The upper Flint River of west-central Georgia is a river running dry. For generations, southeasterners could expect lush landscapes fed by plentiful rainfall. The Flint River has fed both the growth of cities and agriculture in the region, but this increasing demand for water has thinned supplies already stressed by recent drought conditions.

In addition to area residents, the upper Flint River supports recreation, fisheries, local economies, and threatened and endangered species that all depend on the reliable flow of healthy water. However, reliable flows are becoming increasingly rare even as millions of gallons of water per day are consistently extracted from the river, and this trend is only expected to increase.

Unfortunately, once the water leaves the river, several types of obstacles prevent it from returning, including tens of thousands of acres of impervious surfaces in the Flint’s headwaters that prevent stormwater from soaking into the ground. Instead, stormwater flooding over farmland, roadways and parking lots washes trash, pesticides, and fertilizers into storm drains and back into the river.

Drought is also problematic. In 2012, American Rivers’ Ben Emanuel started analyzing water flow rates in the upper Flint River and determined that modern flow rates during drought were anemic compared with historical rates.

In 2012, American Rivers noted a flow rate of less than 100 cubic feet per second (cfs) at a key U.S. Geological Survey stream gauge. For comparison sake, paddlers like to see a minimum of 600 cfs in the Flint, which has occurred roughly 90 percent of the time during July, from 1940 to 1975.

Since 1975, the river has only spent about half of Julys flowing above 600 cfs. In other words, the massive population growth and development in the metro Atlanta area has significantly depleted the river, to the detriment of paddlers and river recreation businesses and enthusiasts. American Rivers described the slow draining of the Flint as “death by a thousand cuts” in Running Dry.

Fortunately, American Rivers is not the only organization to recognize this problem, and partners from across the Apalachicola-Chattahoochee-Flint basin are coming together and working toward a solution. One African Proverb says, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” So American Rivers, in partnership with the Upper Flint River Working Group, has a strategy to address some of these cuts, we’re working to understand others, and there may be more that remain undiscovered.

Through our long-standing partnership with the Flint Riverkeeper, the issues faced by the upper Flint have been described in great detail for the first time. Now, through this partnership, along with Southern Conservation Trust, The Conservation Fund, and Georgia Interfaith Power and Light, we are implementing strategies that will allow us to make progress toward a healthier river.

We’ve also developed great relationships with stakeholders that might traditionally be considered adversaries, including  Clayton County Water Authority, Fayette County Water System, the City of Griffin, Newnan Utilities, Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, and many others. We’re thrilled to be working across the spectrum of river stakeholders to demonstrate that we live, work, and play in an era of stewardship.

Stay tuned for more in this series of blogs, which will discuss the details of what we’re doing, and how you can help!

My heart still skips a beat every time I see a swallow-tailed kite soaring above me. Plentiful osprey make me hold my breath as they dive in to the Waccamaw River for their dinner and nest amidst the tall cypress trees, nothing compares to the tremendous wingspan of the swallow-tailed kite and it’s striking markings and signature forked tail. The Waccamaw National Wildlife Refuge and surrounding area supports the highest density of nesting swallow-tailed kites in South Carolina and is the northernmost documented nest site for the species. These incredible birds are only one of the many reasons the Waccamaw NWR has stolen my heart.

Each and every National Wildlife Refuge is a haven for important species in that area. While NWR aren’t as well-known as National Parks or wilderness areas, they are an amazing place to explore the outdoors, connect with local habitat and experience the amazing species that call the Refuge home. Celebrate National Wildlife Refuge week with us from October 11 – 17^th and get out and explore a refuge near to you!

Located in portions of Horry, Georgetown, and Marion counties on the South Carolina Coast, the Waccamaw NWR spans thousands of acres and includes large sections of the Waccamaw and Great Pee Dee (Big Pee Dee to us local folks) rivers along with a small section of the Little Pee Dee River. The wetland diversity sets this refuge apart from others found along the east coast with habitats ranging from historical and actively managed tidal rice fields to black water forested wetlands. The range of habitats in the Waccamaw NWR support more than 400 species of animals- swallow-tailed kite, osprey, wood stork, white ibis, green heron, and many species of waterfowl can be observed on a seasonal basis. I had a birdwatching dream come true this spring as I got to paddle by nesting blue herons high in a massive cypress tree on refuge land. Dozens of pairs had built their massive nests and a fluffy baby or two peeped their head out causing squeals of delight from my all adult outing.

