I listened last night to an interview with WP weather editor Kasha Patel who talked about the impact of these moonsoony rains on California. Really listened. And I heard her say something that made a lot of sense. Namely that the strange pattern of long dry spells and flash rain has changed our soil. Really changed the way it works. Made it harder and less likely to absorb water. Made it more like places of flash floods and cracked soil. And then I remembered this:
In 1950,governmentagentsproposedtogetridofprairiedogsonsomepartsoftheNavajoReservationinordertoprotecttherootsofsparsedesertgrassesandtherebymaintainsomemarginalgrazingforsheep.
In California there is now no one left to cry for the rain.
Our many years of drought has made our soil impervious to water. The ground is hard and cracked with heat, Jon says on his walk in the hills the mud is barely sticking to his shoes. Even now with everything that is pouring from the sky. The very earth beneath us has changed. Nothing from the sky comes all year to to make our soil receptive and remind it why to hold onto the water that falls.
Only it’s not just climate change that’s to blame. And not our faltering snow pack. We killed the prairie dogs, and we just as righteously exterminated and continue to kill off the handiwork of their fellow keystone species who could help:
It appears we have devolved such that a single year’s rainfall decides to come in a matter of days. You look out the window at another wet day, you start to think, “GEE that’s a lot of clean water falling from the sky that will go down the streets and gutters and storm drains right out to the bay”.
And you want that water out of your way, of course, and off your driveway and lawns and schoolyards so you’re grateful for the drains and the pavement. But you also have in the back of your head this nagging sensation that “I bet we’re going to miss that water in July when we the entire Bay Area is looking like dehydrated fruit” Or maybe “Burning up entirely.”
Then one suddenly has a thought “Hey wouldn’t it be cool if there was some way to keep that water in the communities where it’s needed before it disappears out to sea? Like some kind of natural little water holding structures that slowed things down and helped the water seep into the soil and soak into the ground where it can stay cool til we need it later?“.
I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve read that we used to have lots and lots of these things that made little ponds all along our streams. Like some kind of natural champagne fountain constantly trickling down all the stacked glasses so that no cup ever went dry even when it was far, far away from the original bottle.
Now this makes more sense. For three whole days in a row there was zero new beaver stories on my feed. Which is odd because at this time of year there are usually plenty – usually the season for lots of cities to worry about trapping. Today there are a bundle all at once, like a hose suddenly unkinked and water is gushing out in a burst. Here’s the best.
A growing group of ecologists, hydrologists, landscape architects, urban planners and environmental engineers—essentially water detectives—are pursuing transformational change, starting from a place of respect for water’s agency and systems. Instead of asking only, ‘What do we want?’ They are also asking, ‘What does water want?’” When filled-in wetlands flood during events such as the torrential 2017 rains in Houston, Texas, researchers realized that, sooner or later, water always wins. Rather than trying to control every molecule, they are instead making space for water along its path, to reduce damage to people’s lives.
Love that paragraph and I know the answer. Beavers. Water wants beavers. Lots and lots of beavers.
Taking a holistic approach is also paying off in Washington state and in the United Kingdom, where people are allowing beavers space for their water needs. The rodents in turn protect people from droughts, wildfires and floods. Before people killed the majority of beavers, North America and Europe were much boggier, thanks to beaver dams that slowed water on the land, which gave the animals a wider area to travel, safe from land predators. Before the arrival of the Europeans, 10% of North America was covered in beaver-created, ecologically diverse wetlands.
Environmental scientist Benjamin Dittbrenner, at Northeastern University in Boston, Massachusetts, studied the work of beavers that were relocated from human-settled areas into wilder locations in Washington state. In the first year after relocation, beaver ponds created an average of 75 times more surface and groundwater storage per 100 metres of stream than did the control site9.As snowfall decreases with climate change, such beaver-enabled water storage will become more important. Dittbrenner found that the beaver’s work would increase summer water availability by 5% in historically snowy basins. That’s about 15 million cubic metres in just one basin, he estimates—almost one-quarter of the capacity of the Tolt Reservoir that serves Seattle, Washington.
Beavers have fire-fighting skills too, says Emily Fairfax, an ecohydrologist at California State University Channel Islands in Camarillo. When beavers are allowed to repopulate stretches of stream, the widened wet zone can create an important fire break. Their ponds raise the water table beyond the stream itself, making plants less flammable because they have increased access to water.
