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‘This will make our town uninhabitable’: The long-awaited Delta tunnel strikes fear in locals

News Feed
Thursday, March 13, 2025

In summary The governor’s planned $20 billion tunnel to divert more water south and bypass the Delta would bring years of construction noise, pollution and traffic. Residents worry their rural farm towns will never be the same. Change tends to come at a creeping pace, if at all, in the Sacramento River community of Hood. Families that settled in this Delta outpost generations ago remain today, and pear orchards planted decades ago are still the region’s signature crop. Now Hood, population 271, is facing a formidable transformation that residents fear will shatter their sleepy agricultural community. One of the smallest towns in the region, Hood lies at ground zero of the main construction site for the Newsom administration’s proposed Delta water tunnel project.  “This will make our town uninhabitable,” said longtime resident Dan Whaley, who helps manage his family’s business, the Willow Ballroom, a community landmark across the main street from Hood’s post office. “There will be so much heavy equipment and traffic and people going through town that the locals will be driven out.” The $20 billion water conveyance project will feature a 45-mile, 36-foot-wide tunnel beneath the West Coast’s largest estuary. Its two intake facilities — which will draw river water into the system — will be situated just a river bend north and south of Hood.  Dan Whaley, owner of the Willow Ballroom in Hood, says tunnel construction noise and traffic will ruin his town. Photo by Fred Greaves for CalMatters Various versions of the tunnel concept have been discussed for decades. The goal is to upgrade the massive project that sends water to 27 million people, mostly in Southern California, and vast sprawls of farmland. By diverting river water miles upstream, the tunnel would bypass the ecologically sensitive Delta, where regulations restrict pumping, and allow more water to be sent south. The tunnel project still needs several state and federal permits, and faces multiple legal challenges from environmental and community groups, including the Delta Legacy Communities, a nonprofit representing Hood and other small towns along the lower Sacramento River. In spite of these obstacles, state officials anticipate starting construction as soon as 2029.  Standing north of town beside Highway 160, Mario Moreno pointed upstream, across an old Bosc pear orchard inside of a levee. The entire property, he said, could eventually become a complex of cement and steel, with a holding basin and a chasm that draws water into the tunnel system.  Turning south, he gestured past Hood, toward the downstream intake site. “And my little town is right there,” said Moreno, who grew up in Hood and now lives in nearby Elk Grove but remains chairman of the Hood Community Council.   Mario Moreno describes the potential impacts of the Delta tunnel project in Hood. Photo by Fred Greaves for CalMatters The planned intakes will be massive industrial complexes, lining thousands of feet of riverbank and covering hundreds of acres of farmland with fuel stations, septic systems, sludge-drying fields, access roads, parking and grout-mixing stations. Construction will mean years of noise, air pollution, dust and traffic. Once operational, the intakes will be capable of diverting 6,000 cubic feet per second of water — a fraction of the Sacramento’s flood-stage flows but more than its volume in dry periods.   The water will flow by gravity through protective fish screens, under the highway and into sedimentation basins. As the water clarifies, it will move toward the intake shafts and drop into the tunnel system, which will lead to Bethany Reservoir, near Tracy. Eventually, the water will enter the California Aqueduct, the main artery that transports water south. Major water agencies that could receive its water endorse the Delta Conveyance Project, as it’s officially called.   But opposition runs statewide, with many environmentalists saying the project is a water grab that will destroy what’s left of the Central Valley’s fish populations. Anti-tunnel sentiment is especially fierce in the Delta, where many fear the project will leave them with the dregs of the river.  Carrie Buckman, the tunnel project’s environmental program manager with the California Department of Water Resources, said pumping limits will protect the river, and existing rules that safeguard downstream water quality will remain in place.  But Delta farmer Harvey Correia, who grows chestnuts and figs 25 miles downstream of Hood, said saltwater intrusion from San Francisco Bay is already a recurring problem for him, and he believes the tunnel will make it worse.  “The farther upstream they divert the water, the lower our water quality will be,” Correia said. Dirk Heuvel, of McManis Family Vineyards, said half of the 400-acre vineyard he leases will be lost to the southern intake. The facility will also cut off his access to clean river water, forcing him to draw from nearby Snodgrass Slough. Fed by irrigation runoff, the slough’s water quality is poor, which Heuvel said will reduce the quality of grapes and wine and harm his brand.  “If you asked me today if I wanted to lease that property, I’d walk away,” Heuvel said.  Modernizing the Delta water system In an early iteration in 1965, the Delta tunnel was to be an aqueduct. Billed “the peripheral canal,” it was killed by voters in 1982. It reemerged in the 2000s as a pair of tunnels. In 2019, Gov. Gavin Newsom downsized the plan to a single tunnel and has promoted it since. California’s Natural Resources Secretary Wade Crowfoot said the “whiplash between very dry conditions and very wet conditions” gives the project great urgency. In December, Newsom called the tunnel “the most important climate adaptation project in the United States of America.”  According to state officials, the tunnel will increase annual Delta exports of water by half a million acre-feet, enough to serve almost 5 million people. Buckman said this will offset expected water losses this century due to climate change.  Jay Lund, a UC Davis professor emeritus of civil and environmental engineering and geography, said the upstream tunnel intakes will be much less vulnerable to saltwater intrusion from San Francisco Bay, adding a layer of protection to the state’s water supply. He said the tunnel will provide cleaner water than the supply pumped from the southern Delta, which must undergo costly treatment. The tunnel’s upstream diversion point will avoid the earthquake risk of the levees rupturing and allowing seawater to flood water pumps and other facilities, according to state officials, though they acknowledge this danger is small.   An aerial view of Threemile Slough in the Sacramento-San Joaquin River Delta near Rio Vista on May 19, 2024. The Delta is formed by the confluence of the Sacramento and San Joaquin rivers before their waters flow into San Francisco Bay. Photo by Loren Elliott for CalMatters State officials routinely remind the public of potential water supply benefits of the tunnel with a “what if” recap of recent rainstorms.  “If we had had Delta conveyance in place this year … by the time we got to that big three-day storm in February, we would already have filled San Luis Reservoir,” said Department of Water Resources Director Karla Nemeth during a March 4 presentation, referring to a large storage facility near Interstate 5 in Merced County.  Chasms, cranes and boring machines Such arguments about bolstering California’s water supply do little to gain the support of Hood, Courtland, Locke and other Delta communities south of Sacramento, where the construction will bring traffic, dust, and other daily disturbances. Building the project will be a gargantuan undertaking lasting an estimated 13 years, and the intakes in Hood are just the beginning. Every few miles along the tunnel path, crews will dig vertical access shafts, some more than 100 feet wide. These will serve as entry, exit and servicing sites for tunnel-boring machines.  The excavation will produce 14 million cubic yards of earth. This sludge will be tested for hazardous contaminants and, when necessary, disposed of offsite. Much of the rest will be spread across fields and, to suppress dust emissions, planted with cover crop seeds.  To address the plethora of expected impacts on Delta residents, state officials have proposed a suite of “community benefits.” Outlined in the project’s Final Environmental Impact Report, these benefits include new recreation areas, swimming lessons for all Delta residents, support of local agriculture and various economic development programs.  Gia Moreno, Mario Moreno’s niece and a teacher in Clarksburg, thinks the offerings will be too little, too late.  “We won’t even be here to benefit from any of the things they’re offering,” she said. While the proposed benefits include “marketing of the region for tourism,” restaurant owner Michelle Mota expects through-town traffic will decline. Mota, who runs the Hood Supply Co Bar and Grill with her husband, fears the project will displace residents, deter visitors and make her restaurant unprofitable.  “It’s our only means of livelihood right now,” Mota said. “We’re really unsure about the future.”  Rep. Josh Harder, a Stockton Democrat, described the benefits as “a bribe program to placate outraged communities.” First: A view of the Sacramento River as it passes by the town of Hood. Last: Residents in Hood posted a “No Tunnel” sign. Photos by Fred Greaves for CalMatters Michael Brodsky, an attorney for the town’s community council, believes Hood has been selected as the tunnel intake site not for any technical reason but because the town is small and lacks political power.  “Hood doesn’t have any high-value land uses,” Brodsky said. He believes the state chose to place the intakes away from more prosperous (and much larger) communities, such as southern Sacramento, to “not bother people who can fight back and cause a problem.” But Graham Bradner, executive director of the Delta Conveyance Design and Construction Authority — an assemblage of water districts supplied by the State Water Project — said river flow patterns, adjacent levee integrity and considerations of existing land use make the chosen sites optimal.  Bradner helped oversee a series of 19 stakeholder engagement meetings held between 2019 and 2022. The meetings, including a team of appointed community representatives, aimed to address Delta residents’ concerns about the tunnel project. But they left some participants frustrated. Several residents told CalMatters that moderators tightly restricted discussions and directed conversation away from topics including relocating the intakes farther from Hood.  Osha Meserve, an attorney representing Delta community members in legal challenges against the tunnel, attended the meetings and said discussing project alternatives “wasn’t on the table.” “The reality is this will be a mega-project constructed in a pretty rural area. It’s in everyone’s interest to ensure…that it moves forward in a way that respects the Delta and its uniqueness.”Graham Bradner, Delta Conveyance Design and Construction Authority Doug Hemly, a retired fifth-generation pear farmer who lives just south of Hood, has long challenged the idea of tunneling water from the northern Delta. Like many other locals, he thinks state officials have not given due consideration of alternative routes and different designs — or even a no-project alternative — that would have less impact on the region.  “There were a lot of approaches that were dismissed by (state officials) for reasons that never made a lot of sense other than that’s not what they wanted,” said Hemly, whose house would be just a few rows of pear trees south of the southern intake. For instance, fortifying levees protecting the Delta pumps from saltwater intrusion would be much cheaper, said Emily Pappalardo, a Delta levee engineer.  Retired pear farmer Doug Hemly in front of his home in Hood that has been in his family for 150 years . Photo by Fred Greaves for CalMatters Bradner, representing water districts, said project leaders have altered the plans in a variety of ways to ease environmental and community impacts, but he also recognized that the tunnel could significantly change the Delta.  “The reality is this will be a mega-project constructed in a pretty rural area,” he said. “It’s in everyone’s interest to ensure, if this project moves forward, that it moves forward in a way that respects the Delta and its uniqueness.” ‘Negative outcomes for Bay-Delta fish’ Tunnel opponents also fear for the Delta’s fish, birds and other wildlife. Already strained by the state and federal pumps that can reverse river flows and derail fish migrations, the estuary has collapsed from a once-thriving ecosystem into an aquatic ICU of endangered species and harmful algal blooms.   Officials say the tunnel will help because of the upstream position of the intakes. By skimming off river flows many miles from the heart of the estuary, the tunnel, state officials say, will produce more water for people with fewer environmental impacts.  But Jon Rosenfield, science director at San Francisco Baykeeper, said the environmental analyses “of every iteration” of the tunnel “that’s been proposed since 2008 have pointed to negative outcomes for Bay-Delta fish, wildlife, and water quality.” The project’s final environmental report predicts, among many other impacts, lower survival of young salmon. Rosenfield said chronically depleted river flow is the key driver of Bay-Delta fish declines. While the tunnel’s operating rules aim to keep flows downstream of the intakes at no less than 10,000 cubic feet per second, Rosenfield said this is a feeble protection. He cited 2023 research showing that juvenile Chinook salmon mortality rises rapidly once Delta river flows drop below 35,000 cubic feet per second.   Tunnel opponent State Sen. Jerry McNerney, a Democrat from Stockton, said diversion limits ostensibly safeguarding the estuary would become unreliable if the tunnel is built. He predicts that the cost will be at least twice the estimated $20 billion, and water agencies covering the bill, he said, will push for waivers on environmental rules protecting the Delta to maximize their return on investment.    “If they have a drought in Southern California, they’re just going to try and turn it on,” he said. “I have every reason to believe that if that tunnel gets built, it’s going to get used in a way that’s detrimental to the Delta and the state of California.” Anglers begin a morning of fishing on the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta in Stockton. Photo by Loren Elliott for CalMatters Water agencies poised to benefit from the tunnel have publicly endorsed it. These include the State Water Contractors, the Santa Clara Valley Water District, the Kern County Water Agency, and the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California, which pledged in December to pay $142 million for the project’s environmental planning and pre-construction costs. But tapping deeper into the Delta is not a fair solution to perceived shortages in other regions, said Max Gomberg, a water equity and affordability consultant and a former staff member of the state water board. He said cutting farm deliveries to Kern County, which receives Delta diversions, would free up enough water to solve urban shortages.  “The core ethos of water since Europeans arrived is to take more, and it really hasn’t changed. The fundamental issue with the tunnel is it perpetuates that.”Max Gomberg, water equity expert and former water board member Agriculture consumes four times the water that California’s towns and cities do, and Gomberg thinks the state’s farm production has surpassed sustainability. “The core ethos of water since Europeans arrived is to take more, and it really hasn’t changed,” Gomberg said. “The fundamental issue with the tunnel is it perpetuates that.” The tunnel debate has many water supply experts touting alternative measures for reducing demand for Delta water. These include using less water, capturing urban stormwater, improved groundwater management and recycling more wastewater — all areas being pursued by water districts around Southern California. Per capita potable water use across Southern California has declined by almost 50% since 1990 in spite of a growing population. Bruze Reznik, executive director of Los Angeles Waterkeeper, said focusing on increased Delta imports will divert interest and money away from local initiatives to conserve and recycle water. “We’ll never wean ourselves 100% off imported water, but there’s a lot more we can do,” Reznik said. As planning proceedings go on, Hood, which is unincorporated, and surrounding communities can’t shake the feeling that they are being sacrificed.     “We’re small, we’re an easy target,” said Gia Moreno, who grew up in Hood and now lives in South Sacramento but routinely visits her hometown to see family. Like so many others in the region, she has grown cynical about the state’s treatment of the town that her ancestors helped settle. Over the years, she said she’s noticed several times a conspicuous omission on some project maps: the community of Hood.  To Moreno, it’s more than a mapping error, it’s a sign:   “They don’t intend for Hood to be here,” she said.  More about the delta ‘Dirty Delta’: California’s largest estuary is in crisis. Is the state discriminating against people who fish there? by Rachel Becker October 8, 2024October 9, 2024 $20 billion: The Delta tunnel’s new price tag by Rachel Becker May 16, 2024May 16, 2024

The governor’s planned $20 billion tunnel to divert more water south and bypass the Delta would bring years of construction noise, pollution and traffic. Residents worry their rural farm towns will never be the same.

