Ultra-light – A Vignette – Prolog
Miles underground, beneath the mighty Mississippi the earth was undergoing changes. For millions of years, the North American tectonic plate had been under tremendous stress as the west edge went one direction, and the east edge went another. Like stretch marks in the belly of the earth, the surface of the ground spread slightly every day, and the opening filled over the same millions of years with the silt from surface between the Appalachians and the Rockies.
But as the surface was filled with good old dirt, and the Mississippi River kept the filling going on, the underside, also being thinned, had magma filling the gap. It was only a matter of time when this weak spot in the center of America failed. Each terrible earthquake over the eons in the area had simply brought the event closer to being. Then one day the mantle was breached, the magma meeting the dirt fill, almost right under the Mississippi River.
Ultra-light – A Vignette
Jennie Foster loved to fly. Especially her Quicksilver MX Sport single seat ultra-light. The open cockpit, tricycle gear, fixed wing plane couldn’t go as fast as many of the other planes she’d flown and flown in, but none of them could go where she could go with the MX Sport. She could take off and land in any large open grassy area.
She flew whenever she could, usually with friends in their own ultra-lights. But Jennie had a secret life that none of her flying friends knew about. She was a closet prepper. Living in the New Madrid Seismic Zone in the Bootheel of Missouri was the reason she started.
But as she learned more and more, she realized that anywhere in the US, and literally the world, there were natural hazards. And human caused disaster could certainly affect any place one might choose to live. A person that wanted to get through a disaster as easily as possible needed preps, no matter where they lived.
She loved the open spaces of SEMO, the beautiful fields of various crops grown in the bountiful ex-swamp ground. Flying in the area could be a bit tricky, as storms could develop quickly, but with her preparedness mentality, Jennie always had a NOAA Weather Radio with her. She never tried to fly when there were watches out, much less warnings.
Unlike all of her friends that flew, Jennie kept a backpack strapped in the MX Sport that was her aircraft BOB. If, heaven forbid, she went down anywhere when she was flying, she had the means to take care of herself for three days easily, while getting back home, with or without help.
Being a slim, trim, 5’2” and 102 pounds gave her plenty of weight allowance for the BOB in the MX Sport, while still being able to carry a maximum fuel load, and still have the weight well below the maximum rating for the ultra-light.
Today, she was headed to Kennett from her home outside of Senath, to take a flight on her friend’s newly acquired Sky Yacht personal hot air blimp. Dr. Helen Druthers shared the same love of flight as Jennie and the two had taken flight training together, when Jennie was just old enough to, and Helen, several years older, was looking for some adventure after a bad divorce.
While Jennie made a decent living, Dr. Druthers came from a wealthy family, and did very well on her own as one of the preeminent doctors in the area. She had two ultra-lights, a conventional four-seat single engine plane, and now the Sky Yacht.
Jennie made it to the far corner of the airport where Helen had been given permission to unfold, inflate and launch the air ship. Helen was waiting for her, a big grin on her face. “You’re going to love this, Jennie!”
The two women hadn’t seen one another for a few weeks and shared a quick hug. Both were excited and looking forward to the flight. Getting the framework unfolded and the fabric adjusted took a little while, but soon enough the propane burners were filling the envelope with hot air.
The air ship looked fairly conventional, as air ships go, except for being slightly stubby and fat looking. Helen did a thorough walk around, checking everything carefully, just as she’d been taught at the Sky Yacht headquarters when she bought the Sally Sue.
When things were ready, the two women, helmets in place, strapped themselves into/onto the platform suspended from the air ship framework at the front of the craft. The engine, mounted on the very tail end of the ship, fired right up and after clearing for takeoff by radio, they were off the ground.
Helen headed away from the airport flight path so she could begin showing off the capabilities of the air ship for Jennie. Flying well above the tree tops, but slowly, Helen cut back the throttle and maneuvered downward.
Jennie sucked in her breath slightly when Helen brought the Sally Sue to a hover. “Grab a leaf,” Helen said with a laugh. Jennie grinned and reached out. She carefully pulled loose the very top leave of the fifty foot high tree as Helen slowly brought the rear end of the air ship around, keeping the front almost stationary.
“Wow!” Jennie shouted and laughed. Helen joined in the laughter and then put the Sally Sue on a climbing course toward Senath. When they reached Jennie’s modest property a couple miles out of town, Helen landed in her front yard, and they began to deflate the envelope.
When it was safe to leave the craft, Jennie took Helen inside and fixed lunch for the pair of them, talking animatedly about the Sky Yacht. Naturally, on the way back to the airport in Kennett an hour later, Jennie got her chance to handle the air ship. She put it through its paces under Helen’s strict tutelage.
