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Cambodia's Flagship Canal in Hot Water as China Funding Dries Up

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Thursday, November 21, 2024

PHNOM PENH (Reuters) - At a ceremony in August, Cambodia's leader Hun Manet knelt to receive blessings from saffron-robed monks as fireworks and balloons heralded the breaking of ground for a canal he hopes will transform his country's economic fortunes.Addressing hundreds of people waving the Cambodian flag, Hun Manet said China would contribute 49% to the funding of the Funan Techo Canal that will link the Mekong River to the Gulf of Thailand and reduce Cambodia's shipping reliance on its neighbour Vietnam.Cambodia's government estimates the strategic, if contentious, infrastructure project will cost $1.7 billion, nearly 4% of Cambodia's annual gross domestic product.But months later, China's financial contribution remains in doubt.Four people directly involved in the investment plans or briefed about them told Reuters Beijing has expressed misgivings about the project and has not made definitive commitments on its funding."It is normal business practice for Chinese companies to assist Cambodia in exploring the construction of comprehensive water conservancy projects in accordance with market principles," China's foreign ministry said in an emailed statement to Reuters when asked about the canal.The Chinese ministry did not answer a direct question about the funding but said the two countries were "ironclad friends," a comment echoed by Hun Manet in late October.Cambodia's government declined requests for interviews, and its press officers did not reply in recent weeks to requests for comments about the canal's funding.China's lack of clear commitment could jeopardise the entire plan, given uncertainty over the project's costs, its environmental impact and financial viability, experts, officials and diplomats say.It also underscore how Beijing is drastically downsizing its overseas investments as its domestic economic struggles, even in countries it considers strategic partners, such as Cambodia.Once a prime example for Western-backed "nation-building" after the long civil war that followed the fall of the Khmer Rouge regime, Cambodia has in recent times been widely seen by diplomats and foreign policy experts as a Chinese client state, owing to Beijing more than one-third of its total state debt.But Chinese investment in the Southeast Asian nation is now plunging, after a series of unsuccessful infrastructure projects, amid concerns over criminal gangs targeting Chinese nationals, and dropping tourist numbers.The 180km (112 mile) canal would greatly expand an existing waterway and divert water from the fragile rice-growing Mekong Delta to the Gulf of Thailand, cutting Cambodian shipping through Vietnamese ports.In the months after the Cambodian government signed an "investment framework agreement" in October 2023 with China Road and Bridge Corporation (CRBC), a state-owned construction company, Cambodian officials went public about China's financial involvement. The text of the deal is not public.In an interview with Reuters in May, the minister in charge of the project, Deputy Prime Minister Sun Chanthol, said CRBC would develop the canal and "totally" cover its costs, getting a multi-decade concession in return.But at the August groundbreaking, the prime minister put CRBC's share in the project at 49%, with the remainder covered by Cambodian companies.The same day, his father and Cambodia's decades-long leader Hun Sen posted a statement on Facebook calling on Japan to invest in the canal.China's official Xinhua News Agency did not mention any Chinese involvement in its report about the groundbreaking.A few days later, a communication officer for Sun Chanthol told Reuters that ownership for the canal's section to be developed together with CRBC remained "to be determined".When asked about Cambodian assertions that CRBC would have a 49% stake, an official for the company told Reuters in mid-October the figures circulating publicly were not definitive. "It's very complicated," said the official, who did not elaborate.CRBC and its parent company did not reply to requests for comment.One person directly involved in the investment plans told Reuters in early November there was no Chinese money on the table at that stage, confirming the account from another official.A source from one of the Cambodian investors in the project said it would not be a surprise if China did not invest in the canal at all.A fourth official briefed on the matter said China earlier this year had privately criticised Cambodian officials for announcing Chinese funding for the project that had not been decided.They all declined to be named because of the issue's sensitivity.More than three months after groundbreaking, the site of the ceremony on the bank of the Mekong laid abandoned, a Reuters reporter observed.Dithering over the canal comes as Chinese official development assistance to Cambodia, including infrastructure funding, is falling.China's disbursements to Cambodia are projected to drop to $35 million in 2026 from more than $420 million in 2021. There have been no new Chinese loans in the first half of this year, down from $567 million in 2022 and $302 million last year, according to Cambodian official data.Chinese funding for overseas projects is also falling elsewhere, but in Cambodia the impact "could be very pronounced," said Grace Stanhope of the Lowy Institute, a Sydney-based think tank.China is still building roads and other infrastructure but has pulled out from the construction of the new Phnom Penh airport, where it had initially committed $1.1 billion.That disengagement came as an expressway built by CRBC connecting Phnom Penh to the coastal city of Sihanoukville remained under-utilised by Cambodian motorists and truck drivers who to avoid tolls prefer the crowded but free old road, a Reuters reporter observed, confirming accounts from multiple Cambodia-based officials.Another recently completed Chinese-backed airport at Siem Reap to serve the UNESCO world heritage site of Angkor Wat "is very quiet," said Ou Virak, head of Cambodian think tank Future Forum, noting investors may face losses.Chinese private investment remains high, but multiple Phnom Penh-based diplomats and financial experts point to once large inflows of Chinese informal funds destined to the gambling industry and real estate sector having dried up.Chinese tourism, once a major source of income for Cambodia, has also struggled to recover from the COVID pandemic.That has coincided with a prolonged Chinese campaign warning tourists of risks linked to an online scams industry in Cambodia.As relations between China and Cambodia evolve, the canal project's fate and its sustainability remain uncertain."With so many unknowns, it's no surprise to me that investors are getting cold feet on this project and have yet to show up with their money in hand," said Brian Eyler, an expert on the Mekong region at U.S.-based think tank Stimson Center.(Reporting by Francesco Guarascio in Phnom Penh; additional reporting by Liz Lee and Yukun Zhang in Beijing; editing by David Crawshaw and Lincoln Feast.)Copyright 2024 Thomson Reuters.

By Francesco GuarascioPHNOM PENH (Reuters) - At a ceremony in August, Cambodia's leader Hun Manet knelt to receive blessings from saffron-robed...

