Cookies help us run our site more efficiently.

By clicking “Accept”, you agree to the storing of cookies on your device to enhance site navigation, analyze site usage, and assist in our marketing efforts. View our Privacy Policy for more information or to customize your cookie preferences.

A rare glimpse inside the mountain tunnel that carries water to Southern California

News Feed
Sunday, April 27, 2025

Thousands of feet below the snowy summit of Mt. San Jacinto, a formidable feat of engineering and grit makes life as we know it in Southern California possible. The 13-mile-long San Jacinto Tunnel was bored through the mountain in the 1930s by a crew of about 1,200 men who worked day and night for six years, blasting rock and digging with machinery. Completed in 1939, the tunnel was a cornerstone in the construction of the 242-mile Colorado River Aqueduct. It enabled the delivery of as much as 1 billion gallons of water per day.The tunnel is usually off-limits when it is filled and coursing with a massive stream of Colorado River water. But recently, while it was shut down for annual maintenance, the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California opened the west end of the passage to give The Times and others a rare look inside. “It’s an engineering marvel,” said John Bednarski, an assistant general manager of MWD. “It’s pretty awe-inspiring.” The 16-foot-diameter San Jacinto Tunnel runs 13 miles through the mountain. While shut down for maintenance, the tunnel has a constant stream of water entering from the mountain. A group visits the west end of the San Jacinto Tunnel, where the mouth of the water tunnel enters a chamber. He wore a hard hat as he led a group to the gaping, horseshoe-shaped mouth of the tunnel. The passage’s concrete arch faded in the distance to pitch black.The tunnel wasn’t entirely empty. The sound of rushing water echoed from the walls as an ankle-deep stream flowed from the portal and cascaded into a churning pool beneath metal gates. Many in the tour group wore rubber boots as they stood on moist concrete in a chamber faintly lit by filtered sunlight, peering into the dark tunnel. This constant flow comes as groundwater seeps and gushes from springs that run through the heart of the mountain. In places deep in the tunnel, water shoots so forcefully from the floor or the wall that workers have affectionately named these soaking obstacles “the fire hose” and “the car wash.”Standing by the flowing stream, Bednarski called it “leakage water from the mountain itself.”Mt. San Jacinto rises 10,834 feet above sea level, making it the second-highest peak in Southern California after 11,503-foot Mt. San Gorgonio.As the tunnel passes beneath San Jacinto’s flank, as much as 2,500 feet of solid rock lies overhead, pierced only by two vertical ventilation shafts. Snow covers Mt. San Jacinto, as seen from Whitewater, in March. At the base of the mountain, the 13-mile San Jacinto Tunnel starts its journey. The tunnel transports Colorado River water to Southern California’s cities. During maintenance, workers roll through on a tractor equipped with a frame bearing metal bristles that scrape the tunnel walls, cleaning off algae and any growth of invasive mussels. Workers also inspect the tunnel by passing through on an open trailer, scanning for any cracks that require repairs.“It’s like a Disneyland ride,” said Bryan Raymond, an MWD conveyance team manager. “You’re sitting on this trailer, and there’s a bunch of other people on it too, and you’re just cruising through looking at the walls.” Aside from the spraying and trickling water, employee Michael Volpone said he has also heard faint creaking.“If you sit still and listen, you can kind of hear the earth move,” he said. “It’s a little eerie.”Standing at the mouth of the tunnel, the constant babble of cascading water dominates the senses. The air is moist but not musty. Put a hand to the clear flowing water, and it feels warm enough for a swim. On the concrete walls are stained lines that extend into the darkness, marking where the water often reaches when the aqueduct is running full. Many who have worked on the aqueduct say they are impressed by the system’s design and how engineers and workers built such a monumental system with the basic tools and technology available during the Great Depression.Pipelines and tunnelsThe search for a route to bring Colorado River water across the desert to Los Angeles began with the signing of a 1922 agreement that divided water among seven states. After the passage of a $2-million bond measure by Los Angeles voters in 1925, hundreds of surveyors fanned out across the largely roadless Mojave and Sonoran deserts to take measurements and study potential routes.The surveyors traveled mostly on horseback and on foot as they mapped the rugged terrain, enduring grueling days in desert camps where the heat sometimes topped 120 degrees.Planners studied and debated more than 100 potential paths before settling on one in 1931. The route began near Parker, Ariz., and took a curving path through desert valleys, around obstacles and, where there was no better option, through mountains.In one official report, a manager wrote that “to bore straight through the mountains is very expensive and to pump over them is likewise costly.” He said the planners carefully weighed these factors as they decided on a solution that would deliver water at the lowest cost. VIDEO | 02:45 A visit to the giant tunnel that brings Colorado River water to Southern California Share via Those in charge of the Metropolitan Water District, which had been created in 1928 to lead the effort, were focused on delivering water to 13 participating cities, including Los Angeles, Burbank and Anaheim. William Mulholland, Los Angeles’ chief water engineer, had led an early scouting party to map possible routes from the Colorado River to Southern California’s cities in 1923, a decade after he celebrated the completion of the 233-mile aqueduct from the Owens Valley to Los Angeles with the triumphant words, “There it is. Take it.”The aqueduct’s design matched the audaciousness of the giant dams the federal government was starting to build along the Colorado — Hoover Dam (originally called Boulder Dam) and Parker Dam, which formed the reservoir where the aqueduct would begin its journey.Five pumping plants would be built to lift water more than 1,600 feet along the route across the desert. Between those points, water would run by gravity through open canals, buried pipelines and 29 separate tunnels stretching 92 miles — the longest of which was a series of nine tunnels running 33.7 miles through hills bordering the Coachella Valley.To make it possible, voters in the district’s 13 cities overwhelmingly approved a $220-million bond in 1931, the equivalent of a $4.5-billion investment today, which enabled the hiring of 35,000 workers. Crews set up camps, excavated canals and began to blast open shafts through the desert’s rocky spines to make way for water.In 1933, workers started tearing into the San Jacinto Mountains at several locations, from the east and the west, as well as excavating shafts from above. Black-and-white photographs and films showed miners in hard hats and soiled uniforms as they stood smoking cigarettes, climbing into open rail cars and running machinery