When they landed and had the Sally Sue deflated, folded up, and stored on the trailer, Jennie thanked Helen and headed home, wondering how she could ever afford one of the air ships herself. “Sure is nice to know friendly people with money,” she said into the wind whipping her hair as she drove the New Bug convertible home.
Jennie thought about the flight a few times over the next few months, but things never seemed to work out to get another chance to fly with Helen. Jennie managed to fly her MX Sport several times during that time and decided as much as she liked the Sally Sue, fixed wing was her game.
But with the bad economic situation that seemed to just keep getting worse, Jennie was putting in more and more hours at the shiny new motel that Senath boasted. Finished a year previously, just as Jennie came home with a year’s experience in a Mexican resort, after her schooling for hotel management concluded, Jennie snagged the assistant manager’s position for the new motel.
Rather doubtful of the success of such a large operation in Senath, Jennie had fought for and received a pretty much ironclad no-lay-off, guaranteed-for-five-years contract. The place could go belly up the day after it opened and she’d still get paid for five years. Either quarterly payments or a lump sum, at the company’s choice.
While the suggestion was that she might sabotage the operation so she could collect her pay without working, there was a bonus clause in the contract. If the motel did a certain amount of business during the five-year period and lasted the full five years, Jennie would get a huge bonus and the managerial position, with a similar type of contract.
Jennie was amazed that she got almost all the elements in the contract she wanted, but the area was depressed and good help, always hard to find, was even more difficult to find in the area, especially with someone with Jennie’s education and already fairly extensive experience in handling a motel environment.
But things were difficult, and she had to lay off three of the twelve person staff. She picked up the slack, working ten to twelve hours a day, often at night, for ten to fourteen days straight.
But the salary she’d negotiated was huge for the area, and she felt an obligation to make the operation a success, only in part because of the bonus clause. So she took on the extra duties of the laid off employees.
She finally had a three day weekend, in part because the motel had absolutely no reservations for the time frame. And the regular business they did get, mostly from truckers and other regular travelers on US 412, could be handled by the rest of the staff for three days.
Jennie, after a day of catching up on housework in her neat little two bedroom bungalow, reassembled the MX Sport from its storage mode, packed a lunch, and took off from her open back yard.
It was a glorious day and Jennie let out a whoop of joy as a flock of birds juked in unison to get out of her way. To get as far away as possible from the daily grind, she put the ultra-light in an economical climb rate. She wanted maximum time at maximum height.
It was August, and the fields were in all their productive glory. Having done the same thing many times before, Jennie still felt the draw to document the area for advertising for the motel. So she had her little video camera with her. At maximum altitude, she held the cameral steady and turned the craft in a wide circle, taking in the entire horizon.
Something caught her eye just as she let the camera hang back down on her chest. “Oh, no!” she thought, “a fire!”
She brought the walky-talky up to her lips, but hesitated before she reported the smoke to the authorities.
Instead, she changed course slightly and headed for the column of smoke. It didn’t look quite right to be smoke from a wheat field fire. There was just something about it. That was when she noticed a car on US 412 run off the road. Then another and another. “What in the world?” Jennie asked herself.
Then when the ground ahead of her erupted and a column of wet sand shot into the air three hundred feet high she realized what was happening. The New Madrid Seismic Zone was acting up. An earthquake. Perhaps the long dreaded “Big One”.
There was nothing she could do at the moment, so she lifted the camera again and began to document the event from the air. It was only when she got close to that one particular column of smoke that she suddenly dropped the camera on its leash and turned the MX Sport around and headed for home at the highest speed she could achieve. Her face was deathly white. This wasn’t just a simple earthquake, “The Big One” or not.
No. This was Parícutin, Mexico all over again. A volcano was forming right beside US 412 half-way between Senath and Kennett. Only instead of the middle of a corn field, it was in the middle of a soybean field. And instead of a small hole initially, there was already lava flowing from the small mound already in evidence.
Her hand was shaking when she lifted the walky-talky to her lips again. She keyed the mike, finally got someone to answer her, and explained what was happening. They simply didn’t believe her. Earthquake, yes. Volcano no. They were dealing with the earthquake and had no use for someone pulling a prank at the time.
Frowning, Jennie landed the MX Sport and idled it up near the house. She ran a ragged course that short distance. The ground was moving erratically. She saw the large crack at one corner of the house and hesitated before she went inside.
Things settled for a moment and Jennie decided to risk it. A glance to the north just before she went inside had her hurrying even more. Always a neat person, Jennie’s preps were neatly stored. She couldn’t take everything, she knew. She was prepared for any number of different disasters. A volcano was way down on the list, but it was on the list.
Repacking the large Kifaru EMR back pack with the things she wanted to take, and carefully reclosing and stashing the totes in the small storm cellar at the edge of her yard, Jennie took a good twenty minutes to get ready. The house had been groaning eerily with each new ground shake and Jennie finally stopped moving things to the shelter, realizing they weren’t important things. Everything truly important was already in the storm cellar.