An aerial view of a rural town situated along a winding river, with a mix of residential homes, mobile homes, and agricultural fields. A large industrial building with a curved roof is positioned near the riverbank, alongside a smaller, older structure. A two-lane road follows the river's edge, connecting the area to the surrounding farmland and distant horizon. The landscape features green fields, trees, and patches of bare land, with a clear blue sky above.

In summary

The governor’s planned $20 billion tunnel to divert more water south and bypass the Delta would bring years of construction noise, pollution and traffic. Residents worry their rural farm towns will never be the same.

Change tends to come at a creeping pace, if at all, in the Sacramento River community of Hood. Families that settled in this Delta outpost generations ago remain today, and pear orchards planted decades ago are still the region’s signature crop.

Now Hood, population 271, is facing a formidable transformation that residents fear will shatter their sleepy agricultural community. One of the smallest towns in the region, Hood lies at ground zero of the main construction site for the Newsom administration’s proposed Delta water tunnel project. 

“This will make our town uninhabitable,” said longtime resident Dan Whaley, who helps manage his family’s business, the Willow Ballroom, a community landmark across the main street from Hood’s post office. “There will be so much heavy equipment and traffic and people going through town that the locals will be driven out.”

The $20 billion water conveyance project will feature a 45-mile, 36-foot-wide tunnel beneath the West Coast’s largest estuary. Its two intake facilities — which will draw river water into the system — will be situated just a river bend north and south of Hood. 

A person wearing glasses, a light blue cap, and a plaid scarf sits at a desk in an office, engaged in conversation. They are gesturing with their hands while speaking. The desk is cluttered with papers, a cup, a keyboard, and a computer monitor. Behind them, wooden shelves hold books, decorative objects, and framed photographs. A black-and-white image of a dog on a beach leans against the wall, and a large mirror with a gold frame reflects part of the room.
Dan Whaley, owner of the Willow Ballroom in Hood, says tunnel construction noise and traffic will ruin his town. Photo by Fred Greaves for CalMatters

Various versions of the tunnel concept have been discussed for decades. The goal is to upgrade the massive project that sends water to 27 million people, mostly in Southern California, and vast sprawls of farmland. By diverting river water miles upstream, the tunnel would bypass the ecologically sensitive Delta, where regulations restrict pumping, and allow more water to be sent south.

The tunnel project still needs several state and federal permits, and faces multiple legal challenges from environmental and community groups, including the Delta Legacy Communities, a nonprofit representing Hood and other small towns along the lower Sacramento River. In spite of these obstacles, state officials anticipate starting construction as soon as 2029. 

Standing north of town beside Highway 160, Mario Moreno pointed upstream, across an old Bosc pear orchard inside of a levee. The entire property, he said, could eventually become a complex of cement and steel, with a holding basin and a chasm that draws water into the tunnel system. 

Turning south, he gestured past Hood, toward the downstream intake site. “And my little town is right there,” said Moreno, who grew up in Hood and now lives in nearby Elk Grove but remains chairman of the Hood Community Council.  

A person wearing a navy blue hoodie with "Cosumnes Oaks" written across the front and a black baseball cap stands beside a rural road, pointing into the distance. They appear to be speaking, with an engaged expression. The setting includes a river, trees, and a clear blue sky, with a guardrail running along the road's edge. Sunlight casts strong shadows on the gravel shoulder and surrounding landscape.
Mario Moreno describes the potential impacts of the Delta tunnel project in Hood. Photo by Fred Greaves for CalMatters

The planned intakes will be massive industrial complexes, lining thousands of feet of riverbank and covering hundreds of acres of farmland with fuel stations, septic systems, sludge-drying fields, access roads, parking and grout-mixing stations.

Construction will mean years of noise, air pollution, dust and traffic. Once operational, the intakes will be capable of diverting 6,000 cubic feet per second of water — a fraction of the Sacramento’s flood-stage flows but more than its volume in dry periods.  

The water will flow by gravity through protective fish screens, under the highway and into sedimentation basins. As the water clarifies, it will move toward the intake shafts and drop into the tunnel system, which will lead to Bethany Reservoir, near Tracy. Eventually, the water will enter the California Aqueduct, the main artery that transports water south.

Major water agencies that could receive its water endorse the Delta Conveyance Project, as it’s officially called.  

But opposition runs statewide, with many environmentalists saying the project is a water grab that will destroy what’s left of the Central Valley’s fish populations. Anti-tunnel sentiment is especially fierce in the Delta, where many fear the project will leave them with the dregs of the river. 

Carrie Buckman, the tunnel project’s environmental program manager with the California Department of Water Resources, said pumping limits will protect the river, and existing rules that safeguard downstream water quality will remain in place. 

But Delta farmer Harvey Correia, who grows chestnuts and figs 25 miles downstream of Hood, said saltwater intrusion from San Francisco Bay is already a recurring problem for him, and he believes the tunnel will make it worse. 

“The farther upstream they divert the water, the lower our water quality will be,” Correia said.

Dirk Heuvel, of McManis Family Vineyards, said half of the 400-acre vineyard he leases will be lost to the southern intake. The facility will also cut off his access to clean river water, forcing him to draw from nearby Snodgrass Slough. Fed by irrigation runoff, the slough’s water quality is poor, which Heuvel said will reduce the quality of grapes and wine and harm his brand. 

“If you asked me today if I wanted to lease that property, I’d walk away,” Heuvel said. 

Modernizing the Delta water system

In an early iteration in 1965, the Delta tunnel was to be an aqueduct. Billed “the peripheral canal,” it was killed by voters in 1982. It reemerged in the 2000s as a pair of tunnels. In 2019, Gov. Gavin Newsom downsized the plan to a single tunnel and has promoted it since.

California’s Natural Resources Secretary Wade Crowfoot said the “whiplash between very dry conditions and very wet conditions” gives the project great urgency. In December, Newsom called the tunnel “the most important climate adaptation project in the United States of America.” 

According to state officials, the tunnel will increase annual Delta exports of water by half a million acre-feet, enough to serve almost 5 million people. Buckman said this will offset expected water losses this century due to climate change. 

Jay Lund, a UC Davis professor emeritus of civil and environmental engineering and geography, said the upstream tunnel intakes will be much less vulnerable to saltwater intrusion from San Francisco Bay, adding a layer of protection to the state’s water supply. He said the tunnel will provide cleaner water than the supply pumped from the southern Delta, which must undergo costly treatment.

