A remarkable story is being written in the Walla Walla Watershed: a story of collaboration in stark contrast to the infamous water wars of the Klamath Basin. A story of innovation in a seemingly staid farming community; of self-reliance and of a community solving its own problems - in its own way. The real-life results of this remarkable tale can be seen throughout the watershed--from the lower reaches of the Walla Walla River, where fish can be found again after being absent for 100 summers; to the Palouse region of Columbia County, where dry-land wheat farmers have adopted techniques to retain highly-productive soils rather than losing them as silt in sensitive streams. The people of the Walla Walla Watershed are writing their own story because they refuse to let government - or fate, for that matter - write it for them. The people of this special place - Native Americans, irrigators and environmentalists - are working to restore, protect and advance their shared community. They are working together because they recognize that their futures are linked to one another. Theirs is a work in progress. The waters flowing west out of the Blue Mountains define the place the Cayuse people named "walla walla," land of many small waters. The abundant waters, coupled with fertile soils and long growing seasons, distinguish the Walla Walla Valley as prime farmland. The Valley's irrigated agriculture is built upon water rights held for generations. And just as Walla Walla's past is linked to water, so is its future.

The Land

Three principal river systems combine to define the one million square acres of the Walla Walla Watershed. These rivers include the Touchet, the Mill Creek/Yellow Hawk and the Walla Walla. The Touchet runs considerably north of the Walla Walla Valley joining the mainstem of the Walla Walla near the town of Touchet. All three systems originate in the Blue Mountains, where precipitation is four to six times greater than on the Valley floor. The Mill Creek/Yellow Hawk and the Touchet drain into the Walla Walla River before it in turn joins the Columbia River at Wallula. The Watershed's landscape is exceptionally diverse due to the impacts of centuries of massive flooding during the last ice age. The central lowlands of the Walla Walla Valley feature wide stretches of alluvial sand and gravel beds that link the Valley's two river systems with an extensive and porous shallow aquifer lying just below it. From the northern edge of the Walla Walla city limits to the south beyond the Oregon border is a unique landscape. Here the Mill Creek/Yellow Hawk and Walla Walla are merely mainstems in a heavily braided network of creeks. "Walla Walla" or "many small waters" was an apt description. The very characteristics that appealed to the native people appealed to the European settlers. They found the plentiful water, fish and game, coupled with the Mediterranean-like climate and soft, pliable soils, attractive. A spur on the Oregon Trail, the Walla Walla Valley was swiftly settled. Walla Walla incorporated as a city two decades before Washington entered the Union. It wasn't long before irrigators' demand for surface water exceeded supply. By the 1870's stretches of the mainstem of the Walla Walla regularly dried out. The area near Tumalum Bridge, where the river overlies coarse gravels, had been going dry for well over 100 summers before 2002. The area's dependence on water could scarcely be more obvious.

The People

 The people of the Walla Walla Watershed practice self-reliance; they always have. Native Americans found most everything they needed within the basin. After tapping into the landscape's riches, European settlers created the institutions they needed from scratch, including the West's oldest continuously playing symphony orchestra--to cite one example among many. Walla Walla is one of only a handful of sizable western cities an hour's drive from the nearest Interstate highway. By tradition and necessity, Walla Walla, along with neighboring Columbia County, Washington, and Umatilla County, Oregon, have long functioned as a self-contained society. And while the number of people living in the Walla Walla Watershed, has remained constant at 70,000 for decades, the area ranks among the most vibrant to be found east of the Cascades. Home to three colleges, nationally known for its efforts at historic preservation, and recognized for unusually high levels of charitable giving, it's clear that the communities of the Walla Walla Watershed are atypical rural centers. European settlers and subsequent generations mistreated the resident Cayuse, Umatilla, and Walla Walla Tribes, but in more recent times, a cooperative attitude prevails. The Tribes' spiritual commitment to treat water as the origin of all life and essential to survival is embraced by all those involved in restoring the Walla Walla Watershed. And the success of the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation's in restoring salmon to the Umatilla River is a model for ongoing efforts in the Walla Walla Watershed. In the West, where, in Mark Twain's words, "whiskey is for drinking and water is for fighting over," the people of the "land of many small waters" may be exceptional. They know how their economy depends on water and they are prepared to do something to protect this indispensable resource. Irrigators, urban water users, environmentalists and native peoples have convened to solve their own problems in their own way.

