The South Platte starts as a drip, grows to a mountain stream, and becomes a high-plains river. Its habitat occupies a tiny fraction of land, and yet 65 percent of all bird, mammal and aquatic species in the area are dependent on it. At certain times of the year, the South Platte doesn't even exist -- at least not as a free-flowing river -- and yet it sustains one of the most productive agricultural areas in the United States. Two-thirds of Colorado's population lives along the South Platte corridor, mostly between Denver and Greeley. But the entire corridor is in transition.
William Taylor
Augmentation pond near Julesburg, looking toward the South Platte and Nebraska.George Jenik, outstanding in his field.Bruce Gerk, by the South Platte River.
George Jenik, outstanding in his field.
Related Content
More About
John Loomis, a professor with Colorado State University's Department of Agricultural and Resource Economics, and two colleagues recently completed a survey that asked Colorado residents from Longmont to Fort Morgan if they would be willing to pay higher water bills in order to subsidize "eco restoration" along the South Platte. This would include leasing water to increase the flow -- especially in the late summer to help dilute Denver's wastewater -- as well as removing non-native plants from the banks and paying for easements that would move agriculture and livestock grazing away from the river.
Those surveyed indicated that they would, on average, be willing to pay $21 more each month. But while urban dwellers strongly supported the increase, those in rural areas weren't as eager.
In some ways, development has helped water-short Colorado farmers, particularly those along the farthest reaches of the river. Every roof built and every street paved prevents rain and snow from sinking into the ground beneath it, and instead sends it toward the river. And every toilet is a mini-reservoir, with every flush adding to the South Platte -- a significant amount during the summer.
And yet, the more water-conscious the urban areas become, the worse for the farmers. For the past century, one person's waste was another's water supply; agriculture along the downstream portion of the South Platte depended on certain inefficiencies of water use upstream. Denver, for instance, usually used its water once, then treated it and released it into the river to flow downstream. But now the city is working to recapture that water and use it again -- and whatever is sprayed on golf courses is not heading down the river to the farmers.
Dick Stenzel, the district engineer for the South Platte district, travels up and down the river from his office in Greeley. Right now, he's pleased that the reservoirs are refilling faster than they did during the last dry period, back in 1994. But the danger that had more than a dozen agricultural counties in Colorado declared disaster areas this year isn't over. Every successive dry year makes it more difficult to recover from the previous one. Another year like 2000, and Stenzel will have the unpleasant task of telling his river commissioners that they must shut off the well users, which could be the last straw for many farmers.
Young farmers like Jeff Rasmussen, who was able to lease just enough water to take his farm near Longmont through this past year, will be in deep trouble if the next summer is dry. And if he and others like him have to leave the land, it will cut the ties to several generations of family farmers. And so every time the clouds build up, these farmers look with hope toward the mountains.
In Longmont, Tim Carney of the U.S. Soil Conservation Service is preparing for another winter of checking snowpack. Soon he will climb to the station in the high country that will give the first inkling of how the St. Vrain, the Cache La Poudre and the Big Thompson will run next spring.
These drops will become trickles that become streams that empty into the South Platte, which sustains Colorado's agricultural heritage. For now.