The tunnel’s upstream diversion point will avoid the earthquake risk of the levees rupturing and allowing seawater to flood water pumps and other facilities, according to state officials, though they acknowledge this danger is small.  

An aerial view of a wetland landscape features winding waterways, marshy islands, and patches of green vegetation floating on the water's surface. Dirt pathways and levees divide the water, creating geometric patterns. In the distance, a bridge spans a wide river, with industrial structures and wind turbines visible along the horizon. The scene showcases a mix of natural and human-altered environments under a clear sky.
An aerial view of Threemile Slough in the Sacramento-San Joaquin River Delta near Rio Vista on May 19, 2024. The Delta is formed by the confluence of the Sacramento and San Joaquin rivers before their waters flow into San Francisco Bay. Photo by Loren Elliott for CalMatters

State officials routinely remind the public of potential water supply benefits of the tunnel with a “what if” recap of recent rainstorms. 

“If we had had Delta conveyance in place this year … by the time we got to that big three-day storm in February, we would already have filled San Luis Reservoir,” said Department of Water Resources Director Karla Nemeth during a March 4 presentation, referring to a large storage facility near Interstate 5 in Merced County. 

Chasms, cranes and boring machines

Such arguments about bolstering California’s water supply do little to gain the support of Hood, Courtland, Locke and other Delta communities south of Sacramento, where the construction will bring traffic, dust, and other daily disturbances.

Building the project will be a gargantuan undertaking lasting an estimated 13 years, and the intakes in Hood are just the beginning. Every few miles along the tunnel path, crews will dig vertical access shafts, some more than 100 feet wide. These will serve as entry, exit and servicing sites for tunnel-boring machines. 

The excavation will produce 14 million cubic yards of earth. This sludge will be tested for hazardous contaminants and, when necessary, disposed of offsite. Much of the rest will be spread across fields and, to suppress dust emissions, planted with cover crop seeds. 

To address the plethora of expected impacts on Delta residents, state officials have proposed a suite of “community benefits.” Outlined in the project’s Final Environmental Impact Report, these benefits include new recreation areas, swimming lessons for all Delta residents, support of local agriculture and various economic development programs. 

Gia Moreno, Mario Moreno’s niece and a teacher in Clarksburg, thinks the offerings will be too little, too late. 

“We won’t even be here to benefit from any of the things they’re offering,” she said.

While the proposed benefits include “marketing of the region for tourism,” restaurant owner Michelle Mota expects through-town traffic will decline. Mota, who runs the Hood Supply Co Bar and Grill with her husband, fears the project will displace residents, deter visitors and make her restaurant unprofitable. 

“It’s our only means of livelihood right now,” Mota said. “We’re really unsure about the future.” 

Rep. Josh Harder, a Stockton Democrat, described the benefits as “a bribe program to placate outraged communities.”

Michael Brodsky, an attorney for the town’s community council, believes Hood has been selected as the tunnel intake site not for any technical reason but because the town is small and lacks political power. 

“Hood doesn’t have any high-value land uses,” Brodsky said. He believes the state chose to place the intakes away from more prosperous (and much larger) communities, such as southern Sacramento, to “not bother people who can fight back and cause a problem.”

But Graham Bradner, executive director of the Delta Conveyance Design and Construction Authority — an assemblage of water districts supplied by the State Water Project — said river flow patterns, adjacent levee integrity and considerations of existing land use make the chosen sites optimal. 

Bradner helped oversee a series of 19 stakeholder engagement meetings held between 2019 and 2022. The meetings, including a team of appointed community representatives, aimed to address Delta residents’ concerns about the tunnel project. But they left some participants frustrated.

Several residents told CalMatters that moderators tightly restricted discussions and directed conversation away from topics including relocating the intakes farther from Hood. 

Osha Meserve, an attorney representing Delta community members in legal challenges against the tunnel, attended the meetings and said discussing project alternatives “wasn’t on the table.”

“The reality is this will be a mega-project constructed in a pretty rural area. It’s in everyone’s interest to ensure…that it moves forward in a way that respects the Delta and its uniqueness.”

Graham Bradner, Delta Conveyance Design and Construction Authority

Doug Hemly, a retired fifth-generation pear farmer who lives just south of Hood, has long challenged the idea of tunneling water from the northern Delta. Like many other locals, he thinks state officials have not given due consideration of alternative routes and different designs — or even a no-project alternative — that would have less impact on the region. 

“There were a lot of approaches that were dismissed by (state officials) for reasons that never made a lot of sense other than that’s not what they wanted,” said Hemly, whose house would be just a few rows of pear trees south of the southern intake.

For instance, fortifying levees protecting the Delta pumps from saltwater intrusion would be much cheaper, said Emily Pappalardo, a Delta levee engineer. 

A person with a white beard and glasses stands in front of a white, historic-style house with decorative railings and columns. They wear a light gray hoodie and have a thoughtful expression while gazing into the distance. The background features an open doorway, windows reflecting the surroundings, and a bright blue sky. Sunlight casts a glow on their face, highlighting the texture of their beard and the details of the house’s architecture.
Retired pear farmer Doug Hemly in front of his home in Hood that has been in his family for 150 years . Photo by Fred Greaves for CalMatters

Bradner, representing water districts, said project leaders have altered the plans in a variety of ways to ease environmental and community impacts, but he also recognized that the tunnel could significantly change the Delta. 

“The reality is this will be a mega-project constructed in a pretty rural area,” he said. “It’s in everyone’s interest to ensure, if this project moves forward, that it moves forward in a way that respects the Delta and its uniqueness.”

‘Negative outcomes for Bay-Delta fish’

Tunnel opponents also fear for the Delta’s fish, birds and other wildlife. Already strained by the state and federal pumps that can reverse river flows and derail fish migrations, the estuary has collapsed from a once-thriving ecosystem into an aquatic ICU of endangered species and harmful algal blooms.  

Officials say the tunnel will help because of the upstream position of the intakes. By skimming off river flows many miles from the heart of the estuary, the tunnel, state officials say, will produce more water for people with fewer environmental impacts. 

But Jon Rosenfield, science director at San Francisco Baykeeper, said the environmental analyses “of every iteration” of the tunnel “that’s been proposed since 2008 have pointed to negative outcomes for Bay-Delta fish, wildlife, and water quality.” The project’s final environmental report predicts, among many other impacts, lower survival of young salmon.

Rosenfield said chronically depleted river flow is the key driver of Bay-Delta fish declines. While the tunnel’s operating rules aim to keep flows downstream of the intakes at no less than 10,000 cubic feet per second, Rosenfield said this is a feeble protection. He cited 2023 research showing that juvenile Chinook salmon mortality rises rapidly once Delta river flows drop below 35,000 cubic feet per second.  

Tunnel opponent State Sen. Jerry McNerney, a Democrat from Stockton, said diversion limits ostensibly safeguarding the estuary would become unreliable if the tunnel is built.

He predicts that the cost will be at least twice the estimated $20 billion, and water agencies covering the bill, he said, will push for waivers on environmental rules protecting the Delta to maximize their return on investment.   