The Economy

 The waters flowing out of the Blue Mountains have long underpinned the economy of southeastern Washington and northeastern Oregon. The Cayuse Tribe credited the "many small waters" for countless gifts, epitomized by the annual return of spawning salmon. European settlers diverted the creeks and streams flowing through the Walla Walla Valley for irrigation, and Walla Walla soon came to be known as a "garden city." The communities of Dayton and Walla Walla, Washington, along with Milton and Freewater, their neighbors across the Oregon state line, rose as agricultural centers. For over a century, wheat was king. Tree crops, principally apples, also prospered, as did asparagus, peas, alfalfa and, most recently, onions. By the late 20th Century, Walla Walla established a reputation for another world-class agricultural product: premium wines. While agriculture remains central to economic life, its role has declined. Wheat farming now depends on federal support. Major vegetable processing plants have closed. Fortunately, the penitentiary remains a dependable employer. So too do the Valley's three post-secondary schools: Walla Walla College, Whitman College and Walla Walla Community College. Industrial enterprises including pulp and paper processing, wind power generation and the manufacture of high-tech equipment have helped to diversify the area economy. Tourism, driven by the Walla Walla Valley's burgeoning wineries, is a welcome shot in the arm. But added together, these sectors still don't eclipse agriculture. Scratch the surface of nearly any enterprise, and you find that, like agriculture, it too depends on water. Restrictions on irrigation would echo throughout the economy. Restrictions on water use would also seriously compromise the area's future prospects. Little wonder, then, that people throughout the Walla Walla Watershed have come together to meet a challenge that affects them all.

The Challenge

 Many Northwesterners view salmon as a secular sacrament. But the fish may also be likened to the canaries that miners took into the coalmines - an indicator species whose health can't be ignored. The listing of Columbia Basin bull trout, steelhead and other salmonids under the Endangered Species Act (ESA) rang alarms in the Walla Walla Watershed. In 1999, the federal government singled out the Watershed, a sub-basin of the Columbia River System, for remedial action. Several environmental groups signaled their intent to sue, an action that would - in effect - put Walla Walla agriculture under federal authority. The Watershed was poised to become the West's next ESA battleground. But cooler heads prevailed, and Walla Walla didn't go the way of the Klamath River Basin where ugly disputes over water allocations between farmers and fish rage. Three irrigation districts, drawing from the mainstem of the Walla Walla River, were targeted for federal action. Though they account for less than half the surface water used in the Watershed, the Hudson Bay, Walla Walla and Gardena Farms irrigation districts stepped up. They committed under a settlement agreement to conserve significant shares of the water they traditionally use and to deliver the savings to the Walla Walla River for fish habitat. For the last three years, the restored summer and fall flows wet reaches of the River that had been dry during those seasons for over 100 years. By taking the brunt of the impact, the irrigation districts bought time for all Watershed interests to join in responding to the ESA listing. The districts' initiative and economic sacrifices have energized basin planning and prompted grass roots action. Continuing efforts on both sides of the state line suggest that people living in the Watershed will successfully craft long-term solutions that will restore fish and protect agriculture. The Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla Indian Reservation (CTUIR) set the pace by transferring the success they achieved in the Umatilla River Watershed to the Walla Walla to the north. CTUIR has spearheaded powerful initiatives in the Watershed, which have been funded in part by over $7 million dollars in Bonneville Power Administration fish habitat mitigation funds. A wide range of activities are now underway throughout the Watershed: from habitat planning and innovative engineering studies to fish screen installation and fish barrier removals; from securing miles of stream buffers and planting thousands of creek side shade trees to protecting urban water courses and rural streams from polluted urban runoff and siltation. The reach of these ambitious efforts is startling. But so is the height of the hurdles participants face. There are structural problems, such as state water law that unintentionally penalizes landowners for "giving back" water. There are the inequities of targeting surface water diverters while ignoring other similar operations, not to mention the impact of hundreds of smaller water users. There is the illogic of determining "success" by strictly measuring flow rates rather than keying off of actual results. And there is the confusing mix of separate and overlapping jurisdictions, crossing two state lines, ceded tribal lands, three counties, and over a dozen state and federal agencies. Against this complex institutional landscape, litigation almost looks easy. But litigation means surrendering control to lawyers and judges. The better way - the Walla Walla way - is to write a narrative that fits the place and solves the problems. That's the story that the people of the "land of many small waters" are writing right now.