‘Pain and suffering’: What the feds’ Lake Powell proposal means for Utah and other Colorado River states

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September 4, 2026

A boat makes its way to Bullfrog Marina on Lake Powell as high water marks indicate how much the reservoir has receded on Friday, April 24, 2026. (Francisco Kjolseth / The Salt Lake Tribune)

This story was originally published by The Salt Lake Tribune on August, 12, 2026.

After years of analysis and stalled negotiations, the federal government last month finally laid out its proposal for managing the Colorado River’s biggest reservoirs for the next decade.

The Bureau of Reclamation still needs to release its final decision and an operating plan for the next two years. But its final environmental impact statement provides a framework for how it intends to manage parts of the Colorado River system under its control.

The new plan would mean changes in how much water is stored and released from Lake Powell, voluntary water conservation in Utah and other Upper Basin states, and potentially steep water cuts in the Lower Basin — Arizona, California and Nevada.

Current guidelines for managing the reservoirs expire at the end of this year and Reclamation needs a new plan in place by Oct. 1. Reclamation said its preference was to implement a seven-state consensus deal, but so far states have yet to agree.

How Reclamation and states manage the river system affects 40 million people across seven U.S. states, 30 federally recognized tribes and northern Mexico.

Here’s why the latest framework matters and what you need to know:

It still might not be enough in a drying West

The Colorado River Basin has been mired in drought for more than two decades, and research shows that area will likely only get warmer and drier.

The question that really matters is how the new plan operates in a dry world, said Jack Schmidt, senior research scientist at Utah State University’s Center for Colorado River Studies.

Glen Canyon Dam and high-voltage transmission towers in Page, Ariz. on Tuesday, May 20, 2025. (Trent Nelson / The Salt Lake Tribune)

The document gives Reclamation flexibility to respond to an uncertain, but likely drier, river basin. It doesn’t solve all issues, though.

If drought conditions don’t improve, Reclamation said in its analysis that “even large and unprecedented reductions may be needed and may not be enough to stabilize storage” at Lake Powell and Lake Mead.

“The scary thing about all of this is that none of this solves the problem if the world keeps getting drier,” Schmidt said. “That should be taken as an enormous warning for the desperate need to reduce the impact of a warming planet and the drying of the Colorado River Basin.”

What does it mean for Utah?

Reclamation’s framework sets a goal of 200,000 acre-feet of voluntary water conservation in Utah and other Upper Basin states — Colorado, New Mexico and Wyoming.

Gene Shawcroft, Utah’s Colorado River negotiator, said it will likely take Utah and its upstream neighbors three to five years to conserve that amount.

The voluntary target for the Upper Basin is “moving in the right direction,” said John Berggren, regional policy manager for Western Resource Advocates.

But he also hopes those states conserve more than 200,000 acre-feet. “Every state is going to have to do whatever it can to find every acre-foot if we’re going to make it through some of the hydrologies that we’re going to see in the future,” he said.

A tour boat at Lees Ferry in Marble Canyon, Ariz., on Tuesday, May 20, 2025. (Trent Nelson / The Salt Lake Tribune)

Under Reclamation’s proposed framework, Upper Basin states and tribes will have “equal access” to store up to 3 million acre-feet of conserved water in Lake Powell. That stored water can be used for transactions with other Upper Basin users, and tribes would receive credit for their contributions to the pool.

Crystal Tulley-Cordova, a principal hydrologist for the Navajo Nation, said the pool is an “innovative solution” and “opportunity” for her tribe.

Reclamation’s framework does not detail how the process will work, but Tulley-Cordova said tribes and Upper Basin states have started discussing it.

Reclamation only includes voluntary measures in the Upper Basin because the federal government doesn’t believe it has the responsibility or authority to force water shortages in the Upper Basin, said Sarah Porter, director of the Kyl Center for Water Policy at Arizona State University.

Upper Basin states have argued that they take “mandatory cuts” each year based on how much water actually flows in the river and its upstream tributaries.

“We get cuts from Mother Nature every year,” Shawcroft said.

House boats are pictured at Bullfrog Marina on Lake Powell on Saturday, April 25, 2026. Glen Canyon National Recreation Area officials plan to move the marina to the deeper waters in the main channel of the reservoir across from Halls Crossing. (Francisco Kjolseth / The Salt Lake Tribune)

What about California and other Lower Basin states?

In contrast to Reclamation’s limited role in the Upper Basin, the Interior Secretary is considered the “water master” in the Lower Basin and controls the delivery of Colorado River water to Arizona, California and Nevada from Lake Mead.

“The measures that [the bureau] believes it has the authority to impose could have very dramatic impacts on the Lower Basin,” Porter said.

Cuts could be as large as 3 million acre-feet in those states during dry years, according to the federal government’s framework. That’s almost double what those states have offered to conserve in a Lower Basin proposal released earlier this year.

Lower Basin shortages would hit Arizona, which is home to 22 of the 30 federally recognized tribes in the Colorado River Basin, particularly hard. During the driest conditions, the state could see its Colorado River allocation cut by as much as 77% under Reclamation’s proposal.

The Arizona Department of Water Resources called the potential cuts “unacceptable” and said “such reductions would devastate Arizona’s water users and its economy.”

The Gila River Indian Community, which holds substantial rights in Arizona, said in a statement that Reclamation’s proposal “fails to adequately address the federal government’s trust responsibility to tribes in the Basin who are seriously affected by cuts to critical water supplies.”

“The community has forcefully made its case to the federal government throughout this process that it cannot simply take our water without our consent,” the statement said.

High winds kick up the wake of a rental pontoon boat during a tour of Lake Powell on Sunday, April 26, 2026. (Francisco Kjolseth / The Salt Lake Tribune)

Ten of the 11 tribes with unresolved water rights in the basin are also in Arizona, said Cora Tso, senior research fellow at the Kyl Center for Water Policy and member of the Navajo Nation.

“They’re left to wonder what water will be left over for them to negotiate and ultimately bring to their community members, to fulfill the purpose of their reservation, to sustain a permanent homeland,” Tso said

“We’re talking about getting clean water access to people’s homes,” Tso added, “and making sure that those who are hit hardest with impacts from climate change have the adequate resources to help mitigate those impacts.”

Reclamation prioritizes dam infrastructure

Reclamation’s framework aims to stop water levels at Powell and Mead from dropping so low that it could cause damage to Glen Canyon Dam and Hoover Dam.

