The lake they saved from LA

JULIE STARR tells how the locals rescued Mono Lake from the ravages of a thirsty city.

On a stormy day when the sky is black and the wind howls across its turbulent grey waters, Mono Lake may not warrant a second look. But should the storm pass and the sun come out, it's stunning.

There's a story about this lake that endears it even more to those in the know. It's a feelgood story about a group of locals fighting a large organisation to save their lake, and winning.

Mono is a salt-water lake set on a large, once-volatile, volcanic plain studded with fragrant sage brush and scrub in the Northern Californian high desert.

On calm, clear days Mono's water takes on a vibrant, turquoise hue which renders crisp mirror images of the weird limestone towers that rise from the lake bed below.

The towers, called tufas, grow around small jets of spring water bubbling up from beneath the lake bed. The mineral content of the spring water, which includes lime, reacts with the lake water, calcifying and hardening into these slow-growing monuments.

A lakeside path winds through a small city of tufas, while offshore a few solitary sentinels tower up to 3m tall and others cluster to form small islands. If you make it to Mono on a calm day, rent a kayak from a sports store at nearby Mammoth Lakes, or join a kayak tour offered by the Mono Lake committee, and paddle out to these islands.

Mono Lake is an extreme environment, its water high in salinity and rich in minerals. Only one species of fish, brine shrimp, survive in it. The shrimp sustain millions of migratory birds which stop over at Mono to feed, and a large number of California's seagulls.

Standing on the lake's edge, it's hard to imagine that the growth of a city hundreds of kilometres away could threaten this fragile but enduring ecosystem.

But that's just what began happening 20 years ago. As the dry city of Los Angeles grew, so grew its need for fresh, clean water. The search for a viable water source led officials to the snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains north-east of the city, and ultimately to the area around Mono Lake and Owens Lake a little further south.

The LA Water and Power Board began diverting water from Mono Lake's tributary streams, channelling it through a series of pipelines and open culverts to the city.

The engineering involved in the LA Aqueduct was impressive. But as time passed, Mono's water level began to drop. Its salinity rose. And brine shrimp began to decline in number.

Locals feared the birds would lose their feeding and breeding haven, and that their lake would shrink to a puddle and finally vanish.

Such was the fate of nearby Owens Lake. Denied water from its tributaries, it shrivelled until all that remained was a large dust-bowl. Today, high winds whip up violent dust storms in the Owens Valley, coating the lungs of residents with dust and even cyanide and other trace elements.

With the help of environmentalists, Mono's locals tirelessly researched, lobbied, fundraised and fought legal battles. Eventually they manoeuvred the LA Water and Power Board into a deal: the board would still siphon water but not as much.

Now, the lake's water is on the rise. While it will never regain its former glory, it will reach a sustainable level.