By Rob Samuelsen
Since the dawn of man, people have settled on the banks of water for transport, sustenance, and hygiene for its inhabitants. Early humans fished and irrigated to provide food for their families and later traveled via boats and rafts to faraway places. The Hohokam people built great civilizations on Sonoran waterways with extensive irrigation systems for their grain and nourishment. As civilization grew, the water dried up leaving only ancestral traces of humanity in the arid desert.
Even desert cities like Phoenix and Tucson started on long lost rivers leaving behind snaking streaks of sand and brush. To continue growth, water had to be harnessed in great reservoirs and shrinking aquifers to support “sustainable” communities. Today, Arizona rivers such as the Santa Cruz, Gila, and Salt are nothing but a dusty trickle, if anything, and only heavy monsoonal rains temporarily bring them back to life. When we add power, recreation, and aesthetics to water’s many uses, our scarce water is even more threatened.
Nothing displayed this hydrological tragedy better than my recent trip on the Salt River. To sustain urban growth, the Roosevelt Dam was built in 1911 to control flooding, provide irrigation, and to create power to the insatiable thirst of Phoenicians. Just below Lake Roosevelt, Mormon Flat Dam (1925), Horse Mesa Dam (1927), and Stewart Mountain Dam (1930) completed the quadruplet with Canyon, Apache, and Saguaro lakes serving the same purposes. Whatever water is left over is finally diverted by the Granite Reef diversion dam to the many miles of canals and ditches that nourishes the valley with green lawns and over 316,000 swimming pools. Travelling beyond Granite Reef dam would require a dune buggy, not a boat.
I was in a boat though. Although kayakable, below Saguaro lake many people tube down the lazy river with speakers blaring and Budweiser flowing as hormones seems to drive the business of the day. However, the last 11 miles of navigable flow are reserved for stealthy kayaks. The dramatic shift from partiers to paddlers rewarded me with wild horses, bald eagles, and thought-provoking tranquility – a resource equally threatened by mankind. The quiet dip of the paddles reminded me of a gentle rhythmic rain dropping from my shading visor as I captained my vessel past sandbars, snags, and islands on this gentle flow of remaining water. Human power stretches the muscles and calms the mind of the tormented soul. I was practicing an ancient art, an ancestral skill, woven into my DNA from my sojourning forebearers. I could listen, see, smell, taste, and touch everything that was around me. I was at peace.
I wondered how many more people, highways, golf courses, houses, swimming pools, or lawns would it take before we realize that sustainability isn’t more dams but rather more peace. The cowboy’s creed of the desert was to fight for whiskey but shoot for water. Maybe our creed should be for more eternal amity.