“There’s enough room within this framework for Reclamation to ensure that the reservoirs avoid a truly catastrophic outcome,” said Doug Kenney, western water policy program director at Colorado University Boulder’s Getches-Wilkinson Center. “But of course the only tool that they have to do that is to cut off water users, and so there’s going to be pain and suffering somewhere, and that pain and suffering is primarily aimed at Arizona.”

The new framework also reduces possible water releases out of Lake Powell from the current low level release of 6 million acre-feet to 5 million acre-feet to protect Glen Canyon Dam.

“The document makes clear that Reclamation will continue doing everything it takes to prop up Lake Powell, including releasing as much water as they can from Flaming Gorge,” Eric Balken, executive director of the Glen Canyon Institute, told the Tribune.

Reclamation includes the “potential for maximum use of” Colorado River reservoirs upstream of Powell, including Flaming Gorge, to protect dam infrastructure.

Reclamation wants to keep Powell above 3,500 feet. At 3,490, the reservoir hits “minimum power pool,” where the dam can no longer produce hydropower and water must go downstream through lower tubes that weren’t intended for sustained water releases.

Hydropower generated from Glen Canyon Dam, and other dams part of the Colorado River Storage Project, provides electricity to over 50 tribal nations. That includes about 42% of the Navajo Tribal Utility Authority’s total electric supply, according to the Congressional Research Service.

As the Colorado River continues to downcut, construction of a new North Wash takeout near Hite Crossing brings much needed respite for boaters exiting excursions down Cataract Canyon, Friday, April 24, 2026. (Francisco Kjolseth / The Salt Lake Tribune)

Risk of litigation

Such low releases could trigger what’s known as a “compact call” from Lower Basin states.

The century-old Colorado River Compact says that the Upper Basin States “will not cause the flow of the river at Lee Ferry” — the dividing line between the basins just below Glen Canyon Dam — to fall below an aggregate of 75 million acre-feet over a ten-year period.

With releases as low as 5 million acre-feet out of Powell, downstream deliveries could fall below that “tripwire,” as Colorado River experts call it, and Lower Basin states could sue.

“I believe that the Lower Basin states will probably bring a compact call against the Upper Basin unless there’s some kind of agreement in place that preserves their claims,” Porter said.

Lower Basins states are also “very likely to bring a legal challenge to the” record of decision, Porter said. Reclamation is expected to release its final decision in the coming days to weeks.

If a lawsuit is brought, it could last for 10 to 20 years, Porter said.

Where negotiations stand

Reclamation says it’s “committed to preserving the opportunity to implement potential future consensus agreements” among the seven states within the framework it outlines.

Shawcroft said that having a clear sense of Reclamation’s plans may help negotiations among the seven basin states because it shows how the feds intend to operate the reservoirs.

Others say it may nudge states closer to courts than consensus, though.

“I don’t see that it helps at all, unless pushing states to litigation can somehow be interpreted as a help,” Porter said. “I don’t see that it creates a context to create a higher likelihood for an agreement.”

“Certainly, if I were an Upper Basin state, I would feel very affirmed right now,” Porter added. “The Lower Basin states have the opposite interpretation.”

And if the hydrology stays bad, negotiations may not get any easier.

“A system that’s totally reliant upon seven-state unanimous agreement deals doesn’t work very well,” Kenney said, “when the only thing there is to negotiate is how the pain and suffering is going to be distributed.”

Meanwhile, “tribes are still totally a side story,” in Reclamation’s governance of the river system, Kenney said.

Reclamation has consulted with tribes, but the Colorado River Indian Tribes (CRIT) said in a statement that Reclamation has been sharing documents with states without “co-equal interaction or discourse” with the tribe, despite CRIT holding 23% of Arizona’s Colorado River allocation.

Going forward, Tso said all 30 tribes, the seven states and the federal government should be at the negotiating table together.

This story was produced in partnership with The Water Desk, an independent reporting initiative at the University of Colorado Boulder’s Center for Environmental Journalism.

This article is published through the Colorado River Collaborative, a solutions journalism initiative supported by the Janet Quinney Lawson Institute for Land, Water, and Air at Utah State University. See all of our stories about how Utahns are impacted by the Colorado River at greatsaltlakenews.org/coloradoriver.

Colorado River crisis threatens crops, not Wyoming’s dam plans, experts say

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Angus M. Thuermer Jr., WyoFile

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August 31, 2026

The Bureau of Reclamation’s 10-year plan for managing Colorado River flows seeks to preserve enough water behind the Hoover Dam to sustain electricity generation. (Angus M. Thuermer Jr./WyoFile)

This story was originally published by WyoFile on August 18, 2026.

A federal drought plan for the Colorado River and its tributaries in Wyoming shouldn’t stop Wyoming from building a new dam and reservoir in Carbon County, two Western water experts say.

The Bureau of Reclamation plan for the sweeping basin focuses on maintaining enough water in Lake Powell and Lake Mead to generate electricity and prevent degradation of critical infrastructure, professors from Utah and Arizona said last week.

The 10-year framework to manage water storage and releases in the complex seven-state, two-nation system seeks to balance predictability and flexibility in two-year increments. It also acknowledges that the government has little to no authority over water use in headwater states Wyoming, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico, said Sarah Porter, the director of the Kyl Center for Water Policy at Arizona State University’s Morrison Institute.

“One way of reading the final environmental impact statement,” Porter said, “is the Bureau’s determination that it doesn’t really have any authority to limit water use in the headwaters.”

Drought will likely cause agricultural stress in Arizona, Nevada and California, threatening the supply of winter vegetables and possibly other crops, she said.

“We probably won’t be eating as many salads,” she said, because Arizona is where winter lettuce is harvested. “It’s all grown in Yuma.”

More important for Wyoming might be that the Bureau of Reclamation’s final environmental impact statement recognizes the independence of headwater, or upper-division, states to essentially use water as they see fit. Efforts to conserve water in the Upper Basin “are not within the scope of this EIS,” the federal document states.

So while farmers downstream may see their traditional supplies cut, Wyoming forges ahead with plans for the 10,000-acre-foot West Fork dam and reservoir in Carbon County where 6,000 acre-feet a year would be poured onto fields for late-season irrigation on ranches.

Energy equation

The Bureau is imposing the plan after the seven states failed to agree on how to share Colorado River flows as drought crimps traditional allotments that were based on too-rosy estimates.

“We have the lowest reservoir storage we’ve ever seen,” said David Rosenberg, a Utah State University professor and water researcher. “We have very low inflows.”

He and Porter spoke in a Zoom webinar hosted by SciLine, a nonprofit that connects reporters with scientists.

The two called the Bureau of Reclamation plan a decision-making framework for distributing water in the three Lower Basin states — initially for two years.