Every time I head out to enjoy the Waccamaw NWR, I know I will experience something new whether it’s new vistas, new birds to spot, a bear spotting, or catching the perfect sunset. I love hiking at Cox Ferry Lake Recreation Area, enjoying the well maintained 3 miles of nature trails. The kiosks provide information and routes to take and there is a shelter with picnic tables, making for the perfect outing for the family or a picnic spot for two.

My favorite way to take in all that the refuge has to offer is pairing up kayaking and hiking. It is the best way to see the Refuge and nothing beats the peace that fills you when you are paddling that gorgeous black water surrounded by the reflections of the cypress and tupelo. I love paddling to Sandy Island, where the Waccamaw and Big Pee Dee Rivers come together mixing their distinctly different waters so it looks like pouring creamer into coffee. The osprey are always calling, pulling you from the city and stress back in to nature.

The Waccamaw NWR is a treasure, protecting precious habitats and helping to provide clean drinking water for the surrounding areas. Locals and visitors alike are able to hike, bike, stroll, birdwatch, fish, paddle, and practice their photography skills on the amazing views and wildlife. I just love the peace that immediately overcomes me when I step in to this amazing resource and gaze over the reflective waters of the Waccamaw. I never miss the chance to take visitors out and thought I could babble endlessly about the history and wildlife, I love watching people fall in love with this refuge all on their own.

What is your favorite way to explore your local Wildlife Refuge?

Think hydropower is green? Think the hydro industry has your best interests in mind?

Think again.

If hydropower is not done right, it can be destructive for rivers and the fish and wildlife that depend on them. It damages natural habitat and prevents fish from reaching spawning grounds. It can dry up entire stretches of river. It’s the only renewable energy source that drives species toward extinction.

For decades, environmental laws like the Clean Water Act and the Endangered Species Act have leveled the playing field between all of us and powerful energy companies like Pacific Gas & Electric, Duke Energy, Exelon, and Southern Company.

But now the hydropower industry is trying to create a giant loophole for dam operators, so they are not required to protect fish, wildlife, or water quality on our rivers.

Now, as industry lobbyists push their so-called “Unlock Hydro” legislation to Members of Congress, they are using all kinds of misleading messages.

Here’s a guide to translating hydro industry talking points into reality:

What they say: The legislation “streamlines” the dam relicensing process

The truth: The legislation guts environmental protections and takes away the ability of states, tribes, local communities, and recreation and conservation interests to have a say in how dams are operated. By “streamlining” this dam relicensing process, the things you value get steamrolled.

What they say: Hydropower is “clean energy”

The truth: As they wave the clean energy banner, hydropower companies are trying to hide a dirty secret – that poorly operated hydropower dams cause major damage to fish and wildlife, clean water, and communities and businesses that depend on healthy rivers. If hydropower is so clean, then why are hydro companies lobbying Congress to get them out of complying with the Clean Water Act?

What they say: The legislation makes the approval process for non-federal hydropower more “efficient and collaborative” by requiring the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) to act as the lead agency in coordinating with other federal, state, and local government agencies and Indian tribes.

The truth: There is nothing collaborative about federalizing the states’ role in enforcing state law at dams.  There is nothing collaborative about using the power of the federal government to dictate what reviews and studies are necessary for Native American tribes to protect their sacred homelands. It may be efficient to take away states’ authorities to protect their citizens, but that doesn’t make it right. This is a massive expansion of federal authority and a trampling of states’ rights and the rights of Native American tribes.

What they say: The hydropower industry cares about the environment

The truth: Fish, wildlife, clean water, and anyone who enjoys fishing, paddling, and other river recreation will lose if this legislation becomes law. The legislation gives FERC — and thus effectively the power company — the power to limit scope of environmental review. In practice, this will limit the scope of the Clean Water Act and the Endangered Species Act to whatever FERC says it should be.  If this bill becomes law, the final say over whether fish passage should be considered at dams would not be determined by fisheries experts, it would be determined by FERC.  And, the final say over the protection of sacred Tribal lands would not be decided by the Tribe and the Bureau of Indian Affairs, it would be determined by FERC.

In 1920, the Federal Power Act was designed to provide balance between power generation and all other uses of a river.  If this legislation passes, power company profits will go to the head of the line, ahead of every other user.  If you care about irrigation, Native American treaty rights, wildlife, recreational fishing, commercial fishing, whitewater boating, water quality, municipal water supply, fire safety, flood control, or any other purpose other than generating power, then you should oppose this legislation.

The hydropower industry is simply going too far with this extreme legislation.

Don’t be fooled by their talking points. Learn more here and here, then take action to protect our rivers.