“If they have a drought in Southern California, they’re just going to try and turn it on,” he said. “I have every reason to believe that if that tunnel gets built, it’s going to get used in a way that’s detrimental to the Delta and the state of California.”

Three people sit in a fishing boat while in the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta. The rivers' bank is visible on the edge of the photo. The light is soft, evoking dawn or sunset.
Anglers begin a morning of fishing on the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta in Stockton. Photo by Loren Elliott for CalMatters

Water agencies poised to benefit from the tunnel have publicly endorsed it. These include the State Water Contractors, the Santa Clara Valley Water District, the Kern County Water Agency, and the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California, which pledged in December to pay $142 million for the project’s environmental planning and pre-construction costs.

But tapping deeper into the Delta is not a fair solution to perceived shortages in other regions, said Max Gomberg, a water equity and affordability consultant and a former staff member of the state water board. He said cutting farm deliveries to Kern County, which receives Delta diversions, would free up enough water to solve urban shortages. 

“The core ethos of water since Europeans arrived is to take more, and it really hasn’t changed. The fundamental issue with the tunnel is it perpetuates that.”

Max Gomberg, water equity expert and former water board member

Agriculture consumes four times the water that California’s towns and cities do, and Gomberg thinks the state’s farm production has surpassed sustainability.

“The core ethos of water since Europeans arrived is to take more, and it really hasn’t changed,” Gomberg said. “The fundamental issue with the tunnel is it perpetuates that.”

The tunnel debate has many water supply experts touting alternative measures for reducing demand for Delta water. These include using less water, capturing urban stormwater, improved groundwater management and recycling more wastewater — all areas being pursued by water districts around Southern California. Per capita potable water use across Southern California has declined by almost 50% since 1990 in spite of a growing population.

Bruze Reznik, executive director of Los Angeles Waterkeeper, said focusing on increased Delta imports will divert interest and money away from local initiatives to conserve and recycle water.

“We’ll never wean ourselves 100% off imported water, but there’s a lot more we can do,” Reznik said.

As planning proceedings go on, Hood, which is unincorporated, and surrounding communities can’t shake the feeling that they are being sacrificed.    

“We’re small, we’re an easy target,” said Gia Moreno, who grew up in Hood and now lives in South Sacramento but routinely visits her hometown to see family.

Like so many others in the region, she has grown cynical about the state’s treatment of the town that her ancestors helped settle. Over the years, she said she’s noticed several times a conspicuous omission on some project maps: the community of Hood. 

To Moreno, it’s more than a mapping error, it’s a sign:  

“They don’t intend for Hood to be here,” she said. 

Read the full story here.
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US pollution measurement practices raise questions about reliability of data

Guardian analysis heightens concerns on whether the air around many large factories is, or will be, safe to breatheA Guardian analysis has raised fresh questions over the way regulators and corporations measure the air quality impact of planned factories that risk emitting dangerous levels of pollution.Between 2014 and 2024, air pollution permit applications in Michigan – designed to gauge if proposed industrial projects would cause regions to violate federal pollution limits – did not meet data collection rules or best practices over 90% of the time. Some measurements were taken more than a hundred miles away from sites. Continue reading...