“It doesn’t place the basin on a path to stabilizing the system at all,” Porter said. “It doesn’t resolve conflict at all. It doesn’t achieve the [long-term] things that the basin really needs at this point.”

The Colorado River Basin, shown as upper and lower basins. (Bureau of Reclamation)

But the plan is “a very clear statement,” Rosenberg said, “of how they’re going to protect infrastructure.”

That infrastructure includes the two major dams, associated power plants and canals that would become useless, even degraded, if the water levels in Powell and Mead drop below critical levels. With the plan, Rosenberg said, the Bureau states: “We’re still going to be generating hydropower.”

Powell’s Glen Canyon and Mead’s Hoover dams can generate some $443 million of market-price electricity a year when operating fully, according to calculations from the Bureau of Reclamation and the U.S. Energy Information Administration. To keep those two reservoirs flush, the Bureau will release water from Wyoming’s Flaming Gorge Reservoir and from Colorado’s Blue Mesa Reservoir and New Mexico’s and Colorado’s Navajo Reservoir.

Beyond that, the Bureau’s plan targets the three Lower Basin states for reductions, depending on water in the river system and reservoirs.

Headwater states largely rely on stream and river flows determined by spring runoff. The at-risk region in Wyoming includes the Green River and its tributaries and the Little Snake River in Carbon County.

In contrast, the Lower Basin “gets all of its water, Colorado River water, from the reservoirs,” Porter said. It’s a lot more complicated to curtail Upper Basin use “than simply to not deliver water out of a reservoir,” she said. “And that’s a sore point with the Lower Basin.”

The two professors predicted a fight. “We expect they’ll be challenging this administrative process,” Porter said of the lower division states’ reaction to the Bureau’s EIS.

Compact call coming

There’s more on the horizon too.

“I also expect that within the next year and a half, or maybe two years, there will be what we call a compact call,” Porter said, “a demand from the Lower Basin for water that the Lower Basin contends the Upper Basin is obligated to deliver.

“That challenge will occur in the United States Supreme Court and that could take 10, 20, 30 years.”

Under the 1922 Colorado River Compact and associated agreements, the upper division states can’t diminish the flow from Lake Powell below 7.5 million acre-feet annually, calculated on a 10-year rolling average. That’s half what engineers originally calculated the watershed would produce; half belonging to the headwater states, half to the Lower Basin. That estimate is now considered to have been exuberantly optimistic.

“We really need to figure out a way collectively to be reducing demand in the Colorado River by at least 3 million acre-feet out of the 15 million,” Porter said, “and that probably can’t all fall on the Lower Basin.

“The Lower Basin,” she said, “didn’t agree to be junior to the Upper Basin.”

If Upper Basin states don’t deliver the 7.5 million acre-feet past the Lee Ferry gauging station just below Lake Powell, headwaters curtailment will begin, starting with the most recent, or junior, water-right holders.

Until then, conservation in Wyoming will be voluntary, generally meaning that if an irrigator or other user forgoes their water right, they will need to be paid. In previous trial conservation programs, that has cost $500 an acre foot.

But a compact call by Lower Basin states would lead to curtailment — a mandatory cutting off of Upper Basin water use starting with the most recent, or junior, rights’ holders. Long-established ranches and irrigators hold senior rights while Wyoming municipalities and industries in the Green River Basin are likely among the first to be curtailed.

An aerial view of the site of the proposed West Fork Dam at the head of the Little Snake River Valley in Carbon County. The proposed dam would be 264 feet high, 700 feet long and made out of concrete. (Major King for WyoFile)

Under the “Law of the River,” Wyoming has rights — on paper — to 14% of the Upper Basin’s 7.5 million acre-feet annually. That’s about 1 million acre-feet. But the state engineer estimated in 2010 that Wyoming’s rights amount to 847,000 acre-feet a year, according to the state’s 2010 plan for the basin. Wyoming uses 680,076 acre-feet and has rights to another 166,924, the latest plan states.

That makes the 100,000 or so Wyomingites who rely on or use Green River water relatively water rich compared to the 40 million down-streamers who rely on the river for some or all of their agricultural and municipal needs. In essence, 100,000 Wyomingites have rights to almost 1 million acre-feet while 39.9 million down-streamers divvy up 7.5 million acre-feet.

The implications go beyond the scarcity of your garden-variety salad.

“If there are big reductions in water supplies to those [Lower Basin] areas, there really will be impacts on our food supply nationally, not to mention other impacts,” Porter said.

Recycling water

While the prospect of southwestern metropolises crashing headlong into ugly sewerage problems caused by the crisis would seem to loom, don’t put all your money into wag-bags and porta potties yet. The municipalities are figuring out how to cope.

“Those cities are making massive investments in advanced water purification to treat reclaimed water to potable to reduce reliance on annual deliveries of Colorado River water,” Porter said. “That access to other water supplies or other water management strategies isn’t really available to agricultural water users or, to a great extent, the tribes who are significant rights holders to Colorado River water.

“We may see impacts to cities really smoothed out and not be very disruptive,” she said. “If we do have disruptive impacts, they will probably fall on rural areas and tribal communities in the Lower Basin.”

The Bureau stepped in after the upper and lower division states couldn’t agree on how to collectively trim water use.

“I don’t think the development [and] the release of the final EIS has moved the seven states closer to consensus,” Porter said. “I think, if anything, it has moved them farther away. I don’t see the state saying we will waive what we think are our rights under the Colorado Compact and come up with a new agreement.

“We are in for a lot of legal conflict, and meanwhile, we don’t have good reason to hope that hydrology is going to bail us out,” she said. “So we could have a lot of fighting over less and less water.”

In the drought-stricken West, birds of a feather flock to low reservoirs

By

Annie MacKeigan, The Water Desk

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August 28, 2026

Great blue herons at Blue Mesa Reservoir along Colorado’s Gunnison River on July 1, 2026. (Mitch Tobin / The Water Desk)

Gerry Morrell wouldn’t necessarily call himself a birder. But even through the sound of cars and semis speeding past on the nearby interstate, he can pick out the call of a kingfisher. Among the frenzy of bird calls at St. Vrain State Park at any given moment, he’s able to isolate and identify just one.

Tall, lanky great blue herons are anything but a rarity at the park; but Gerry and his wife, Janet Morrell, had only just begun to see them again in the last few weeks when they visited in July. Persistent drought conditions have worsened the West’s ongoing water crisis, and it seems as though the birds can tell.

Gerry and Janet have noticed it, too. One warm, mid-July morning, water levels in one of the park’s ponds were higher than the couple would have expected. “This one was down, now it’s up,” Gerry said. “I wouldn’t think that because of everybody’s call for water.”

