, green riverside habitats that are critical to our wellbeing, to wildlife, and a healthy ecosystem. As a thriving riparian area, the Verde River supports a large fraction of Arizona’s vertebrate species: 78% of breeding bird species, 89% of bat and carnivore species, 83% of native ungulate species and 76% of reptiles and amphibians genera (CWAG, 2022). The Verde River supports 9 of the 22 native fish species protected by the Endangered Species Act in Arizona. The Upper Verde River specifically is some of the best remaining habitat for the Sonora sucker, Desert sucker, Roundtail chub, Spikedace, Razorback sucker, and Loach minnow.

• Recognition as a Wild and Scenic River will:
  • Ensure clean water supplies
  • Conserve scenery, wildlife, recreation, cultural sites, access to hunting and fishing, and Verde Valley agriculture
  • Prevent future large dams and diversions
  • Provide more resources for monitoring and management
  • Provide opportunities for public engagement
  • Assure river access for recreation, hunting, fishing, and traditional uses
  • Maintain the river and its remarkable ecosystem as it is for future generations

• Wild and Scenic River status does not:
  • Restrict grazing permits
  • Alter existing water rights
  • Constrain private property rights

Rivers are the lifeblood of Arizona’s desert landscapes, but most have been lost, destroyed, or degraded. Arizona only has two Wild and Scenic Rivers, a lower section of the Verde and Fossil Creek, which constitute less than 1/10^th of 1% of the state’s river miles. The Upper Verde remains a refuge for wildlife and nature for people to enjoy and appreciate. Let’s keep it that way!

In June 2023, American Rivers teamed up once again with the Vamos Outdoors Project to float the Wild and Scenic Skagit River. Students from Latine, Migrant, Multilingual, and Newcomer families enjoyed a vibrant afternoon on an ecological gem of a river right in their backyards. We gave the students a few waterproof disposable cameras, and this is what they captured…

A dense, low cloud cover and some morning drizzle stood no chance against nine fired-up high school students. Despite an early Saturday start, the students arrived in Rockport, Washington bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, excited for a day on the Wild and Scenic Skagit River. One student had just graduated high school the night prior and was up celebrating with family until 4 a.m.! When asked about why he wasn’t sleeping in on his first day as a high school graduate, he replied, “I wouldn’t miss this.” 

The group set out in two rafts from the Marblemount Boat Launch just off of Highway 20 in eastern Skagit County. The two-boat system quickly gave rise to some friendly competition: which raft team could paddle the fastest, which team could splash the other team the most, and which boat could spot more bald eagles. We floated first past the Cascade River: a cold, clear tributary to the Skagit River which provides excellent habitat for salmon and steelhead spawning and rearing, as well as fantastic whitewater boating opportunities. American Rivers is currently working with partners to designate the Cascade River as an Outstanding Resource Water (ORW) under the Clean Water Act, which would protect the river from activities that might negatively impact its near-pristine water quality. By safeguarding existing water quality, an ORW designation for the Cascade River would help protect clean drinking water for downstream communities, support the local economy, bolster the health and abundance of fish and wildlife species in the Skagit River watershed, and ultimately ensure that the Cascade River will remain as special in the future as it is today.

As we snaked our way through the mid- Skagit’s gentle rapids, the students had a long discussion with our guides about how they got their jobs, and we talked about pathways for students to become outdoor professionals themselves—careers in which several of the students expressed great interest. One of our guides was pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in environmental studies. We talked about the importance of environmental advocacy and opportunities for the students to continue their education if they were interested in environmental protection as a profession. The primary goal of these trips with the Vamos Outdoors Project is for the students to just have fun, which tends to be pretty easy to accomplish given their brilliant attitudes! A secondary goal is to empower the next generation of river advocates. American Rivers recognizes that river protection is perpetual work, and fostering the next generation of river advocates is essential for the longevity of healthy rivers. 