PHNOM PENH (Reuters) - At a ceremony in August, Cambodia's leader Hun Manet knelt to receive blessings from saffron-robed monks as fireworks and balloons heralded the breaking of ground for a canal he hopes will transform his country's economic fortunes.

Addressing hundreds of people waving the Cambodian flag, Hun Manet said China would contribute 49% to the funding of the Funan Techo Canal that will link the Mekong River to the Gulf of Thailand and reduce Cambodia's shipping reliance on its neighbour Vietnam.

Cambodia's government estimates the strategic, if contentious, infrastructure project will cost $1.7 billion, nearly 4% of Cambodia's annual gross domestic product.

But months later, China's financial contribution remains in doubt.

Four people directly involved in the investment plans or briefed about them told Reuters Beijing has expressed misgivings about the project and has not made definitive commitments on its funding.

"It is normal business practice for Chinese companies to assist Cambodia in exploring the construction of comprehensive water conservancy projects in accordance with market principles," China's foreign ministry said in an emailed statement to Reuters when asked about the canal.

The Chinese ministry did not answer a direct question about the funding but said the two countries were "ironclad friends," a comment echoed by Hun Manet in late October.

Cambodia's government declined requests for interviews, and its press officers did not reply in recent weeks to requests for comments about the canal's funding.

China's lack of clear commitment could jeopardise the entire plan, given uncertainty over the project's costs, its environmental impact and financial viability, experts, officials and diplomats say.

It also underscore how Beijing is drastically downsizing its overseas investments as its domestic economic struggles, even in countries it considers strategic partners, such as Cambodia.

Once a prime example for Western-backed "nation-building" after the long civil war that followed the fall of the Khmer Rouge regime, Cambodia has in recent times been widely seen by diplomats and foreign policy experts as a Chinese client state, owing to Beijing more than one-third of its total state debt.

But Chinese investment in the Southeast Asian nation is now plunging, after a series of unsuccessful infrastructure projects, amid concerns over criminal gangs targeting Chinese nationals, and dropping tourist numbers.

The 180km (112 mile) canal would greatly expand an existing waterway and divert water from the fragile rice-growing Mekong Delta to the Gulf of Thailand, cutting Cambodian shipping through Vietnamese ports.

In the months after the Cambodian government signed an "investment framework agreement" in October 2023 with China Road and Bridge Corporation (CRBC), a state-owned construction company, Cambodian officials went public about China's financial involvement. The text of the deal is not public.

In an interview with Reuters in May, the minister in charge of the project, Deputy Prime Minister Sun Chanthol, said CRBC would develop the canal and "totally" cover its costs, getting a multi-decade concession in return.

But at the August groundbreaking, the prime minister put CRBC's share in the project at 49%, with the remainder covered by Cambodian companies.

The same day, his father and Cambodia's decades-long leader Hun Sen posted a statement on Facebook calling on Japan to invest in the canal.

China's official Xinhua News Agency did not mention any Chinese involvement in its report about the groundbreaking.

A few days later, a communication officer for Sun Chanthol told Reuters that ownership for the canal's section to be developed together with CRBC remained "to be determined".

When asked about Cambodian assertions that CRBC would have a 49% stake, an official for the company told Reuters in mid-October the figures circulating publicly were not definitive. "It's very complicated," said the official, who did not elaborate.

CRBC and its parent company did not reply to requests for comment.

One person directly involved in the investment plans told Reuters in early November there was no Chinese money on the table at that stage, confirming the account from another official.

A source from one of the Cambodian investors in the project said it would not be a surprise if China did not invest in the canal at all.

A fourth official briefed on the matter said China earlier this year had privately criticised Cambodian officials for announcing Chinese funding for the project that had not been decided.

They all declined to be named because of the issue's sensitivity.

More than three months after groundbreaking, the site of the ceremony on the bank of the Mekong laid abandoned, a Reuters reporter observed.

Dithering over the canal comes as Chinese official development assistance to Cambodia, including infrastructure funding, is falling.

China's disbursements to Cambodia are projected to drop to $35 million in 2026 from more than $420 million in 2021. There have been no new Chinese loans in the first half of this year, down from $567 million in 2022 and $302 million last year, according to Cambodian official data.

Chinese funding for overseas projects is also falling elsewhere, but in Cambodia the impact "could be very pronounced," said Grace Stanhope of the Lowy Institute, a Sydney-based think tank.

China is still building roads and other infrastructure but has pulled out from the construction of the new Phnom Penh airport, where it had initially committed $1.1 billion.

That disengagement came as an expressway built by CRBC connecting Phnom Penh to the coastal city of Sihanoukville remained under-utilised by Cambodian motorists and truck drivers who to avoid tolls prefer the crowded but free old road, a Reuters reporter observed, confirming accounts from multiple Cambodia-based officials.

Another recently completed Chinese-backed airport at Siem Reap to serve the UNESCO world heritage site of Angkor Wat "is very quiet," said Ou Virak, head of Cambodian think tank Future Forum, noting investors may face losses.

Chinese private investment remains high, but multiple Phnom Penh-based diplomats and financial experts point to once large inflows of Chinese informal funds destined to the gambling industry and real estate sector having dried up.

Chinese tourism, once a major source of income for Cambodia, has also struggled to recover from the COVID pandemic.

That has coincided with a prolonged Chinese campaign warning tourists of risks linked to an online scams industry in Cambodia.

As relations between China and Cambodia evolve, the canal project's fate and its sustainability remain uncertain.

"With so many unknowns, it's no surprise to me that investors are getting cold feet on this project and have yet to show up with their money in hand," said Brian Eyler, an expert on the Mekong region at U.S.-based think tank Stimson Center.

(Reporting by Francesco Guarascio in Phnom Penh; additional reporting by Liz Lee and Yukun Zhang in Beijing; editing by David Crawshaw and Lincoln Feast.)

Copyright 2024 Thomson Reuters.

Read the full story here.
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The Metropolitan Water District's board is set to vote in December on whether to spend $141.6 million for planning of the proposed Delta tunnel project.