that scooped and loaded piles of rocks.Crews on another hulking piece of equipment, called a jumbo, used compressed-air drills to bore dozens of holes, which were packed with blasting power and detonated to pierce the rock. (Courtesy of Metropolitan Water District of Southern California) The work progressed slowly, growing complicated when the miners struck underground streams, which sent water gushing in.According to a 1991 history of the MWD titled “A Water Odyssey,” one flood in 1934 disabled two of three pumps that had been brought in to clear the tunnel. In another sudden flood, an engineer recalled that “the water came in with a big, mad rush and filled the shaft to the top. Miners scrambled up the 800-foot ladder to the surface, and the last man out made it with water swirling around his waist.”Death and delaysAccording to the MWD’s records, 13 workers died during the tunnel’s construction, including men who were struck by falling rocks, run over by equipment or electrocuted with a wire on one of the mining trolleys that rolled on railroad tracks. The Metropolitan Water District had originally hired Wenzel & Henoch Construction Co. to build the tunnel. But after less than two years, only about two miles of the tunnel had been excavated, and the contractor was fired by MWD general manager Frank Elwin “F.E.” Weymouth, who assigned the district’s engineers and workers to complete the project.Construction was delayed again in 1937 when workers went on strike for six weeks. But in 1939, the last wall of rock tumbled down, uniting the east and west tunnels, and the tunnel was finished. John Bednarski, assistant general manager of the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California, stands in a water tunnel near the end point of the larger San Jacinto Tunnel, which carries Colorado River water. The total cost was $23.5 million. But there also were other costs. As the construction work drained water, many nearby springs used by the Native Soboba people stopped flowing. The drying of springs and creeks left the tribe’s members without water and starved their farms, which led to decades of litigation by the Soboba Band of Luiseño Indians and eventually a legal settlement in 2008 that resolved the tribe’s water rights claims.The ‘magic touch’ of waterBy the time the tunnel was completed, the Metropolitan Water District had released a 20-minute film that was shown in movie theaters and schools celebrating its conquest of the Colorado River and the desert. It called Mt. San Jacinto the “tallest and most forbidding barrier.”In a rich baritone, the narrator declared Southern California “a new empire made possible by the magic touch of water.” “Water required to support this growth and wealth could not be obtained from the local rainfall in this land of sunshine,” the narrator said as the camera showed newly built homes and streets filled with cars and buses. “The people therefore realized that a new and dependable water supply must be provided, and this new water supply has been found on the lofty western slopes of the Rocky Mountains, a wonderland of beauty, clad by nature in a white mantle of snow.”Water began to flow through the aqueduct in 1939 as the pumping plants were tested. At the Julian Hinds Pumping Plant, near the aqueduct’s halfway point, water was lifted 441 feet, surging through three pipelines up a desert mountain. March 2012 image of the 10-foot-diameter delivery lines carrying water 441 feet uphill from the Julian Hinds Pumping Plant. (Los Angeles Times) From there, the water flowed by gravity, moving at 3-6 mph as it traveled through pipelines, siphons and tunnels. It entered the San Jacinto Tunnel in Cabazon, passed under the mountain and emerged near the city of San Jacinto, then continued in pipelines to Lake Mathews reservoir in Riverside County. In 1941, Colorado River water started flowing to Pasadena, Beverly Hills, Compton and other cities. Within six years, another pipeline was built to transport water from the aqueduct south to San Diego.The influx of water fueled Southern California’s rapid growth during and after World War II.Over decades, the dams and increased diversions also took an environmental toll, drying up much of the once-vast wetlands in Mexico’s Colorado River Delta. John Bednarski, assistant general manager of the Metropolitan Water District, walks in a water tunnel near the end point of the larger San Jacinto Tunnel. An impressive designToday, 19 million people depend on water delivered by the MWD, which also imports supplies from Northern California through the aqueducts and pipelines of the State Water Project.In recent decades, the agency has continued boring tunnels where needed to move water. A $1.2-billion, 44-mile-long conveyance system called the Inland Feeder, completed in 2009, involved boring eight miles of tunnels through the San Bernardino Mountains and another 7.9-mile tunnel under the Badlands in Riverside County.The system enabled the district to increase its capacity and store more water during wet years in Diamond Valley Lake, Southern California’s largest reservoir, which can hold about 260 billion gallons of water. “Sometimes tunneling is actually the most effective way to get from point A to point B,” said Deven Upadhyay, the MWD’s general manager.Speaking hypothetically, Upadhyay said, if engineers had another shot at designing and building the aqueduct now using modern technology, it’s hard to say if they would end up choosing the same route through Mt. San Jacinto or a different route around it. But the focus on minimizing cost might yield a similar route, he said.“Even to this day, it’s a pretty impressive design,” Upadhyay said.When people drive past on the I-10 in Cabazon, few realize that a key piece of infrastructure lies hidden where the desert meets the base of the mountain. At the tunnel’s exit point near San Jacinto, the only visible signs of the infrastructure are several concrete structures resembling bunkers. When the aqueduct is running, those who enter the facility will hear the rumble of rushing water. The tunnel’s west end was opened to a group of visitors in March, when the district’s managers held an event to name the tunnel in honor of Randy Record, who served on the MWD board for two decades and was chair from 2014 to 2018. Speaking to an audience, Upadhyay reflected on the struggles the region now faces as the Colorado River is sapped by drought and global warming, and he drew a parallel to the challenges the tunnel’s builders overcame in the 1930s. “They found a path,” Upadhyay said. “This incredible engineering feat. And it required strength, courage and really an innovative spirit.” “When we now think about the challenges that we face today, dealing with wild swings in climate and the potential reductions that we might face, sharing dwindling supplies on our river systems with the growing Southwest, it’s going to require the same thing — strength, courage and a spirit of innovation,” he said. A steep steel staircase gives access to a water tunnel near the end point of the larger San Jacinto Tunnel, which carries Colorado River water to Southern California.

In the 1930s, workers bored a 13-mile tunnel beneath Mt. San Jacinto. Here's a look inside the engineering feat that carries Colorado River water to Southern California.