She couldn’t help it. Jennie screamed when a sand spout shot up across the road to the north. She felt the moisture from the wet sand as the wind swirled around. Struggling under the weight of the pack, Jennie took it to the MX Sport and strapped it into place just as she’d practiced before. She topped off the craft’s fuel tank, and then, hesitating because it was strictly against the rules, strapped that partial can of fuel, plus the other full one she had, to the framework of the ultra-light.
“Good thing you lost that five pounds,” she whispered as she put on her helmet again, pulled on the leather jacket she’d brought from the house, and then strapped herself into the ultra-light again.
Her shoulders hunched when a loud cracking sound behind her, audible even over the sound of the ultra-light’s engine, brought her attention to her house. But just for a moment. The house was now a mound of rubble, and the sand from the sand blow was already across the road and would soon engulf it, if the sand blow continued.
Putting the thoughts of the house behind her, Jennie started her takeoff run. She thought she’d made a serious mistake, adding as much weight to the craft as she had. The MX sport felt sluggish and didn’t seem to want to lift off the ground.
Jennie screamed again when she saw the ground lifting ahead of her in a rolling motion. But as it passed under her, the lifting motion of the land wave launching the MX Sport into the air. Throttle at maximum, Jennie climbed as fast as she could, while turning to the east.
She had to juke once, barely avoiding going into a nose dive, when she quickly changed course as yet another sand spout erupted right in front of her. Particles of wet sand peppered her leather jacket and helmet as she flew past the column, which was at least fifty feet higher than the altitude she was flying.
Continuing to climb, and headed northeast toward Kennett, Jennie watched the horror unfold below her. She could see wave after wave of the land below traveling across the landscape all the way to the horizon. It had been going on, off and on, for twenty minutes and showed no signs of stopping. The motel, like her house, was rubble. She could only hope everyone got out.
Glancing to her left, the northwest, Jennie saw the smoke from the fires the lava was starting in the fields. There was a distinct mound now, even as far away as she was. Jennie had the presence of mind to use the video camera and take some more footage of the volcano in its birthing phase.
She didn’t think she’d make it through when she hit what felt like a wall in the air. The winds were from the west, and she was passing due east of the emerging volcano. Fortunately there wasn’t much ash, though there was some, but there were hot gasses.
Jennie held her breath until she thought she would pass out, the MS Sport at full throttle, in a shallow dive to get more speed, to get out of the stream of death coming from the volcano. She finally had to take a breath. It was cold, clear air. She opened her eyes, saw the ground approaching and pulled the craft out of the shallow dive.
Climbing back to cruising height, Jennie set a bee-line course to Dr. Druthers’ home on the northern edge of Kennett, circling around the city proper when she got there. Flying over habitation was also against the rules.
Jennie landed the craft expertly, despite the high weight. The machine took it and was ready for more when Jennie turned off the motor. Jennie staggered slightly on her way to the house, terrified at what she might find. The constant earthquakes were just as bad here as at Senath. Helen’s house was in the process of crumbling, just as Jennie’s had. Jennie wondered just how wide spread the destruction would be.
Helen met her at the back door. “I heard you coming in. Can you believe this? I think this qualifies as “The Big One”.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Jennie said. She opened up the screen on the video camera and played back the footage of the volcano.
“What do we do?” Helen asked. “We have to help. I have to get to the hospital!”
“Yes. I agree. But there is a limited amount we can do. There isn’t a bridge standing that I could see. The only transport going more than a mile or two is going to involve a boat or a helicopter. Or an ultra-light or blimp. We have to maintain the ability to move. I can’t carry passengers, but the Sally Sue can.”
“What are you saying?” Helen asked, disbelief on her face.
“We get the supplies we can, get somewhere safe, and set up an aid station. I’ll use the Sally Sue to ferry whoever needs it the worst to you to work on.”
“But the hospital… The equipment there…”
“Won’t be working. If the generator even runs, they don’t have that much fuel. And it is doubtful the building will survive. It was built before enough people understood the dangers and insisted on earthquake resistant building codes in this area. I’m not sure that would have helped, anyway. Houses and barns and other structures are tumbling down everywhere you look.”
Another huge shock rocked them and Helen’s house sank some more. The ground was liquefying with all the shaking motion. “Let’s grab what we can and figure how to get you to the airport to get the Sally Sue.”
“It’s here,” Helen said. “I’m going… was going to sell it and brought it home.”
“That’s even better. Let’s get the things out of the house and get the air ship ready to fly.”
They were only able to get inside twice each before the house became too dangerous to enter. They spent precious minutes getting the airship ready. Fortunately the house had not tumbled onto it when it began to fail.