Colorado Front Range resident Gerry Morrell can recall when St. Vrain State Park was created, and all the birds it brought with it. (Annie MacKeigan/The Water Desk)

The ponds at St. Vrain State Park are filled by groundwater and overflow from the neighboring St. Vrain Creek. Gerry noted a temporary increase to the water level, but birds local to the area have not been so convinced. “I did photograph a peregrine falcon over here,” he said a mile into the morning stroll. “But this year, especially since this lake was kind of dead, I’ve not seen them.”

Globally, birds are an indicator of a healthy ecosystem. In the Western U.S., bird populations are grappling with prolonged drought conditions that threaten the health of reservoirs and streams and the habitat they provide.

One symptom of a dry year may actually be beneficial to certain bird populations. Low level reservoirs expose nutrient-rich mudflats, which is like a buffet for shorebirds and waterfowl. But, too little water in reservoirs or streams leaves many birds with no respite from the drier than normal conditions.

Shorebirds and waterfowl are no strangers to St. Vrain State Park—Gerry and Janet can be sure of it. The park is like a sanctuary for all the birds that rely on the nutrients and habitat it provides. The couple has gone out walking and taking photos almost every single morning since Gerry retired 10 years ago. He and Janet work in perfect tandem; she is the spotter and he takes the picture.

“What’s that over there in the tree, Gerry?” Janet asked, eyes like a hawk. It didn’t look like much besides a white, shapeless blob on a tree branch. It could have been a collection of windblown cotton from the cottonwood trees scattered around the state park. Morrell wasn’t sure if it was anything at all, but he took the picture anyway.

Double-crested cormorants can be identified by their hooked bill and are characterized by floating low in the water, according to the National Audubon Society. (Annie MacKeigan / The Water Desk)

“I don’t count on anything,” Gerry said, remembering encounters with snowy owls, wood storks, killdeer, bald eagles, swans, various geese and grebes, double-crested cormorants, great blue herons, and snowy egrets.

But someone’s been missing this year. They’ve yet to see a night heron. Gerry and Janet both had their presumptions on why this could be. Perhaps it is due to a lack of fish. Maybe it could be the abnormally warm temperatures, or the unusual winter snow drought that has had a multitude of downstream effects.

But according to Colorado Parks and Wildlife, there is no hard data collected on the relationship between the reservoirs at St. Vrain State Park and the birds that feed there. Because of this, Gerry and Janet are left wondering where the night herons may have gone.

Low level reservoirs can bring in some birds that frequent mudflats but too little water poses a completely different risk. “When we have healthy reservoirs and healthy water, birds can spread out,” said master birder and volunteer at Denver Audubon, Patti Galli.

There are different pockets of this behavior, depending on the biodiversity of an area and its proximity to one of the major avian flyways. The eastern plains of Colorado, Wyoming, Montana and parts of New Mexico host different birds and behaviors than the high alpine reservoirs of the Rockies, which themselves are different from the salt lakes of the Great Basin.

Without healthy reservoirs and streams there is more stress on these birds, especially when they have to seek out other habitats that may already be overcrowded or unproductive. “If everyone is fighting at the waterhole and there is just not enough, someone is going to pay the price,” Galli said.

According to Galli, having less available water and habitat is a huge risk for birds. While healthy birds can spend time and energy on looking for a secondary habitat, “those who are weak or old just might not be able to do it,” Galli said.

That threat of less and less water remains. At its worst, a low level reservoir can turn into a barren wasteland of cracked and dried mud, unfit for birds. As reservoirs across the west grapple with a dwindling water supply and a foreboding future, the relationship between birds and reservoirs in the west remains up in the air.

American white pelicans at Dome Lakes State Wildlife Area, south of Gunnison, Colorado, on June 28, 2026. (Mitch Tobin / The Water Desk)

Antero Reservoir serves as a drinking water supply for Denver Water, located in Park County, Colo. In response to the worsening drought, Antero was closed to the public in May 2026. But it is not just fishermen and boaters that have vanished from the reservoir bed.

“There are just no birds,” said Jack Bushong, a birder who shares bird sightings and facts on YouTube, Instagram and TikTok. Prior to its draining, Bushong visited Antero Reservoir, explaining that it was one of the most biologically productive habitats for birds in the state of Colorado. “It would not be hard to see 40 to 50 species there in just a few hours,” Bushong said.

But now, Antero’s cracked surface no longer offers habitat or fuel for the various shorebirds or waterfowl that depended on it.

Bushong expects there to be no waterbirds remaining in the area; all that is left is a low density of species that inhabit the sagebrush steppe around South Park. “Maybe a horned lark flying around, you can see that anywhere,” Bushong said. The reservoir and its shoreline is what attracted the waterbirds, and what made Antero Reservoir so ornithologically important. “When it’s dry, they all leave.”

Bird populations and behavior fluctuate with environmental changes, dry years like this one can be cause for concern. It is possible that nearby exposed mudflats can provide a more productive habitat for shorebirds because exposed mudflats have varying degrees of desirability among birds. According to Bushong, shorebirds are drawn to long, flat stretches of mud, rather than steep slopes made of sand.

A double-crested cormorant grazes the surface of the water at St. Vrain State Park on a warm, July morning. (Annie MacKeigan / The Water Desk)

The draining of Antero was more than an inconvenience for birds in the area. For Bushong, it was heartbreaking, and continues to be devastating.

“Antero is pretty unique because it has a lot of breeding birds,” Bushong said. At one point, one of those birds was the snowy plover, said Bushong. The snowy plover is currently listed as a state species of special concern by Colorado Parks and Wildlife.

Without a suitable habitat for breeding at Antero, breeding birds have to find suitable habitat elsewhere, an arduous task. “There’s only so much habitat that’s going to support so many birds,” Bushong said. Breeding birds may be forced to attempt to breed in more marginal habitats, requiring them to fly longer distances for less productive environments. If they cannot find suitable habitat, they will not breed.

A similar tune is sung across the West. According to Emma Rosen, a birder and former employee at Mono Lake Committee in California, maintaining healthy habitat for these birds is of critical importance. Needing to seek out a new habitat could mean life or death.

Mono Lake is particularly important to phalaropes. These shorebirds often fly from California to South America in just three days, Rosen said. These birds count on having enough food at Mono Lake to fuel the rest of their journey.

Mono Lake currently sits below its target elevation of 6,392 feet above sea level. 6,392 feet is the minimum elevation required to support localized ecological health, including birds. “It still does support a lot of migratory birds at its current level,” Rosen said, despite its failure to reach its target elevation. “And if it weren’t for a lot of people fighting for it, it might have been drained like its neighbor, Owens Lake.”