Thousands of feet below the snowy summit of Mt. San Jacinto, a formidable feat of engineering and grit makes life as we know it in Southern California possible.

The 13-mile-long San Jacinto Tunnel was bored through the mountain in the 1930s by a crew of about 1,200 men who worked day and night for six years, blasting rock and digging with machinery. Completed in 1939, the tunnel was a cornerstone in the construction of the 242-mile Colorado River Aqueduct. It enabled the delivery of as much as 1 billion gallons of water per day.

The tunnel is usually off-limits when it is filled and coursing with a massive stream of Colorado River water. But recently, while it was shut down for annual maintenance, the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California opened the west end of the passage to give The Times and others a rare look inside.

“It’s an engineering marvel,” said John Bednarski, an assistant general manager of MWD. “It’s pretty awe-inspiring.”

The west portal of the San Jacinto Tunnel.

The 16-foot-diameter San Jacinto Tunnel runs 13 miles through the mountain. While shut down for maintenance, the tunnel has a constant stream of water entering from the mountain.

A group on a tour of the west end of the San Jacinto Tunnel.

A group visits the west end of the San Jacinto Tunnel, where the mouth of the water tunnel enters a chamber.

He wore a hard hat as he led a group to the gaping, horseshoe-shaped mouth of the tunnel. The passage’s concrete arch faded in the distance to pitch black.

The tunnel wasn’t entirely empty. The sound of rushing water echoed from the walls as an ankle-deep stream flowed from the portal and cascaded into a churning pool beneath metal gates. Many in the tour group wore rubber boots as they stood on moist concrete in a chamber faintly lit by filtered sunlight, peering into the dark tunnel.

This constant flow comes as groundwater seeps and gushes from springs that run through the heart of the mountain. In places deep in the tunnel, water shoots so forcefully from the floor or the wall that workers have affectionately named these soaking obstacles “the fire hose” and “the car wash.”

Standing by the flowing stream, Bednarski called it “leakage water from the mountain itself.”

Mt. San Jacinto rises 10,834 feet above sea level, making it the second-highest peak in Southern California after 11,503-foot Mt. San Gorgonio.

As the tunnel passes beneath San Jacinto’s flank, as much as 2,500 feet of solid rock lies overhead, pierced only by two vertical ventilation shafts.

Snow covers Mt. San Jacinto, as seen from Whitewater.

Snow covers Mt. San Jacinto, as seen from Whitewater, in March. At the base of the mountain, the 13-mile San Jacinto Tunnel starts its journey. The tunnel transports Colorado River water to Southern California’s cities.

During maintenance, workers roll through on a tractor equipped with a frame bearing metal bristles that scrape the tunnel walls, cleaning off algae and any growth of invasive mussels. Workers also inspect the tunnel by passing through on an open trailer, scanning for any cracks that require repairs.

“It’s like a Disneyland ride,” said Bryan Raymond, an MWD conveyance team manager. “You’re sitting on this trailer, and there’s a bunch of other people on it too, and you’re just cruising through looking at the walls.”

Aside from the spraying and trickling water, employee Michael Volpone said he has also heard faint creaking.

“If you sit still and listen, you can kind of hear the earth move,” he said. “It’s a little eerie.”

Standing at the mouth of the tunnel, the constant babble of cascading water dominates the senses. The air is moist but not musty. Put a hand to the clear flowing water, and it feels warm enough for a swim.

On the concrete walls are stained lines that extend into the darkness, marking where the water often reaches when the aqueduct is running full.

Many who have worked on the aqueduct say they are impressed by the system’s design and how engineers and workers built such a monumental system with the basic tools and technology available during the Great Depression.

Pipelines and tunnels

The search for a route to bring Colorado River water across the desert to Los Angeles began with the signing of a 1922 agreement that divided water among seven states. After the passage of a $2-million bond measure by Los Angeles voters in 1925, hundreds of surveyors fanned out across the largely roadless Mojave and Sonoran deserts to take measurements and study potential routes.

The surveyors traveled mostly on horseback and on foot as they mapped the rugged terrain, enduring grueling days in desert camps where the heat sometimes topped 120 degrees.

Planners studied and debated more than 100 potential paths before settling on one in 1931. The route began near Parker, Ariz., and took a curving path through desert valleys, around obstacles and, where there was no better option, through mountains.

In one official report, a manager wrote that “to bore straight through the mountains is very expensive and to pump over them is likewise costly.” He said the planners carefully weighed these factors as they decided on a solution that would deliver water at the lowest cost.

VIDEO | 02:45

A visit to the giant tunnel that brings Colorado River water to Southern California

  • Share via

Those in charge of the Metropolitan Water District, which had been created in 1928 to lead the effort, were focused on delivering water to 13 participating cities, including Los Angeles, Burbank and Anaheim.

William Mulholland, Los Angeles’ chief water engineer, had led an early scouting party to map possible routes from the Colorado River to Southern California’s cities in 1923, a decade after he celebrated the completion of the 233-mile aqueduct from the Owens Valley to Los Angeles with the triumphant words, “There it is. Take it.”

The aqueduct’s design matched the audaciousness of the giant dams the federal government was starting to build along the Colorado — Hoover Dam (originally called Boulder Dam) and Parker Dam, which formed the reservoir where the aqueduct would begin its journey.

Five pumping plants would be built to lift water more than 1,600 feet along the route across the desert. Between those points, water would run by gravity through open canals, buried pipelines and 29 separate tunnels stretching 92 miles — the longest of which was a series of nine tunnels running 33.7 miles through hills bordering the Coachella Valley.

To make it possible, voters in the district’s 13 cities overwhelmingly approved a $220-million bond in 1931, the equivalent of a $4.5-billion investment today, which enabled the hiring of 35,000 workers. Crews set up camps, excavated canals and began to blast open shafts through the desert’s rocky spines to make way for water.

In 1933, workers started tearing into the San Jacinto Mountains at several locations, from the east and the west, as well as excavating shafts from above.