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The discussion ranged widely from the vital role of the Delta’s water in California’s economy to potential alternative investments aimed at boosting the state’s supplies.Supporters, including leaders of business and labor groups, said they believe building the tunnel would improve water-supply reliability in the face of climate change, sea-level rise and the risks of an earthquake that could put existing infrastructure out of commission.“On the climate front, warming temperatures have put water storage capacity of the Sierra Nevada mountains in long-term decline,” said Adrian Covert, the Bay Area Council’s senior vice president of public policy.Covert said the project would be a cost-effective way for the state to adapt, and that reliable water will also figure in future efforts to address the state’s chronic housing shortage. “Our great concern is that, without action, water scarcity will emerge as a major constraint on housing production across California,” he said.For now, the MWD board will only be deciding on whether to agree to the state’s funding request for the next three years. The board is not expected to vote on whether to participate in the project until 2027.“We encourage you not to pull out, stay the course and fund the study so that we can learn whether it’s good or not to buy into for the long run,” said Tracy Hernandez, chief executive of the Los Angeles County Business Federation.She said the funding will enable the water district’s leaders to “continue shaping this project.”Hernandez said her organization views the project as an affordable way of ensuring water reliability. Other supporters cited a recent cost-benefit analysis by the state Department of Water Resources, which concluded that building the tunnel would deliver water at lower cost than investments in seawater desalination, wastewater recycling or stormwater capture.Opponents of the project have argued the state’s analysis is flawed and underestimates the costs while overestimating the benefits. 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Thirteen years after a Monitor investigation revealed that Maine was behind on inspecting the state’s most hazardous dams, Maine’s dam safety program, like dozens of others across the country, remains understaffed and underfunded, even in the face of a changing climate and more intense storms. Although the state agency tasked with ensuring the safety of more than 500 dams is now up-to-date with inspections, the program has yet to institute modern protocols.The office lacks digitized records of emergency procedures that residents should follow if a local dam fails, as well as digital inundation maps outlining flooding threats. Last year the program had to bring an engineer out of retirement to inspect the hundreds of dams under the state’s jurisdiction because applications for the permanent lead engineer were scant, despite reclassifying the position numerous times to higher pay scales. The office only recently hired an assistant engineer to assist with inspections. “Maine’s dam infrastructure is aging, and the Dam Safety Program is currently understaffed, facing significant challenges with implementing dam risk reduction,” wrote the authors of Maine’s 2023 State Hazard Mitigation Plan.Several of the dams overseen by the program are both “high” risk — meaning people could die if they fail – and in “unsatisfactory” condition — the worst possible grade. The dam safety program rarely follows up on its repair recommendations, according to a 2023 report, and does not take enforcement actions when dam owners disobey, meaning the program does not compel private dam owners to maintain even the most dilapidated, dangerous dams.As Maine dams reach the end of their useful lives and maintenance bills mount, some dam owners are abdicating upkeep responsibilities or forfeiting ownership of their dams altogether — leaving communities like Bucksport and Orland at risk of inheriting these costly burdens.At an average age of more than 100, the 672 regulated dams on Maine rivers, streams, lakes and ponds are far from paragons of modern infrastructure. Of the 590 Maine dams tracked in a federal dam database, 62 are considered to be in poor condition and have some sort of safety deficiency, while 15 are deemed unsatisfactory and require more immediate maintenance. Ten of the fifteen unsatisfactory dams are also labeled high hazard, meaning that dams from Boothbay Harbor to Fort Fairfield with immediate safety defects could put the lives of downstream residents at risk if they fail. Nine poor condition dams, meanwhile, have the same high hazard rating but are on average more than two decades older than the unsatisfactory dams.It’s up to the state dam safety program to guide owners’ dams into compliance, but regulators say that can be difficult because they lack capacity for enforcement.Maine’s agency has two engineers to oversee the state-regulated dams, which include 15 of the 39 high hazard dams. The federal agency tasked with overseeing large hydropower dams, meanwhile, has five engineers to inspect the 34 high hazard dams under its purview.The behemoth frozen potato purveyor McCain Foods owns a high hazard, poor condition dam that forms Christina Reservoir near Fort Fairfield and another high hazard, unsatisfactory condition dam at Lake Josephine just a mile away.The town of Fort Fairfield owns a pair of high hazard, unsatisfactory condition dams at Bryant Pond and upstream on Libby Brook that are intended to reduce flood risk, but are developing risks of their own. (The town disputed the dam safety program’s assessment, saying their risks are lower and the dams are regularly maintained).Outside of this cluster in Fort Fairfield, Maine’s 75 high hazard dams and 85 significant hazard dams (which may not harm human life if they fail, but will cause economic and environmental damage) are scattered across the state.It’s up to the Maine dam safety program’s lead inspector and assistant to assess 160 high and significant hazard dams once every six years and the remaining 363 dams under state jurisdiction once every 12 years, all while maintaining emergency plans.The program has been able to do just that, according to a 2023 assessment conducted by the Association of State Dam Safety Officials. All Maine dams have been inspected within their deadlines and have corresponding emergency plans; this means Maine has one of the highest compliance rates in the country.The authors of the assessment commended Maine dam safety employees for their hard work to “keep the program’s head above water” but painted a grim picture of the program’s ability to enforce safety standards.“Identifying deficiencies through periodic inspection is crucial, but ultimately does nothing for public safety if dams are not repaired and completed in an acceptable manner,” the authors wrote.Low funding and chronic understaffing have long plagued Maine’s dam safety program, symptoms of its sole reliance on federal grants for the program’s operating costs. The program does not receive any direct appropriations from the state legislature and does not collect any fees. In 2021, it received a meager $67,241 through its primary federal grant — at least $200,000 less than it needed, according to an internal report, and the program had to borrow from funds elsewhere.Though the dam safety program has the authority under state law to enforce compliance, none of that funding has gone to enforcement or compliance measures. The program lacks written policies describing what enforcement would even look like.Its scant budget has also made it nearly impossible to hire a permanent lead dam inspector, according to Steven Mallory, the head of the dam safety program and the director of operations and response for the Maine Emergency Management Agency.One year ago, Mallory, who is not an engineer, was facing a perilous situation after the lead dam inspector left for another job and no viable candidates applied to replace him. The program was narrowly rescued when retired inspector Tony Fletcher agreed to return on an interim basis.Mallory has increased the pay scale of the job several times since then but has had only two candidates apply over the three years, likely because engineers can find far more lucrative positions elsewhere.With these constraints, the dam safety program is constantly playing catch-up, failing to take more proactive steps to enforce safety standards, guide dam owners through necessary upkeep or removal and modernize risk mapping and dam databases, according to the assessment. Recent flooding and near misses with dam failure elsewhere in the United States have shown how costly such shortfalls can be. Emergency officials sounded this alarm to a state commission on infrastructure and climate change resilience last week.“We’ve seen in other states this year issues where dams have failed and flooded communities,” said Darren Woods, director of Aroostook County’s Emergency Management Agency. “We certainly don’t want to see that happen here in Maine.”Hazard classifications and condition assessments don’t necessarily paint the full picture of a dam’s corresponding risk, according to Mallory.The structures may be designed to withstand a 500-year flood and perform well when one hits, but the floodwaters still have to go somewhere. In the case of the town-owned dam in the heart of Dover-Foxcroft, that somewhere is into a crucial state thruway and the basement of a nearby apartment complex. Last December, when the Piscataquis River swelled behind the dam’s wall, it caused water damage and complicated access to the southern part of the state.