(continued from Part I)
Geologists say pumping in western Hays has already passed the limit of
sustainability. Computer modeling by the Texas Water Development Board predicts
 water-level declines during a severe drought of between 50 and 100 feet
across  the Trinity, including portions of Bexar, Travis, Kerr, Hays, Blanco
and Bandera  counties.
What would that mean? Hays County got a small taste in 2006. Drought,
compounded by overpumping, left about 100 homes near Dripping Springs without
water and reduced Onion Creek, which flows through Hays County and South
Austin  into the Colorado River, to a trickle. A report on the ’06 drought by
Austin  hydrologist Raymond Slade warns of the consequences of a far worse
drought,  which “will cause many more wells to become dry and probably result
in many  thousands of people in the County to be without water. Nobody knows
when this  will happen but it is likely to occur in the near future.” Onion
Creek, he  concludes, is likely to stay dry except when there’s significant
runoff from  storms.
Given this harsh reality, Baker says people in Hays County will have to 
decide whether to trade flowing streams and springs for growth. “It’s a hard
conversation to have because no one wants to have limits to what we do,” he
 says. “But there’s a carrying capacity to these systems.”
Water watchers are keen to see what happens in western Hays County. It may
hold clues to the future of the Hill Country. “Hays is the canary because it
’s  so close to I-35,” says Marbury, the EDF policy specialist. Many Hill
Country  communities are approaching the limits of sustainability, she says,
but “Hays is  more dire because I personally feel like they’ve reached the
point of no return.  Whatever decision they make will be extremely
difficult. However, they need to  make it soon.”
Addressing the water crisis in western Hays County falls to a  tiny
governmental entity with one full-time employee, five volunteer elected  
directors,
a volunteer geologist, and an $150,000 annual budget. The  Hays-Trinity
Groundwater Conservation District is one of 96 districts in Texas  covering
roughly half the state’s landmass. The districts are supposed to be all  that
stands in the way of the rule of capture, the unique Texas law that
essentially says you can pump as much water as you like, your neighbor’s well or
stream be damned. If you can pump it, it’s yours.
To combat the inevitable depredations of the rule of capture, most of Texas’
  groundwater districts can collect taxes, meter wells, set minimum
distances  between wells, issue permits, and impose pumping limits. The Hays
district has  few of these powers. The man who wrote the legislation creating 
the
district,  former state Rep. Rick Green, an ultraconservative Republican
from Dripping  Springs who now lectures on the myth of the separation of church
and state,  designed it that way.
“Rick Green thought God would take care of our water,” says Jack Hollon, a
 retired math teacher and member of the district board who grew up raising
Angora  sheep on a farm on the Devil’s Backbone, near Wimberley.
Green’s 1999 legislation exempted agricultural and single-family
residential  wells in the district from regulation—98 percent of an estimated 
6,500
wells.  The district has some authority over water utilities, which provide
about half  the water in the district. But developers are taking advantage of
the district’s  generous exceptions by building small, dense developments
that require  homeowners to provision their own individual, exempt wells.
Another perverse  provision of the legislation provides that funding for the
district primarily  comes from a $300 fee on new wells.
“It’s like trying to save the buffalo from extinction by selling buffalo
hides,” Hollon says.
In 2003, Hays voters “confirmed” the district by a 2-1 margin and elected
a  slate of directors, including Hollon, that was strongly pro-regulation.
None of  the anti-district candidates, backed by the Hays County Republican
Party, won a  seat. The group had little power, but that didn’t stop it from
setting an  ambitious goal: preserving as much water for springs and streams
as possible.  When directors ran the numbers, it became clear that the
aquifer was already  tapped out.
According to groundwater availability models, the aquifer in western Hays
County can sustainably yield about 3,400 acre-feet a year without unduly
straining springs and streams. In 2008, pumping topped 4,600 acre-feet. 
“We’re operating at what we think the aquifer can yield and still maintain
 spring flow,” says Hollon.
As Hollon and the other water managers stand by idly, the pumps
proliferate.  About 150 to 300 new wells are drilled in western Hays every 
year. The
district  has also identified at least 1,500 small tracts of land that are yet
to be built  on.
“I know enough about exponential numbers to be scared,” Hollon says.
This summer will be a good test of the aquifer’s limits. The Trinity is
approaching the end of the rainfall boost it received in 2007, and the current
 drought—severe, but not as prolonged as previous one—may well deepen.
Absent the ability to set limits on production and require sufficient
spacing  between wells, sustainability activists are gloomy. As developments 
keep
 sprawling across Hays County, the streams will go dry with “increased
frequency,” says Andrew Backus, the district president and retired
hydrogeologist who lives in Driftwood. “It will be exceptional when they  
actually flow.
”
Why, then, has Rep. Patrick Rose, the Democrat who beat Rick Green in a 
squeaker of a race in 2002, been reluctant to give the groundwater district
greater power to regulate and possibly save the Trinity Aquifer? That
question  nags conservationists in Hays County. For three sessions, the district
and its  backers have asked Rose to file a bill granting full regulatory
powers. Rose has  steadfastly declined, saying that he doesn't think the 
district
should have  taxation powers and that the issue is divisive. Four months
into this  legislative session, he offered a “compromise” bill that allowed
the district to  collect fees for two years to help pay for a groundwater
sustainability  study—what Hollon compares to “throwing some candy to kids in
the backseat to  quiet them on a long trip.” In late April, the district
board voted to say  “thanks, but no thanks” to the proposal.
Miffed, Rose yanked the bill a few days later.
“Why are the legislators throwing us down a dry well?” asks board
president  Backus. “They’re in the process of helping developers get water 
utility
districts, but they’re not helping the Hays-Trinity district get powers
equivalent to all the surrounding groundwater districts. There’s something
else  going on.”
The sense that Rose is protecting development and real estate interests is
widespread among the sustainability crowd. “The only reason I can see that
Rose  and [Sen. Jeff] Wentworth are so reluctant to grant the district the
tools it  needs to get the job done is they’re giving in to the real estate
interests who  want a weak district,” says Jim McMeans, a founder of Citizens
Alliance for  Responsible Development, a Wimberley-based group that
promotes “sensible growth”  and has won major concessions from developers.
(Wentworth is a San Antonio  Republican.)
Rose is a real-estate agent with his parents' own Rose Real Estate in
Drippings Springs. From 2004 to 2008, he received nearly $300,000 in campaign
contributions from real estate interests and developers, according to the
nonprofit watchdog Texans for Public Justice. One of Rose’s top donors is Bob
Perry, a Houston homebuilder who primarily funds Republican candidates.
Rose declined requests by phone, by e-mail and in person to be interviewed
for this story.
Whatever explains legislators’ inaction, it looks like western  Hays County
will have to wait until 2011, when another Legislature convenes, to
address its water problems.
“Sadly, I think it’s too late for them,” says Marbury. She quickly softens
 that statement. “They would have to throw caution to the wind ... and
there  would be a severe backlash from Realtors, developers, and current permit
holders.”
Hollon, the Wimberley native, knows what they’re up against. “We’ve got to
 come to terms with our growth,” he says. “Growth is fundamental to
capitalism,  our banking system and so forth, but it doesn’t make much sense
ecologically  speaking. That’s going to take some time to seep in.”
_http://www.texasobserver.org/article.php?aid=3047_
(http://www.texasobserver.org/article.php?aid=3047)
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