For phalaropes and other shorebirds, an environment without sufficient food means searching for food elsewhere. Most shorebird species are attracted to habitats with exposed, but not dry, mudflats and shallow water with sparse vegetation. “Just because the habitat criteria is met does not guarantee that the habitat is productive,” Rosen said. “[It] could actually harm shorebirds by causing them to waste energy in places without adequate food.”

For bird enthusiasts and water enthusiasts alike, the connection seems clear. Healthy birds mean a healthy environment. Having a vested interest in maintaining healthy reservoirs is critical. But if that alone is not enough, many birders can agree on the next best reason to care about these bird populations. “They’re beautiful and awesome,” Rosen said. “Everyone should care about something that is so awesome.”

Gerry Morrell spots a great blue heron at St. Vrain State Park on July 17, 2026. (Annie MacKeigan / The Water Desk)

Back at St. Vrain State Park, the bird search continued. As the couple made their way deeper into the park, the sights and sounds of speeding cars dwindled, leaving nothing but the sound of bird calls and footsteps on gravel.

When Gerry returned home to go through his photos from the morning adventure, a frame from early in the walk caught his eye. He enlarged his photo of the shapeless blob nestled into the tree that Janet had pointed out, and there it was. A black-crowned night heron in all its glory. It would be their first sighting of the stocky bird of the year, atypical of years past.

This story was produced and distributed by The Water Desk at the University of Colorado Boulder’s Center for Environmental Journalism.

Fearing ‘catastrophic impacts’ from water cuts, Nevada sues feds over Colorado River plan

By

Steven Rodas, Inside Climate News

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August 26, 2026

Hoover Dam and Lake Mead, along the Colorado River, in May 2021. Photo by Alexander Heilner/The Water Desk.

This article originally appeared on August 24, 2026, on Inside Climate News, a nonprofit, non-partisan news organization that covers climate, energy and the environment. Sign up for their newsletter here.

Three days was all it took for the Trump administration’s Colorado River plan to see a legal challenge from, somewhat ironically, Nevada.

Of the seven states that rely on the river, Nevada gets the smallest amount by law.

Nevada water managers said the long-term impacts from the proposed cuts could be devastating—with Las Vegas bearing some measure of the pain.

Under the federal plan, southern Nevada could—in future years—lose over 70 percent of its already-sparse Colorado River allocation while Colorado, Utah, New Mexico and Wyoming won’t face any mandatory cuts, Nevada officials said Monday.

The reductions “could have catastrophic impacts on our economy and the way people live here in southern Nevada,” John Entsminger, general manager of the Southern Nevada Water Authority, told Inside Climate News.

Entsminger highlighted that the Colorado River provides 90 percent of the water supply for 76 percent of Nevada’s population.

“This is a statewide issue in terms of the economic impacts that would be felt if these sorts of arbitrary and draconian cuts were imposed upon us,” Entsminger said.

Given those fears, the state asked the U.S. District Court of Nevada to order the federal Bureau of Reclamation to revoke its plan, according to the 31-page lawsuit. The Trump administration’s plan violates a complicated set of policies, laws, court cases and prior agreements (known as the “Law of the River”), unfairly makes life tougher for three states and does not require four other states to make water restrictions, Nevada officials said.

The Department of the Interior could not immediately be reached for comment Monday.

Brandon Gebhart, Wyoming’s state engineer and lead Colorado River negotiator, said the Cowboy State is concerned by any assertion that the Bureau of Reclamation should consider and impose mandatory conservation measures and reductions in the Upper Basin.

“We take involuntary, hydrology-driven cuts every single time there is a drought,” Gebhart said in a statement to Inside Climate News. “We will oppose any attempt to use federal administrative guidelines to unnecessarily drain our limited storage or burden Wyoming citizens with additional hydrologic risks.”

The Colorado River supplies water to between 35 and 40 million people across seven Western states, 30 Native tribes as well as two Mexican states. The river is also crucial to about 5 million acres of farmland.

Last week, the Trump administration released a plan that requires Nevada, Arizona and California to cut water use by roughly 20 percent over the next two years. More substantial cuts would be permitted if needed in the next decade to keep the river’s drought-stricken reservoirs from dipping to dangerously-low levels.

“This isn’t about political posturing,” Nevada Governor Joe Lombardo, said in a statement after the lawsuit was filed. “This is a matter of survival for a community that represents about two-thirds of our state’s citizens and the lion’s share of its economy.”

The 1922 compact between the Colorado River’s users assumed that about 17.5 million acre-feet of water was available to the river’s upper and lower basins and Mexico. However, the historical average of the river’s natural flow has only been roughly 14.7 million acre-feet. That fell to an average of 11.2 million acre -feet between 2020 and 2024, according to provisional data from the Bureau of Reclamation.

The Colorado River’s reservoirs have declined amid a historic 26-year drought that researchers say is being exacerbated by climate change. Lake Mead and Lake Powell, the river’s largest reservoirs, have fallen to record lows.

While Nevada has had ongoing talks with California and Arizona on the Colorado River negotiations, Entsminger said Nevada filed the lawsuit on its own.

Experts said Monday that the other two states may sign on to the suit as well.

An Arizona Department of Water Resources spokesperson said Monday the state was still evaluating Nevada’s complaint and working on next steps. Officials in California said the state was also reviewing the complaint and was unable to comment.

Colorado officials said Monday they are reviewing Nevada’s filing.

With Monday’s lawsuit, Nevada is challenging the Trump administration ten-year plan they said cuts the state’s annual portion of 300,000 acre-feet of water to as little as 86,500.

The highly-contentious matter may ultimately reach the Supreme Court.

“It isn’t unexpected that there would be litigation over the new rules from the Department of the Interior for operation of the Colorado River,” Anne Castle, a senior fellow at the Getches-Wilkinson Center at the University of Colorado Law School and a former assistant secretary for Water and Science at the Interior Department, said Monday.

Castle—noting that Arizona was widely expected to litigate—said it was only somewhat surprising Nevada took “the first shot.”

Nevada’s complaint requests that even the two-year, short-term plan for the Colorado River be rescinded, but Castle noted operations would need to continue to supply states with water.

The Department of the Interior “has to operate the Colorado River and its infrastructure while any lawsuits are pending, and it’s unlikely that a court would take it on itself to define how the river will be operated,” Castle said.

David Feldman, a professor emeritus in the Department of Urban Planning and Public Policy at the University of California, Irvine, said what complicates matters on the Colorado River further is that self-imposed cuts by states have not been enough over the years. That includes drastic cutbacks from Las Vegas.