“Most of our dams are in really good shape where they can handle excess water. However, with all the flooding and the rain, it just exasperates that problem,” Mallory told The Maine Monitor. “It’s just too much water and it’s gotta go somewhere.”Human-caused climate change has increased both the frequency and severity of floods in Maine, spurred by intense downpours concentrated in shorter and shorter periods.A study published last month in the scientific journal Nature found that it’s these rapid downpours — like the one that ripped through central and western Maine in December 2023 — preceded by multiple days of precipitation that caused most dam failures between 2000 and 2021. Its authors concluded that current engineering standards for dam flood resilience assume conservative climate conditions, and they called for officials to revisit these standards and consider more severe weather patterns.Like most other state dam agencies, Maine’s program follows model state dam regulations distributed by the ASDSO and federal government. Those standards have not yet incorporated climate change’s effects into their guidance, according to Mallory, though an ASDSO official said the organization has been advocating that state dam programs adopt updated models for extreme precipitation.Back in Maine, meanwhile, regulations already consider worst-case flooding scenarios for state-regulated dams.Mallory got a taste of what could be in store for Maine dams in the early morning hours of December 19, 2023, when a catastrophic combination of rain and snowmelt engorged the Kennebec River.Mallory’s fears lay downstream, where a pair of high hazard dams are nestled on the Cobbosseecontee Stream right before it meets the Kennebec River in the heart of downtown Gardiner. Both dams are in adequate condition, but Mallory was concerned nonetheless. He rushed to visit the dams, and was relieved to find them effectively passing the torrent of floodwater. Despite the fears that nagged him that day, Mallory said he is confident in Maine’s dams. Yet he can’t discount the increasing impact climate change will have on their infrastructure.While climate change may not be incorporated into the way Maine inspects dams and helps draft emergency plans, the state is preparing Maine dams for climate change in other ways.Maine’s 2023 State Hazard Mitigation Plan, for example, calls for tapping into a federal grant program for rehabilitating and removing high hazard dams. The mitigation plan’s local risk reduction recommendations show a variety of maintenance needs for municipally-owned, high hazard dams that have been deferred due to a lack of funds, like a $200,000 project to fortify a dam in Durham that has been patched but “needs to be strengthened and repaired to prevent failure.”In July 2023, nearby Vermont experienced firsthand the disastrous outcomes that deferred dam maintenance can lead to. After record downpours flooded valleys up the state’s mountainous spine, five dams failed and more than 50 were damaged or overtopped by floodwater, according to Ben Green, head of the Vermont dam safety program.The dams that failed were all in poor condition and municipally or privately owned, but luckily, Green said, were fairly small, earthen embankments and didn’t result in any downstream damage. That was due in part to the intense flooding that had already wrecked the dams’ watersheds, meaning even the two significant hazard dams that failed did not cause any separate, discernible damage. “So that was fortunate, I guess,” Green said.There were close calls elsewhere. On July 11, 2023, murky brown floodwater in the Wrightsville Reservoir scaled the side of a state-owned dam right outside of Montpelier, coming within one foot of overtopping its spillway and bursting down into the already flood-ravaged state capital.Green said his office stationed personnel at the state-owned dams all night for the first few days after the flood, closely monitoring the dams for any signs of impending failure. Though failures of such magnitude have been rare in Maine, the state has its fair share of hazardous dams and in 2005 saw a state-owned dam fail near Newcastle, releasing debris from a man-made lake that cost $300,000 to clean up.Part of the concern surrounding the abandonment of the Bucksport-area dams comes from the high hazard potential and poor condition of the dam on Silver Lake. If breached, its floodwaters could reach 70 homes and endanger hundreds of lives downstream in Bucksport, according to a 2021 inspection from Fletcher, the dam safety program engineer.Fletcher also described significant deficiencies with the dam, including a deteriorating concrete structure and leakages developing in its left and right sides. He recommended that AIM create an operation and maintenance plan to track the dam’s leakages and other issues, then report back to the dam safety program twice a year.But the dam safety program never followed up with AIM after that, according to Mallory, the dam safety program’s director. The program struggles to inspect all the hazardous dams it is obligated to and couldn’t spare sending an engineer to follow-up on a dam that had already been inspected before its deadline, Mallory told The Monitor Friday after attending AIM’s public hearing.“There’s a lot of steps that we could do if I had another engineer,” Mallory said. “I would have sent an engineer down there to reinspect those dams. I don’t have that. I just don’t have those assets. I have Tony, and we’re trying.”After going four years without tapping into the federal grant that funds the design process for rehabilitating or removing high hazard dams, Maine secured a $2.5 million award this fall. Outside experts and the program’s assistant dam inspector have also been working to update inundation maps with GIS and digitize dam emergency action plans, according to Mallory. And even without the digitization of the emergency plans, Mallory is confident in MEMA’s ability to adequately warn communities through alerts similar to those issued by the National Weather Service for flash floods. Compared to what the state’s hazard mitigation plan and the ASDSO report call for, however, these modest gains are only a sliver of what Maine needs to modernize its dam safety program and foster resilience to climate change. One internal estimate from MEMA recommended a $900,000 annual budget for the dam program, enough funding for two engineers, two assistant engineers and administrative staff.States in similar situations have managed to overcome the same obstacles, however. When Green started at Vermont’s dam safety program in 2017, he was one of two engineers responsible for inspecting hundreds of dams and operating the 13 state-owned dams. The dam safety program’s legal authority was so weak that Green couldn’t even set foot on a private dam owner’s land without their permission, let alone inspect dams and compel owners to make necessary repairs.Then, in 2018, the Vermont legislature granted the program rulemaking authority, allowing dam regulators to bring their program up to date with federal standards and take enforcement action when dam owners fail to maintain their dams. Vermont’s updates were gradual and limited to policy at first, but as time went on the program added a few more staff members through grant funding, then the July 2023 floods fast-tracked the program.“Within a few years we were able to pull together the two additional staff, which made everything seem possible,” Green said. “The flood kept us moving uphill.” Green now has plans for the program to expand to almost a dozen staff members and is leading a massive inventory effort to record the location, condition and owners of the dams that have been able to skirt regulation, then compel the owners to make required improvements.“Dams are forgotten infrastructure, and I think that’s obviously changing with all the highlights that dams have had in the last years,” Green said. “It’s something that we in the dam safety community can’t let people forget.”Back in Maine, Mallory sees the abandonment of the Bucksport dams as an example of the dire straits that his dam safety program is in and a call for action to turn it around.After the hearing, Mallory lingered behind and chatted with state legislators, explaining how part of these complications might have been avoided if Maine adopted the changes recommended in the peer review. With adequate staff, funding and policies, the program could have mandated compliance from AIM and ensured the dams’ safety before they were abandoned.“I think this is a guinea pig,” Mallory said. “This is the first abandonment ever. I’m hoping that with the attention on this, the legislators will (consider the recommendations) that we submitted and that will help future problems.”This story was originally published by The Maine Monitor and distributed through a partnership with The Associated Press.Copyright 2024 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See - Sept. 2024

