Source: US Geological Survey

Seldovia, Alaska — a quintessential sleepy fishing town on the southern edge of the Kenai Peninsula — starts to wake up around late May. 

By then, the first salmon are running. Water taxis come and go. Fishing charters fill. Bellies, too. During a busy year, the community of roughly 500 people doubles in size from the influx of tourists eager to soak up the Arctic sun. 

The summer of 2019 began with its usual verve, and as May turned to June turned to July, the height of the busy season, the sleepy town was still dreaming. “The summer was great. I remember midway through, people were so happy,” says Cassidi Cameron, who at the time was Seldovia’s city manager. “We had all these visitors. Everybody had a smile on their face.”

But as inns brimmed, freezers filled, and coffers replenished, one site in town felt emptier. “And then it started to dawn on us,” Cameron says. “Wow, there hasn’t been very much rain.”

All of Seldovia draws its water from a single reservoir, which sits within city limits no more than 200 feet above sea level. A gravity-fed treatment facility rests below, and water flows naturally into a distribution system. The operation is entirely dependent on rainfall and melting snow, and summer is a time of increased water usage. But between June and August of 2019, fewer than three inches of rain had fallen, roughly half a foot behind seasonal averages.  

Early signs of water shortages began to reveal themselves, though they could be explained away by leakages, which were a common occurrence in town. “Alaska’s infrastructure is very much aged-out, and we were having several issues with our water lines deteriorating and breaking or just plain not working,” Cameron says. Some of Seldovia’s oldest residents didn’t seem too worried, either. They recalled the 1970s and ‘80s, when a booming fish cannery industry meant frequent water overconsumption.

But as the pleasurable string of sunny days turned to unseasonable warmth, Cameron remained diligent. She ordered an underwater scan of the reservoir to check for leaks in its bed. She monitored the water usage of the state ferry, which was still docking in Seldovia three times each week and taking 20,000 to 50,000 gallons of water with each stop. Regular visits to the reservoir revealed it was losing several inches of surface water each day, both to usage and evaporation. By August, consumption spiked at more than 200,000 gallons per day. This seemed like a lot, but Cameron had no historical numbers for comparison. Seldovia held its breath for the reliable late-summer rainy season. But August came and went — nothing. 

What had once seemed an impossibility to Cameron, who moved to the coastal community in 2008 from Idaho and began working for the city in 2009, was suddenly her problem to fix: “How could you have a drought and water shortages in Alaska?” she wondered.

This question was addressed at a standing-room-only town hall meeting — “I’ve never seen one so well-attended,” Cameron recalls. Many residents were well-aware that the reservoir in neighboring Nanwalek had recently been reduced to mud. That Wrangell, too, was running dry. As a potential Day Zero loomed locally, community members were cautioned to limit their showering, cooking, and cleaning. Library hours were shortened. Restaurants switched to disposable utensils. Pallets of drinking water were imported and delivered door-to-door for several weeks. 

The city received a permit to pump water from a regional creek and set up a non-potable tank of gray water for public use. Still, Suzie Stranik, the chair of the Seldovia Arts Council, recalls shutting down her greenhouse early and flushing her toilets sparingly. “It was quite a time here in our community,” she says.

Looming above town, the reservoir dwindled. At its lowest point, it held just 14 days of water. 

Today, Cameron works as the executive director of the Kenai Peninsula Economic Development District. When she recalls that stressful summer, it is above all the massive learning curve, and the lack of readily available science, that floats to the top of her mind. 

“It was a bigger situation than what we were prepared for,” she says. “I needed a crash course in hydrology. It was a reality check.”

Cameron’s experience is not unfamiliar to many leaders in small communities across the Kenai Peninsula and Alaska more broadly. Often, they have few resources — and little time — to prepare for potentially life-altering weather events. Had September not brought rains and cooler temperatures, a bad situation could easily have been worse. 

“I wish there were more resources and data back in 2019 to help me understand our water situation and reservoir capacity,” she says. “A good rule of thumb for the future would be: get a baseline understanding, get familiar with your water source.”

A Beaver Creek Baseline 

Three years later and roughly 80 miles north of Seldovia, U.S. Geological Survey (USGS) scientists Josh Koch, Meg Haserodt, and Andy Leaf eased their kayaks through the freshwater lowlands of the peninsula’s northwestern bogs. Marshes and muck marked the peaty landscape, many hidden ponds threatening to overtop their waders and bows. 

Compared to 2019, the summer of 2022 was significantly wetter. Mosquitos swarmed as the trio installed wells in the shallow peat. For weeks, they measured the interactions of surface water and groundwater, temperature, and vegetation cover along the narrow banks of Beaver Creek. 

A 10-mile-long tributary of the mighty Kenai River, Beaver Creek is a critical watershed for the city of Kenai, the peninsula’s most populous community. Nearly all of its 7,500 year-round residents depend heavily on pumped groundwater for clean drinking water, and thousands of Pacific salmon — the lifeblood of the community’s economy and staple of its meals — have spawned in its gravel for generations. 

“If you live in Kenai, Beaver Creek is your backyard,” says Ben Meyer, an environmental scientist and water quality coordinator with the Kenai Watershed Forum, and a Kenai resident. “For both people and wildlife, it’s a crucial place where water needs intersect.”

Beaver Creek is one of the many watersheds in the Cook Inlet region that is currently intact yet sensitive to shifting climate regimes. Laying within a rain shadow, the area averages only 19 inches of precipitation each year. From May through September, 64 percent of the watershed’s slow-moving streams are supplied by groundwater flows.