The river was clear in most places, allowing for easy salmon spotting. We reviewed the life cycle of Pacific salmon, pointing to places along the river where we might likely see different life stages (e.g., juvenile salmon under low hanging branches for protection, adult salmon along the river’s edges in medium sized gravel appropriate for spawning, etc.). Most students already knew the handy way of recalling the five species of Pacific salmon, which all utilize the Skagit River’s cold, clean water to spawn and rear. The students also got to see areas where the river has eroded banks underneath State Route 20 (AKA the North Cascades Highway), and the 4,430 cubic feet per second pushing our rafts along made the power of water even more evident. In response to this erosion, stakeholders and Tribes in the Skagit River basin have constructed bank stabilization structures like the ones pictured here.

The air temperature was in the low 50s; the water temperature in the upper 40s! The last thing on this American Rivers staffer’s mind was swimming, but the students had other ideas… Our lifeguard-certified guides pulled the rafts over to a sandy bank and every single student ran straight into the water. Hoots and hollers echoed up and down the river. Boats passed by—their operators bundled up in puffy coats and Gore-Tex—watching in awe as the students dunked themselves underwater. The students were fully immersed in the experience—a reminder of all the joy that rivers offer us.

After we hauled the boats out at the takeout, we all gathered for lunch, where we shared our ‘rose, bud, and thorn’ of the trip: something you loved, something that you want to do better, and something that challenged you. Swimming in the river was a very popular ‘rose.’ Many of the students wanted to improve their paddling technique and learn more about whitewater boating, which was a clear signal that we need to continue to offer these opportunities! While the trip leaders thought the weather would present a challenge, not a single student mentioned it. With full hearts (and a warm change of clothes), the students headed back home. 

American Rivers is honored to partner with the Vamos Outdoors Project to offer experiences like this to Latine, Migrant, Multilingual, and Newcomer students who have been traditionally underserved in conservation, environmental education, and outdoor pursuits, disconnecting them from their rivers and the environmental threats that disproportionately burden their communities. Listening to laughter carrying over water; seeing smiles big enough to lift heavy clouds; and watching budding river advocates connect with the incredible rivers right in their backyards is truly our ‘rose’ here at American Rivers. 

Today marks the 55th anniversary of the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act (WSRA) –  one of our nation’s landmark conservation laws. Rivers that are designated as Wild and Scenic receive the highest level of protection in the United States – ensuring that future generations can enjoy their free-flowing nature, clean water, and outstandingly remarkable values. 

Like many great conservation stories, the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act has its roots in Montana.  

The Big Dam Era

The 1940s-1970s mark the era of large-scale hydroelectric dam building in the United States. In three short decades, more than seventy thousand dams were constructed along our nation’s waterways – including more than 150 large-scale dams along the Columbia, Colorado, and Missouri river basins. Once wild rivers in the west, they were rapidly being transformed into stair stepped reservoirs and human controlled rivers in order to support agriculture in the arid west and generate electricity to fuel fast growing metropolitan areas. While this feat of human ingenuity drove certain types of prosperity in certain places, it came with significant costs. For the first time in human memory, the Colorado River ran dry before reaching the Gulf of California. Once among the finest salmon fisheries on earth, the Columbia River Basin’s oceangoing fish, along with the Puget Sound Orcas which depend upon healthy salmon runs, faced the very real possibility of extinction. The decision to construct the dams also occurred with little to no consultation with Tribal Nations. No place was too sacred for large-scale hydro development projects – not even within Grand Canyon or Glacier national parks.  

An idea is born – the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act  

Wildlife biologists John and Frank Craighead came up with the idea for the WSRA while fighting the proposed Spruce Park Dam on the Middle Fork of the Flathead River and the Glacier View Dam, which would have inundated the North Fork Flathead River underneath a massive reservoir inside of Glacier National Park. Although these two projects were defeated, the Craigheads quickly realized natural rivers were becoming scarce, and that stopping one project simply pushed the problem elsewhere. A more systematic approach to river conservation was needed. 

In a 1957 issue of Montana Wildlife, John Craighead made the case for protecting the Flathead as well as other rivers nationwide: “Rivers and their watersheds are inseparable, and to maintain wild areas we must preserve the rivers that drain them.” 

The Craigheads organized, built community support, and engaged elected leaders from around the nation. With support from Interior Secretary Stewart Udall and senators Lee Metcalf (D-Montana), Frank Church (D-Idaho), and others – the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act passed the U.S. Senate unanimously and was signed into law by President Lyndon B. Johnson on October 2, 1968. 

