DRY COUNTY

The county commissioners want to spend as much as $600 million to tap into "excess" Denver water supplies, running a massive pipeline all over the county that would be used to replenish the aquifer. The project would probably be funded by bonds backed by higher water bills. Known as "conjunctive use," the idea is to collect huge amounts of water from the spring runoff that Denver has the rights to but now allows to flow down the South Platte River. That water would be taken out of the river, treated, and pumped back into the aquifer at spots all over northern and central Douglas County.

"The river floats right by Douglas County, but we don't get any of it," says commissioner James Sullivan. "Five hundred thousand acre-feet of water went down the South Platte River last year. We're willing to pay Denver for this water. We'll buy the water Denver can't recover, and we'll inject as much as we possibly can into the ground."

Sullivan fancies denim shirts and turquoise bolo ties, and he speaks with the folksy inflections of rural Colorado. He's well-known all over the county and has taken the lead on the water issue, trying to get the county's multiple water districts to work together. He doesn't deny that Douglas County is facing a huge water problem, but he's firmly convinced that he and the other commissioners have it under control.

"We have some areas south of Chatfield where wells have gone dry," he says. "If they've got no water at their house, the value of the house will plummet. In the long range, we think conjunctive use is the answer."

Sullivan believes the scheme could benefit Denver as well, allowing the city to store water in the aquifer during dry years. "There's some great things about storing water underground," he says. "It's environmentally acceptable. It never evaporates. If you look at it this way, Douglas County is standing on the biggest reservoir in the state of Colorado."

State officials like Lochhead say conjunctive use could conceivably work. "I think the technical feasibility of conjunctive use has been proven," says Lochhead. There are several projects under way around the country to replenish aquifers, and the Centennial water district in Highlands Ranch pumped 300 acre-feet of excess water back into the aquifer last year.

But others say there are technical problems that still have not been fully explored. "It's much more difficult than people think," says Steve Boand. He points out that most of the runoff on the Platte comes during a six- to eight-week period in the spring--and "we'd need a very large reservoir to store it."

Once a potential water supply from Denver was stored, it couldn't just be poured into the aquifer; it would have to sink into the sandstone under pressure. That means injecting millions of gallons of water into the ground on a scale that would make the project one of the largest of its kind. "The water may go in as fast as we take it out," Boand says--or it may not.

Whatever the technical problems with conjunctive use, they're overshadowed by the political difficulties. The water department won't make a decision one way or the other until a major study of Denver water supplies is completed next year. But its officials make no attempt to hide their skepticism. "There's absolutely no commitment [to Douglas County] from anybody in Denver," says Chips Barry, general manager for Denver Water.

Issues of water and development in the southern suburbs are ticking time bombs, says Barry. "There's a serious political question out there. To what extent should we allow urban development when the water supply is based on nonrenewable groundwater?"

And in that scenario, Denver Water, sometimes described as the most powerful political entity in the state, holds nearly all the cards. That's because the city is in the enviable position of having surplus water supplies. And ever since the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency killed the proposed Two Forks Dam in 1989, many suburban areas have had to scramble to find new water sources. Douglas County was counting on Two Forks as part of its long-term water supply. Now it finds itself standing in line next to other thirsty suburbs: Denver Water has been courted recently by cities from Broomfield to Morrison, all wanting to tap into its supplies.

Barry acknowledges that Denver will be in a difficult position when the water starts to run out underneath its southern neighbors, whether or not the city opts for conjunctive use. "It will become a big issue when a substantial number of people are affected by wells that no longer work," he predicts. "Once their wells go dry, they'll be on our doorstep. There's a question of what our moral obligation is. Those are very tough questions. They'll have to be debated at length over the next ten years."

Denver has one of the most elaborate water systems in the country, a vast network of reservoirs, tunnels and treatment plants that carries water from the other side of the Continental Divide into the city. That system has been built up--and paid for--over the past 100 years, and Denver officials are in no hurry to bail out a county that many believe hands out building permits the way a skid-row bartender serves up cheap gin.

