Alden Woods

The Republic | azcentral.com

SACATON — The rush of water was louder than he remembered, so Gila River Indian Community Gov. Stephen Roe Lewis stepped away from the canal, toward the group that had agreed to bring back a stretch of the river that gave the community its name.

“This was, of course, a long time coming,” Lewis said, speaking up so they could hear.

He remembered when the river flowed through their land, when fertile soil fed his people. His ancestors centered their culture around the river, but for decades it had been little more than a line on a map, cut off by a series of dams and droughts. Now a sequence of settlements and storage deals had started to restore flow to the river.

The agreements will help the city of Phoenix expand its underground water storage capacity and allow Arizona to leave more water in Lake Mead during times of drought. But along the Gila River, it was all about bringing life back to a river that had gone dry.

The river people

Water law operates under the first-in-time principle, granting use of a body of water to whoever used it first. Along the Gila, that’s the people of the Gila River Indian Community.

The Akimel O’otham, one of two tribes in the Gila River Indian Community, have lived along the Gila River for centuries. Descended from the ancient Huhugam, the tribe’s tradition placed the river at the center of everything.

Its water fueled the farms that grew the spinach, beans and squash of the O’otham diet. Medicine men pulled plants from the banks. Songs honoring the Gila River were passed through the generations. The tribe itself is named after the river: Akimel O’otham. River People.

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They share the reservation with the Pee Posh, a tribe known for many years as the Maricopa, whose members moved from the banks of the Colorado River to the Gila River in the 16th century.

The tribal lands once stretched well past Phoenix, covering much of what is now central Arizona, but as settlers claimed land for themselves, the O’otham drew more tightly to the Gila River. Then it went dry.

A series of dams and diversions cut the river’s flow to a trickle, and the center of O’otham culture disappeared.

The once-fertile farms dried up. The people turned to a Western diet, adding refined flour, processed foods and sugar, but their bodies couldn’t adjust as quickly. Today, the tribe has one of the highest rates of diabetes in the world.

“When the river was diverted,” Lewis said, “that had such an immediate and negative effect on us.”

'Taking on a role of statewide importance

The Arizona Water Settlements Act of 2004 gave the Gila River community the rights to more than 150,000 acre-feet from the Colorado River and a broader settlement added to that, elevating tribal leadership to a position of influence in controlling Arizona’s water.

Thirteen years after the settlement, the Gila River Indian Community and Phoenix agreed to store 3,800 acre-feet of the city’s water in the tribe’s aquifer.

The deal allows Phoenix to set aside water in case of a future shortage, and will fill a section of the long-dry river at the center of the tribe’s agriculture and traditions. The city will also pay a storage fee to the community.

No actual water is changing hands in the storage arrangement.

The city will leave up to 3,800 acre-feet of water from its Central Arizona Project allocation in the CAP Canal, which delivers water from the Colorado River.

The Gila River Indian Community, in turn, will divert 3,800 acre-feet to the storage facility. In exchange, Phoenix has been given a water credit for the same amount that can be used in a future shortage. (An acre-foot is enough water to serve two average households for a year.)

“It’s a win-win for everyone,” Phoenix Mayor Greg Stanton said. “These seem like logical things to do, but traditionally these kinds of things hadn’t happened.”

The storage arrangement was made alongside an agreement signed by Phoenix, the Arizona Department of Water Resources, the tribe and the Walton Family Foundation to conserve water from the Colorado River and guard against a drought.

For years, the Colorado River has been drained faster than melting snow from the Rocky Mountains can refill it. As a result, the water level of Lake Mead, which stores much of the river's water used in Arizona, has dropped within feet of triggering a shortage that would slash some of the state’s access.

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"The GRIC is really taking on a role of statewide importance," Stanton said. "The success of Gila River and the success of the city of Phoenix are one and the same."

Refilling the aquifer

Tribal leadership first looked for a way to refill its aquifer three years ago, and soon after was granted permission to test a new system. Then they started rebuilding their water system.

First updated was the Oldberg Dam Underground Storage Facility, a barely-visible streak of revamped irrigation canals just east of Sacaton. The canals lead to an elevated splitter box, which can send water shooting in any of three directions: Down the Gila to the east and west, or straight ahead, to a reservoir. The water then seeps into the ground, where it sits in the aquifer beneath the reservation, making itself available for future use.

Just one splitter box has been built so far, with plans for up to 13 more, and the aquifer can hold up to 40,000 acre-feet of water. The tribe aims to take over maintenance and operation of the water facilities within 10 years.

A portion of that water will eventually be pushed through a four-engine pump that has yet to be built. The pump will send water about 6,000 feet away, up a 70-foot incline, to be used on the Gila River Farms.

The arrangement may not provide enough water to permanently refill the Gila River, but the soil below it will be rich with groundwater, restoring the tribe’s agricultural opportunities.

Around the first site, life has returned. The willow and mesquite that once lined either side of the Gila have started to grow again. Coyote and bird footprints dot the banks. Water pools in the dry riverbed, slowly soaking into the ground.

“For us,” Lewis said, “few words can explain how significant it is to see our water come back to us.”

He climbed on top of the splitter box, looked over what had returned and invited the group of water officials to join him. Up they climbed, standing on the bright yellow slats. The sound of the canals rose from below.

They posed for a picture, and all around them was water.