The houses on either side of Helen’s, and those across the street, all were suffering the same fate.
“You ready?” Jennie asked Helen when the envelope of the airship was full of hot air and they were ready to fly.
Helen bit her lower lip. “I guess. Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”
“I can only speak for myself, Helen. I think so.”
Helen nodded then and Jennie added, “Just like we discussed as we got her ready.”
Helen nodded again and strapped herself on the airship control platform.
A few minutes later and they were landing in the parking lot of what was left of the hospital. Jennie had to really lay on the brakes to stop the ultra-light when it landed. There was just enough room.
“Do what you need,” Jennie called over to Helen.
“Aren’t you coming?” Helen yelled back as the ground shook again.
Jennie looked around her at the desperate people. “No.” She lifted the edge of her leather jacket and showed Helen the handgun holstered there. “There could be problems.”
Helen blanched, but a surviving doctor grabbed her and began pulling her toward the remains of the hospital. “We have injured and the sick… What do we do?”
Helen came into her own then. The doubt was gone. Though they were already fairly organized and trying to recover the living, the dying, and the dead from the hospital as it continued to fail, Helen put a fine point on a few things.
She saw one of the surgical nurses and barked a command. “Get all the supplies you can get to out here.”
“But the patients…”
“Aren’t going to survive without supplies and equipment. Get going.”
The woman nodded and hurried into the hospital building again as an orderly helped an elderly man out of the building.
The orderly looked at Helen. She gritted her teeth. “Everyone goes through triage.”
The orderly nodded and helped the man over to the triage area. Knowing the color code, she saw the doctor doing the triage decisions have the orderly placed in the “Those Likely To Die, Even With Treatment” section. The man was one of those that Helen had treated and brought back from the edge of death a month before.
When the nurse came back with her arms full of the supplies, Helen directed her to put half with the supplies they were already using at the hospital aid station set up outside, and the rest on the Sally Sue platform.
Though she hesitated, the nurse finally did as asked. And went back for more. She made three more trips before the hospital completely collapsed, sinking halfway out of sight in the liquefied soil. Most simply closed their ears to the screams from those inside. At least they didn’t last long.
When Helen headed for the Sally Sue shortly after that, the senior doctor at the hospital stopped her and asked, “Where do you think you’re going? We need you here!”
“You need someone where it is safe to take those that can be helped. Jennie here will be transporting people to wherever we can find a safer place.”
The doctor thought about it and finally nodded. “How many can you take?”
“Just one at a time, plus a few pounds of supplies. If you can get someone to make the rounds at the Wal-Mart and all the pharmacies, have them take everything we might use here.”
“What if they refuse to give up the supplies?” the doctor asked.
“Use some persuasion, if you must. If you can’t convince them, go elsewhere. I’m not going to start a war over supplies.”
When Helen turned around she saw Jennie facing a group of about a dozen people. She had the pistol out, in her hand, and looked ready to use it. “Get someone loaded and let’s get out of here. We need to find a spot before dark.”
Helen nodded, grabbed the same nurse that had been getting supplies and between them carried a patient over to the Sally Sue and got him buckled in. Two minutes later the two craft were airborne, headed west.
The devastation was awful, everywhere they looked. People that saw them waved and shouted, but Helen and Jennie held their course. They were headed for Dyersburg, Tennessee. It was close to the Mississippi, but hopefully far enough away to be immune from the problems the river would cause, and on solid enough ground that the earthquakes wouldn’t liquefy it. They might be in poor shape there, but it would be better than anywhere in the Bootheel. It was rapidly becoming a swamp again, Helen and Jennie saw as they traveled east.
They landed amidst a stunned group of survivors at the hospital. It looked like it had suffered some damage, and there were groups all around it, but it was still standing and people were going in and out.
Jennie stayed with the two aircraft as Helen went to meet the authorities in charge. A few minutes later she came back with five people and they unloaded the patient and the supplies. “You can’t fly at night,” Helen told Jennie firmly, having seen the look in her eyes. Jennie had not liked leaving people behind, even though it was her idea.
Jennie’s shoulders fell. “No. I know. I just... I just feel like I should be doing more.”
“You were right in your plan, Jennie. We’re both going to be able to do more, help more people, doing it the way we are than if we stayed there. Now, there is a place set up for people helping to get some rest and food. So…”
“I’m self-sufficient there,” Jennie said firmly. She was not about to use scarce resources when she had her own. “And I want to stay close to my ultra-light and the Sally Sue. We barely got away from that mob that was forming, intending to take them for their own use.”
“Yeah. I saw the gun. You do know how to use, it, don’t you?”
Jennie’s grin was a bit predatory. “Oh, yeah. I know how to use it. And when.”