A Guardian analysis has raised fresh questions over the way regulators and corporations measure the air quality impact of planned factories that risk emitting dangerous levels of pollution.Between 2014 and 2024, air pollution permit applications in Michigan – designed to gauge if proposed industrial projects would cause regions to violate federal pollution limits – did not meet data collection rules or best practices over 90% of the time. Some measurements were taken more than a hundred miles away from sites.The findings are likely to heighten concerns around whether the air around many large factories is, or will be, safe to breathe. Public health advocates and environmental attorneys have long claimed readings are manipulated in a bid to push through planned sites – and warned that practices uncovered in Michigan were not unique. The safety of air around many of the nation’s factories is similarly unclear.Among the facilities is a Stellantis auto plant in Sterling Heights, Michigan, a large Detroit suburb. In 2016, Michigan environmental regulators approved a permit application allowing then-FCA Chrysler to increase particulate matter emissions.The projected level of new particulate matter combined with current levels around the plant would not violate federal limits, FCA claimed: the air would remain safe.But the air monitor FCA used to arrive at that conclusion was 17 miles to the north in New Haven, a largely rural community with cleaner air than Sterling Heights. FCA and regulators ignored two closer monitors in urban areas with dirtier airsheds that more closely matched that of Sterling Heights. Per Clean Air Act best practices, FCA should have installed an air monitor at its plant to determine the levels.It did not. No one knows how much dangerous particulate matter hangs in the region around the Sterling Heights plant. Stellantis did not respond to a request for comment.“It’s an abuse to say ‘Oh yeah, that’s good enough,’ because you didn’t look,” said Seth Johnson, an attorney with the Earthjustice non-profit who has litigated on permitting issues. “If you don’t care about what people in an area are breathing then you don’t want to look.”In some cases, air quality data is used from monitors hundreds of miles away. In other instances, no data is collected when the law requires it to be. Sometimes companies ignore nearby monitors and use data from a monitor further away, where the air is cleaner, as FCA did.The types of facilities that apply for permits include major polluters like power plants, auto factories and other heavy industry sites. When the Swedish paper giant Billerud wanted to expand its Escanaba, Michigan, mill in 2023, it used readings for nitrogen dioxide from a monitor about 150 miles south-east, in Houghton Lake, Michigan. Its particulate matter readings came from monitors about 130 miles west in Potawatomi, Wisconsin.The Lansing Board of Water and Light, meanwhile, relied on carbon monoxide data from a monitor in Grand Rapids, about 68 miles away, when it wanted to expand a power plant.Neither monitored onsite for the pollutants. Billerud and Lansing Board of Water did not respond to requests for comment.The Michigan department of environment, Great Lakes and energy (EGLE) said the agency “does not deliberately choose a monitor” that makes it appear as if pollution levels are lower than they are. Using the Billerud example, a spokesperson said the airsheds in Houghton and Potawatomi were similar enough to Escanaba to draw conclusions about the safety of the air in Escanaba.“In this case and many others like it, using monitors farther away is a better and more conservative way to evaluate an applicant’s request,” an EGLE spokesperson, Josef Greenberg, said in a statement.However, Potawatomi is in a state forest, and Houghton is similarly more rural in character than Escanaba. That prompts questions about the accuracy of EGLE’s claim, said Nick Leonard, a lawyer with the Great Lakes Environmental Law Center, which has sued Michigan regulators over some permit approvals. Such scenarios should trigger onsite monitoring, he said.“You’d think it’s a technocratic process, but it’s not,” Leonard said. “Companies seeking a permit more or less tell EGLE what data they want to use, and EGLE rubber-stamps it every time. They never do a meaningful assessment of the data, and they never require permit applicants to do onsite monitoring even though that is an option under the Clean Air Act and encouraged by EPA [the Environmental Protection Agency].”‘Real impacts on real people’The Guardian obtained major Michigan air pollution permit applications for 2014 to 2024 via Freedom of Information Act (Foia) requests. The permit applications were submitted during the administrations of the former Republican governor Rick Snyder and the current Democratic governor, Gretchen Whitmer.The Clean Air Act states companies must obtain a permit to emit air pollutants covered by National Ambient Air Quality Standards (NAAQS), such as particulate matter, carbon monoxide, and sulfur dioxide.The EPA sets limits for the pollutants, which are linked to lung disease, cancer and a range of other health problems. The Clean Air Act also states that permit applicants must demonstrate that “emissions from construction or operation of such a facility will not cause, or contribute to, air pollution in excess of any” NAAQS limit.Best practices state that applicants should demonstrate their projects will not violate limits by adding local air monitors’ ambient pollution levels to their projected emissions. State environmental regulators most often handle the permit requests.EPA rules and best practices around air monitors call for state agencies to require companies to use data from a monitor within about six miles. If a monitor is not available, a “regional” monitor further away can be used, but conditions in the two locations’ airsheds should be similar.That option should be used sparingly, the best practices state. If no comparable air monitors are available, then a company should install a monitor onsite and check the air for a year.That virtually never happens in Michigan or elsewhere, said Michael Koerber, a retired deputy director of the EPA’s Office of Air Quality Planning and Standards, which worked with EGLE and other states on air permitting. “Do projects generally do that? I can’t think of too many that really did,” he added.EGLE said in a statement it rarely required onsite monitoring, but noted that it regularly consulted with the EPA on the decisions, and the EPA also has not felt that onsite monitoring was required.If a company’s projected emissions violate the NAAQS limits, they could be required to take any number of steps, like putting in better pollution controls, or reducing pollution at a different facility. But that rarely happens, public health advocates say.“It’s easy to get lost in the arcane details of all of this, but at the end of the day we’re talking about pollution that is really bad for people. And it has real impacts on real people,” Johnson said.‘Business as usual’The air in south-west Detroit near Zug Island is among the dirtiest in the nation, filled with pollutants from steelmakers, automakers and others who operate factories in the dense industrial zone.By 2023, the level of toxic particulate matter there was on the brink of violating federal air quality limits, and the concrete producer Edward C Levy Co applied to add more from a proposed slag grinding facility.The problem: the particulate matter that Levy’s facility would emit would cause the region to be in violation of federal limits for the pollutant, data from the application and a state air quality monitor positioned about 0.65 miles from the site showed.Still, the state approved the permit in late 2023. It and Levy ignored data from the nearby monitor, instead using readings from a monitor six miles away in Allen Park, where the air is cleaner. That made it appear as if Levy would not cause a violation.EGLE’s decision was “business as usual”, said Theresa Landrum, who lives in south-west Detroit. The firm’s founder, Edward Levy, is politically connected and a prolific campaign donor, and EGLE, “doesn’t seem that EGLE is working on behalf of the people”, Landrum said. Levy did not respond to a request for comment.EGLE at the time defended its decision, claiming it used modeling to show there would not be a violation. Leonard’s law firm has sued, and the case is currently in a state appeals court after a lower court judge ruled there was no violation.Leonard said he had never seen the EPA or EGLE show data to support its decisions, and their approach varies from permit to permit.“Sometimes they use the closest monitor, sometimes not,” he said. “Sometimes they use a monitor from an area that typically has high levels of air pollution, sometimes not. Sometimes they use a monitor upwind of the facility, sometimes they use one that is downwind.“The lack of criteria and variability from permit to permit makes this fertile ground for manipulation.”Leonard pointed to a 2018 application to increase sulfur dioxide emissions at the Arbor Hills landfill in Northville Township, a suburb at the western edge of Detroit’s metro area. It pulled air quality data from Allen Park, about 22 miles away. EGLE approved the permit.Leonard said EGLE in part justified the use of the Allen Park monitor because it classified the new project as a “single source” of pollution, or in effect the only major source of air emissions in the area. But EPA records show 164 other companies in a 10-mile radius have such high emission levels that they must report to the EPA.Currently, no one knows if the pollution from Arbor Hills’ expansion combined with the pollution from the other major sources has made Northville Township’s air unsafe.Leonard said he had pushed EGLE to do more onsite monitoring. “They look at me like I’m crazy if I even suggest it,” he claimed.Arbor Hills Energy LLC, the landfill’s former owner, and Opal Fuels its current owner, did not respond to requests for comment.The EPAThe blame lies with the EPA and state regulators, advocates say. The EPA “doesn’t like” the pre-construction monitoring and data requirements, and “has fought against it for 40 years”, Johnson of Earthjustice, said.The EPA did not respond to a request for comment.The agency in the late 1970s issued a rule under the Clean Air Act that did not require companies to provide air quality monitoring data to show their project would not violate federal limits. Earthjustice and Sierra Club sued, arguing the law explicitly called for data, and in 2013 a federal court agreed.But the EPA did not begin requiring meaningful data, Johnson added. Instead, it started “doing this run around” in which it allowed existing data to be pulled from monitors up to hundreds of miles away that often does not provide a clear picture of air pollution around the proposed facilities.The law, however, is less clear about how companies must demonstrate compliance with the limits. State agencies, with EPA approval, are essentially exploiting those gray areas or non-enforceable best practices, Johnson said.Michigan could do more, too, Leonard said. Whitmer has promoted herself as an environmental justice (EJ) leader, taking steps such as creating state panels that advise on such issues. But when it comes to decisions that will truly protect communities, like permitting, she typically puts the industry’s needs first, according to Leonard.That hasn’t gone unnoticed in south-west Detroit, Landrum said: “Whitmer hasn’t stepped out on EJ issues. She puts corporate profits over people.”Whitmer’s office did not respond to a request for comment.‘A matter of priorities’In Monroe, Michigan, the Gerdau Steel plant is spitting high levels of nitrogen dioxide into the air. In an apparent direct violation of the Clean Air Act, no data was provided to determine if it violated the NAAQS.Gerdau Steel did not respond to a request for comment.Public health advocates say it doesn’t need to be this way. Part of the problem is the low number of air quality monitors. Michigan has in place just 30 PM2.5 monitors to cover its approximately 97,000 sq miles, making it rare for a monitor to be within six miles of a proposed project.Though the 2021 Inflation Reduction Act provided funding for air quality monitors, Michigan didn’t expand its network. Johnson said advances in satellite and mobile air monitoring could make it easier to gather data around a facility.EGLE in its statement said onsite monitoring was costly and time intensive. But former EPA official Koerber noted the projects often take years to plan, so monitoring onsite for a year is a relatively inexpensive and easy step for companies to take. He also said firms could do post-construction monitoring, so the public knows for sure whether there is a problem.The fixes aren’t that difficult, according to Johnson. It’s “just a matter of priorities”, he said. “People have the right to know what they’re breathing and what they’re going to breathe in the future. To deprive people of that right is anti-democratic.”