Denver also has its own growth problems to worry about. After years of being landlocked by surrounding suburbs, the city now has huge amounts of developable land at the former Stapleton Airport, Lowry Air Force Base and the sprawling tracts the city annexed to build Denver International Airport. Denver also already provides water to several adjacent suburbs, including Littleton and Lakewood. The water department now serves 1 million people spread over 427 square miles and has enough water for 220,000 more. But officials expect to add up to 100,000 new households over the next few decades in the water department's existing territory; Denver may need to use every drop of water to which it already has the rights.

"We have to be sure we have enough water to serve the people to whom we have an obligation," Barry says. "We have to satisfy our contracts and obligations. It's not a political question. It's a question of supply."

Cities like Colorado Springs and Aurora have gone all the way to southeastern Colorado in search of water, buying up rights from farmers along the Arkansas River and drying up thousands of acres of formerly productive cropland in the process. If Denver turns down the conjunctive use plan, Douglas County will also have to begin looking for a source of water far from home--at a point when nearly all of the most desirable water rights have been taken. Down the road, Douglas County residents could face huge water bills as they simultaneously pay for expensive new wells and the right to water in rural Colorado.

Sullivan is still placing his bets on Denver. The city may be cool to the idea now, but he's convinced it will eventually come around to supporting conjunctive use. "I'm just hopeful over the long haul we can show folks the feasibility of this," says the commissioner. "This is a cooperative effort that could benefit us all."

Asking who is at fault for Douglas County's predicament is like joining group therapy with a dysfunctional family. Everyone bitterly pins the blame on someone else, and nobody wants to make hard choices that might be inconvenient. Most of all, no one wants to stop the real estate machine that is making many people in Douglas County rich.

Last year Governor Romer gave one of his most impassioned speeches in memory on the subject of water use and development in Douglas County. "Who the hell's buying these houses, and do they know what they're doing?" Romer asked a meeting of the Colorado Water Congress. "We don't let people build their houses on radon sand. Do we need to have a kind of warning--a plaque on the front door of every one of those houses? We've got to warn people right now. If they're going to build, check into this."

Romer's vision of growth unchecked by the availability of water was eerily reminiscent of former governor Lamm's public warnings in the 1970s. Lamm frequently butted heads with intransigent legislators who refused to heed his pleas for statewide land-use planning. "It's because of the power of the real estate lobby in the legislature," says Lamm. "We're a very myopic state."

In his speech last year, Romer proposed changing state law to require a 300-year supply of groundwater for new developments. Other arid states like Arizona already have a 300-year requirement for homebuilders, and El Paso County recently adopted similar guidelines. But much of the water underneath Douglas County has already been divvied up based on the 100-year law. And in keeping with tradition, the state legislature has shown little inclination to change Colorado's water rules. As for Romer, he didn't even mention the groundwater issue in his recent State of the State speech. (Even Lamm has appeared to waffle on the wisdom of using groundwater to support suburban development; two years ago the former governor was briefly linked to a controversial plan to export water from an aquifer in the San Luis Valley to the metro area.)

State senator Dick Mutzebaugh of Highlands Ranch says he doesn't know of any proposed legislation in the current session addressing the problem. Mutzebaugh says he'd want to see a report from the state engineer's office calling for such a change before he'd consider supporting it. He adds that he's heard few concerns from his constituents about declining aquifers.

"As long as they can turn on the tap and water comes out, they don't worry about it," says the senator. "I think we ought to figure out a way to recharge those aquifers. If we can use Denver water, so much the better. We need better scientific information on how development has affected the aquifer."

Besides speeches from the governor, most of the state's actions on the drying of Douglas County have been symbolic. The state engineer's office will soon begin attaching notices to Colorado well permits, warning permit holders that the "economic life" of the well is substantially less than 100 years. But natural resources director Lochhead echoes his boss, Romer, when he insists that the state should not interfere with the local planning process.

"The basic decisions need to stay at the local level," he says. Because legislators have refused to embrace statewide water planning, he says, "it's not realistic to say there will be a state solution."