Black-and-white photographs and films showed miners in hard hats and soiled uniforms as they stood smoking cigarettes, climbing into open rail cars and running machinery that scooped and loaded piles of rocks.

Crews on another hulking piece of equipment, called a jumbo, used compressed-air drills to bore dozens of holes, which were packed with blasting power and detonated to pierce the rock.

A piece of equipment called a drill jumbo is used during construction of the San Jacinto Tunnel.

(Courtesy of Metropolitan Water District of Southern California)

The work progressed slowly, growing complicated when the miners struck underground streams, which sent water gushing in.

According to a 1991 history of the MWD titled “A Water Odyssey,” one flood in 1934 disabled two of three pumps that had been brought in to clear the tunnel. In another sudden flood, an engineer recalled that “the water came in with a big, mad rush and filled the shaft to the top. Miners scrambled up the 800-foot ladder to the surface, and the last man out made it with water swirling around his waist.”

Death and delays

According to the MWD’s records, 13 workers died during the tunnel’s construction, including men who were struck by falling rocks, run over by equipment or electrocuted with a wire on one of the mining trolleys that rolled on railroad tracks.

The Metropolitan Water District had originally hired Wenzel & Henoch Construction Co. to build the tunnel. But after less than two years, only about two miles of the tunnel had been excavated, and the contractor was fired by MWD general manager Frank Elwin “F.E.” Weymouth, who assigned the district’s engineers and workers to complete the project.

Construction was delayed again in 1937 when workers went on strike for six weeks. But in 1939, the last wall of rock tumbled down, uniting the east and west tunnels, and the tunnel was finished.

John Bednarski stands in a water tunnel near the end point of the larger San Jacinto Tunnel.

John Bednarski, assistant general manager of the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California, stands in a water tunnel near the end point of the larger San Jacinto Tunnel, which carries Colorado River water.

The total cost was $23.5 million. But there also were other costs. As the construction work drained water, many nearby springs used by the Native Soboba people stopped flowing. The drying of springs and creeks left the tribe’s members without water and starved their farms, which led to decades of litigation by the Soboba Band of Luiseño Indians and eventually a legal settlement in 2008 that resolved the tribe’s water rights claims.

The ‘magic touch’ of water

By the time the tunnel was completed, the Metropolitan Water District had released a 20-minute film that was shown in movie theaters and schools celebrating its conquest of the Colorado River and the desert. It called Mt. San Jacinto the “tallest and most forbidding barrier.”

In a rich baritone, the narrator declared Southern California “a new empire made possible by the magic touch of water.”

“Water required to support this growth and wealth could not be obtained from the local rainfall in this land of sunshine,” the narrator said as the camera showed newly built homes and streets filled with cars and buses. “The people therefore realized that a new and dependable water supply must be provided, and this new water supply has been found on the lofty western slopes of the Rocky Mountains, a wonderland of beauty, clad by nature in a white mantle of snow.”

Water began to flow through the aqueduct in 1939 as the pumping plants were tested. At the Julian Hinds Pumping Plant, near the aqueduct’s halfway point, water was lifted 441 feet, surging through three pipelines up a desert mountain.

March 2012 image of the 10-foot-diameter delivery lines carrying water 441 feet uphill from the Julian Hinds Pumping Plant.

March 2012 image of the 10-foot-diameter delivery lines carrying water 441 feet uphill from the Julian Hinds Pumping Plant.

(Los Angeles Times)

From there, the water flowed by gravity, moving at 3-6 mph as it traveled through pipelines, siphons and tunnels. It entered the San Jacinto Tunnel in Cabazon, passed under the mountain and emerged near the city of San Jacinto, then continued in pipelines to Lake Mathews reservoir in Riverside County.

In 1941, Colorado River water started flowing to Pasadena, Beverly Hills, Compton and other cities. Within six years, another pipeline was built to transport water from the aqueduct south to San Diego.

The influx of water fueled Southern California’s rapid growth during and after World War II.

Over decades, the dams and increased diversions also took an environmental toll, drying up much of the once-vast wetlands in Mexico’s Colorado River Delta.

John Bednarski walks in a water tunnel near the end point of the larger San Jacinto Tunnel.

John Bednarski, assistant general manager of the Metropolitan Water District, walks in a water tunnel near the end point of the larger San Jacinto Tunnel.

An impressive design

Today, 19 million people depend on water delivered by the MWD, which also imports supplies from Northern California through the aqueducts and pipelines of the State Water Project.

In recent decades, the agency has continued boring tunnels where needed to move water. A $1.2-billion, 44-mile-long conveyance system called the Inland Feeder, completed in 2009, involved boring eight miles of tunnels through the San Bernardino Mountains and another 7.9-mile tunnel under the Badlands in Riverside County.

The system enabled the district to increase its capacity and store more water during wet years in Diamond Valley Lake, Southern California’s largest reservoir, which can hold about 260 billion gallons of water.

“Sometimes tunneling is actually the most effective way to get from point A to point B,” said Deven Upadhyay, the MWD’s general manager.

Speaking hypothetically, Upadhyay said, if engineers had another shot at designing and building the aqueduct now using modern technology, it’s hard to say if they would end up choosing the same route through Mt. San Jacinto or a different route around it. But the focus on minimizing cost might yield a similar route, he said.

“Even to this day, it’s a pretty impressive design,” Upadhyay said.

When people drive past on the I-10 in Cabazon, few realize that a key piece of infrastructure lies hidden where the desert meets the base of the mountain. At the tunnel’s exit point near San Jacinto, the only visible signs of the infrastructure are several concrete structures resembling bunkers.

When the aqueduct is running, those who enter the facility will hear the rumble of rushing water.

The tunnel’s west end was opened to a group of visitors in March, when the district’s managers held an event to name the tunnel in honor of Randy Record, who served on the MWD board for two decades and was chair from 2014 to 2018.

Speaking to an audience, Upadhyay reflected on the struggles the region now faces as the Colorado River is sapped by drought and global warming, and he drew a parallel to the challenges the tunnel’s builders overcame in the 1930s.

“They found a path,” Upadhyay said. “This incredible engineering feat. And it required strength, courage and really an innovative spirit.”

