In July 1847, soon after the first company arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, pioneers dug a small irrigation ditch to divert water from City Creek to the hardened soil —a n act that exemplifies Utah’s enduring relationship with water. The story of Utah and the Great Salt Lake is marked by individual farmers, shovels in hand, coaxing water onto arid land.
The lake’s decline is well documented, shrinking from about 3,300 square miles in 1985 to roughly 950 in 2022. For millennia, it was replenished by the Jordan, Weber and Bear rivers. Today, up to two-thirds of that inflow never reaches the lake.
Public comment boards assign blame to many sources: population growth, data centers, alfalfa farming, lawns, climate change. Often, these discussions imply that one group is solely responsible and that banning grass, outlawing alfalfa, or halting housing development is the answer. I believe we need a better solution — one that doesn’t sacrifice livelihoods or growth.
Consider the 50 miles of mild terrain between Blackfoot and Soda Springs, Idaho. The Snake River, passing through Blackfoot, discharges 36 million acre-feet annually into the Pacific. The Bear River, near Soda Springs, contributes about 1.2 million acre-feet to the Great Salt Lake. Experts estimate the lake needs an additional 770,000 acre-feet annually.
A canal or pump system between these rivers could redirect just 2.1% of the Snake River’s excess flow — potentially enough to stabilize the lake. Of course, water rights, environmental impact, and land use must be considered, but this feels solvable.
Utahns have always met environmental challenges with vision and cooperation. Preserving the Great Salt Lake is our next great test—and a symbol of our resilience.
Craig Schow, West Valley City
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