Over the summer, I completed an internship with the U.S. Forest Service, where one of my multiple projects was going out with a team of scientists and rescuing native Californian trout. The creek had evaporated to critically low levels, causing multiple pools to form and limiting the trout's movement and access to necessary dissolved oxygen available in the water. Basically, the trout were at risk of suffocating in the tiny constricting pools they had become refugees in. We must've looked quite amusing, a dozen of adults wading around in the creek with buckets and clunky nets, fixated on any movement in the water. But it was one of the first times in my life that I was surrounded by people who deeply cared about the survival of these foot-long fish just as much as I did.
Now, growing up in sunny Southern California, evaporating ponds aren’t exactly a rare occasion. But the fact that the population affected was the only native population of trout California had made the sting of realization hurt that much more. It made me think, "What have we been losing, what already has been lost, and more importantly, if no further action is taken... what is yet to be taken away?"
I road tripped from the sun-bleached Southern California to the lush Pacific Northwest for school over the summer. During the drive these past couple of years, my family and I witnessed first-hand the effects the drought has had on our natural resources and wildlife. The Santa Ana River by our hometown has long since been down to a trickle, but we were not expecting the shriveled crop fields in the central valley or the mighty Shasta Lake to be reduced to a puddle. I partially did only because of my passion for conservation, but it was a wake-up call to some of my family members.
More than a year ago, water conservation standards and regulations were implemented in my city, so strict as to regulate the days and exact hours each property could water. Initially it seemed intimidating and constricting, but over time it became regular. I mean, think about how far regular recycling has come. And however beautiful my grandparents thought a lush, green lawn was, the climate (and water bill) was reflecting the effects of the drought. Last I heard, they have stopped watering the lawn, but are looking to create a more natural landscape for the yard. Can't help but think that the road trip throughout CA partly inspired that!
Of course, moving state-to-state changes the context quite a bit. I was thrilled when it rained in August and the first week of September and relished in the cool, damp weather. The native Oregonians... not so much.
Just puts things into perspective, huh?