“When we now think about the challenges that we face today, dealing with wild swings in climate and the potential reductions that we might face, sharing dwindling supplies on our river systems with the growing Southwest, it’s going to require the same thing — strength, courage and a spirit of innovation,” he said.

A steep steel staircase gives access to a water tunnel near the end point of the larger San Jacinto Tunnel.

A steep steel staircase gives access to a water tunnel near the end point of the larger San Jacinto Tunnel, which carries Colorado River water to Southern California.

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

Scientists Hope Underwater Fiber-Optic Cables Can Help Save Endangered Orcas

Scientists from the University of Washington recently deployed a little over 1 mile of fiber-optic cable in the Salish Sea to test whether internet cables can monitor endangered orcas

SAN JUAN ISLAND, Wash. (AP) — As dawn broke over San Juan Island, a team of scientists stood on the deck of a barge and unspooled over a mile of fiber-optic cable into the frigid waters of the Salish Sea. Working by headlamp, they fed the line from the rocky shore down to the seafloor — home to the region's orcas.The bet is that the same hair-thin strands that carry internet signals can be transformed into a continuous underwater microphone to capture the clicks, calls and whistles of passing whales — information that could reveal how they respond to ship traffic, food scarcity and climate change. If the experiment works, the thousands of miles of fiber-optic cables that already crisscross the ocean floor could be turned into a vast listening network that could inform conservation efforts worldwide.The technology, called Distributed Acoustic Sensing, or DAS, was developed to monitor pipelines and detect infrastructure problems. Now University of Washington scientists are adapting it to listen to the ocean. Unlike traditional hydrophones that listen from a single spot, DAS turns the entire cable into a sensor, allowing it to pinpoint the exact location of an animal and determine the direction it’s heading.“We can imagine that we have thousands of hydrophones along the cable recording data continuously,” said Shima Abadi, professor at the University of Washington Bothell School of STEM and the University of Washington School of Oceanography. “We can know where the animals are and learn about their migration patterns much better than hydrophones.”The researchers have already proven the technology works with large baleen whales. In a test off the Oregon coast, they recorded the low-frequency rumblings of fin whales and blue whales using existing telecommunications cables.But orcas present a bigger challenge: Their clicks and calls operate at high frequencies at which the technology hasn’t yet been tested.The stakes are high. The Southern Resident orcas that frequent the Salish Sea are endangered, with a population hovering around 75. The whales face a triple threat: underwater noise pollution, toxic contaminants and food scarcity.“We have an endangered killer whale trying to eat an endangered salmon species,” said Scott Veirs, president of Beam Reach Marine Science and Sustainability, an organization that develops open-source acoustic systems for whale conservation.The Chinook salmon that orcas depend on have declined dramatically. Since the Pacific Salmon Commission began tracking numbers in 1984, populations have dropped 60% due to habitat loss, overfishing, dams and climate change.Orcas use echolocation – rapid clicks that bounce off objects – to find salmon in murky water. Ship noise can mask those clicks, making it difficult for them to hunt.If DAS works as hoped, it could give conservationists real-time information to protect the whales. For instance, if the system detects orcas heading south toward Seattle and calculates their travel speed, scientists could alert Washington State Ferries to postpone noisy activities or to slow down until the whales pass.“It will for sure help with dynamic management and long-term policy that will have real benefits for the whales,” Veirs said.The technology would also answer basic questions about orca behavior that have eluded scientists, such as determining whether their communication changes when they’re in different behavioral states and how they hunt together. It could even enable researchers to identify which sound is coming from a particular whale — a kind of voice recognition for orcas.The implications extend far beyond the Salish Sea. With some 870,000 miles (1.4 million kilometers) of fiber-optic cables already installed underwater globally, the infrastructure for ocean monitoring largely exists. It just needs to be tapped. “One of the most important challenges for managing wildlife, conserving biodiversity and combating climate change is that there’s just a lack of data overall,” said Yuta Masuda, director of science at Allen Family Philanthropies, which helped fund the project.The timing is critical. The High Seas Treaty enters into force in January, which will allow for new marine protected areas in international waters. But scientists still don’t understand how human activities affect most ocean species or where protections are most needed. A dataset as vast as the one the global web of submarine cables could provide might help determine which areas should be prioritized for protection.“We think this has a lot of promise to fill in those key data gaps,” Masuda said.Back on the barge, the team faced a delicate task: fusing two fibers together above the rolling swell. They struggled to align the strands in a fusion splicer, a device that precisely positions the fiber ends before melting them together with an electric current. The boat rocked. They steadied their hands and tried again, and again. Finally, the weld held. Data soon began flowing to a computer on shore, appearing as waterfall plots — cascading visualizations that show sound frequencies over time. Nearby, cameras trained on the water stood ready so that if a vocalization was detected, researchers could link a behavior with a specific call.All that was left was to sit and wait for orcas.The Associated Press receives support from the Walton Family Foundation for coverage of water and environmental policy. The AP is solely responsible for all content. For all of AP’s environmental coverage, visit https://apnews.com/hub/climate-and-environmentCopyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See – Oct. 2025

New York to appeal after judge OKs radioactive Indian Point water in the Hudson

Governor Kathy Hochul has confirmed that the Indian Point nuclear plant will not be reopened, despite a federal judge's ruling that the state's Save the Hudson Act, which aimed to prevent the dumping of radioactive wastewater into the Hudson River, was invalid.