Water wants lots and lots of these.
And beavers can actually help to prevent flooding. Their dams slow water, so it trickles out over an extended period of time, reducing peak flows that have been increasingly inundating streamside towns in England. Researchers from the University of Exeter, UK, found that during storms, peak flows were on average 30% lower in water leaving beaver dams than in sites without beaver dams10. These benefits held even in saturated, midwinter conditions.
Beaver ponds also help to scrub pollutants from the water and create habitats for other animals. The value for these services is around US$69,000 per square kilometre annually, says Fairfax.“If you let them just go bananas”, a beaver couple and their kits can engineer a mile of stream in a year, she says. Because beavers typically live 10 to 12 years, the value of a lifetime of work for two beavers would be $1.7 million, she says. And if we returned to having 100 million to 400 million beavers in North America, she adds, “then the numbers really start blowing up”.
Maybe that old Simon and Garfunkel song was really about water! Slow down you move to fast, You got to make the water la-ast!” Now that makes sense, Beavers knews it all along.
People applying slow-water approaches are doing what they can in the dominant economy. But Costanza says that people can better protect social capital and environmental systems by switching from GDP to metrics such as the Genuine Progress Indicator or one of “literally hundreds” of alternatives, he says.
Changing society’s fundamental goals might seem like a high bar, but some of these metrics have already been adopted by governments in Maryland, Vermont, Bhutan and New Zealand. Such shifts move beyond greenwashed versions of a circular economy and help to facilitate water detectives’ work in caring for water systems so that they can sustain human and other life.
The life of a beaver is a life of exposure to the elements. I know beavers have fur coats they can waterproof and stay toasty but what about their feet? This is a lovely video by Jos Bakker but honest it makes me cold just to see that slushy water.
If you listen closely you can hear the little guy vocalize. We aren’t sure the other beaver is big enough to be a parent, maybe an older sibling?
There a nice article from the Bureau of Land Management this morning, observing that beavers make wetlands and not having beavers make drylands.
In September 2022, Spruce Creek, a small perennial stream in Summit County managed within the Kremmling Field Office was reconnected to its floodplain and began to rehydrate over 22 acres of wetland habitat. Spruce Creek and nearby wetlands provide many benefits to the ecosystem, such as prime locations for moose, elk, beavers and habitat for genetically pure Colorado River Cutthroat Trout. Not only do wetlands provide habitat, but they naturally improve water quality, provide drought resiliency and well… they’re just beautiful!
In 2014, a case of tularemia, also known as “rabbit fever”, wiped out the beavers in this area and the unmaintained dams began to fail. Since beaver dams enhance wetlands and elevate the water table, when they began to deteriorate, the wetlands also began to deteriorate. By 2019, there were only a few small pools of water left in the wetlands and most of the area was disconnected from Spruce Creek.
Do I believe that Tularemia wiped out that beavers and not trappers? Well maybe I do. I guess its possible. Sure okay, I’ll play along. Saying that “Wetlands make prime habitat for beavers” is like saying banks are great places to find money. Or spider webs are great places for spiders to live. They’re there BECAUSE of the beavers. Beavers build and maintain them in the same way a spider builds and maintains its web. Only all kinds of other animals get to use it. Not just spiders.
The BLM began to work with our partners in 2020 to restore the wetlands. The BLM and Blue Valley Ranch replaced a culvert with a bottomless arch culvert, improving stream connectivity below the wetland complex. The ranch also moved their irrigation diversion downstream, improving flows in occupied habitat for the Cutthroat Trout. Beaver Dam Analogs, manmade structures to mimic natural beaver dams and attract beavers, were proposed to improve pool habitat. To maximize the benefits of the dams, the BLM worked with private landowners to build structures on both BLM and private lands. With help from Partners for Fish and Wildlife, EcoMetrics, Colorado Open Lands, Friends of the Lower Blue River, Upper Colorado River Watershed Group, and Rocky Mountain Youth Corps interns, we were able to construct 75 dam structures over a two-week period.
This restoration work has allowed Spruce Creek to reconnect with wetlands and the future looks promising for this ecosystem! Not only are we proud to support the environment on your public lands, but we are grateful to have wonderful local partners who understand the importance of our mission and providing the best public land experience possible.