Over 20 of us huddled under a tent – likely far exceeding its maximum coverage capacity – by the side of the Merrimack River in Haverhill, Massachusetts on a rainy day in August, trying to get to know one another without (literally or figuratively) stepping on one another’s toes. We were on the second day of a two-day river cleanup but were forced to delay the start time due to a thunder storm that had moved in quickly and was since refusing to budge.

The day before had been sunny and warm: perfect for the first day of a river cleanup. The second day, our luck had run dry but our clothes had gotten soaked even before stepping foot on the riverbank. Nevertheless, the employees of Keurig Green Mountain waited patiently for the rain to pass, filling their time catching up and sharing stories from previous years’ cleanups.

Eventually, the sounds of pelting rain on the top of the overstuffed tent became softer and the rumble of thunder in the distance disappeared. Thrilled that the cleanup would not be rained out, we all gathered our life vests, water bottles, and gloves and headed down to the pontoon boat that would be taking us out on the river.

Like the cleanup the day before, we worked with local group Clean River Project to work our way up and down the shores of the Merrimack River. The founder, Rocky Morrison, his crew and two other boats accompanied us, hauling trash and maneuvering a small crane to help with larger items, like a car axle. I watched volunteers help one another climb over fallen trees on the shores and team up to roll 30 water- and sand-logged tires down the beach toward the boats. We all paused to marvel at a 25-pound snapping turtle one of the crew picked up by the tail. When I’d gather the volunteers back by the boats and suggest moving to another cleanup spot, they did not hesitate for a minute. This dedication and enthusiasm led us to pick up 2,200 pounds of trash and 600 pounds of metal in two days!

While I was amazed at the commitment and energy of the volunteers, this attitude is not unique to the Merrimack cleanup. Keurig employees turn out in large numbers, over multiple days, in cities and towns across the country to show their dedication to clean rivers. A couple of weeks before, nearly 200 volunteers in Vermont came out over the span of a week to clean up 2,880 pounds of trash and 2,380 pounds of metal. They hauled 105 tires (and an ATM) from the banks and depths of the Winooski River.

Earlier in the summer, volunteers in Knoxville, TN; Windsor, VA; Sumner, WA; and Castroville, CA participated in similar events. Over the course of these six events, 460 volunteers picked up nearly 10,000 pounds of trash. At some sites, trash was not as much of a problem and volunteers restored riverside lands by planting 75 trees and shrubs and 1,000 grass seedlings. While the activities and experiences (and weather) differed at each site, they all proved the same thing: Keurig’s volunteers are committed to cleaning up their local waterways. National River Cleanup was proud to clean up with the Keurig volunteers across the country for the 11th year and we look forward to returning next year for even more fun!

[slideshow_deploy id=’24903′]

Download the Organizer’s Handbook and register a river cleanup today!

Guest post from Nancy Schuldt, Water Projects Coordinator for the Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa.

This great river runs through what has been the homeland of the Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa since before European fur traders first arrived, and before American timber and mining barons set up shop in northeastern Minnesota to exploit the rich resources.

This particular place on the planet provided everything needed for a life of abundance: fish, game, berries, maple sugar, traditional and medicinal plants, birch bark, wood and fiber for canoes and shelters. The river provided a highway for moving to other hunting, fishing and gathering areas, and to connect with other bands and families.

Within the rare freshwater estuary protected from the gales of Lake Superior, Spirit Island lies in the center of Spirit Lake, and is of great cultural significance to the Ojibwe people. It was the location of the Sixth Stopping Place of the great migration westward through the Great Lakes, where the prophecy of reunification was fulfilled, and the “food that grows on the water” (wild rice, or manoomin) was first encountered.

Burial mounds were placed in what is now called Spirit Mountain in Duluth, and in Superior near where the Bong Bridge is now located. (The mounds in Superior, though, were all destroyed and used to fill in the wetlands for development.) As the entire area was considered sacred, encampments were located all around Spirit Island, including Minnesota Point.

In Ojibwe language, Duluth is called “Onigamiinsing” or “At the Little Portage”, as Minnesota Point was a very short and easy portage across rather than going through the river’s mouth. The sands of Minnesota Point are so fragile that the Band’s ancestors used to have to repair portions of the point due to portaging activities. Although allowing the sands to be disturbed from portaging activities would have made the portaging easier over time, leaving such a scar on the land was considered highly disrespectful of the land. After the Fond du Lac Band was removed up river in 1854 to the present-day reservation, and the city of Duluth grew, the scarred portage-way was not repaired and within 20 years, talk of a canal started to emerge.