ALBANY, N.Y. (NEXSTAR) — A federal judge in New York last month struck down the state's Save the Hudson Act, a law that aimed to prevent Holtec International, the owner of the decommissioned Indian Point nuclear plant, from dumping over a million gallons of radioactive wastewater into the Hudson River. Still, despite the ruling and her openness to expand nuclear power in the state, Gov. Kathy Hochul (D) maintains that the site will not reopen. "Let me say this plainly: No," Hochul wrote in a letter to Westchester County Executive Ken Jenkins on Friday, which can be read at the bottom of this story. Entergy, the previous owners of the Indian Point Energy Center, shut down its final reactor, Unit 3, in April 2021. Holtec bought the three-unit nuclear power plant located in the northwestern corner of Westchester County on the eastern bank of the Hudson River in May 2021. Use it or lose it: Summer EBT food benefits expiring Friday The plant is undergoing a decommissioning process that includes removing equipment and structures, reducing residual radioactivity, and dismantling the facility. Holtec projects that process to finish by 2033. The U.S. District Court for the Southern District of New York sided with Holtec in a lawsuit they filed in April 2024, agreeing that state law can't block the discharge of radioactive wastewater from nuclear sites being decommissioned. The court found that only the federal government has that authority, because federal law like the Atomic Energy Act overrules the state under the Supremacy Clause of the U.S. Constitution. Hochul launches $1B clean climate plan as state, federal energy agendas diverge The judge determined that S6893/A7208 wasn't meant to protect the radiological safety of the public or the environment, which falls under federal jurisdiction. Gov. Kathy Hochul and Attorney General Letitia James announced their intent to appeal the decision, arguing that the law represents vital protections for the iconic river and the economic health of the region through tourism and real estate values. Jenkins applauded the decision to appeal, saying, "The Hudson River is the lifeblood of our region—a source of recreation, natural beauty, and economic vitality—and we must do everything in our power to protect it." And in the letter to Jenkins, Hochul directly addressed the concern that the state government may plan to reopen Indian Point or build small modular reactors on the site. NYC storm cancels Columbus Day parade amid Indigenous Peoples Day debate "There have been no discussions or plans," the governor wrote. "I would not support efforts to do so." Riverkeeper, an environmental advocacy group, called the ruling a blow to the progress made in restoring the Hudson River. They worked with local officials to pass the Save the Hudson Act in 2023 after Holtec announced plan to release the wastewater. New York’s 2040 energy grid: Nuclear power, public renewables, and fracked gas pipelines The wastewater in question is contaminated with tritium, a radioactive isotope of hydrogen created during the nuclear fission process. Tritium—whose half-life is 12 years—bonds with oxygen, meaning the wastewater cannot be filtered. S6893/A7208, signed by Hochul in August 2023, lets the attorney general enforce the ban with civil penalties of $37,500 for the first day of violation, $75,000 for the second, and $150,000 per violation thereafter. It came in response to Holtec's initial plan to put between 1.3 and 1.5 million gallons of tritiated water from the spent fuel pools, reactor cavity, and other holding tanks into the Hudson. The company maintained that discharge would be the safest option for the tritiated water, that the planned release represented just 5% of what the plant discharged historically, and that the plan followed federal guidelines. Data challenges tax flight claims in New York The company wanted to start dewatering with three 18,000-gallon batches—45,000 gallons in total—in May 2023. Holtec paused their initial plan so the state could perform independent sampling and analysis of the water. Federal water standards set the maximum contaminant level for tritium at 20,000 picocuries per liter, though California, for example, aims to say below 400 picocuries of tritium per liter. Regulations on radioactive releases from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, the federal body managing decommissions, are based on the dose to the public, regardless of the volume of the discharge. NRC has an internal goal to keep the dose from liquid releases below three millirem per year at the release point, and a legal limit of 25 millirem per year. Power struggle: New York lawmakers, environmentalists clash over electricity The calculated dose to the public from Indian Point in 2021 was about 0.011966 millirem—about one-thousandth of the federal cap. Plus, NRC allows several disposal methods, including transferring the waste, storing it for decay, or releasing it into the environment. Still, critics said the discharge would undermine local economies, erode public trust, and doom the Hudson even as more New Yorkers swim, boat, fish, and work on and in the river. Riverkeeper said there are alternatives, like storing the water for its 12-year half-life. They want the contaminated water to be held at Indian Point for at least 12 years, when its radioactivity will be reduced by half, before exploring any alternative disposal. Gas pipelines eye return to New York But delaying the discharge process could force lay offs of specialized Holtec workers. The company already extended decommissioning timelines at two other sites—Pilgrim and Oyster Creek—from eight to 12 years because of inflated costs and poor market performance. In the letter to Jenkins, Hochul confirmed her support for nuclear as part of the state's energy strategy, but that any new plant would be upstate, and only in communities that want it. Hochul said that downstate New York needs to rely on energy sources like the Champlain Hudson Power Express transmission line, set to bring hydroelectricity from Canada. New York Republican Senators propose scaling back climate laws She characterized the decision to close Indian Point as a hasty failure that caused emissions to rise. It happened before her administration, Hochul argued, and the state "lost 25% of the power that was going to New York City without having a Plan B." Take a look at the letter below: Hochul Indian point letter to JenkinsDownload Arizona AG threatens legal action if Johnson doesn't seat recently elected Democrat FDA expands cinnamon recall to 16 brands with elevated lead levels New York to appeal after judge OKs radioactive Indian Point water in the Hudson Bondi says Facebook has removed page targeting ICE agents after DOJ outreach Live updates: Trump to honor Kirk with Medal of Freedom; Senate to vote as shutdown hits Day 14

Fish Kill at Clear Lake Reveals a Seven-Foot Sturgeon Surprise 

A problem lake was doing pretty well this year. Then came a series of unfortunate water-quality events. The post Fish Kill at Clear Lake Reveals a Seven-Foot Sturgeon Surprise  appeared first on Bay Nature.

