Where Potatoes Trump Trout

I grew up in parts of the country where water is pretty much everywhere. In Michigan, where I have spent much of my adult life, the bounty of water is all around you in rivers, lakes, marshes. First-timers standing on the shore of one of the magnificent Great Lakes are astonished that they cannot see the shore on the far side.

Thin blue ribbons on a big brown landscape: Missouri River below Holter Dam

It is so different out here in the Rockies. When it comes to water, you don’t have to travel far to realize that scarce is the word. Much of the region is high plains or desert, sitting in the rain shadow east of big mountain ranges. Winter’s snow falls high up in these mountains, well away from the population centers in lower elevation valleys. Extended drought conditions in the region have brought its water scarcity into front-page focus.

These landscapes were transformed drastically thanks to the modern marvel of irrigation. Beginning a hundred years ago, water management essentially made this region inhabitable by modern standards. High-mountain snowmelt captured in reservoirs is plumbed across vast landscapes of otherwise arid land. Thus, cities and farmland thrive. This water management underlies the agriculture economy that so much of the region depends upon.

Yellowstone’s reputation as a wildlife sanctuary is well-known for its bison, grizzly, and wolf. Well-known, too, is its protection of geysers and other geothermals. It turns out that it’s also a sanctuary for rivers, sitting as it does atop the Continental Divide. Buffalo Bill Dam, for example, sits on the east slope of Yellowstone National Park, less than forty miles from the Park’s East Entrance. Built in the early 1900s on the North Fork of the Shoshone, it was one of the first western reservoirs.

Hebgen Reservoir on the Madison, less than 20 miles from YNP

Shoshone’s North Fork isn’t alone. Not far in any direction beyond the Park’s boundaries, the rivers that begin in Yellowstone are abruptly meet western water management.  The Madison, the forks of the Snake, the Gallatin all encounter dams or irrigation diversions not far outside of the Park.  The Yellowstone River alone is unique, traveling uninterrupted for hundreds of miles before joining the Missouri in eastern Montana. For this, it earns the reputation as the longest undammed river in the lower 48.



Yellowstone River, undammed to Billings and beyond

Under western water law, the water in rivers is owned by someone; land owners and water districts. Under this ownership, a river’s water gets diverted from the mother channel out into vast irrigation districts where it is divided and divided again. In many cases, the diversions are complete…the river’s natural channel becomes completely dewatered. The mighty Colorado River is just a trickle by the time it reaches the Gulf of Mexico. Traveling I-80 on the way home, I watched as the North Platte River, a huge tributary in the Missouri River watershed, is completely dewatered by the time it reaches western Nebraska. There, huge irrigation canals brim with water while the natural channel is left dry and weed-filled.

In my time around Yellowstone, I have witnessed just how complete the region’s plumbing system is. I accept the multiple uses that water serves in the region for municipal water systems, agricultural irrigation, hydroelectric power generation, as well as recreation and tourism. And, I fully appreciate the terrific trout fishing that occurs just below many of these dams thanks to their coldwater releases.



Diversion boards on Henry's Fork, 80% of channel blocked

Nevertheless, it is still shocking to a river lover and trout fisherman to see the plumbing system up close, first-hand. One such revelation came in late September. I had traveled west of the Park into Idaho a couple of hours to meet up with Phil and Marg Carroll, former Michigan friends. We camped in an RV Park outside the town of St. Anthony.



The fabled Henry’s Fork of the Snake River passes right through downtown there. Henry’s Fork is a Mecca for anglers who come from around the country and the world to fish its storied waters. Harriman Ranch and Mike Lawson’s Flyshop in Last Chance are just 35 miles upstream along US-20 from St. Anthony. An attractive city park straddles the river in town, so I stopped for a look.



Irrigation  canal at St. Anthony, unguarded by fish weir

To my astonishment, what must be 80-90% of the river’s water is diverted out of the natural channel and into a huge irrigation canal. Trout were rising less than a hundred yards upstream from the gaping maw of that canal, yet no weir prevents fish from traveling downstream to perish out in the labyrinth of canals and ditches irrigating the expanse of potato and hay fields. Here is where potatoes trump trout. It reminded me of the popular t-shirt showing a big trout in a sizzling skillet. The motto reads, “The End of the Rainbow.”

In July, Heidi and I traveled to Glacier National Park for our anniversary. As we passed by Great Falls Montana, we ventured downriver about ten miles to see what gave the city its name, the Great Falls on the Missouri River. Lewis & Clark’s Corps of Discovery in 1804 cited these falls as one of the most significant natural features encountered on their epic expedition of the American West.

Great Falls on the Missouri, dwarfed by Ryan Dam

We weren’t looking for trout fishing. After all, dams begin on the Missouri River more than a hundred miles upstream. All we wanted was to see a significant natural feature in the nation’s history, to feel the sense of place there. Well, the Great Falls are spared…but less than 100 yards upstream from the falls sits Ryan Dam, a huge hydroelectric dam. The visual impact is deflating. I don’t think that Meriwether Lewis would have approved.