Commissioner Sullivan insists there's little he can do to slow growth, since the county was zoned for 500,000 residents in the late 1970s. Some Colorado counties like Boulder have successfully down-zoned rural areas; in Boulder's case, the county was sued by several developers and took the case all the way to the Colorado Supreme Court, where it prevailed. But the Douglas County commissioners have shied away from a similar confrontation with developers. Sullivan insists the county would be overwhelmed with litigation if it tried to put the brakes on development.

"How do you tell somebody they can't develop something that's been zoned without going bankrupt from lawsuits?" Sullivan asks. Just last week, in fact, the county was sued by Denver printing mogul Barry Hirschfeld and real-estate investors Joy and Franklin Burns after the commissioners denied a request by their Pinery West development company to build 541 housing units near the Pinery. The project was nixed because of traffic concerns; water was not an issue.

When the county's initial zoning decisions were made, notes Sullivan, Douglas County was primarily rural and had little experience guiding development. "We had 18,000 people then," he notes. Sullivan recalls a conversation with a former commissioner, who acknowledged the problems he and his colleagues had left their successors: "He said, `You're probably not happy with what we did with zoning.'"

Homebuilders in Douglas County don't usually discuss water issues with potential buyers, few of whom bother to ask. Those in the industry say building and selling homes that are dependent on groundwater isn't illegal or improper.

"The responsibility of the builder is to comply with the law," says Steve Wilson, director of government affairs for the Home Builders Association of Metro Denver. "The state has established laws that say what an adequate supply is. It's the responsibility of builders to meet those requirements." His group hasn't had to concern itself with legislative battles over those requirements, Wilson says, because the issue simply hasn't come up at the Capitol.

Developers have, however, played a large role in funding Douglas County political campaigns. It's a pattern of giving designed to ensure the real estate lobby a receptive ear during the county's now continuous disputes over growth--disputes triggered by residents trying to stop new subdivisions from spilling over the grass-covered hills and bluffs they love.

"People moved out here for the rural lifestyle, and they're very unhappy with what's happening," says Bess Minor, co-president of the homeowner's association at the Pinery. Minor led a crusade last year against a proposed 1,300-home development near the Pinery. She says the county didn't take her group seriously until 1,000 people showed up to protest the project at a meeting at Ponderosa High School. The developers ultimately agreed to cut the number of planned homes and devote one third of the land to open space.

A look at disclosure documents in the county courthouse in Castle Rock reveals that developers or companies linked to development contributed heavily to Sullivan and fellow commissioner Michael Cooke during the 1992 campaign. Well-known names opening their wallets included the Writer Corporation, the Colorado Association of Realtors, Denver Technological Center, the National Association of Industrial and Office Parks, Hanifen Imhoff Inc., Southland Corporation, Burns Realty & Trust, Stroh Ranch Limited Partnership, Morrison Knudsen Corporation, Jack Vickers, and Denver influence-peddler Steve Farber of the powerhouse law firm Brownstein Hyatt Farber & Strickland.

Records show that Cooke took in over $10,000 for the campaign, almost three quarters of it from developers. Sullivan collected more than $20,000, with more than a quarter of the total coming from real estate interests.

Sullivan bristles at the idea that such contributions influence commissioners' decision-making on issues such as down-zoning. "If anybody thinks you can buy anybody for $500 and the grief you put up with, they're crazy," he says. "A few months ago I voted against some developers who were friends of mine."

Nonetheless, Douglas County residents trying to slow the furious pace of development often feel at the mercy of developers, many of whom will be long gone when water levels begin their inevitable plunge.

"The county has no idea the impact new housing will have," says Holly Bohlen. "When we go to county meetings, they say private landowners have a right to do whatever they want with their land. They're allowing development at the expense of people already here."

Like many Coloradans, Bohlen feels helpless when she sees the sea of new rooftops spreading over the prairie and foothills. "We can't sustain the growth, and nobody's putting a check on it," she says. "People don't like to do the preventative thing. That's human nature."

At one point the Bohlens discussed collecting the melted snow and moisture off their roof to augment their meager water supply. Then they found out that Colorado, which doesn't have a statewide water policy, does have a law that says someone who collects runoff on their property is guilty of illegal diversion of a water source.

Says Bohlen, "There's a law somewhere that somebody owns the raindrop on your roof."

end of part 2