With its wealth of diverse bird habitats, the Band’s ancestors also used Minnesota Point as a place to gather eggs for food, and the wetlands (much diminished today) provided for migratory waterfowl foraging and staging and another source of food. The estuary was so teeming with wildlife, it allowed for the Band to not only support a large permanent population base at Gete-oodena (“the Old Town”, or the present day City of Superior), but also hundreds of people in the surrounding area. The Band took advantage of its size and location at strategic trade corridors along the St. Louis River up to Knife Portage (now Cloquet), and all along Little Otter Creek to the Moose Horn River, and down Moose Horn River to Kettle River, controlling the other river access, the Nemadji River, from both ends.

Today, Band members still practice traditional lifeways, in concert with what each season provides.

The river remains the most important fishery resource on the reservation, but those fish now come with a cost— the health risks to humans and wildlife from high mercury concentrations.

A series of hydropower dams downstream of the reservation have permanently altered flows, destroyed wild rice beds and blocked fish passage, and some of the reservoirs remain hotspots of mercury from historic pulp and paper mills.

Overfishing, habitat degradation and pollution wiped out once-abundant lake sturgeon, although the Band is working to reestablish this culturally significant species upstream of the dams. The estuary associated with the St. Louis River is one of 43 Great Lakes Areas of Concern, and the Band is an integral partner in the remediation and restoration work taking place that will one day result in healthier aquatic habitats, renewed stands of wild rice, and fish that will feed the grandchildren to come.

Looking upstream of the reservation, to the headwaters, the Band today raises urgent warnings about the habitat destruction and pollution resulting from a century of hard rock mining. Through the exercise of regulatory authorities for water and air quality, and through treaty rights that guarantee access to hunt, fish and gather healthy resources, the Band is doing all it can to prevent further damage to the lands and waters that sustain us all.

Along with other tribes and first nations, the Fond du Lac Band’s spiritual and cultural connections to Mother Earth are evident in the willingness to embrace the responsibility of protecting and preserving the land and waters.

Water, or nibi, is the lifeblood of Mother Earth, and women are regarded as the protectors of the water.

As stated in the Tribal and First Nations Great Lakes Water Accord (2004), signed by leaders from Fond du Lac and 37 other Great Lakes tribes and first nations:

When considering matters of great importance we are taught to think beyond the current generation. We are also taught that each of us is someone’s seventh generation. We must continually ask ourselves what we are leaving for a future seventh generation.

 

---

Nancy Schuldt is the Water Projects Coordinator for the Fond du Lac Band of Lake Superior Chippewa. The Fond du Lac Band is one of six Chippewa Indian Bands in Minnesota. Archaeologists maintain that ancestors of the present day Chippewa (Ojibwe) have resided in the Great Lakes area since 800 A.D.

Two weeks ago, I had the opportunity to travel down the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon with as diverse a group of people as you’re likely to meet. Included in the mix were a cattle rancher, an anthropologist, a jeweler, a Hollywood producer, a former U.S. Senator, a community organizer, a former firefighter, a Vietnam veteran, a biotech millionaire, a retired police officer, and a smattering of tree-hugging environmentalists like myself.

What brought us together was more than scenic marvels, campfire songs, and white-knuckle descents of the Canyon’s many rapids, although the trip was all of that. We were there to take a journey through time as well as space, visiting the Canyon’s geologic and cultural past and pondering its uncertain future.

A trip through the Grand Canyon is a thrill ride for geology buffs. Some of the oldest rock on the surface of the earth – up to 2 billion years old – can be found there. The clash of tectonic plates, the layering and twisting of volcanic and sedimentary rock, the rise and recession of new mountains and ancient oceans over geologic time have written the history of our planet on the canyon walls. The latest chapter of that history is still being drafted as the sediment and erosive power of the Colorado River continues to sculpt and shape the canyon floor.

While the geologic history of the Canyon is on gigantic display all around you, its equally compelling cultural history is less conspicuous. You have to know exactly where to look. You have to listen very closely. Most importantly, you have to have the right guides. And that’s what made this particular trip to the Canyon so special.

The ex-cop on the trip was Merv Yoyetawa, a Hopi tribal leader; the jeweler was Octavius Seowtawa, a cultural leader of the A:shiwi (Zuni) people; the former firefighter was Bennett Jackson, a Hualapai now with the tribe’s Department of Cultural Resources; the Vietnam vet was Barney “Rocky” Imus, a Hualapai tribal elder; and the rancher and community organizer were Earlene Reid and Sarana Riggs, Navajo women and founding members of Save the Confluence, a group of activists fighting to preserve an important piece of the Canyon’s cultural tradition.

Together, these native leaders, representing four of the eleven tribes of the region, guided us to important and sacred sites, allowed us to watch and sometimes participate in their ceremonies of respect and reverence, and shared with us the histories of their peoples and their deep spiritual connections to the Colorado River and the Grand Canyon.

