When weary Mormon pioneers first glimpsed the vast expanse of the Great Salt Lake in July 1847, cresting the formidable Wasatch Mountains, they could scarcely believe their eyes. This was no illusion, but a monumental body of water, saline though it was, originating from the snowmelt of Utah’s towering mountain ranges, including the Wasatch they had just traversed and the Uintas. Even amidst the seemingly arid landscape, they observed creeks cascading from alpine valleys, coalescing into a river they christened the Jordan, which ultimately flowed into the immense, salty lake. Their visionary leader, Brigham Young, upon beholding this scene, famously declared, "It is enough. This is the right place."

From this pivotal moment, the settlers established Great Salt Lake City, a settlement that would later have its name shortened in 1868. They immediately set about constructing dams and diverting water from the creeks, transforming the arid terrain into a flourishing, irrigated sanctuary they envisioned as Zion. The Great Salt Lake itself stands as the largest natural lake west of the Mississippi River and the most substantial saltwater lake in the Western Hemisphere. Historically, its surface area fluctuated between 1,700 and 2,000 square miles, a direct reflection of annual precipitation levels, before significant river diversions began in the 20th century. Crucially, in the heart of the arid American West, this lake serves as a vital artery for the Pacific Flyway, a migratory superhighway connecting South America to the Arctic. Each year, it supports over 10 million migratory birds from more than 230 species, making its role in avian conservation incalculable. It is a critical refuge for up to 60% of the world’s Wilson’s phalaropes, approximately a quarter of North America’s snowy plovers and pintail ducks, between 10% and 20% of its white pelicans, and a staggering 50% to 90% of its eared grebes, which congregate there in late summer to undergo their molting and fatten themselves on brine shrimp in preparation for their arduous journey south.

The Great Salt Lake is a natural marvel, both unique and exceptionally fragile, its very existence dependent on the continuous influx of freshwater to sustain its brackish wetlands, which teem with remarkable biodiversity. Any significant degradation, let alone its complete disappearance, would trigger devastating consequences, not only for bird populations across the Western Hemisphere but also for the robust local economy, valued at $1.9 billion, and critically, for the respiratory health of the nearly 2.7 million residents inhabiting the four-county megalopolis known as the Wasatch Front – the overwhelming majority of Utah’s total population of 3.5 million.

Despite its profound ecological and economic importance, and the clear and present danger it faces, the state of Utah appears to be on a path that actively contributes to its diminishment. The lake’s primary freshwater sources are the Jordan, Weber, and Bear Rivers, all of which have experienced substantial diversions before reaching their ultimate destination. Consequently, freshwater inflows have plummeted by approximately 40% since the late 1980s, resulting in an alarming 64% reduction in water volume. The lake’s water level has dropped a staggering 11 feet since the 19th century. This dramatic shrinkage, which has reduced the lake to nearly half its historical average size, does more than just increase salinity, thereby imperiling its delicate ecosystems; it has exposed close to a thousand square miles of dry lakebed, known as playa, to the relentless forces of wind. These winds then whip up dust laden with heavy metals and toxic compounds, originating from both natural geological deposits and the intensive mining and mineral extraction activities that have long characterized the region surrounding the lake. A significant 2020 study published in the journal Atmospheric Environment highlighted the dire consequences, estimating that air pollution, a substantial portion of which is directly linked to the region’s severe dust storms, is responsible for between 2,480 and 8,000 premature deaths annually, reduces average life expectancy by up to 3.6 years, and imposes an economic burden on Utahns ranging from $750 million to $3.3 billion each year. The Wasatch Front, one of the nation’s most rapidly growing metropolitan areas, is experiencing a growing exodus of residents who cite worsening air pollution as a primary reason for their departure.

In 2022, the Great Salt Lake reached its lowest recorded level in history, covering an area of a mere 888 square miles. As dust storms intensified in frequency and severity, becoming impossible to ignore and intensifying public calls for action, Utah Governor Spencer Cox offered a solution that many found inadequate: he urged Utahns to pray for rain.

However, the lake’s precipitous decline is not attributable to divine intervention or a lack of precipitation, though diminished river flows due to global warming are indeed exacerbating the problem. The principal driver of this crisis is the excessive consumption of water, a direct consequence of decades of policy decisions by Utah politicians, including Governor Cox, and the public institutions tasked with managing the state’s precious water resources. These entities have demonstrably failed to heed the wisdom of Brigham Young’s initial observation: "It is enough."