Water
Climate
Government

Groundwater pumping is making California's San Joaquin Valley sink about an inch per year: Study

California's San Joaquin Valley may be sinking nearly an inch per year due to the over-pumping of groundwater supplies, with resource extraction outpacing natural recharge, a new study has found. This agriculture-rich region, located within the state's Central Valley, has been sinking at record-breaking rates over the past two decades, according to the study, published...

California's San Joaquin Valley may be sinking nearly an inch per year due to the over-pumping of groundwater supplies, with resource extraction outpacing natural recharge, a new study has found.  This agriculture-rich region, located within the state's Central Valley, has been sinking at record-breaking rates over the past two decades, according to the study, published on Tuesday in Nature's Communications Earth & Environment. While researchers have known that subsidence — the technical term for sinking — has been affecting the region in recent years, the total amount of collapse had not been quantified. “Our study is the first attempt to really quantify the full Valley-scale extent of subsidence over the last two decades,” senior study author Rosemary Knight, a professor of geophysics at Stanford University's Doerr School of Sustainability, said in a statement. “With these findings, we can look at the big picture of mitigating this record-breaking subsidence,” Knight added. The San Joaquin Valley, which extends from east of the San Francisco Bay Area to the mountains north of Los Angeles, became host to a ballooning farming sector and groundwater pumping between 1925 and 1970, per the study. Over time, these activities resulted in the sinkage of more than 4,000 square miles — about half the area of New Jersey — by more than 12 inches, the authors explained. Although subsidence slowed down following the construction of aqueducts in the 1970s, drought-induced groundwater pumping led to a resurgence during the early 2000s, they noted. To gain a clearer picture of the recent rate of sinkage, the researchers used a tool called interferometric synthetic aperture radar, which beams signals from orbit to capture land elevation changes as frequently as a few times per month. Combining this information with elevation data from GPS stations dispersed across the region, they identified spatial patterns for years that exhibited spottier satellite coverage. In addition to divulging the average subsidence rate of nearly an inch per year, the scientists determined that San Joaquin Valley aquifers need about 220 billion gallons of water coming in annually to prevent future such sinkage. That amount constitutes about 7 billion gallons less than the total surface water that typically remains in the valley after all environmental needs are covered in an average year, according to the study. Knight therefore expressed optimism that something can be done about the subsidence issue, which could be solved through certain engineered processes. One such approach, called flood-managed aquifer recharge, involves diverting excess surface water from snowmelt and precipitation to locations where the resource can drip down and recharge aquifers, the authors explained. They noted, however, that saturating the entire San Joaquin Valley with such water would not be feasible. “We should be targeting the places where subsidence will cause the greatest social and economic costs,” Knight said. Some focal areas could include spots where subsidence could damage an aqueduct or domestic wells that hydrate small communities, according to Knight. “By taking this Valley-scale perspective,” she added, “we can start to get our head around viable solutions.”

Water
Agriculture
Nature

How the Arrival of an Endangered Bird Indicates What’s Possible for the L.A. River

Could the waterway that the city was built around make a comeback?

