Two weeks ago, I rode my bike from the West Side of El Paso to Mesilla, New Mexico. Route 28 follows the Rio Grande, crossing through pecan orchards and towns with Spanish and Mexican origins.

This week, the Bureau of Reclamation releases Rio Grande water from Elephant Butte and Caballo, the upstream reservoirs that serve Southern New Mexico, far West Texas and Ciudad Juárez.

But the day of my ride the riverbed was still dry and sandy, crisscrossed by ATV tracks. Alongside the road, wells filled irrigation ditches with glistening water from the Mesilla aquifer. Farmers pump groundwater when river water isn’t available. The groundwater pumping is at the heart of a decade-long Supreme Court case. But I wasn’t thinking about that on my ride. I was appreciating the shade of the pecan trees.

El Paso Water is expecting to have only 10 weeks of river water available this year. Elephant Butte is at a mere 13 percent capacity. Over the years, the utility has turned to other sources of water as the Rio Grande faltered. While I am not worrying about being able to turn on the tap, something is lost when the river is dry nine months of the year.

Joseph and I loaded up the car on the second day of 100-degree heat in El Paso this spring. No better time to drive north. For almost 300 miles we followed the path of the river, up to Albuquerque. Then we headed north and west to Durango, Colorado.

Earlier in May, the National Integrated Drought Information System reported that snowpack was rapidly melting across the West because of “above-normal temperatures and below-normal precipitation.” There was ample snow accumulation over the winter, but a dry spring had reduced the forecasts for how much water would be available the millions of people who depend on the Colorado River and the Rio Grande. The report explained that these high springtime temperatures can cause snow to “sublimate” - transition directly from a solid to a gas - which reduces runoff into streams and reservoirs.

In Durango, the muddy, choppy waters of the Animas River rushed through town. Rafters bobbed along the freezing water in nothing more than bathing suits and life jackets. After a weekend of bike racing, we loaded up again and headed back east over the Continental Divide and into the Rio Grande watershed. In a world of man-made borders, the Divide feels like a grounding force. I like to picture a raindrop falling on the eastern side of a mountain and reaching the Gulf of Mexico (even though I know a tourniquet is placed on the Rio Grande long before it reaches the Gulf).

We drove past Creede and down an unpaved road following the Rio Grande. We set up camp at over 9,000 feet above sea level and some 600 river miles from El Paso. We fell asleep to the sound of the river and woke up to it too. The river was high and the current was strong. At over 1,000 cubic feet per second, flow was well above average.

Our puppy, Doug, has never swum before (where do you take a dog to swim in the desert?). One afternoon we sat by the rio and he suddenly jumped in. I panicked watching the current swirling. Doug did too, scampering out before his head went under. I promised to take him to calmer waters soon.

On our hikes in the Rio Grande National Forest and the Weminuche Wilderness, I marveled at the water crashing out of the highest mountains toward the rio. I had never been in the headwaters during snowmelt and it was electrifying. I thought of the book I had just finished - Philip Connors’ A Song for the River - and what it would be like to watch one piece of earth year after year. His river is the Gila, and he writes lyrically about the efforts to stop construction of a dam on the river.

It’s hard not to love the headwaters of a river in the high mountains. It can be harder to love the sandy ditch it becomes downstream. This is now the third year I’ve come up to where the river starts. The balance feels more precarious than ever. Drought is deepening in much of the watershed, the snow is melting too fast, forest service staff are on the chopping block.

But for a few days I tried to put that all out of my head. I tried to tell the weather from the sky, not my phone. I listened to the river, in the space I usually fill with podcasts and news. I put my feet into the frigid water for as long as I could bare (approximately 60 seconds). Then we packed up until next year.

Miscellanea

There are no deadlines for this newsletter and you will have noticed it took me almost half a year to get to my second edition. Consider this very non-breaking news, slow thoughts that have been turning over in my head.

In the meantime I’ve been keeping busy with reporting on the environment and climate in Texas under the second Trump administration. If you haven’t heard, it’s been very, very dusty in El Paso this year. Turns out extreme drought and land degradation will do that. I reported a story that asks if we are headed into another Dust Bowl.

I also reported on water withdrawals for oil and gas extraction from the Rio Grande and the Pecos River. I found more than 10 billion gallons of Rio Grande water were used for oil and gas drilling/fracking over the last four years.

In my spare time, I’ve been enjoying the Giro d’Italia. It’s been one of the most entertaining grand tours in years. 21-year-old Mexican Isaac del Toro is lighting up the competition. He won’t be an underdog for long, but this has been something special to watch.

I’ve been enjoying reading some Very Long Serious Books, including the Path to Power, the first in Robert Caro’s biographies of Lyndon B. Johnson and Katharine Graham’s memoir Personal History. In the fiction realm (my Achilles heel) I loved The Greater Believers by Rebecca Makai. Sabotage and Hysterical are two podcasts I’ve enjoyed lately.

Thanks for reading and I hope you get to sit by some water this summer.