Helen nodded. “I have patients that need me. Get what rest you can. I know you’ll be up early.”
Jennie nodded. But instead of eating and going straight to bed, she began to dismantle the MX Sport enough to make it impossible to fly, and unlikely to be damaged in trying. Then she took the EMR pack off, as well as the BOB, and the fuel cans, and transferred them to the Sally Sue, which was now looking rather limp, as the hot air inside cooled to ambient temperature.
Jennie set up a tight camp, ate a freeze-dried meal and drank a liter of water. She took enough time to go to the latrine that had been prepared, but hurried back to the Sally Sue. With her self-inflating mattress on the deck of the airship, Jennie laid out her sleeping bag and slipped inside, still wearing her clothes.
Twice she woke up as people moved around the airship. But they were only curious and moved on when Jennie warned them away. Early the next morning she was in and out of the latrine, breakfasted, and had the burners going on the Sally Sue when Helen walked up.
“You know I trust you, Jennie. But be careful. Even though I was going to sell her, I kind of have a soft spot in my heart for this young bird.”
“I know, Helen. How should I select who comes with me?”
“You don’t. That’ll be up to the medical personnel, or maybe other authorities.”
“Other authorities?”
“President has declared martial law in the area.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll see you later.” Jennie strapped on her helmet and strapped into the pilot’s seat of the Sally Sue. A few minutes later she was airborne, thankful for the leather jacket she wore, headed west, the sun beginning to shine down on a ravaged landscape.
Tempted as she was to try to help those stranded on the tops of their houses as the river flooded out over the flat terrain, Jennie saw boats out doing the same thing. She held her course despite the shouts and shaking fists as she passed person after person.
She couldn’t see it, but the entire area had lifted, even as much of it liquefied, due to the earthquakes and the volcano. The Mississippi on the east side, and the St. Francis on the west side, were quickly filling what was becoming a new swampy lake that made Reelfoot Lake, produced in the 1811-1812 earthquakes, look like a little puddle.
The flooding gave Jennie a new sense of urgency. So did the brief whiff of volcanic gasses as she crossed through a hot wind that was coming from the volcano. It was erupting even more violently, though there wasn’t much ash. Just the gasses and huge amounts of lava. When she approached Kennett she could see the new volcanic mountain five miles south of her.
The people in the hospital didn’t waste any time. They had a patient and four boxes of supplies loaded on the Sally Sue only minutes after Jennie set her down. A group quickly formed, but Jennie lifted off before they could make a move on the airship.
Jennie got on the radio and warned those in charge on the ground she wouldn’t land again unless the mob was under control. She was assured they would be her next trip. Jennie made several trips. As some useful supplies were gathered in and around Dyersburg, Jennie took back as much as she brought from Kennett. They managed to keep Jennie supplied with gasoline and propane.
True to their word, there was no mob on any of the other trips. What there were, were some helicopters. Civilian, TV news, and military. Jennie had to keep a sharp eye out, despite the bright colors of the Sally Sue, for none of the other pilots were expecting to see anything like the small airship in the air.
Jennie spent the next three days ferrying those that could be saved with medical help from the Kennett and Senath areas, staying well away from the volcano, until the lava began to fight with the rising water for control of the two towns.
Her final four days in the air were rescuing people stranded in the flood water. Most of SEMO was once again swamp or lake, with the volcano now the dominate feature of the flat terrain.
Jennie’s last trip to the area was to go back to her former home. The property was on one of the highest spots in the area, by Jennie’s choice. Flooding had been high on the list of disasters she prepared for. It took a while to dig down to the storm shelter through the sand that now covered it. She took her time moving the totes from the storm shelter. She could see the water rising even as she worked.
Once everything was loaded, Jennie watched the water come up to the wheels of the Sally Sue. Only then did Jennie throttle up and turn on the burners to lift the airship into the air.
Ultra-light – A Vignette - Epilog
And so, as Jennie tearfully said good-bye to Helen, and shed a tear or two over the Sally Sue, another volcano sprung up along the New Madrid Seismic Zone fault lines. Then another and another as the area up lifted and became the New Madrid Mountain Range, with the Mississippi River flowing just to the west of the range.
One had to admit that it was an amazing sight, seeing mountains form before one’s very eyes. And large numbers of people that had not experienced the process close up, first hand, flocked to the many new resorts that went up near each of the new volcanoes, for the sightseers to stay in at night after a day of watching the volcano grow another foot, or two, or twenty.
The Senath Volcano… Senath, since it was about three hundred feet closer to Senath than it was to Kennett… being the first, had the biggest and finest motel resort complex built on the western edge of SEMO Lake. The volcano was easily visible, and the quarter-a-look binoculars were occupied constantly from daylight till dark, and sometimes long into the night when a particularly brilliant display of magma shot into the sky to become lava on the volcano’s sides.