The histories of the Hopi, A:shiwi, Hualupai, and Navajo peoples begin in and around the Grand Canyon. The A:shiwi, for example, emerged into this world (from a previous one, a long story) near what we now call Ribbon Falls. Their first glimpses of the new world, the heart of the Grand Canyon, still feature in their stories, songs, and religious ceremonies. Shortly after they emerged, the A:shiwi began their quest for the “middle place,” where they were destined to settle.

Their travels took them up the Little Colorado River and to the headwaters of its tributary the Zuni River in New Mexico, where they have lived ever since. The other tribes of the region have similar stories, though each has its unique cultural and historical elements. In addition to its importance as the place of emergence, the Canyon has served the tribes at various times as a refuge from attack, a hiding place for goods, a provider of life-giving salt, and a source of food in times of scarcity. The natives of the region revere the Canyon, and make little distinction between the living and their surroundings. The Grand Canyon’s rivers and rock walls, seeps and springs are as alive as any person.

One such sacred place is the confluence of the Little Colorado and Colorado rivers, a locale of spectacular isolation. Standing on the banks of the muddy Little Colorado just above the confluence, I listened with the group as Sarana told the story of when Changing Woman, the creator of the Navajo people, passed this way on her way to and from the ocean. Merv told us that not far up the river from the spot where we stood, the Hopi emerged into this world and took up their sacred duty to ensure that the rains fall and the springs flow with life-giving water. Just downriver is where developers are pushing a proposal for a tram – the Escalade project – that would transport up to 10,000 tourists a day to sight-see, dine, and shop.

It’s the Escalade that brought this group together in the first place. The project is opposed by environmental groups as an affront to the scenic beauty and natural grandeur that make the Grand Canyon a national, indeed a global, treasure. Though it enjoys some support among the Navajo, many, like Sarana and Earline, see it as an assault on their spiritual beliefs and their traditional way of life.

It is opposed by native leaders of the Hopi, A:shiwi, Hualupai and other Grand Canyon tribes that don’t always unite in common purpose.

As we traveled together by raft and oar boat for seven days, six nights and 87 miles down the Colorado in the upper Grand Canyon, the conversation ranged beyond Escalade to include the many other threats to the beauty, sanctity, and ecological health of the Canyon: potentially unfettered development in gateway communities, new mining and the dangers posed by old, polluted mine sites, excessive demand on groundwater and its potential impact on the Canyon’s vital springs, and the health of the Colorado River itself. We also shared meals, swapped stories, sang songs, and tossed around pop cultural references – at various times, I found myself explaining the mythology of “Transformers” to a former US Senator, exchanging views on the merits of diet soda with a Hualapai tribal official, and discussing with a Hopi Tribal Council member whether Tony Romo will ever win a Super Bowl (we disagreed).

In other words, the Canyon had, as one participant put it, “worked its magic.” We had arrived as strangers, and our shared adventure in the Canyon had forged us into a group of friends with a common purpose: to build upon what we had learned about the issues and about each other, to pool our talents, knowledge, and resources to save the Grand Canyon.

Perhaps the most important thing I learned on the trip was the power of story in the Grand Canyon. I’ve told many people the story of the Canyon from the perspective of an “Anglo” conservationist: It is a place of truly unique natural grandeur and a national treasure, and the Escalade and other development schemes threaten to destroy the very attributes that make the Canyon so special. The Native people tell a different story, one of history and culture and great spiritual power. They tell of how their history begins in the Grand Canyon, and how it remains, for them, the center of the world.

The stories are complementary, and are symbolic of how national, regional, and tribal groups can work together to secure the future of the Grand Canyon. It’s a future that I have a greater stake in than I once thought. As Merv explained it, it wasn’t just the Hopi that emerged at Sisapuni on the Little Colorado. It was all people, and the spirits of all people will eventually return. As he looked around the circle at all of us, with all our diverse backgrounds, he smiled and said, “We are all from here.”

Guest post by Andrew Slade, Minnesota Environmental Partnership. 

From a canoe, Seven Beaver Lake and Lake Superior could hardly feel more different. Seven Beaver is shallow and muddy, nothing like the deep and rocky Superior. Yet they are deeply connected. Paddling Seven Beaver Lake a few weeks ago, we were at the headwaters of the St. Louis River.

If you care about Lake Superior, you should care about the St. Louis River.

It’s not only the largest of all the Minnesota tributaries to Lake Superior, it’s actually the largest on the entire U.S. side of this transboundary lake. What happens in the St. Louis River can and will impact Minnesota’s one and only Great Lake.