Along a gentle bend of the Los Angeles River, in a stretch of land called Taylor Yard, a sound like a high-pitched record scratch can just be heard above the cacophony of city life. This is the call of the least Bell’s vireo, an olive-gray songbird that is only five inches from tip to tail. The riparian species native to Southern California has lived an endangered existence for more than 40 years. Now, the small bird’s return here symbolizes a new future for one of the country’s most maligned waterways. Before the concrete tide of urbanization washed over the Los Angeles River Basin, the river-fed wetland that was here represented the perfect habitat for this rare species. But for the past century, this area was one of the largest rail yards in the region, and as an expanding city grew right up to the river’s now concrete-laden banks, the vireo all but disappeared. Until, suddenly, it returned. The 2007 creation of Rio de Los Angeles State Park, which is itself part of the sprawling rail yard, set the stage. In the early 2010s someone reported hearing the vireo’s memorable call. A few years later, a photo captured a vireo mid-song, and in 2022 a nesting pair took refuge in a tree. This year, the news was even better. “We actually saw fledglings,” says Evelyn Serrano, the director of the Audubon Center at Debs Park in Los Angeles. “We saw the nest and we saw the babies, so we were very excited. It’s tough to survive in an urban environment when you’re a little bird like that, but it’s definitely possible.” A least Bell’s vireo (Vireo bellii pusillus) sings at Taylor Yard on March 22. California placed this songbird on its endangered species list in 1980, but this rare vireo has recently returned to central L.A. thanks to habitat restoration and the return of the natural riparian ecosystem along a section of the Los Angeles River. Alecia Smith / Audubon California Serrano is part of the local Audubon Center’s long, ongoing effort to rewild Taylor Yard, especially within the existing state park. Over the years the center has planted 1,000 endemic plants including 200 native trees as well as mule fat and mugwort for nest protection, and black sage and golden currant for food sources. But the nearby river—one of the few naturalized, soft-bottom sections of what is otherwise a concrete channel—is what really allows the vireo to thrive. “[The vireo] needs to be near water, and that specific part of the river that’s soft-bodied has more water than other parts,” Serrano says. “This bird also lives in a very specific elevation, and it just so happens that all of those things … are all in one place.” The return of the least Bell’s vireo shows what’s possible along a more natural Los Angeles River, and Taylor Yard represents the city’s largest opportunity to create vital habitat for many of its vulnerable endemic species. For years, a partnership of government groups and nonprofits has pushed to make the remaining 100 acres of the abandoned rail yard the “crown jewel” of L.A.’s river restoration project. The resulting collective, known as the 100 Acre Partnership, hopes to complete the restoration by 2028, which is just in time for the L.A. Olympic Games. The project is just the latest effort to create a new vision of Los Angeles that’s been in the works for nearly a century. What was lost Long before its starring role as an entertainment mecca, the basin that makes up Los Angeles was known for its river. Fifty-one miles of free-flowing waters formed the beating heart of an 871-square-mile watershed transporting rainwater and snowpack from the nearby Santa Monica, Santa Susana and San Gabriel Mountains. Fed by various washes and tributaries, the river formed rich wetlands throughout the San Fernando Valley in the north all the way to the lower delta. At most times a trickle and at others a flood, the L.A. River meandered all over the region, either emptying into San Pedro Bay or even veering west toward Santa Monica Bay. Because of the river and the region’s separation from the rest of California by mountains to the north, this alluvial floodplain became one of the most biodiverse regions in the world, filled with stunning amounts of endemic flora and fauna. Eventually, a native tribe known as the Tongva—also called Gabrieleño or Kizh—settled throughout the river basin, which included around 5,000 people spread across some 100 villages. They built their largest village, named Yaanga, in hills along the river near where Los Angeles City Hall stands today. Although many picture L.A. with its vast sandy beaches to the west, the old Pueblo de Los Angeles actually formed further inland, as the river provided the necessary water for the entire settlement. This is why Candice Dickens-Russell, the CEO of the nonprofit Friends of the L.A. River, describes the river as the city’s “origin story.” “We’re one of the only ‘coastal’ cities that’s not on a coast,” Dickens-Russell says. “We’re an inland downtown because of the river.” For centuries, the river provided the water needed to grow crops, irrigate orchards and sustain a growing population. However, ignoring the Tongva practice of building slightly uphill from the river in recognition of its meandering course, the expanding city built up right along its banks. And as that city grew, its tolerance for the river’s floods diminished. After a devastating flood in 1914, calls for flood control efforts grew louder, and the city formed the Los Angeles County Flood Control District a year later. In the following decades, the city began channelization and levee efforts and even built a few dams, but nothing substantial enough to fully prevent floods. Then, the river met its first major crossroads. In 1930, Frederick Law Olmsted Jr., the son of the famous Central Park landscape architect, devised a sprawling plan to build parks and public spaces along the river with green flood prevention measures, saying at the time that “continued prosperity in Los Angeles will depend on providing needed parks.” The timing of the proposal couldn't have been worse. While L.A. already had a long history of privileging private real estate over public spaces, the stock market crash only months earlier soured any remaining appetite for Olmsted’s vision. After two more destructive floods in 1934 and 1938, the Army Corps of Engineers slowly began encasing the L.A. River in concrete—one mile at a time—until its completion in 1960. Located in South Gate, Lynwood and Downey at the confluence of the Los Angeles River and the Rio Hondo tributary (right), this area is one concrete-laden section of the river where Frank Gehry Partners has proposed building a platform park. Darren Orf “Olmsted’s vision is what L.A. could have been,” says Ben Harris, a senior staff attorney at Los Angeles Waterkeeper, an environmental watchdog for the region’s coastal and inland waters. “It was bad circumstances, but the right vision.” The right vision As the river receded from the landscape, it also faded from the minds of many Angelenos who lived within its basin. Dickens-Russell, who grew up in Cerritos just east of the river, says she was totally unaware of its existence when she was younger. “[The river] was not in my consciousness at all,” Dickens-Russell says. “It wasn’t until I went away for college, came home and started working in the environmental world in L.A. that I started to hear about the river and Friends of the L.A. River.” The first major nonprofit group to start restoration along the river’s 51 miles, Friends of the L.A. River wouldn’t have been possible without the trailblazing work of Lewis MacAdams. A journalist, political activist and poet, MacAdams founded the nonprofit in 1986 as an act of civil disobedience. He envisioned a city with a restored river where animals and Angelenos could seek refuge, so that year he cut through a wire fence separating the river from the city and declared the channel a public space. In his poetry, he describes his organization’s role as the river’s emissary. … we address ourselves to the river. / We ask if we can / speak on its behalf / in the human realm. / We can’t hear the river saying no / so we get to work. And for 40 years, MacAdams was the river’s relentless advocate. In the mid-1990s, when the Army Corps of Engineers began scraping vegetation away from the soft-bottomed section of the river, MacAdams placed himself in front of the bulldozers. Meanwhile, he tirelessly fought for the waterway to be recognized as a natural river. “He’d show up at meetings with the Army Corps and the Department of Public Works,” says Jon Christensen, an environmental journalist and historian with the Institute of the Environment and Sustainability at the University of California, Los Angeles, “and they’d talk about the ‘flood control channel’ and he’d just say ‘river.’” In keeping with this activist spirit, kayakers in 2008 proved that the L.A. River was a navigable waterway by traversing its entire 51 miles. Two years later, the Environmental Protection Agency agreed and granted the river certain protections under the U.S. Clean Water Act, which strengthened the ability of local, state and federal agencies to fight against pollution and other forms of environmental degradation. Though just one element of a bigger plan, Harris points out, Taylor Yard is a really good opportunity to examine the challenges of restoring the river—for both animals and the estimated one million people that live along the waterway’s path Transforming Taylor Yard In 1911, Southern Pacific Railroad bought land owned by Taylor Milling Company and adopted the name for its eventual 243-acre rail yard. After the rail yard shut down in the mid-1980s, parts of it were parceled off, with the least toxic areas being sold first. Some parcels became schools, apartments and even Rio de Los Angeles State Park itself. Then