And Jennie put the terror of those few days out of her head, negotiated another no-lay-off, five-year-guaranteed, exceeding lucrative salary contract, as a bona fide survivor slash heroine tour-guide. But she still got the occasional three-day week end off and continued to fly the MX Sport, though almost always away from the volcano.
End ********
Copyright 2009
Jerry D Young
Got this one article from Survival Blog one of the readers submitted it. Water rights is a very big deal and it will be come a bigger one one the people around the world start to complete for it. In the past wars have been fought over it and people have died. With out a person becomes a servant to the one that has it.
Who owns Colorado's rainwater?
Environmentalists and others like to gather it in containers for use in drier times. But state law says it belongs to those who bought the rights to waterways.
By Nicholas Riccardi
March 18, 2009
Reporting from Denver -- Every time it rains here, Kris Holstrom knowingly breaks the law.
Holstrom's violation is the fancifully painted 55-gallon buckets underneath the gutters of her farmhouse on a mesa 15 miles from the resort town of Telluride. The barrels catch rain and snowmelt, which Holstrom uses to irrigate the small vegetable garden she and her husband maintain.
But according to the state of Colorado, the rain that falls on Holstrom's property is not hers to keep. It should be allowed to fall to the ground and flow unimpeded into surrounding creeks and streams, the law states, to become the property of farmers, ranchers, developers and water agencies that have bought the rights to those waterways.
What Holstrom does is called rainwater harvesting. It's a practice that dates back to the dawn of civilization, and is increasingly in vogue among environmentalists and others who pursue sustainable lifestyles. They collect varying amounts of water, depending on the rainfall and the vessels they collect it in. The only risk involved is losing it to evaporation. Or running afoul of Western states' water laws.
Those laws, some of them more than a century old, have governed the development of the region since pioneer days.
"If you try to collect rainwater, well, that water really belongs to someone else," said Doug Kemper, executive director of the Colorado Water Congress. "We get into a very detailed accounting on every little drop."
Frank Jaeger of the Parker Water and Sanitation District, on the arid foothills south of Denver, sees water harvesting as an insidious attempt to take water from entities that have paid dearly for the resource.
"Every drop of water that comes down keeps the ground wet and helps the flow of the river," Jaeger said. He scoffs at arguments that harvesters like Holstrom only take a few drops from rivers. "Everything always starts with one little bite at a time."
Increasingly, however, states are trying to make the practice more welcome. Bills in Colorado and Utah, two states that have limited harvesting over the years, would adjust their laws to allow it in certain scenarios, over the protest of people like Jaeger.
Organic farmers and urban dreamers aren't the only people pushing to legalize water harvesting. Developer Harold Smethills wants to build more than 10,000 homes southwest of Denver that would be supplied by giant cisterns that capture the rain that falls on the 3,200-acre subdivision. He supports the change in Colorado law.
"We believe there is something to rainwater harvesting," Smethills said. "We believe it makes economic sense."
Collected rainwater is generally considered "gray water," or water that is not reliably pure enough to drink but can be used to water yards, flush toilets and power heaters. In some states, developers try to include a network of cisterns and catchment pools in every subdivision, but in others, those who catch the rain tend to do so covertly.
In Colorado, rights to bodies of water are held by entities who get preference based on the dates of their claims. Like many other Western states, Colorado has more claims than available water, and even those who hold rights dating back to the late 19th century sometimes find they do not get all of the water they should.
"If I decide to [take rainwater] in 2009, somewhere, maybe 100 miles downstream, there's a water right that outdates me by 100 years" that's losing water, said Kevin Rein, assistant state engineer.
State Sen. Chris Romer found out about this facet of state water policy when he built his ecological dream house in Denver, entirely powered by solar energy. He wanted to install a system to catch rainwater, but the state said it couldn't be permitted.
"It was stunning to me that this common-sense thing couldn't be done," said Romer, a Democrat. He sponsored a bill last year to allow water harvesting, but it did not pass.
"Welcome to water politics in Colorado," Romer said. "You don't touch my gun, you don't touch my whiskey, and you don't touch my water."
Romer and Republican state Rep. Marsha Looper introduced bills this year to allow harvesting in certain circumstances. Armed with a study that shows that 97% of rainwater that falls on the soil never makes it to streams, they propose to allow harvesting in 11 pilot projects in urban areas, and for rural users like Kris Holstrom whose wells are depleted by drought.
In contrast to the high-stakes maneuvering in the capital, Holstrom looks upon the state's regulation of rainwater with exasperated amusement.
Holstrom, director of sustainability for Telluride, and her husband, John, have lived on their farm since 1988. During the severe drought at the start of this decade, their well began drying up. Placing rain barrels under the gutters was the natural thing to do, said Holstrom, 51.