Montana & the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act Today

Today, Montana ranks 7th highest in the nation with a total of 408 miles of Wild and Scenic river miles on five segments – the Upper Missouri, the three forks of the Flathead, and East Rosebud Creek. Of Montana’s approximately 169,829 miles of rivers and streams, less than 0.02% have been protected as Wild and Scenic rivers. Since 1976, only 20 miles of one stream, East Rosebud Creek, has received new Wild and Scenic river protections. Meanwhile Idaho, Wyoming, and Utah have added nearly 1,000 miles of new Wild and Scenic rivers since 2009. 

The next chapter – the Montana Headwaters Legacy Act 

While Montana continues to lag behind our neighboring states in terms of Wild and Scenic river miles protected, the good news is that the Montana Headwaters Legacy Act (MHLA) is our opportunity to write the next chapter in our river conservation legacy. 

Introduced by Senator Jon Tester during the last two Congresses, the MHLA would protect 20 streams totaling 385 river miles in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem. This includes iconic rivers such as the Yellowstone, Madison, and Smith by designating them as a part of the National Wild and Scenic River System. As Montana’s population continues to boom, the MHLA is our insurance policy to protect these rivers as they are today, for the future generations.

As we celebrate the 55th anniversary of the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, let’s remember that river conservation is ultimately a story about people – folks who cared enough to raise their voices and take action. Will you help us write the next chapter?

Ask Rep. Zinke to support the Montana Headwaters Legacy Act! It only takes 90 seconds to make a difference!  Together, we can protect the rivers that flow through our hearts and communities. 

Thank you for taking action for Montana’s rivers! 

Rivers are the veins and arteries of our world, and they are essential to all life. In the U.S., we depend on our 3.5 million miles of rivers for our drinking water and the food we eat. Rivers provide crucial habitat for fish and wildlife, opportunities for recreation, and spiritual and cultural connections for us, our families, and our communities.

Rivers make life possible, yet we are losing them.  

Pollution, dams, habitat destruction, and climate change are harming rivers, fish and wildlife, and our families and communities. Lack of clean drinking water, increasing floods and drought, and species extinction are disproportionately impacting communities of color, Tribal Nations, and people in poverty. 

In order to heal our rivers and create the positive, systemic change we need for the long-term, we must unite as a powerful movement with a bold vision for clean water and healthy rivers for all. 

As American Rivers celebrates our 50^th anniversary this year, we’re looking ahead to the next 50 years. We created this graphic to illustrate the future we are working towards, together with our partners and supporters. Achieving this vision will take all of us. 

On this World Rivers Day, we celebrate our rivers and recommit ourselves to the important work ahead. 

Susana Sanchez-Young’s illustrations are almost musical: They are catchy, buoyant, and expressive. The East Bay-based mom of two is the founder of The Designing Chica and an art director at the Los Angeles Times. Her clever bilingual plays on pop-culture references are emblazoned on everything from coloring books and paint kits to stickers and wall art. Susana’s art is infectiously happy, and we loved teaming with her to celebrate American Rivers’ 50th anniversary — and the vibrancy of rivers. Find Susana on Instagram @TheDesiginingChica.   

We are proud to offer a T-shirt featuring an original design by The Designing Chica for Hispanic Heritage Month, which will help support our longtime partners at the Hispanic Access Foundation.  

What inspires your art?  

My crazy, cultural upbringing inspires my art and my life. My mother is from Guatemala, my father is from Nicaragua, and I was raised in Hollywood. My parents taught me to love my culture, our music, and speaking Spanish at home. My hard-working mother and aunts and grandmother would take me to clean houses with them after school — houses of movie stars and directors and writers in the Hollywood Hills. There were enormous rooms filled with art and photography, and my job would be to dust and clean out the trash. I would take forever because I loved staring into canvases that were out of this world and taller than me. I would collect all the thrown-out newspapers and magazines, and I would take them home to create collages. I would admire the designed spreads from Vogue before I knew that graphic design and lettering was a career! 

Tell us about The Designing Chica. Why did you start it?  