Now the St. Louis River, and consequently Lake Superior, are threatened by new sulfide mining led by PolyMet Mining Corporation. That’s why the St. Louis River has been recognized by American Rivers as one of America’s Most Endangered Rivers® of 2015.

From the rice-lined shores of Seven Beaver Lake, the St. Louis River winds 195 miles across northeastern Minnesota. The water gurgling through the beaver dams on this lake looks clear and clean. Over many thousands of years, the St. Louis River has delivered to Lake Superior countless tons of material eroded from its watershed. The sediment in the estuary, where a few stands of wild rice still grow, came from the river. Walleye and sturgeon in the big lake were born and grew up in the river.

And, for about 100 years, the St. Louis River has carried tons of contaminants from human activities.

To this day, there are high levels of PCBs and mercury in the St. Louis River. Not here in the wild headwaters, but below the historic lumber mill town of Cloquet.

As of 2007, the river had high levels for a veritable cocktail of industrial contaminants, including DDT, dioxin, mercury, and PCBs. How much of that historic water pollution actually entered Lake Superior is hard to determine now, but we know that these types of contaminants build up in the food chain and get into our bodies. In 2012, research revealed that one in ten infants in the North Shore area had high levels of mercury in their blood.

Just as we’re making progress on reducing the sources of these contaminants, along comes a proposal for a new source of mercury and sulfates in the river: the PolyMet copper-nickel sulfide mine. PolyMet hopes to open Minnesota’s first sulfide mine sometime in 2017, and may be seeking permits as soon as this fall.

How could the State of Minnesota ever allow the construction of a new mine and a new source of mercury in the St. Louis River?

The Minnesota Pollution Control Agency is saying there is too much mercury in the river and its fish; at the same time, they are being asked to allow more mercury to be added.

There are so many reasons to protect the endangered St. Louis River from the threats proposed by the PolyMet project. Here’s one very important reason— to save Lake Superior and protect the drinking water supply for thousands of Americans.

---

Andrew Slade is the Northeast Program Coordinator for Minnesota Environmental Partnership. Minnesota Environmental Partnership is a statewide coalition of environmental and conservation nonprofits working together for clean energy, clean water, and investments in Minnesota’s Great Outdoors.

The National Hunting & Fishing Day has its origins in connecting hunting and fishing with conservation, both to recognize that hunters and anglers were some of the first and most ardent people committed to restoring fish and wildlife and to encourage the continued effort to protect fish, wildlife, and the habitats they depend upon.

The work that American Rivers does makes a direct contribution to this cause. Whether we are removing dams, protecting rivers and their adjacent lands through “Wild and Scenic” designations, restoring floodplains and meadows, or working with hydropower companies to improve their dam operations for the benefit of the river downstream, virtually all of our work helps fish habitat and fishing. Here is a little more detail, and you can read more examples here:

Dam removals: there is no single, better thing you can do to restore a river than to remove an outdated dam. Whether it’s to open up spawning grounds and seasonal migrations for trout (like the 6 miles of the Batten Kill opened by removing the Dufresne Dam in Manchester, Vermont…a nice side trip if you are in town either visiting Orvis or stopping by the American Museum of Fly Fishing), removing barriers for salmon (like on the Penobscot for Atlantic salmon or the Elwha for Pacific salmon and steelhead), or helping to recover/restore populations of herring and other forage fish that stripers, false albacore, and other predator fish depend upon, there’s a great benefit for fish and fishing.

Wild and Scenic River designations: by working with local, state, and federal representatives to designate a river as “Wild and Scenic”, a river is protected forever from damming, diversions, or any development that hurts its natural value. A great example is the 415 miles of the Snake River and its tributaries around Jackson Hole, which American Rivers played a key role in supporting and which is now essentially a native trout sanctuary.

Floodplain and meadow restorations: salmon that rear in a floodplain are twice as big when they go to sea and twice as likely to return to spawn. Meadow restorations, like Pine Creek in California, allow for full-year migrations that connect native trout to their spawning grounds.

Hydropower improvements: by working with hydropower companies to establish minimum flows and minimum levels of dissolved oxygen, we can bring rivers back to life. This was the case on the Saluda River in South Carolina, where trout survive year-round and you can now catch 24-inch brown trout.

You can learn more about our work that protects and restores fish habitat by going to www.AmericanRivers.org/AnglersFund, and clicking on the conservation updates we’ve posted over the past few year.

Thanks for your interest in our work, and happy fishing on National Hunting and Fishing Day.