Tiny silver fish float up at Clear Lake in August. Big Valley Band of Pomo Indians records indicate this was the biggest fish kill since 2017. (Courtesy of Luis Santana)As Luis Santana motored out onto Clear Lake this August, it seemed at first like a normal summer day out on the water: warm air, cloudy skies, and the wide lake waters full of what seemed like bubbles from the waves.  “Then I stopped, and I was like, Oh my god,” Santana, a fisheries biologist with the Robinson Rancheria tribe, recalls. Those weren’t bubbles; they were millions of dead threadfin shad, and others. “I saw literally every species of fish found in the lake,” except for the Clear Lake tule perch, Santana says. The measurements he took that day revealed what likely killed them: a near-total lack of oxygen in the lake. The fish had, essentially, suffocated. Amid the silver-lined shores, one fish washed up that no one had known to be a resident: a dead seven-foot-long white sturgeon. It was Clear Lake’s first on record. No one knows for sure how it got into the waters, but Santana thinks it died with the shad. White sturgeon (Acipenser transmontanus), the biggest freshwater fish in North America, live in the Bay-Delta. They became a candidate for listing as a threatened species under the California Endangered Species Act after a 2022 harmful algal bloom that killed hundreds of them.  Big ’un: A white sturgeon—in Clear Lake? CDFW says the average sturgeon caught in the Delta these days is about 3.6 feet long, and it is rare to encounter fish larger than 6.5 feet long in California. This one was seven feet. (Courtesy of Luis Santana)This fall’s fish die-off is the lake’s largest since at least 2017, according to records from the Big Valley Band of Pomo Indians. And it is yet another environmental black mark for a lake—California’s largest freshwater body—that has been consistently troubled by poor water quality. Now, scientists are uncovering the exact cause of the die-off—and analyzing the sturgeon for more answers. For Angela DePalma-Dow, a lake scientist and executive director of the Lake County Land Trust, the event reminds her: “There’s so much we can learn from Clear Lake.”  As a five-year-old, Santana spent every summer day swimming in Clear Lake. That’s a distant dream now. The summer lake—despite the name—is rarely clear; more often, it’s clouded dirty green as harmful algal blooms take over the waters. Sometimes, Santana thinks the water smells like sewage. “I don’t think my kids have ever swam in Clear Lake,” Santana says.  Fish die-offs and fish kills are a consequence of these impaired conditions, especially the frequent harmful algal blooms (HABs), during which algae decompose and strip the water of oxygen (while also filling the water with cyanotoxins). The Big Valley Band of Pomo Indians has tracked harmful algal blooms in Clear Lake since 2014. The program started after five years of “thick, noxious blooms covering [Clear Lake’s] surface” (as the tribe writes in a history of the program) and no regular monitoring from the state, despite recommendations from the California Office of Environmental Health Hazard Assessment. “We just needed to have more data,” says Sarah Ryan, the environmental director at the Big Valley Band of Pomo Indians.  “It seems like they have fish kills every year,” says Ben Ewing, who studies the endemic Clear Lake hitch, a large minnow, at the California Department of Fish and Wildlife. “I lost track with how many.” In 2017, the state Legislature formed a committee to restore the lake, citing high mercury levels, dangerous contaminants in fish, and the regular HABs; to date, it has led to tens of millions in state funding for research, restoration, and education projects on Clear Lake, including helping sustain water quality monitoring cut by the state during the Covid pandemic.  Cyanobacteria bloom at Redbud Park, in Clear Lake’s southeast arm, in July 2020. Big Valley Pomo EPA’s sampling found toxins at a “warning” level. The lake is frequently beset by harmful algal blooms. (Courtesy of Big Valley Band of Pomo Indians)This die-off, Ewing says, caught lake-watchers off guard because 2025 seemed like the year Clear Lake might escape a fish kill. The characteristic pea soup of harmful algal blooms had been noticeably absent. Instead, the cause was likely a perfect storm of other conditions, says Ewing. “Everything had to line up correctly for this to happen,” he says.  Two bountiful water seasons laid the ground for it, DePalma-Dow explains. Fish populations—especially nonnative bait fish like shad—boomed with the increased water, which also meant some fish naturally died. She speculates that as their bodies decomposed, they stripped oxygen from the water column. Then, this fall, heavy winds came and distributed the low-oxygen water throughout the water column. A series of cloudy mornings arrived, during which the lake’s aquatic plants couldn’t respire oxygen back into the water. So more fish likely died, triggering oxygen levels to further plummet. Eventually, conditions became fatal for all species of fish. Santana says he measured “basically zeroes on every level” for dissolved oxygen through the water column. DePalma-Dow says this process is just the lake self-regulating, as fish populations outstrip the oxygen available. “This is totally not surprising for a lake cycle event,” she says. “This is a big, huge, natural system.” Santana blames human disturbance for the die-off. “We took away all the habitat that could potentially negate any of these effects,” he says. Clear Lake has lost up to 90 percent of its wetlands, he says, and creeks that might once have provided an infusion of oxygen-rich water into the lake now run dry in May and June. “There’s just so many things we’re taking and taking and not giving back,” he says.  A satellite image of Clear Lake during a May 2024 algal bloom. The emerald color doesn’t tell you whether toxins are present, though. That requires water sampling, which the Big Valley Band of Pomo Indians EPA has been doing since 2014. (Sentinel-2 satellite, via the Copernicus browser)In lieu of those natural processes, technological solutions are being considered: Researchers from UC Davis are exploring installing oxygenators in Clear Lake that could trap nutrients in the sediment under a thin layer of oxygen, theoretically reducing the number of harmful algal blooms—and, possibly, keeping oxygen levels higher so more fish can breathe. “That would be one of the hopeful outcomes,” says DePalma-Dow. Neither the state nor county put out a press release about the die-off, Ryan notes. “It’s always better if you can anticipate the questions and try to get information out.” For now, those living by the lake watch (and smell) the dead fish decompose. “There’s really no post support,” she says.  The August die-off on Clear Lake silvered the shoreline. It claimed fish of “literally every species,” says Luis Santana, a Robinson Rancheria fisheries biologist. (Larger fish on shore courtesy of Luis Santana; silvery shoreline by Shawna McEwan; closeup by Sophia Zesati) Fish populations will likely recover, scientists say. Many fish probably survived, in nooks and crannies. With good winter rains, they can breed and repopulate the waters by spring. This die-off is just another challenge for a beleaguered lake.  As for the sturgeon? USGS scientists were trying to figure out how old it was, and hoping to answer when it got to the lake, but the government shutdown has since paused their work. And they cannot answer questions about their research until the shutdown ends. Santana’s observations of the sturgeon showed it was a female with eggs. For now, the giant fish is a reminder of the treasures that may hide in Clear Lake’s murky waters. “Every year is a mystery and surprise,” DePalma-Dow says.