"Rain out here comes occasionally, and can come really hard," she said. "To be able to store it for when you need it is really great."
Holstrom had a vague awareness of state regulations. She decided to test it last summer when she was teaching a class on water harvesting. She called the state water department, which told her it was technically illegal, though it was unlikely that she would be cited.
Holstrom is known in southwestern Colorado for a lifestyle and causes that many deem quixotic. The land she and her husband own holds a yurt and tepees to house "interns" who help on their organic farm in the summers. It boasts a greenhouse, which even on a recent snowy day held an oasis of rosemary, artichokes, salad greens and a fig tree.
She plucked a bit of greens from one plant and munched on it as goldfish swam in a small, algae-filled pond that helps heat the enclosure. "This has been my passion for a long time -- trying to live the best way I know how," she said.
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-contested-rainwater18-2009mar18,0,5585599.story?track=rss
Fast-growing Western U.S. cities face water crisis
By Tim Gaynor and Steve Gorman Tim Gaynor And Steve Gorman – Wed Mar 11, 4:54 am
LAS VEGAS/LOS ANGELES (Reuters) – Desert golf course superintendent Bill Rohret is doing something that 20 years ago would have seemed unthinkable -- ripping up bright, green turf by the acre and replacing it with rocks.
Back then "they came in with bulldozers and dynamite, and they took the desert and turned it into a green oasis," Rohret said, surveying a rock-lined fairway within sight of the Las Vegas strip. "Now ... it's just the reverse."
The Angel Park Golf Club has torn out 65 acres of off-course grass in the last five years, and 15 more will be removed by 2011, to help conserve local supplies of one of the most precious commodities in the parched American West -- fresh water.
But Rohret's efforts have their limits. His and many other golf courses still pride themselves on their pristine greens and fairways and sparkling fountains, requiring huge daily expenditures of water.
Aiming to cut per capita use by about a third in the face of withering drought expected to worsen with global warming, water authorities in the United States' driest major city are paying customers $1.50 per square foot to replace grass lawns with desert landscaping.
Built in the Mojave Desert, Las Vegas leads Western U.S. cities scrambling to slash water consumption, increase recycling and squeeze more from underground aquifers as long-reliable surface water sources dry up.
From handing out fines for leaky sprinklers to charging homeowners high rates for high use, water officials in the U.S. West are chasing down squandered water one gallon at a time.
Nowhere is the sense of crisis more visible than on the outskirts of Las Vegas at Lake Mead, the nation's largest manmade reservoir, fed by the once-mighty Colorado River. A principal source of water for Nevada and Southern California, the lake has dipped to below half its capacity, leaving an ominous, white "bathtub ring" that grows thicker each year.
"We are in the eye of the storm," said Pat Mulroy, general manager of the Southern Nevada Water Authority. "As the realities of climate change began to manifest themselves at the beginning of this century, we had to get serious about it."
For now, policymakers have emphasized the need to curb water use rather than urban growth, though the U.S. recession has put the brakes on commercial and housing development that otherwise would be at odds with the West's water scarcity.
GETTING TOUGH
Warm, dry weather has long made the American West attractive to visitors, but piped-in water has created artificial oases, luring millions to settle in the region. Las Vegas has ranked as one of the fastest-growing major cities.
But scientists say climate change is shriveling the snow pack in California's Sierra Nevada, the state's main source of fresh surface water, and in the Rocky Mountains that feed the Colorado River, whose waters sustain seven states.
Further pressure from farming and urban sprawl is straining underground aquifers, placing a question mark over the future growth of cities from Los Angeles to Tucson, Arizona.
"There is going to have to be a big adjustment in the American Southwest and in California as we come to grips with limits in this century -- not just limited water, but also limited water supply," said James Powell, author of the book "Dead Pool," exploring challenges facing planners in the West.
Reactions among local water authorities differ.
In Phoenix, the United States' fifth-largest city, authorities say sustainable groundwater and ample surface water allocations from the Colorado and Salt rivers meet the city's needs, even factoring in growth through a moderate drought. The city is also recycling waste water and plans to pump some back into the aquifer as a cushion.
Tucson will require new businesses to start collecting rainwater for irrigation in 2010.
California requires developers of large housing projects to prove they have sufficient water.
In Las Vegas, where rain is so infrequent that some residents can remember the days it fell in a given year, front-yard turf has been banned for new homes.
The Southern Nevada Water Authority also has hired "water cops" to fan out into the suburbs to identify violations of mandatory lawn irrigation schedules and wasteful run-off. Repeat offenders get $80 fines.
Major hotel-casinos such as the MGM Mirage and Harrah's Entertainment have adopted "green" building codes, including modifications designed to slash water use by 40 percent.
Those measures are starting to pay off, with daily water use down 15 percent per person in the greater Las Vegas area.