The General Mining Act of 1872 is an antiquated law that governs mining industry operations on public lands, despite advances in knowledge and technology that should long ago have led to a change in the way mines are opened and operated. A lot has changed since this law was passed 143 years ago. In that time, countless discoveries and advancements have kept our country in the forefront of technological advancement, increasing our awareness of the impacts of mining on the environment.

So you might be pondering… what was happening around 1872? Has America really changed that much? The answer is simple: Yes.

Let’s think about the everyday life of an American citizen. If you were born in 1872, like President Calvin Coolidge, you were likely to die by the age of 40. At this time, sanitation had only recently been implemented to prevent the spread of germs. This means that many doctors wouldn’t bother to wash their hands between patients because they considered infection to be spontaneous.

President Ulysses S. Grant must have really wanted those lucky enough to survive a visit to the doctor to move out west because the Federal Government at the time would only charge a maximum of $5 per acre for minerals extracted from publically-owned lands. (It’s worth noting that many of these “publically-owned lands” had recently been taken at gunpoint from Native Americans who had lived on them for millennia.) Perhaps President Grant thought that pioneers needed additional coaxing. After all, no one could hop in their cars and relocate. Henry Ford, being nine years old, was still 36 years away from developing his Model T.

Another jaw-dropping contrast between now and then is how far our technology has come. The original typewriter was produced one year after this enduring mining law that dictates how economic minerals, such as gold, copper and uranium, are mined on federal property. Just like our communication capacity, our capabilities and efficiency for mineral extraction have come a long way from the pickaxe and pan.

I do not wish to undermine the individuals that shaped our great nation. I mean only to showcase that nearly every aspect from medicine and science to transportation and communication has been updated to reflect our constantly changing landscape. In the meantime, a major law governing mining has remained unchanged and outdated, even as the technology associated with mining operations has changed dramatically.

If our forefathers had known that foreign-owned mining companies could take valuable hardrock minerals including gold, uranium and nickel from public lands without royalty payment to the taxpayer, they might have structured this law differently. They most likely trusted that Americans wouldn’t stand for such a thing. I expect that they assumed we would fix the law if a problem arose, adapting to the changing times. I hope that they would encourage us to protect our lands from the permanent harm we’ve seen done time and time again from large-scale industrial mining.

The 1872 mining law needs be updated, and but it’s a big battle against well entrenched powerful special interests. It’s a fight we welcome, but it’s not going to be won overnight.

In the meantime, we can use the tools we have to protect our public lands today. Southwestern Oregon is threatened by industrial strip mining and it would be a shame to ruin these lands and essentially take them off the map.

In this day and age, it doesn’t seem possible that a foreign mining corporation could come to America, take over a vast swath of Oregon wilderness, rip out an entire forest, turn a mountain ridge into an enormous open-pit strip-mine, pollute some of our nation’s last, freely flowing pristine rivers, and destroy untold numbers of cutthroat trout, steelhead and salmon, then leave a hugely expensive mess for taxpayers to clean up once the mine plays out.

But that’s exactly what’s about to happen— if we fail to stop it.

The Smith River begins its life in the mountains of Oregon and twists and turns through the southwestern part of the state before flowing into northwestern California where it provides the drinking water for not only myself, but also the approximately 30,000 year-around residents, and the thousands of seasonal tourists who visit this remote county in which I live—Del Norte—the north-westernmost county in California, 350 miles north of San Francisco.

The Smith is one of the most beautiful rivers you’ll ever see. After it enters California, it meanders through the towering, ancient, cathedral-like groves of Redwoods National and State Parks. It cuts through deep gorges and canyons, and roars over rocky chutes. When it’s swollen by winter storms and snow-melt, it produces world-class whitewater for rafters and kayakers. The bedrock that forms its various channels is a type of green-tinted serpentine that makes the river’s crystal-clear water appear to be a flawless, transparent, other-worldly emerald hue.

Because it flows through the redwoods and always moves swiftly due to continuous drops in elevation as it rushes from the mountains to the sea, unhindered by dams, there’s almost no runoff or sediment to make it cloudy or to settle on its rocky bed. It’s so clear, you can easily see rocks and gravel on the bottom, even in the deepest holes. In late summer, when the current slows and water levels drop, you can watch trout, steelhead and salmon swim leisurely by. Eventually, the offspring of those salmon and steelhead will return to the sea where they’ll play an important yet declining role in Del Norte County’s commercial and sport-fishing industries.

Del Norte is one of California’s poorest counties. It needs all the economic help it can get, and certainly does not need a mining corporation poisoning the streams that provide an already-diminishing supply of fish to its struggling fishing industry. Besides, the beauty and recreational value of the Smith River wending its way through the redwoods draws visitors from all over the world, and when they stay in our local lodgings and eat in our local restaurants, their drinking water comes from the Smith River. It’s not just local residents who’ll be drinking arsenic-laced tap water if nickel mining is permitted in southwestern Oregon. And tourists can decide to vacation elsewhere, further eroding our already precarious local economy.