Millions of households face jump in water bills after regulator backs more price rises

Competition watchdog agrees requests from Anglian, Northumbrian, Southern, Wessex and South East to raise household billsBusiness live – latest updatesWater bills for millions of households in England will increase by even more than expected after the competition regulator gave the green light for five water suppliers to raise charges to customers – but rejected most of the companies’ demands.An independent group of experts appointed by the Competition and Markets Authority (CMA) decided provisionally to let the companies collectively charge customers an extra £556m over the next five years, it said on Thursday. That was only 21% of the £2.7bn that the firms had requested. Continue reading...

Water bills for millions of households in England will increase by even more than expected after the competition regulator gave the green light for five water suppliers to raise charges to customers – but rejected most of the companies’ demands.An independent group of experts appointed by the Competition and Markets Authority (CMA) decided provisionally to let the companies collectively charge customers an extra £556m over the next five years, it said on Thursday. That was only 21% of the £2.7bn that the firms had requested.The five companies – Anglian, Northumbrian, Southern, Wessex and South East – together serve 14.7 million customers. The changes will add 3% on average to those companies’ bills, on top of the 24% increase previously allowed.The companies appealed to the CMA in February for permission to raise bills by more than allowed previously by the industry regulator, Ofwat. They argued they needed more to meet environmental standards.Water bills have become the subject of significant political controversy in recent years in the UK amid widespread disgust over leaks of harmful sewage into Britain’s rivers and seas.Emma Hardy, the water minister, said: “I understand the public’s anger over bill rises – that’s why I expect every water company to offer proper support to anyone struggling to pay.“We’ve made sure that investment cash goes into infrastructure upgrades, not bonuses, and we’re creating a tough new regulator to clean up our waterways and restore trust in the system.”English and Welsh water companies are mostly privately owned, but the prices the local monopolies can charge customers are regulated by Ofwat over five-year periods. Ofwat in December said average annual household bills could rise by 36% to £597 by 2030 to help pay for investment.Ofwat said the companies could spend £104bn in total, paid by consumers.The allowed bill increases stopped well short of the water companies’ requests. The CMA said the expert panel had largely reject companies’ funding requests for new activities and projects beyond those agreed by Ofwat. However, the panel did allow more money for returns to investors, to reflect sustained high interest rates since the bills increases were approved.Anglian Water, serving the east of England and Hartlepool, asked for the average annual household bill to rise to £649 – a 10% increase – but was granted only £599, or 1%. Northumbrian, mainly in north-east England, asked for £515, or 6%, and was given £495, also 1%.South East Water, which only provides drinking water and not sewage services in several home counties, asked for an 18% increase to £322, but was allowed 4% to £286. Southern Water, on England’s south-east coast, asked for a 15% increase to £710. That would have been the highest bill in England and Wales, but it was allowed only a 3% increase to £638.Wessex Water in south-west England asked for an 8% increase to £642, and was granted the biggest proportional increase on appeal of 5% to £622.The CMA and other regulators have faced pressure from the Labour government to put more focus on economic growth. The chancellor, Rachel Reeves, this year appointed former Amazon boss Doug Gurr to lead the CMA.Kirstin Baker, the chair of the group that decided on the appeals, said: “We’ve found that water companies’ requests for significant bill increases, on top of those allowed by Ofwat, are largely unjustified.skip past newsletter promotionSign up to Business TodayGet set for the working day – we'll point you to all the business news and analysis you need every morningPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain information about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. If you do not have an account, we will create a guest account for you on theguardian.com to send you this newsletter. You can complete full registration at any time. For more information about how we use your data see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotion“We understand the real pressure on household budgets and have worked to keep increases to a minimum, while still ensuring there is funding to deliver essential improvements at reasonable cost.”For affected households, the price increases will add to inflation on the cost of living. Mike Keil, chief executive of the Consumer Council for Water, which represents consumers, said “further increases will be very unwelcome”, and questioned whether the CMA should have allowed higher returns for investors.“There is a danger the customers of these companies will end up paying more, without seeing any additional improvements in return,” he said.Environmental groups have questioned why companies are allowed to return cash to shareholders while continuing to pollute Britain’s rivers and seas. James Wallace, chief executive of River Action, a campaign group, said: “Once again, water bill payers are forced to shoulder the cost of decades of failure.“Millions of households in England face higher bills while rivers continue to suffer from mismanagement by privatised water companies. In 2024 alone, four of these five companies were responsible for at least 1.4m hours of sewage discharges into rivers and seas – a stark illustration of ongoing environmental harm.”The CMA group’s decision will also be carefully considered by Thames Water, Britain’s biggest water company with 16 million customers. Thames also appealed initially but has agreed to pause it while the utility and its creditors negotiate with Ofwat over a restructuring plan to try to cut its debt burden and prevent it collapsing into temporary government control.Thames is still considering a request for a further £4bn. People close to Thames Water had criticised Ofwat’s approach to the price determination, arguing that the utility needed much more cash to turn around its performance on pollution.The best public interest journalism relies on first-hand accounts from people in the know.If you have something to share on this subject you can contact the Business team confidentially using the following methods.Secure Messaging in the Guardian appThe Guardian app has a tool to send tips about stories. Messages are end to end encrypted and concealed within the routine activity that every Guardian mobile app performs. This prevents an observer from knowing that you are communicating with us at all, let alone what is being said.If you don't already have the Guardian app, download it (iOS/Android) and go to the menu. Scroll down and click on Secure Messaging. When asked who you wish to contact please select the Guardian Business team.SecureDrop, instant messengers, email, telephone and postIf you can safely use the tor network without being observed or monitored you can send messages and documents to the Guardian via our SecureDrop platform.Finally, our guide at theguardian.com/tips lists several ways to contact us securely, and discusses the pros and cons of each. Illustration: Guardian Design / Rich Cousins

Suggested Viewing

Join us to forge
a sustainable future

Our team is always growing.
Become a partner, volunteer, sponsor, or intern today.
Let us know how you would like to get involved!

CONTACT US

sign up for our mailing list to stay informed on the latest films and environmental headlines.

Subscribers receive a free day pass for streaming Cinema Verde.
Thank you! Your submission has been received!
Oops! Something went wrong while submitting the form.