New Mexico sues US air force over Pfas pollution from military base

High levels of Pfas stemming from the base have tainted water, damaged crops and poisoned cows in the areaThe state of New Mexico is suing the US air force over its refusal to comply with orders to address extremely high levels of Pfas pollution stemming from its base, which has tainted drinking water for tens of thousands of people, damaged crops and poisoned dairy cows.Though the military acknowledges Pfas-laden firefighting foam from Cannon air force base is the source of a four mile chemical plume in the aquifer below Clovis, New Mexico, it has refused to comply with most state orders to address the issue. Continue reading...

The state of New Mexico is suing the US air force over its refusal to comply with orders to address extremely high levels of Pfas pollution stemming from its base, which has tainted drinking water for tens of thousands of people, damaged crops and poisoned dairy cows.Though the military acknowledges Pfas-laden firefighting foam from Cannon air force base is the source of a four mile chemical plume in the aquifer below Clovis, New Mexico, it has refused to comply with most state orders to address the issue.The new lawsuit filed by the state’s justice and environmental departments is the latest salvo in the seven-year battle over the pollution, and comes after changes to state law that strengthened New Mexico’s legal position.The air force’s inaction has forced state taxpayers to shoulder the cost, and the plume has “become a ward of the state”, said James Kenney, secretary of the New Mexico environment department.“They’ve managed to litigate against the state, they’ve allowed the plume to go unchecked, and in the mind of the state and much of the community, they’ve done nothing of substance,” Kenney added.Pfas are a class of about 15,000 compounds most frequently used to make products water-, stain- and grease-resistant. They have been linked to cancer, birth defects, decreased immunity, high cholesterol, kidney disease and a range of other serious health problems. They are dubbed “forever chemicals” because they do not naturally break down in the environment.Pfas are a common ingredient in firefighting foam, and the military is in the process of phasing it out because the highly toxic substance has widely contaminated water and the environment around over 700 bases nationwide.In 2018, Cannon’s Pfas was found to have poisoned drinking water for over 100 private wells, and has so far taken out one municipal well that serves Clovis, a city of 40,000 people. Levels found in surface water were about 27,000 times higher than US Environmental Protection Agency drinking water limits.The pollution also continues to contaminate thousands of acres of crops that rely on the aquifer for water, raising questions about the safety of those products. Local dairy farmers in 2018 were forced to euthanize about 3,500 cows that had contaminated milk.In August, another 7,000 gallons of Pfas-contaminated wastewater leaked from an air force pond into groundwater, but the air force has refused to pay a $70,000 state fine.The air force in a statement told the Guardian it does not comment on active litigation.In 2019, New Mexico issued a corrective action permit that stipulated how it should remediate the plume. The air force then sued New Mexico in federal court, alleging that the Pfas foam is not a hazardous substance, and the state lacked the authority to make the order. That awaits an opinion from a federal court.The New Mexico legislature designated the Pfas-laden foam as a hazardous substance under state law in response. The new suit, in state court, asks a judge to order the air force to provide water treatment systems to affected residents, or connect those whose wells are contaminated to municipal sources. It also calls for pollution controls around the base and compensation for those whose property has been affected, among other measures.The nation’s hazardous waste laws allow states to establish requirements for substances like Pfas and firefighting foam. The US Department of Justice and the air force’s refusal to clean up the waste is essentially “flipping the bird” at US law, Kenney said.The air force has provided filtration systems for some homes with the highest levels of Pfas, but it has not maintained the systems, nor has it provided any for agriculture. The military has not gone far enough, Kenney said.“If they contaminated people’s drinking and agricultural water … and they’re litigating instead of remediating, then we can’t sit back and say they’re doing the right thing,” Kenney added.Cannon is not isolated, and the air force has received criticism for slow responses to pollution around the country. After years of resisting orders to address Pfas from a base in Tucson, Arizona, that threatened the city’s drinking water, the air force late last year agreed to fund new filtration systems.Congress has made around $3bn of funding available annually for Pfas remediation at military bases, but the air force often still “slow rolls” the work, said Jared Hayes, senior policy analyst with the Environmental Working Group nonprofit, which tracks military Pfas pollution. He noted the air force’s remedial investigation of the New Mexico plume is not due until the end of 2026.“We’ve seen similar situations across the country where the air force is generally dragging its feet when it comes to cleaning up Pfas pollution,” Hayes said. “Communities in New Hampshire, Michigan, Arizona, New Mexico are waiting and waiting for cleanup, but it’s still a long way off.”

California air quality regulators are doing the bare minimum to curb landfill pollution

California regulators haven't updated landfill pollution standards since 2010, and appear to be only doing the minimum in the latest effort to revisit them, argues an L.A. County activist impacted by the Chiquita Canyon Landfill.

Guest Commentary written by Yasmina Valdivia Yasmina Valdivia is an activist and longtime resident of Val Verde, a town in Los Angeles County. The Los Angeles County community of Val Verde has been my home for 48 years. It’s where I grew up, where I raised my children and where my husband and I plan to retire. It used to be the kind of place where people said “hi” to each other on the street, kids rode their bikes around and you didn’t have to think twice about the air you were breathing. However, what used to be clean, breathable air is now filled with the stench and pollution coming from the Chiquita Canyon Landfill. Alarmingly, the air isn’t just unpleasant anymore — it’s toxic. For years, my neighbors and I have been sounding the alarm over the noxious pollution being emitted by the landfill. Myself, and my friends and family, have experienced chronic symptoms like headaches, rashes, burning eyes and constant nausea. People complain of migraines, asthma attacks, stomach issues and even reproductive problems. California’s landfills also emit huge amounts of the highly pollutant greenhouse gas, methane, which are a major contributor to global warming. In 2023 alone, estimated methane emissions from California’s landfills were equivalent to more than 5 million cars on the road. Greenhouse gasses are exacerbating natural disasters, like the horrible January wildfires that the Los Angeles area is still recovering from. There are people with the power to do something about this. The California Air Resources Board sets standards for how landfill operators find and control methane emissions. Those standards, called the Landfill Methane Rule, haven’t been updated since 2010. That’s 15 years ago. And while the air resources board is currently considering updates to the rules, they’re moving far too slow and trying to get away with the bare minimum. CARB’s most recent proposed updates to landfill regulations fail to include basic, proven strategies that could protect our health and climate. A recent report by Industrious Labs found that making common-sense updates to how landfills operate could slash methane emissions in half by 2050. Reducing methane also means reducing dangerous co-pollutants that make people sick.  One survey found that the vast majority of Val Verde residents experience frequent headaches. That’s not normal. And it’s only gotten worse — in 2024 alone, more than 14,000 complaints about the landfill were submitted to the South Coast Air Quality Management District. I’ve learned that, while Val Verde’s situation is devastating, it’s unfortunately not unique. There are over 300 landfills across the state, and many — like Newby Island in Milpitas, Clover Flat Landfill in Calistoga and Avenal Landfill in Avenal — have also been in the news for making nearby residents sick. That’s because landfills emit health-harming pollutants like benzene, sulfur dioxide and volatile organic compounds. Like Val Verde, where nearly 60% of residents are Hispanic, communities of color are often the ones bearing the brunt of landfill pollution. It’s no coincidence that 70% of California’s highest-emitting landfills are located in these communities, a report by Industrious Labs found. Communities like mine are paying the price in doctor’s bills, in sick days, in missed school and in lives shortened by toxic exposure. CARB could make a meaningful difference right now by requiring stronger landfill cover practices, making sure that more landfill gas is collected before it escapes into our atmosphere, and using established technology to find invisible methane leaks. These aren’t radical solutions — they’re affordable, effective and ready to go.   Watching the people I love suffer pushed me into activism. I had no choice. I began speaking out — not just in my neighborhood but to elected officials and policymakers across all levels of government. I even shared my story with the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency last year and testified in front of the air resources board earlier this year. Poor landfill management comes at a price, and communities across California have paid that price for too long. We’ve done our part — we’ve testified, we’ve suffered, we’ve waited. Now CARB needs to do its job and protect California communities. 