What You Can Do

We must put a stop to this outrageous despoiling of our last, best, wild places. Please lend your support to the fight to save our undammed, pristine rivers.

Take a photo tour of Pistol River, Hunter Creek and the Smith Rivers from the eye of Ken Morrish, photographer and co-owner of Fly Water Travel in Ashland, Oregon.

[metaslider id=25967]

What You Can Do

This action to protect the Rogue, Illinois and Smith rivers in Oregon and California has been closed.

This post was originally discussing Senate bill S 1236. Currently the House Committee on Energy & Commerce voted to add an amendment to the energy bill [HR 8] that accomplishes the same goals with the same problems.

---

A bill pending in the U.S. Senate would give the hydroelectric industry and the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission the kind of unconditional authority more akin to what the Robber Barons enjoyed in the late 1800s, than to what reasonable people might expect today.

Consider the last time a plan like Senate Bill 1236 was hatched. It was 2005. If anyone wonders how, during the last decade, a million new gas wells got drilled while people’s water supplies were fouled, streams depleted, sewage plants overloaded and air polluted, look no further than the “Halliburton loophole” — a Dick-Cheney-greased act of Congress. That Bush-era law exempted the gas industry from regulations that otherwise apply to the injection of undisclosed toxins into groundwater.

Now, with Congress leaning in its favor, the hydropower industry wants to ensure its share of fracking-style freedom. Proposed by Alaska Republican Sen. Lisa Murkowski, the so-called Hydropower Improvement Act of 2015 would exempt the industry from long-standing laws that protect rivers and streams from pollution.

Under the guise of promoting renewable energy, the bill would eliminate the ability of fish and wildlife agencies to require compromises when those public resources are imperiled. It would restrict the authority of the Environmental Protection Agency and the states to uphold accepted standards for pollution, temperature, and flow under the Clean Water Act and other statutes, and make sure that they are not violated. The bill would limit citizen involvement and appeals when members of the public, including local governments and Indian tribes, are concerned about their rivers, jobs and communities. It would dispose of due process in investigation, review and negotiation, giving sole authority to the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, whose mission, political culture and history is unabashedly to increase hydropower production.

Because this measure slashes virtually all ties of hydro-proposals to environmental regulations, it makes you wonder about its sponsors’ boast that they are ensuring “clean” energy. If this bill is so great for the environment, why does it eliminate environmental reviews?

Clean energy sounds good, and some hydropower plans pose little conflict with other public values. But many other hydroelectric proposals come with sticky strings attached. Dams that are built for hydroelectric production flood canyons, valleys, forests, rivers and homes. The diversions to generators dry up rivers needed by fish, including our legendary salmon in California and the Northwest. Power production alters the schedule of flows, so that floods get released during one hour but are turned into trickles during the next, leaving fish either flushed out or high-and-dry. Hydropower development can also warm rivers at a time when temperature pollution is one of the most pressing problems for surviving fisheries and endangered species.

This unnecessary act of Congress would abandon a time-tested process of cooperation and negotiation that for decades has led to better hydroelectric production. For example, on the North Fork Feather River in California — otherwise an exquisite stream of the Sierra Nevada — hydroelectric plants for years dried up channels and flushed flows so erratically that they endangered the lives of anglers. After all sides recognized their responsibilities and the need to compromise, the flows were revised to produce power while sustaining other uses of the river. The Feather has since become a recreational hotspot that fuels the local economy.

On the Deschutes River of Oregon, salmon and steelhead that had been unable to reach their spawning grounds since 1958 (despite official state objection) are on their way again, thanks to an agreement between the power producer, Indian tribes and resource agencies. Everyone will benefit.

At the Yuba River in California, the Chelan in Washington, the Bear in Idaho, and dozens of others throughout the country, agreements have been peacefully and economically negotiated. These better outcomes include laws like the Fish and Wildlife Coordination Act that gave citizens and public agencies some say in the fate of our public waterways.

The Association of Fish and Wildlife Agencies, representing agencies in all 50 states, opposes this measure — deceptively called “hydropower regulatory modernization” — as a giant step backward. Our laws governing hydropower are working well. Legitimate power producers are doing a good job. We don’t need to pander to those who aspire to become Robber Barons in our own time.

What you can do

Help stop this dirty energy bill from happening. Tell Congress to oppose this hydropower bill that would let dams be operated without the safeguards of modern environmental laws. »