When I was pregnant with my first child, I could not find nursery art that represented my bicultural family. I knew chicos and chicas like me wanted representation. At the time I was an art director and designer at the Washington Post, working late hours. I was stressed and tired with a hectic commute, but since I had design and illustration skills, I thought, “Why not create something for myself?” I became my own client! I gave myself more work, but it became therapeutic and fun. I created a type-driven alphabet design that I fell in love with.  

Lots of people started asking me to make them custom designs and stationery for their children’s rooms. When my second child turned two, I launched The Designing Chica. Self-funded! I was still working 10-hour days, seeing my kids only in the morning and coming home after a two-hour commute at midnight. I was always exhausted, but excited to create because I had all these ideas percolating in my head. I would stay up late and I sketched and designed postcards with bilingual sayings. It became my passion, and my designs took off!  

 

What is your favorite river? 

The Merced River in the Yosemite Valley is number one in my book! I take my kids to Yosemite every year now so I can relive my childhood memories, and to make new ones with my husband and children.  

Lastly, what drove us to purchase our East Bay home seven years ago was a tiny river in our backyard. Every day I get to go outside and listen to the creek’s waterfall and it’s my little private paradise. Sometimes there’s a group of ducks floating along, and hummingbirds buzzing about. Deer come and go, owls and hawks are my outdoor pets, and I once saw a river otter swimming and splashing around like he owned the place. My little river is a beautiful sight to wake up to. The river gives me life!  

One of the primary concerns when planning for dam removal is the impact of sediment transport on water quality, river health, and the communities that depend on healthy rivers. Sediment forms when rocks and soil weather and erode. We think of rivers as something that moves water, but just as important is its ability to move and shape the earth. Sediment comes in all shapes and sizes—everything from silts and clays to coarse sand and gravel. Each of these kinds of sediment mean different things for rivers and aquatic life. Coarser material like gravel and sand often makes up the bed of the river and help create and maintain complex habitat upon which many aquatic communities depend. The presence of dams can starve downstream reaches of sediment, which can lead to increased bank erosion. 

Dams create reservoirs and reservoirs accumulate sediment over time—more than 100 years in the case of the four dams being removed from the Klamath River. The degree of sedimentation downstream following a dam removal depends on multiple factors, such as sediment volume, sediment management plans (i.e., phased removal of a dam and passive release of material, dredging), the river’s geomorphology, and the composition of the sediment itself (e.g., fine grain, mud, or coarse). Studies of previous dam removals have shown the resilience of rivers following dam removals. Rivers have the capacity to recover from the influx of sediment after dam removal within a period of days to a few years and tend to thrive afterward. After an initial phase of disturbance following a large removal, the geomorphology of the river stabilizes as the river begins to heal.

Another high-profile dam removal where passive release of sediment was utilized is the Condit Dam on the White Salmon River in Washington State. The 125-foot-tall Condit Dam impounded 2.4M cubic yards of sediment, 59% of which was comprised of silt, clay, and very fine sand. More than 60% of the reservoir sediment eroded within 15 weeks of breaching the dam Salmon and steelhead have rapidly recolonized the White Salmon River mainstem and tributaries thanks, in part, to natural river dynamics that allow these systems to recover quickly. In fact, according to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, redds were found throughout the former lake area less than a year after the dam was initially breached. 

The 2018 Bloede Dam removal on the Patapsco River in Maryland serves as another useful case study. The 34-foot-tall dam impounded approximately 186,600 m³ of stored sediment, 50% of which eroded within the first six months following removal. River herring were documented (via eDNA) upstream of the former dam site within the first year following removal, and American eel populations skyrocketed from 36 in 2018 to more than 36,500 in 2022. Like the Klamath River dam removals, each of these removals entailed a period of recovery and depended on cross-sector collaboration and advocacy. 

While the impacts of dam removals vary significantly, the evidence of the last 20 years points to the effectiveness of dam removal and the long-term benefits for communities, fish, and wildlife. With more than 91,000 dams inventoried by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and several hundred thousand more low-head dams, aquatic ecosystems in steep decline (freshwater ecosystems are dealing with extinction at twice the rate of terrestrial ecosystems), and the impacts of climate change altering weather and precipitation patterns threatening the stability and durability of water infrastructure, dam removal has become an increasingly urgent priority in terms of ecological health, community safety, and climate resilience. Simply put, the fastest way to heal a river is to remove a dam.