“For starters, consider that all seven states have either initiated plans or taken actions to conserve or reduce water uses—especially urban uses, so it is not true that they have taken no measures in light of the multi-year mega-drought,” Feldman said Monday.

However, he said the amount of reductions that will be required to sustain and stabilize the basin’s water supply will require annual cuts in consumption of at least 3 million acre-feet (or 980 billion gallons), and probably 4 million acre-feet, or 1.3 trillion gallons.

Legal challenges like those filed this week are only bound to complicate, and lengthen the timeline for, any negotiations that happen going forward, various experts said.

Does Entsminger—who leads talks for Nevada— hope Monday’s lawsuit forces parties to come to an agreement outside the courts?

“I do,” Entsminger said.

“I think the best solution is always giving the seven states and the federal government room to agree upon a solution that maybe nobody loves, but that everybody can live with.”

Wyatt Myskow and Jake Bolster contributed to this report.

How low can the Colorado River go? A slow float on the 15-mile reach

By

Heather Sackett, Aspen Journalism

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August 20, 2026

A group of paddlers take a lunch break on the 15-mile reach of the Colorado River this week. Boaters had to occasionally drag their duckies and paddle boards through the shallows because of extremely low flows. (Heather Sackett/Aspen Journalism)

On a hot and sunny morning in August, a group of nine paddlers pushed their duckies and stand-up paddle boards into the Colorado River at Harky’s boat launch in Palisade.

The goal of the float was to experience and document the river at one of the lowest levels it has ever seen. With flows hovering around 93 cfs, a bathtub ring showed on the rocks along the riverbank and rusty hunks of old farm equipment emerged from the streambed. Bright green algae grew between the rocks, and herons and ospreys hunted in the shallows.

In many places, paddlers got hung up on rocks and were forced to drag their watercrafts through the ankle-deep water. It took about four hours to float the roughly six-and-a-half miles from Palisade to Corn Lake, a trip that normally takes two to three hours with higher flows.

Boaters got hung up on rocks in the 15-mile reach of the Colorado River during extremely low flows this week. The stretch of river between Palisade and the confluence of the Gunnison River is chronically dry. (Heather Sackett/Aspen Journalism)

The trip was organized by Joel Sholtes, a water resources engineering instructor at Colorado Mesa University and a coordinator for the Grand Valley River Corridor Initiative.

“I knew that the river would kind of be on life support and maybe even dry up so I wanted to get out on the river with the people that were involved in managing its flow and experience the 15-mile reach at such a historically low level,” Sholtes said. “It just felt important to be on it and see it both from a habitat standpoint and from a user experience standpoint.”

The Colorado River and its water users are now experiencing the consequences of the lowest winter snowpack on record, exceptionally hot temperatures and resulting low streamflows. The impacts are being felt across Colorado as farmers and ranchers have their irrigation water cut, cities and towns impose severe water restrictions on their customers and flows dwindle in stretches of river that are critical habitat for the ecosystem.

The stretch of the Colorado River between the large agricultural diversions in Palisade and the downstream confluence with the Gunnison River is known as the 15-mile reach. This chronically depleted section is also home to endangered fish. Water managers work each year to keep enough flows for fish by coordinating carefully timed releases from upstream reservoirs.

This year’s historic drought makes keeping enough water in this reach more challenging than usual. The recovery program has pools of water dedicated to the fish in Lake Granby and Ruedi Reservoir that it releases specifically to boost flows in the 15-mile reach, but because of the dry conditions, less of that water is available. According to the Colorado Division of Water Resources, the average August flows in the 15-mile reach have been about 119 cfs this year, far below the 810 cfs target set by the Upper Colorado River Endangered Fish Recovery Program.

The program’s Instream Flow Coordinator David Graf told water managers on a conference call Wednesday that the program is trying to keep 75 cfs in the river through the end of August. Graf said the program was responsible for about 70% of the water in the river during Tuesday’s float; without it, flows could have dipped to around just 25 cfs.

“We are so far below the recommended flows anywhere in the Colorado River basin right now,” Graf said. “Keeping water in there is valuable; it takes a village.”

Irrigators reduce diversions

Nearly all of the river’s flows are being diverted to the Grand Valley’s agricultural producers. Colorado River water transforms the valley’s desert into a ribbon of verdant peach orchards, vineyards, corn and alfalfa fields. The valley’s irrigation districts can collectively draw 1,950 cfs from the river, but this year, they have reduced that down to 1,450 cfs in an effort to save some water for later in the season.

“We collectively set the target flow lower for the sole purpose of extending to gain and accrue some storage,” said Jackie Fisher, manager of Orchard Mesa Irrigation District. “We had none at the beginning of the year and it became super critical to talk with our partners and say, what can we live on now because we knew we needed it two or three months later.”

The Grand Valley Irrigation Company canal on the left is the last big agricultural diversion on the Colorado River in the Grand Valley. It marks the beginning of the 15-mile reach.
(Heather Sackett/Aspen Journalism)

Late summer is a crucial time for irrigators because the high flows of spring runoff have come and gone, but hot temperatures drive up the amount of water needed by crops. Irrigators often depend on releasing water stored in upstream reservoirs during this time to supplement low river flows. This year, spring runoff peaked weeks early and a pool of water in Green Mountain Reservoir known as the Historic Users Pool did not fill, which created far-reaching impacts.

HUP water is released mainly to satisfy farmers and ranchers in the Grand Valley, which hold the senior, commanding water rights on the river. The HUP also protects other water users, known as HUP beneficiaries, because without the releases from Green Mountain to supplement the Grand Valley, these other users could have to cut back.

Entities that own or lease stored water, like the Colorado River Water Conservation District, the Colorado Water Trust, Grand County and Northern Water, among others, have pitched in this year to contribute extra acre-feet to Grand Valley irrigators. But even with collaboration and water sharing, Grand Valley Water Users Association General Manager Tina Bergonzini said they cannot guarantee water deliveries to their farmers after September 1. Irrigation season typically goes through Oct. 31.

“It probably sounds a little melodramatic to say, but it’s not: It’s literally the first time in 111 years that we’ve run out of water in the Grand Valley Water Users Association,” Bergonzini said. “I’ve done my best and my staff has done their best to make sure that our producers and our residents that are under our system are aware that we could get to the point that we have unreliable delivery.”