in 2017, after four years of negotiations, the City of L.A. purchased a long sought-after parcel from Union Pacific, a 42-acre stretch of land sandwiched between the current park and the river. Today, the 100 Acre Partnership, a joint effort by the City of L.A., Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority (MRCA), and the California Department of Parks and Recreation, is overseeing the creation of the Paseo del Rio, the name of the planned park that encompasses that parcel and one bow-tie-shaped parcel that connects to the north. The final design, approved in 2023, contains walking paths along the river, a community pavilion, a sloped meadow incorporating the rail yard’s old turntable and a wetland habitat fed by stormwater from the surrounding community. Along the northern section of the planned park, the Nature Conservancy is developing an area that will showcase how stormwater can be cleaned using natural systems. Crucially, the Paseo del Rio at Taylor Yard also reconnects the surrounding community with the L.A. River and provides even more vital habitat for riparian birds like the vireo, but also osprey, and many other native species including side-blotched lizards, pacific chorus frogs, big brown bats and arroyo chub fish. The one thing that stands between the present and this bright, green future is the land’s industrial past. After decades spent as a rail yard, part of the land is simply too toxic for biking, running and lounging. Lead and petroleum hydrocarbons at the site lie in shallow soil, meaning they’re easier to remove. But volatile organic compounds sink lower into the ground, and this creates complicated layers of pollution, which makes cleanup difficult and expensive. Brian Baldauf, chief of watershed planning for the MRCA, says the partnership is still working with the U.S. Department of Toxic Substances Control to get a cleaning plan approved. “This was the active working heart of the rail yard,” Baldauf says. “When the city purchased it, one of the requirements of Union Pacific was that the city would be responsible for cleaning it up.” He adds that the 100 Acre Partnership and the Department of Toxic Substances Control need to come up with a strategy for creating a safe site that can have new habitat over it. Once that strategy is in place, things can move quickly, according to Baldauf. If all goes according to plan, Taylor Yard will be a moving display for what the L.A. River could be—and just in time for the 2028 Games. “The Olympics in Los Angeles is an important consideration for a lot of public work,” Baldauf says. “The city is going to be a showcase, and we want to have this project ready.” A divided future Today the L.A. River forms in Canoga Park in the San Fernando Valley and cuts around the eastern side of Griffith Park, before heading south through the soft-bottomed Glendale Narrows. Eventually, it makes its way through the Gateway Cities region before reaching Long Beach. In its course, the river passes through 17 cities, each with its own history and relationship to the river. While environmental groups argue for a more natural river—one that can play host to humans and habitats alike—the river’s engineered role of moving massive amounts of water as quickly and safely as possible hasn’t changed, and that dichotomy has led to disagreement. “We’ve inherited in the American West these hybrid systems—they are engineered and natural, and there is no rewinding the tape of history,” Christensen says. “What do we want out of these hybrid systems?” Over the decades, various master plans—at the local and federal levels—have offered suggestions for addressing challenges found within these river communities. Some address green gentrification, which occurs when newly developed natural space brings in investment that eventually displaces the local community. A key example of this phenomenon, according to Christensen, is New York City’s High Line, an abandoned industrial train track renovated into an elevated park that sent nearby home prices skyrocketing. Other plans suggest searching for ways to introduce green space into park-poor areas, create arts and culture opportunities, and improve river access. Taylor Yard is a rarity of sorts. Its 100 acres is unlike any other opportunity along the river basin—as most planned parks are well under 30 acres. And because Taylor Yard is designed to be an example of how to rehabilitate contaminated sites along the L.A. River, the project doesn’t feature some of the more controversial river restoration ideas that have percolated in recent years. The most divisive example is the L.A. River Master Plan, originally commissioned by L.A. County, which outlines possible investments along the river. In 2015, the Los Angeles River Revitalization Corporation asked famous architect and longtime L.A. resident Frank Gehry to take the design reins for reimagining the L.A. River as part of the master plan. Some were excited by the idea of Gehry turning his attention to the river, but others worried the architect wasn’t a good fit. “I would remind them that the last time there was a single idea for the entire river it involved 17,000 people pouring three million barrels of concrete,” MacAdams said back in 2016. In 2022, environmental groups, including Friends of the L.A. River, East Yard Communities for Environmental Justice, the Nature Conservancy in California and Los Angeles Waterkeeper, pulled support for the L.A. River Master Plan, with the latter saying it “failed to treat the L.A. River as a natural and living river.” A part of the dispute centered around the idea of “platform parks,” proposed by Frank Gehry Partners, that would effectively cap the river to provide green space. In other words, these parks create a concrete channel for water to pass under while the park on top remains undisturbed. The plan also includes new buildings, like the Southeast Los Angeles Cultural Center, to be constructed right along the river’s floodplain, and environmental groups argue that the plan doesn’t take out enough existing concrete. Los Angeles Waterkeeper and the Center for Biological Diversity swiftly sued Los Angeles County over its approved master plan. Tensho Takemori, a partner at Frank Gehry Partners, acknowledges that a concrete-free river is the river everyone wants but says that when the firm looked at taking out all that concrete, they determined it just wasn’t possible if they wanted to also maintain the river’s flood management role. “If you take out the concrete and put in grass or trees, it’s adding a significant amount of resistance … the water slows down, and it floods,” Takemori says. “To be honest, if we could have figured it out—and if that was scientifically possible—we would have proposed that.” However, Harris and other activists believe that many ways remain to create a river that’s more natural than what’s currently proposed, including improved river management techniques upstream and expanded stormwater capture technologies. For years, L.A. has also invested millions transforming into a “sponge city” by replacing concrete with more permeable surfaces. During a particularly rainy stretch in early February this year, the city captured 8.6 billion gallons of water, which is enough to sustain 100,000 homes for a year. “Now is the time to be ambitious and work toward those goals,” says Kelly Shannon McNeill, associate director of Los Angeles Waterkeeper. “We have unprecedented federal funding to invest in green resilient infrastructure, something we haven’t seen since the New Deal.” Although conversations around the river’s fate are much more centered on revitalization than in the past, the debate about its future remains a contentious one. A river runs through it Standing on the Taylor Yard Bridge, completed in 2022, Baldauf looks at the slowly meandering L.A. River as it passes by what could become the crown jewel of the city’s restoration efforts. With the smoldering midafternoon sun overhead, egrets, cormorants and herons mingle in the river below as the swaying reeds are barely heard over passing traffic. With a swoop of its wings, a heron takes flight. “This is why so many people fight for it. They’re inspired by it. They come here to contemplate,” Baldauf says. “The fact that there’s nature in the city and that we’re watching a great blue heron fly right over us.” A naturalized section of the Los Angeles River just south of Taylor Yard Darren Orf While the shape of the river’s future continues to be argued in the courts—of both law and public opinion—plans are not on hold. Major ecology efforts like the Los Angeles River Fish Passage and Habitat Structures Design Project are creating spaces to aid in the return of the steelhead trout. And thousands of volunteers every year participate in Friends of the L.A. River’s Great L.A. River Cleanup, the largest urban river cleanup event in the nation. And while Taylor Yard remains the river’s largest restoration opportunity, other areas are becoming more and more wild. The Dominguez Gap Wetlands in Long Beach sustain local plant and animal habitat; a 30-acre passive park in South Gate called Urban Orchard has fruit trees growing at the river’s edge; the Tujunga Wash Greenway and Stream Restoration Project recharges the San Fernando Valley Groundwater Basin; and vegetated ditches called bioswales in Caballero Creek Park filter stormwater pollution. Each improvement is a valuable opportunity for the river’s endemic residents, including the small-yet-resilient vireo, to return to the City of Angels. “We are nature, and we live in nature—even the nature we’ve created for ourselves,” Serrano says. “We must be making some kind of change that is making it easier for all of our wildlife neighbors to be present in the spaces we’ve created.” Get the latest Science stories in your inbox.