BUYING TIME
In a wake-up call to California, water officials there recently announced that prolonged drought was forcing them to cut Sierra-fed supplies pumped to cities and irrigation districts by 85 percent.
That has led many California cities, topped by Los Angeles, the nation's second-largest, to plan for rationing, including price-enforced household conservation and tough new lawn watering restrictions.
"The level of severity of this drought is something we haven't seen since the early 1970s," Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa said in unveiling his city's drought plan, which also would put more water cops on the beat.
California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger last month called on the state's urban users to cut water consumption 20 percent or face mandatory conservation measures.
The California drought, now in its third year, is the state's costliest ever. Complicating matters are sharp restrictions on how much water can be pumped from the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta in northern California, which furnishes much of the state's irrigation and drinking supplies, to protect endangered fish species.
Moreover, the severe dry spell is leaving the state more vulnerable to wildfires, which last year consumed some several Los Angeles suburbs. The previous year, fires forced a record 500,000 Southern Californians to flee their homes.
PLANNING FOR THE WORST
Conservation will buy time, experts say. But bolder steps are needed in anticipation of longer droughts and renewed urban expansion once the recession ends.
Cities like Los Angeles and San Diego are revisiting an idea once abandoned in the face of staunch political opposition -- recycling purified sewer water for drinking supplies.
Disparaged by critics as "toilet-to-tap," such recycling plans have gained new currency from the success of the year-old Groundwater Replenishing System in Orange County near Los Angeles.
That system distills wastewater through advanced treatment and pumps it into the ground to recharge the area's aquifer, providing drinking supplies for 500,000 people, including residents of Anaheim, home of Disneyland.
Water specialists also see a need to capture more rainfall runoff that otherwise flows out to sea and to change the operation of dams originally built for flood control to maximize their storage capacity.
The situation in Las Vegas has grown so dire that water authorities plan to build a $3 billion pipeline to tap aquifers lying beneath a remote part of Nevada, a project critics call the greatest urban water grab in decades.
Southern Nevada water czar Mulroy says a broader national conversation about water is needed -- but not happening.
"We are talking about investing in public infrastructure, we are looking at building projects, but I get frustrated because we are doing it in complete denial of the climate change conditions that we are facing," she said.
"We are not looking at where the oceans are rising, where the floods are going to occur, where things are going to go from that normal state to something extraordinary."
(Additional reporting by Deena Beasley in Los Angeles, editing by Alan Elsner)
http://frc4u.org/phpbb/index.php?topic=479.0
A year ago is what the UN thinks of Human Rights in reguards to water
UN rejects water as basic human right
The Harper government can declare victory after a United Nations meeting rejected calls for water to be recognized as a basic human right.
March 25, 2008
OTTAWA — The Harper government can declare victory after a United Nations meeting rejected calls for water to be recognized as a basic human right.
Instead, a special resolution proposed by Germany and Spain at the UN human rights council was stripped of references that recognized access to water as a human right. The countries also chose to scrap the idea of creating an international watchdog to investigate the issue, choosing instead to appoint a new consultant that would make recommendations over the next three years.
Federal officials in Canada said last week that the government wanted to ensure the meeting’s outcome reflected the fact that access to water is not formally recognized as a human right in international law. But a social advocacy group said that the position was designed to protect the right to sell water under the North American Free Trade Agreement.
“Clearly (the Harper government is) happy with the status quo: They’re not going to be an agent for change, and they’re not going to support the right to water,” said Maude Barlow, chair of the Council of Canadians. “About every eight seconds, a child somewhere in the world is dying from dirty water, and it’s just shocking that our government has taken this position.”
The opposition Liberals supported the government’s position last week, arguing that the original UN resolution could open the door to bulk water exports to the U.S. because of NAFTA. Liberal water critic Francis Scarpaleggia said he planned to introduce a private member’s bill to restrict large transfers of water within Canada to ensure that bulk exports abroad would also be forbidden.
The UN’s high commissioner for human rights, Louise Arbour, said last week that the position doesn’t reflect Canada’s traditional role on the international stage.
“Canada is taking a position that is not the more classic perceived, Canada as the kind of the bridge builder, peacemaker, consensus maker,” Arbour told the CBC.
Meantime, Barlow denied that the resolution would require Canada to make bulk water exports to the U.S.
“The requirement in the United States would be for them to conserve first,” said Barlow. “There’s no requirement as a human right for us to provide water for swimming pools and golf courses and fountains in Las Vegas.”
A spokesperson for the Foreign Affairs Department said in an e-mail that there was "no consensus among states regarding the existence, scope or content of such a right."
http://www.canada.com/topics/news/world/story.html?id=b65b35fd-477f-4956-98f4-c17a46fe3e26
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