Joel Sholtes, left, and Abby Burk paddle the 15-mile reach. Sholtes organized the float to experience the river at extremely low flows. (Heather Sackett/Aspen Journalism)

GVWUA irrigators have been on restriction all season and the association has been taking just 500 of its 730 cfs water right. Bergonzini said many of her producers have switched to less thirsty crops this year like triticale and Sudangrass, instead of corn and alfalfa, and have made adjustments to the way they irrigate to adapt to less water.

Heading into the fall with unreliable water is a scary scenario for some, Bergonzini said. It’s the time of year when some farmers plant winter crops and have a need for lots of water.

“We’ve tried to make sure everybody is prepared and that’s really all we can do,” she said.

As water managers grapple with how to stretch this year’s meager flows as far as possible, Sholtes said from a recreation and quality of life standpoint, the Colorado River still provides so much value to the community – even when it’s barely flowing.

“I think it’s important to know that even in drought conditions, the river is accessible and enjoyable,” he said. “It’s my interest as a citizen in the Grand Valley, and as a scientist, to have a river that works for everyone, and to have growth and use that is compatible with the river ecosystem.”

Aspen Journalism is a nonprofit, investigative news organization covering water, environment, social justice and more. Visit aspenjournalism.org.

Drive for nuclear power boosts uranium industry — and tribal health concerns in Southwest

By

Melissa Bailey, KFF Health News

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August 18, 2026

Malcolm Lehi stands at Entrance Spring, where in the late 2000s elevated levels of radionuclides were linked to the nearby White Mesa Mill. The mill processes uranium ore from across the Southwest and radioactive waste from as far away as Estonia. (Melissa Bailey for KFF Health News)

This story was originally published by KFF Health News on August 18, 2026.

WHITE MESA, Utah — On a hot April day, Malcolm Lehi maneuvered his Jeep Wrangler over a rough dirt road past junipers and sagebrush in search of Entrance Spring on land long connected to his tribe, the Ute Mountain Ute.

The cool, mossy spring lies just across the highway from White Mesa Mill, the nation’s only remaining conventional uranium mill, which produces yellowcake for nuclear power fuel.

For decades, the mill has sparked debate over whether radioactive contamination threatens human health by getting into the water and the air. Concerns run especially deep in the White Mesa Ute Community, where Lehi and about 200 members of his tribe live some 5 miles south of the facility.

State regulators and the company that owns the mill contend that any pollution associated with it is contained. That’s little consolation to nearby tribal members, who — aware of uranium’s deadly legacy across the Colorado Plateau — have raised questions about the potential spread of toxic waste. Many won’t drink the local water, relying on bottled water instead.

Now the tribe’s concerns have taken on new urgency as the U.S. pushes to revive domestic uranium production. A federal law, passed in 2024, bans imports of Russian uranium by 2028, increasing pressure to develop domestic fuel supplies. President Donald Trump set a goal to quadruple U.S. nuclear energy capacity by 2050. He issued orders to prioritize mining on federal lands and fast-track approval of mining projects. The Velvet-Wood uranium mine in Utah, for instance, zipped through federal environmental review in 11 days, to the dismay of local tribes who were given one week to offer input.

Trump’s goal of quadrupling nuclear power capacity will be hard to meet, because it would require constructing more reactors — which are difficult to build and often meet local opposition, said David Hart, a senior fellow for climate and energy at the Council on Foreign Relations. But data centers and rising electricity demand have intensified interest in nuclear power as a low-carbon energy source, he said. And more states are opening the door to it.

So the effort to obtain the key ingredient, uranium, is underway.

The White Mesa Mill, built in 1980 near what is now Bears Ears National Monument in southeastern Utah, is a focal point of this latest uranium boom — and the tensions between local tribal concerns and national economic interests. Increased demand draws a steady flow of trucks carrying uranium ore to the mill from regional mines, including one near the Grand Canyon where the Havasupai Tribe lives. That ore is trucked through the Navajo Nation. And the mill plans to expand its waste storage, as well.

A former tribal councilmember, Lehi is part of a growing opposition that includes members of the Havasupai and Navajo (Diné) tribes, who are now linked by the uranium trucking routes passing through their lands. The Havasupai and Ute Mountain Ute tribes share concerns that toxic wastewater from uranium mining and milling may move through the ground and poison drinking water for future generations.

A photo shows a sign in front of White Mesa Mill. The facility is seen in the background. — White Mesa Mill, 5 miles north of White Mesa, Utah, on April 21. (Melissa Bailey for KFF Health News)

A history of distrust

One spring morning in White Mesa, Yolanda Badback gazed out an open door not far from the highway and watched three uranium trucks drive by.

“There goes another one,” Badback said with a tone of exhaustion. She is a Ute Mountain Ute member and leader of the White Mesa Concerned Community advocacy group that has been fighting the mill.

The mill receives 10 to 15 trucks each weekday, said Curtis Moore, senior vice president of marketing and corporate development at Energy Fuels, which has owned the facility since 2012. The majority pass through White Mesa.

The mill’s business is picking up after a quiet 15 years, Moore said. The White Mesa Mill produced 1 million pounds of yellowcake last year; the company plans to more than double that this year, he said. The mill has also diversified into processing radioactive waste from as far away as Estonia and Japan, and received a $725 million conditional loan commitment from the Defense Department to scale up its domestic processing of rare earth elements.

The new rare earths business alone could create 100 permanent jobs, Moore said. About half of the mill’s 105 workers are Indigenous; Moore estimated that no more than two belong to the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe.

“When it comes to tribes in the area, I do very much understand their skepticism of uranium,” Moore said. “They’ve been lied to before.”

An aerial view of a desert community with mountains in the distance. — Federal highway 191 brings trucks carrying uranium ore through the White Mesa community (in foreground) in Utah to White Mesa Mill, about 5 miles to the north. Shown overhead from a plane on March 22. (EcoFlight)

A uranium boom driven by the U.S. government from the 1940s through the 1980s, much of it concentrated around the Four Corners area of Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado, exposed miners to heightened rates of mortality from lung and other cancers. Federal reviews found that the miners, many of them Navajo (Diné), were not warned about radiation risks even after government scientists understood the dangers. Mining companies left behind thousands of abandoned waste sites that have leached contamination into surrounding soil and water, including over 500 spots on and near the Navajo Nation.

But Moore said things have changed a lot since the 1950s. He said workers today are exposed to 15% to 20% of allowable radiation limits, and outside the mill it’s “effectively zero.”

Government agencies and Energy Fuels officials have said there’s no evidence that the mill is affecting White Mesa’s drinking water supply, which comes from a deep aquifer protected by a thick rock barrier known as an aquitard.

“It really is the perfect site for a uranium mill,” Moore said.