“Nineteen inches of precipitation is not a lot,” Leaf says. “Some people have talked about the possibility of the wetlands drying up due to climate change.” Koch adds: “We anticipate these lowland streams to be the ones most potentially impacted by changes to the climate, namely temperature and precipitation.”

On the upper Kenai Peninsula, the annual average temperature is expected to increase by roughly 11 degrees Fahrenheit by 2100, according to the Scenarios Network for Arctic Planning (SNAP). Greater rainfall is also possible, with SNAP models projecting 45 percent more precipitation in spring alone. But deluges may be interspersed with long, dry stretches — a “more rain, more drought” phenomenon expected to affect many parts of south-central and southeast Alaska by mid-century.

“As average air temperatures warm, we anticipate more summers like 2019 could happen,” Meyer says. “It behooves us to be prepared.”

Hot Pockets and Salmon Refugia

With an uncertain climate in mind, USGS and the Kenai Watershed Forum collaborated on a recently published study that establishes baseline streamflow and temperature measurements and future scenarios for Beaver Creek. The team projects that the volume of groundwater and streamflow discharge will remain about the same through 2050. Atmospheric warming, however, will almost certainly affect the water’s quality.

“By far the biggest concern is rising temperatures,” Leaf says. “Both from an acute standpoint, like heat waves, but also warmer temperatures for longer periods of time.”

Between 1950 and 2009, the average summer temperature on the upper Kenai Peninsula was 53.6 degrees Fahrenheit. According to the team’s models, by mid-century, waters near the mouth of Beaver Creek will experience 34 to 63 extra days each year with average weekly temperatures above 55.4 degrees, and 14 to 81 extra days above 59 degrees. 

Extended periods of warmth are likely to produce at least some negative impacts on Pacific salmon incubation, spawning, rearing, and migration. The team also projects “routine exceedances” of 68 degrees — the water temperature at which salmon succumb to disease and heat stress.

“On the Kenai, as for so much of Alaska, important hydrologic questions are related to salmon and salmon habitat,” Koch says.

While identifying areas of concern, the team also looked for bright spots. Their report identifies several streams in the basin that, despite warming air temperatures, are expected to remain cool enough for salmon to thrive or rest within during days of extreme heat. Because Beaver Creek flows through the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge, the team hopes these potential areas of salmon refugia will benefit from dedicated habitat conservation. 

Coho and king salmon, which both migrate through and spawn in lowland waters like Beaver Creek, have seen precipitous declines in the Kenai River watershed in recent years. According to preliminary data from the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, the watershed’s king salmon late run escapement last year was a mere 6,630 — well below the 15,000 – 30,000 goal range — even with no permitted harvest. And while coho escapement is not monitored, their 2024 commercial harvest estimate of 24,750 was 86 percent below the recent 20-year average.

These findings again contribute to a baseline understanding of the watershed’s health, Meyer says, as no escapement, for any salmon species, is currently measured in Beaver Creek specifically.

“It was exciting to see that our model could find and identify those safer locations,” Koch says.  “Hopefully, that’s information that land managers can use to think about preservation of important habitat.”

Future Stressors

By 2046, the city of Kenai is expected to see its population grow by 13.3 percent, relative to 2015. Nearby Soldotna, home to about 4,500 people, is likely to grow at a similar rate. The researchers don’t anticipate water shortages from this alone, though local development could bring additional water demands.

If built, the proposed Alaska LNG pipeline — which would transport natural gas 800 miles through the heart of Alaska, from the North Slope to the Kenai Peninsula — would likely cross through and then terminate adjacent to the Beaver Creek watershed near Nikisi. The area would also host the pipeline’s liquefaction plant, where natural gas is condensed for export. The facility, Meyer says, could potentially draw from the municipality’s water supply. 

An active petroleum exploration project is also underway near the last few miles of Beaver Creek, just outside the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge, though drilling is occurring below the water table. Oil and gas impacts were not considered as part of this study.

“Our goal was not to assign value between different uses, but to simply demonstrate how the water moves and how that might change in the future,” Koch says. “We’re hopeful that we’ve provided new information that can be used by the community to weigh those trade-offs and manage those resources.”

Resource considerations are magnified on the 25,000 square-mile peninsula, where roughly 60,000 people call home. Every community — from Seldovia to Seward, from Kenai to Hope — is connected to Anchorage and the rest of Alaska by just a single road and several small airports. 

Sustainable living is equally sensitive to both longer-term climate changes, Cameron says, as it is to sudden events. 

“It isn’t all about drought,” she says. “How do you manage your resources in the event of a catastrophe, or something significant that affects basic living needs? Water is one of them, and we need to raise awareness for planning and preparation.”

The peninsula’s unique geography and location makes it susceptible to natural disasters including landslides, earthquakes, tsunamis, and the expected eruption of Mt. Spurr, a stratovolcano just 60 miles from Kenai. Such events can suddenly make any given town, possibly in crisis, unreachable. Having reliable science during times of need is crucial, the researchers say. They hope similar studies will be a priority for other Kenai communities soon.

“Generating baseline data sets can be challenging to convince people to fund,” Haserodt says. “But they’re really useful. They’re an investment in our understanding of the future of our water resources and ability to make data-driven management decisions.”

This news announcement was written by Christian Thorsberg, University of Alaska Fairbanks. Read the original post on the Alaska CASC website: Kenai Peninsula Communities Struggle for Baseline Water Data Amid Climate Uncertainty | AK CASC

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