Environmental Agency Denies Petition to Designate Big Hole River as Impaired by Nutrient Pollution

Montana’s environmental regulator has denied a petition to designate the Big Hole River as impaired by nitrogen and phosphorus

Montana’s environmental regulator has denied a petition to designate the Big Hole River as impaired by nitrogen and phosphorus, throwing a wrench in environmentalists’ efforts to put the blue-ribbon fishery on a “pollution diet.”Upper Missouri Waterkeeper and the Big Hole River Foundation contend that excess nutrients are creating regular summertime algal blooms that can stretch for more than a mile, robbing fish and the macroinvertebrate bugs they eat of the oxygen they need to thrive. The groups argue in the petition they sent to the Montana Department of Environmental Quality last month that an impairment designation would direct the agency to identify and work to reduce the river’s pollution sources in an effort to rebalance the river’s aquatic ecosystem.On April 14, about a month after receiving the 32-page petition, DEQ wrote that it “cannot grant” the group’s petition. The agency’s letter doesn’t quibble with the groups’ findings, which were detailed in a five-year data collection effort. Instead, the agency suggested that legislation passed in 2021 has tied its hands. “As a result of Senate Bill 358, passed during the 2021 Legislative Session … DEQ is unable to base nutrient assessment upon the numeric nutrient criteria,” the letter, signed by DEQ Director Sonja Nowakowski, reads. In an April 23 conversation with Montana Free Press, Upper Missouri Waterkeeper Executive Director Guy Alsentzer criticized the agency’s decision, arguing that it did not use the best available science and applied “illogical and disingenuous” reasoning in its denial. “EPA already took action and struck down Senate Bill 358 from the 2021 session,” Alsentzer said, referencing federal regulators’ oversight of state laws and rules governing water quality. “Numeric criteria are applicable.”A spokesperson for the EPA confirmed Alsentzer’s assertion, writing in an April 24 email to MTFP that numeric nutrient standards for nitrogen and phosphorus the agency approved a decade ago “remain in effect for Clean Water Act purposes” and will remain so “unless or until the EPA approves the removal of the currently applicable numeric nutrient criteria and approves revised water quality standards.”A DEQ spokesperson did not directly answer MTFP’s questions about what water quality standards DEQ is using to assess Montana waterways and determine whether permittees are complying with state and federal regulations.The agency wrote in an email that no permitted pollution sources under its regulatory oversight are discharging into the Big Hole, suggesting that its enforcement role is limited. The agency also wrote that an impairment designation is not required to implement water quality improvement projects such as creating riparian buffers, improving forest roads, or creating shaded areas. “Watershed partners may begin actively working on nonpoint source pollution reduction projects at any time,” DEQ spokesperson Madison McGeffers wrote to MTFP. “There is nothing standing in the way of starting work on these types of projects to improve water quality. In fact, the Big Hole River Watershed Committee is actively implementing its Watershed Restoration Plan with funds and support from DEQ Nonpoint Source & Wetland Section’s 319 program.”Alsentzer countered that a science-based cleanup plan and greater accountability will benefit the Big Hole regardless of whether nutrients are flowing into the river from a pipe or entering via more diffuse and harder-to-regulate channels.“You can’t get to that if you don’t recognize that you’ve got a problem we need to solve,” he said, adding that an impairment designation “unlocks pass-through funding to the tune of millions of dollars.”Addressing manmade threats to the Big Hole should be a priority for DEQ, given local communities’ economic reliance on a healthy river, he added.“It’s just a real tragic state of affairs when you have a blue-ribbon trout fishery in a very rural county that’s essentially having its livelihood flushed down the drain because we can’t get our agencies to actually implement baseline river protections (and) use science-based standards,” Alsentzer said. “When people try to do the work for the agency and help them, they’re getting told to go pound sand. I think that’s wrong.”Two years ago, Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks biologists recorded historically low numbers of brown trout along some stretches of the Big Hole. Anglers and conservationists floated a number of possible contributing factors, ranging from pathogens and drought conditions to angling pressure and unmitigated pollution. Save Wild Trout, a nonprofit formed in 2023 to understand which factors merit further investigation, described the 2023 southwestern Montana fishery “collapse” as a “canary in the coal mine moment.”In response to the 2023 population slump, Gov. Greg Gianforte announced the launch of a multiyear research effort on Jefferson Basin rivers that FWP is coordinating with Montana State University. Narrative Standards For ‘Undesirable Aquatic Life’ DEQ’s letter to Upper Missouri Waterkeeper and the Big Hole River Foundation leaves open the possibility of a future impairment designation based on narrative water quality standards. After mentioning the 2021 legislation, Nowakowski wrote that the agency reviewed the submitted data “along with other readily available data, in consideration of the state’s established narrative criteria.”The letter goes on to outline the additional material petitioners would need to submit for the agency to evaluate an impairment designation using narrative criteria, which establish that surface waters must be “free from substances” that “create conditions which produce undesirable aquatic life.”In an April 22 letter, Upper Missouri Waterkeeper and the Big Hole River Foundation addressed the petition denial in two parts. First, the groups argued that numeric nutrient standards apply. Second, they resubmitted material — photos, emails, a macroinvertebrate report, and “Aquatic Plant Visual Assessment Forms” — to support an impairment designation under the looser narrative standards. “We encourage DEQ to do the right thing, use all available science to determine the Big Hole River impaired for nutrients, and commit to working with petitioners and other (stakeholders) in addressing the pollution sources undermining this world-class waterway and harming the diverse uses it supports,” the letter says. Alsentzer noted that he has set up a meeting with the EPA to discuss DEQ’s treatment of the petition and its description of applicable water quality standards.The dispute over numeric nutrient standards comes shortly after the Legislature passed another bill seeking to repeal them. Any day now, Gianforte is expected to sign House Bill 664, which bears a striking similarity to 2021’s Senate Bill 358. HB 664 has garnered support from Nowakowski, who described it as a “time travel” bill that will return the state to “individual, site-by-site” regulations in lieu of more broadly applicable numeric standards. This story was originally published by Montana Free Press and distributed through a partnership with The Associated Press.Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See - Feb. 2025

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