I’m sure that sending the day in the creek is a lot more fun than what they usually do. But I bet beavers would do it better. And cheaper. And stick around to make repairs night after night.
Whenever I see an article with a headline like “Smarter ways to work with water” I am like a hound who catches a whiff and suddenly springs to attention. Or maybe one of those busy body old ladies who sit by their widow and lower their bifocals when they see that woman pulling up in the driveway with another new man.
I pay attention, but I don’t always expect to be please by the result.
People need to find better and more productive ways to become allies with water — which might mean giving it space for its processes.
With mounting climate-fuelled weather disasters, social inequality, species extinctions and resource scarcity, some corporations have adopted sustainability programmes. One term in this realm is ‘circular economy’, in which practitioners aim to increase the efficiency and reuse of resources, including water — ideally making more goods (and more money) in the process.
Okay, I admit when I saw that the author was Erica Gies I got a lot more hopeful.
Working with wildlife
Taking a holistic approach is also paying off in Washington state and in the United Kingdom, where people are allowing beavers space for their water needs. The rodents in turn protect people from droughts, wildfires and floods. Before people killed the majority of beavers, North America and Europe were much boggier, thanks to beaver dams that slowed water on the land, which gave the animals a wider area to travel, safe from land predators. Before the arrival of the Europeans, 10% of North America was covered in beaver-created, ecologically diverse wetlands.
Environmental scientist Benjamin Dittbrenner, at Northeastern University in Boston, Massachusetts, studied the work of beavers that were relocated from human-settled areas into wilder locations in Washington state. In the first year after relocation, beaver ponds created an average of 75 times more surface and groundwater storage per 100 metres of stream than did the control site9. As snowfall decreases with climate change, such beaver-enabled water storage will become more important. Dittbrenner found that the beaver’s work would increase summer water availability by 5% in historically snowy basins. That’s about 15 million cubic metres in just one basin, he estimates — almost one-quarter of the capacity of the Tolt Reservoir that serves Seattle, Washington.
I always have time to stop and enjoy a good Ben Dittbrenner reference. Yes lots of beavers doing their things all over would increase our available water. And help wildlife. And act as fire reduction. And reduce nitrogen.
But don’t listen to me.
Beavers have fire-fighting skills too, says Emily Fairfax, an ecohydrologist at California State University Channel Islands in Camarillo. When beavers are allowed to repopulate stretches of stream, the widened wet zone can create an important fire break. Their ponds raise the water table beyond the stream itself, making plants less flammable because they have increased access to water.
And beavers can actually help to prevent flooding. Their dams slow water, so it trickles out over an extended period of time, reducing peak flows that have been increasingly inundating streamside towns in England. Researchers from the University of Exeter, UK, found that during storms, peak flows were on average 30% lower in water leaving beaver dams than in sites without beaver dams10. These benefits held even in saturated, midwinter conditions.
Beaver ponds also help to scrub pollutants from the water and create habitats for other animals. The value for these services is around US$69,000 per square kilometre annually, says Fairfax. “If you let them just go bananas”, a beaver couple and their kits can engineer a mile of stream in a year, she says. Because beavers typically live 10 to 12 years, the value of a lifetime of work for two beavers would be $1.7 million, she says. And if we returned to having 100 million to 400 million beavers in North America, she adds, “then the numbers really start blowing up”.
But we love our pollution! We would so miss it! Said no one ever in the history of the world. Why not let beavers do what beavers do and start off on the right foot?
For the most part, mainstream economics doesn’t take into account the many crucial services provided by healthy, intact ecosystems: water generation, pollution mitigation, food production, crop pollination, flood protection and more.
Yup. We don’t put a price on the good things beavers do and what it actually cost us to continue killing them the way we do.. If we did it would blow our frickin’ minds.
The amused officials assured the Navajo that there was no correlation between rain and prairie dogs and carried out their plan. The outcome was surprising only to the federal officials. The desert near Chilchinbito, Arizona, became a virtual wasteland. Without the ground‐turning process of the burrowing animals, the soil became solidly packed, unable to accept rain. Hard pan. The result: fierce runoff whenever it rained. What little vegetation remained was carried away by flash floods and a legacy of