A photo of a 10-wheeler dump truck hauling a dump trailer behind it. — A truck leaves White Mesa Mill. (Melissa Bailey for KFF Health News)

Scott Clow, environmental programs director of the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe, said that deep aquifer does have quality issues — including arsenic, iron, and manganese — but the public drinking water is filtered and safe to drink.

Adam Wingate, uranium recovery manager at the Utah Department of Environmental Quality, said he understands why some residents are concerned. White Mesa is downslope in terms of underground water flow from the uranium mill.

If locals hear about the plume of contamination in a different, shallower aquifer beneath the mill — even if it’s not the source of their drinking water — and their own water tastes funny, “that’s a scary spot to be in,” he said. But based on available evidence, Wingate said, locals’ “health is not at risk because of the mill.”

Even so, Lehi and Badback said that the tap water smells of sulfur and has a milky color, and that people in White Mesa typically don’t drink it.

“I don’t trust it,” said Badback, whose family has been fighting the mill for decades. “My main goal is to shut the mill down.”

A Native American woman speaks at a microphone. An American flag is seen flying above her. — Yolanda Badback speaks at a No Kings rally in Moab, Utah, on March 28. (Melissa Bailey for KFF Health News)

An annual spiritual walk and protest sponsored by Badback’s group has grown over the past decade amid deep distrust rooted in uranium mining’s history. Much of the opposition centers on the mill’s toxic waste, which is stored in five lined pits called tailings cells occupying 284 acres of land.

Badback vows to fight expansion plans that include new tailings cells located about a quarter-mile closer to the White Mesa community than the current ones. Moore said the cells will be triple-lined per modern standards.

“They want to expand south towards my reservation,” Badback said. “That’s the reason why I am standing up and doing whatever I can to stop that from happening.”

Concerns about air quality

At a No Kings rally in March in Moab, about 80 miles north of White Mesa, Badback gave a speech and staffed a table offering T-shirts and information.

“No Uranium,” the T-shirts read. “Protect White Mesa Ute Community.”

In 2021, her tribe passed a resolution stating that the White Mesa Mill “has had severe health impacts on the residents of White Mesa and should cease entirely.”

A group of people sit near an information booth set up at a rally. Several are wearing red shirts with white text that read, "Protect White Mesa Ute Community." — Badback (second from right) of White Mesa Concerned Community and Sarah Fields (at right) of Uranium Watch run an information table about White Mesa Mill at a No Kings rally in Moab, Utah, on March 28. (Melissa Bailey for KFF Health News)

While their psychological stress is palpable, other health effects have been hard to prove.

A 2023 federal health assessment concluded that radiation levels measured at the tribe’s air monitor in the center of White Mesa from 2013 to 2019 were unlikely to harm human health. But the authors said they could not evaluate whether the mill’s radon emissions could affect bordering properties or residents. They recommended that the tribe collect air samples closer to the mill, during times of heightened mill activity.

In December 2021, the Environmental Protection Agency found the mill was violating the Clean Air Act by failing to cover one of its tailings cells with liquid to limit emissions of radon, a known cause of lung cancer. The EPA called the violation “egregious in nature and duration” and temporarily barred the mill from receiving waste from Superfund cleanup sites.

The mill corrected the problem, according to state regulators, and passed its latest air quality review in 2025.

An aerial view shows tailing ponds amidst a mesa landscape. The wing of an airplane from which the photo was taken is seen in the frame. — White Mesa Mill’s radioactive waste is stored in five tailings cells, which occupy 284 acres of land in Blanding, Utah, as shown overhead from a plane on March 22. (EcoFlight)

Still, some White Mesa residents remain uneasy. Badback and Lehi complained of odors, which they attribute to the mill, that smell like chemicals or rotten eggs. She has raised concerns about air quality and rates of cancer and asthma, which are being explored by a University of Utah health survey.

Moore denied that any odors from the mill could be smelled beyond the mill parking lot.

Utah air quality officials said the state does not conduct ambient air monitoring in White Mesa and does not regulate odors.

Watching the water

That spring day, Lehi continued to look for Entrance Spring. On the horizon lay the silhouette of Sleeping Ute Mountain, a landmark of the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe, said to be the body of a great warrior god.

Along the way, Lehi pointed out a circle of stones that he thought looked like an ancestral burial site. After parking the Jeep, he walked down a faint trail through a lush grove of willows and found his way into a streambed that he reckoned would lead to the spring.

The tribe doesn’t rely on the spring for drinking water. But it’s one of the seeps and springs that the tribe, the state, and the company monitor, because they offer clues to whether the mill’s waste ponds are leaking into a less protected aquifer.

In the late 2000s, an EPA report found elevated contamination by radionuclides — atoms that emit radiation as they decay — at Entrance Spring. EPA water samples found that uranium concentrations at times exceeded the federal drinking water standard. EPA and U.S. Geological Survey fieldwork suggested the uranium at Entrance Spring came not from leaking waste ponds but from dust that blew off the mill’s ore storage pads.

The latest tests from 2025 showed Entrance Spring had uranium levels at 22.5 micrograms per liter (µg/L) — within the federal drinking standard of 30 µg/L but still elevated.

Clow said the tribe continues to keep a close eye on the seeps and springs.

“We’re concerned about the pollution of those springs,” he said. “We are looking towards many generations in the future here.”

Clow is also closely watching the Burro Canyon Aquifer, which lies beneath the mill’s toxic waste cells and feeds the local springs. A plume of chloroform and another of nitrates already pollute the aquifer, said Wingate, with the state. He said Energy Fuels is pumping out the contamination.

When contaminants increase, it’s hard to prove whether they stemmed from natural causes or mill activity, since substances such as sulfate and manganese occur naturally in the local bedrock. So Clow, the company, and state officials continually debate whether the tailings ponds are leaking. What’s not in dispute is that the mill produces radioactive waste — and once that exists, it can linger for tens of thousands of years.

Lehi followed the stream to where it ends in a curved grotto — the site of Entrance Spring. Water oozed from a rock face into a pool, offering cool relief from the desert. Lehi looked around with wonder at the dripping green moss. A descendant of medicine men, Lehi said he feels a duty to protect the landscape as his ancestors did, even if the tribe doesn’t currently use this spring for drinking water.

“Water is life,” Lehi said, “because that’s where we all began.”

A photo of Malcolm Lehi reaching down to touch the water of Entrance Spring. — Lehi touches the cool water of Entrance Spring. (Melissa Bailey for KFF Health News)

This article was supported by The Water Desk, an independent journalism initiative based at the University of Colorado-Boulder’s Center for Environmental Journalism.

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF—an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

This article first appeared on KFF Health News and is republished here under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.