Utah, a state defined by its arid climate, exhibits the second-highest per capita water usage in the United States, surpassed only by its neighboring state, Idaho. The vast majority of municipal water consumption is dedicated to irrigating lawns, golf courses, sidewalks, driveways, and streets; a striking 60% of household water use is directed towards outdoor landscaping, a figure significantly higher than the national average of 30%. Much of this landscaping consists of lawns, with an estimated 300,000 acres of grass, primarily Kentucky bluegrass, requiring an average of 24 to 30 inches of water over its growing season – essentially two or more feet of water simply to maintain its verdant appearance. Urban Utah, or more accurately, suburban Utah, which outside of downtown Salt Lake City is characterized by single-family homes, presents a mirage-like expanse of green in the desert: endless miles of manicured lawns, an irrigated "Kentucky beyond the 100th Meridian."

This pervasive cultivation of greenery is sustained by deeply flawed policy incentives, chief among them the deliberate obfuscation of water’s true cost. Utah boasts the lowest municipal water rates in the U.S., thereby encouraging water wastage among its residents who perceive little financial consequence for their consumption. This perception, however, is misleading. Utah relies more heavily on property taxes to fund its water infrastructure than any other Western state. A substantial portion of these taxes – levied on homes, businesses, vehicles, and other properties – is allocated to the construction and maintenance of water diversion and delivery systems, effectively masking the actual cost of water. In many instances, property taxes constitute a larger share of a water district’s revenue than water sales, with some rural districts deriving 75% to 100% of their income from these taxes, rendering the cost of water virtually invisible to the end-user.

This dynamic of artificially low water prices and hidden costs fuels high consumption, which in turn is used to justify the need for further water development projects. Astonishingly, despite the evident shrinkage of the Great Salt Lake and its escalating catastrophic consequences, the state is proceeding with ambitious plans to divert an additional 200,000 acre-feet of water annually from the Bear River through a 90-mile pipeline. This massive undertaking is primarily intended to support the expansion of suburban lawns. For perspective, this volume of water exceeds the annual consumption of the entire 4 million residents of the City of Los Angeles. The water is demonstrably not needed, and the substantial cost, projected to be billions of dollars over decades, will ultimately be borne by future generations of Utah taxpayers.

If the Bear River Development project moves forward as planned, it will effectively signal the demise of the Great Salt Lake. The question then arises: how do Governor Cox and other elected officials anticipate avoiding accountability for such a decision? The answer lies within the state’s deeply entrenched and dysfunctional institutional framework.

Even more obscured than the hidden cost of water is the intricate network of vested interests that actively promote and profit from water projects. This includes legislators, who often possess business interests in the very regions slated for these projects, water district employees, influential lobbyists, and project contractors. By law, water districts possess unfettered authority to lobby and fund lobbying efforts, while remaining shielded from public scrutiny. The Water District Water Development Council, effectively the lobbying arm of the water industry, enjoys exemption from all open government laws that mandate public meetings and the dissemination of meeting minutes, making it one of the few Utah entities operating under such protective secrecy.

Back in 1951, the Utah Legislature enacted the Water Conservancy District Act, which facilitated the establishment of independent water conservancy districts. While many of these districts do not directly supply water to consumers, they instead provide wholesale water to municipalities or other retail water providers. Nevertheless, all are empowered to issue bonds and levy property taxes, even without approved project expenditures. Crucially, these taxes are not subject to any "sunset" provisions and tend to accumulate in slush funds, which are then actively targeted by project proponents and lobbyists seeking to advance their agendas.

Compounding these systemic issues, this past February, the Utah Legislature passed, and Governor Cox signed, House Bill 392. This legislation grants the state the unprecedented power to undermine lawsuits aimed at halting its actions by enabling blatant judge-shopping. At its sole and absolute discretion, the state can remove a case from a particular district judge and reassign it to a hand-picked three-judge panel, while simultaneously remaining immune from any challenge or judicial review. This draconian measure effectively prohibits advocacy groups, such as the Utah Rivers Council, which have long championed the protection of the lake and fought to block ill-conceived water projects, from mounting any meaningful defense.

All of this mismanagement, deliberate obfuscation, and what amounts to systemic corruption, creates a perilous pathway toward the destruction of not only the irreplaceable Great Salt Lake but also all water resources and water-dependent ecosystems within Utah. It is a scenario that would surely cause Brigham Young to turn in his grave.