Water
Activism
Conservation

Suggested Viewing

Sacred Waters: The Okefenokee in Peril

Sacred Waters: The Okefenokee in Peril takes viewers into the heart of the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge, showcasing its mystical natural beauty, cultural importance, and incredible ecological value. But, as the title of the film sets forth, the sacred waters of the Okefenokee are in peril. The threat of a proposed mineral mine near the edge of the Okefenokee looms large, putting the natural integrity of the Swamp at risk. As Sacred Waters brings us deeper into the Okefenokee, we understand how great this threat truly is.

Water
Land Use
Inspirational

WindShipped

What started as one man's Quixotic dream has turned to reality. For the past three years the 65-foot"Schooner Apollonia" has been delivering goods up and down the Hudson River by sail -- sans fossil fuels -- a throwback to a day when there were 1,200 such boats on the river each day. It turns out buyers prefer the non-polluting, anti-Amazon way of making deliveries.

Water
Transportation

Salted Earth

"Salted Earth" plunges us into the heart of an invisible and creeping crisis that's transforming the Mid-Atlantic – the inexorable rise of sea levels. This hard-hitting, yet tenderly woven 20-minute documentary paints a vivid picture of an escalating environmental catastrophe, where the threat is not just the swelling sea, but the encroaching salt that kills forests and decimates arable land, but could also signal a return to the natural order of the Atlantic Coast. Our journey navigates the brackish waters of climate change alongside an intrepid team of scientists. Through their tireless work, they seek to unravel the intricacies of how salty water infiltrates groundwater and soils, with consequences as far-reaching as they are devastating. Their research is more than academic; it's a desperate quest for solutions that may help vulnerable communities adapt and even survive. "Salted Earth" is not only a saga of scientific discovery. It's also a story of human resilience and ingenuity. We venture into the heart of communities, the lifeblood of the Mid-Atlantic, whose existence is at stake. We see firsthand the farmers struggling to preserve their livelihoods, community leaders forging ahead with audacious resilience strategies, and everyday individuals battling the rising tide. Through intimate interviews with scientists, farmers, and community leaders, "Salted Earth" provides a sobering, yet inspiring look at the very real and present challenge of sea-level rise. It asks a question that affects us all: Can our strategy against the rising sea succeed, or are we fighting an unwinnable war? The answer may unsettle you, but the journey is one you cannot afford to miss. Watch "Salted Earth" and see the future of our world through a salt-streaked lens.

Water
Land Use
Science

The Fellowship of the Springs

Florida’s artesian springs are a natural wonder of the world. As unique as the geysers of Yellowstone and as mesmerizing as Vernal Falls in Yosemite, these blue jewels surrounding the north Florida landscape are considered a treasure by many who see them. The state contains the largest and highest concentration of fresh water springs on earth. But today, the future of Florida’s springs is uncertain. With flow levels declining and nitrate pollution on the rise, the springs today bear the scars of a profound struggle. Florida's own government continues to approve permits for large companies that want to pump water from the springs and their springsheds, for nominal permit fees that often cost less than a day pass to Disney World. The Fellowship of the Springs takes viewers behind the scenes of the fight to save Florida's springs, from the halls of the state capitol in Tallahassee to deep caves of Ichetucknee spring.

Water
Government
Business

The Heart Whisperer

A childhood discovery inspires a woman to push the boundaries of our compassion in this true story. The esteemed Earthlings creator, Shaun Monson, weaves together archived news clips, never seen before arrest footage, and current interviews to tell this tale that crosses countries and decades. Cameo appearances by Joaquin Phoenix and other famous animal advocates.

Water
Energy
Waste

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