Democratic Gov. Tony Evers and Republican lawmakers continue to dig in their heels during a yearslong tug-of-war over how regulators should hold property owners liable for contamination caused by “forever chemicals” known as PFAS.

They are pushing competing proposals to protect so-called innocent landowners — those who didn’t knowingly cause their PFAS pollution — from liability under Wisconsin’s decades-old environmental cleanup law.

Evers’ two-year budget proposal, introduced last week, exempts some owners of residential and agricultural land. The proposal would also fund testing and cleanups of affected properties.

His budget takes a narrower tack than the approach spearheaded by a Republican who has long sought to protect innocent landowners.

During the previous legislative session, Sen. Eric Wimberger of Oconto co-authored an innocent landowner bill that lawmakers passed along party lines before an Evers veto.

The governor accused Republicans of using farmers as “scapegoats” to constrain state authority. His staff warned that if Republicans present the same proposal this session, Evers might veto it again.

Wimberger says Evers’ staff has failed to respond to his requests for an outline of innocent landowner exemptions Evers would support. Wimberger is now circulating two draft bills co-authored with state Rep. Jeff Mursau, R-Crivitz, that contain provisions virtually identical to the vetoed legislation. Those include grants for municipalities and owners of PFAS-contaminated properties.

The proposals also would limit the Department of Natural Resources’ power to require property owners to pay for cleanups and extend liability exemptions to certain businesses and municipalities.

“The governor needlessly vetoed the plan over protections for innocent landowners,” Wimberger said in a statement. “Now, after delaying this relief for a year, he says he wants to protect innocent landowners. While it’s encouraging to see him change his mind, he is no champion for pollution victims.”

How does the state handle PFAS-contaminated farmland?

Wisconsin’s spills law requires reporting and cleanup by parties that pollute air, soil or water or if they discover contamination from a past owner. That is because, in part, allowing pollution to remain on the landscape could be more dangerous to human health than the initial spill.

The DNR has held parties liable for PFAS contamination they didn’t cause but also has exercised discretion by seeking remediation from past spillers instead of current property owners. 

PFAS, short for per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, are a family of more than 12,000 compounds commonly found in consumer products like food wrappers, nonstick pans and raincoats along with firefighting foam used to smother hot blazes. Some are toxic.

The chemicals pass through the waste stream and into sewage treatment plants, which commonly contract with farmers to accept processed sludge as fertilizer.

Testing is now unearthing PFAS on cropland from Maine to Texas. Several hot spots are located in Wisconsin too, among the more than 100 PFAS-contaminated case files the DNR currently monitors.

The agency maintains it has never, and has no plans to, enforce the spills law against a property owner who unknowingly received PFAS-contaminated fertilizer. But Republican lawmakers don’t trust those promises.

How do the budget and draft bill proposals compare?

Evers’ bill would exempt only residential and agricultural properties polluted with PFAS-contaminated sludge. Affected landowners would have to provide the DNR access to their property for cleanup and not worsen the contamination.

Evers’ innocent landowner exemption would sunset by 2036. 

Meanwhile, the Republican draft bills would prevent the DNR from enforcing the spills law when the responsible party qualifies as an innocent landowner and allow the department to clean up its property at its own expense.

The first bill focuses on innocent landowner provisions, while the second, larger proposal adds grant programs without specifying appropriations. Wimberger explained introducing two bills would “ensure the victims of PFAS pollution get the debate they deserve” and prevent Democrats from “playing politics” with PFAS funding and policy.

Unlike Evers’ budget proposal, the draft bills don’t release $125 million in aid to PFAS-affected communities that has sat in a trust fund for 18 months.

The Legislature allocated the funds in the previous two-year budget, but its GOP-controlled finance committee hasn’t transferred the cash to the DNR.

Lawmakers in both parties have bristled over the languishing money, with Democrats contending the committee could transfer it without passing a new law. The nonpartisan Wisconsin Legislative Council says lawmakers would be on “relatively firm legal footing” if they did so.

Republicans, meanwhile, say transferring the dollars without limiting DNR enforcement powers would not effectively help impacted landowners. They say the DNR could treat a landowner’s request for state assistance as an invitation for punishment.

The previous, vetoed bill garnered support from all three Wisconsin local government associations, but environmental groups, the DNR and Evers said it shifted PFAS cleanup costs to taxpayers.

Environmental groups also feared Republicans on the finance committee would continue withholding the $125 million even if the legislation had advanced — protracting the stalemate while weakening the DNR.

Nor would risking “unintended consequences” of weakening the spills law be worth $125 million, which would scratch the surface of remediation costs, environmental critics said.

Expenses in Marinette County alone, which is coping with PFAS contamination linked to a firefighter training site owned by Johnson Controls International, already exceed that amount.

The Milwaukee Business Journal reported the company upped its reserves by $255 million to finance the cleanup. With the increase, the company has recorded charges of about $400 million since 2019.

Wisconsin Watch is a nonprofit, nonpartisan newsroom. Subscribe to our newsletters for original stories and our Friday news roundup.

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The U.S. Department of Agriculture announced late Friday afternoon that some of its programs funding renewable energy projects are “operating as normal,” but left open the question of whether billions more in loans and grants promised to farmers, small rural businesses and electric cooperatives would be honored. 

The day before, Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins had said the department would continue to review spending under the Biden administration’s sweeping climate law, the Inflation Reduction Act, “to ensure that programs are focused on supporting farmers and ranchers” and not “far-left climate programs.”

Among those waiting for clarity are Travis and Amy Forgues of western Wisconsin. About two years ago, the couple bought the Hidden Springs Creamery, an 80-acre sheep dairy nestled in the hills of Westby, Wisconsin. Twice a day they milk 300 sheep to make cheese, including a creamy feta that last year won second place in the American Cheese Society’s annual competition.

As part of their effort to modernize the farm, the Forgueses decided to install a solar array to power their operation. To offset the $134,000 cost of installation, they applied for a $56,000 Rural Energy for America Program (REAP) grant from the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

Last year, they got approved for the grant and built the solar array, never doubting that the USDA would pay once the project was completed, as outlined in the contract they signed with the feds. 

But last week, the Forgueses said they received an email from the USDA saying the program had been paused, leaving them scrambling to figure out how to pay for the rest of their new solar array.

“You can’t have people spend this kind of money and then just pull the rug from (them),” said Travis Forgues. “I didn’t spend the money thinking maybe I’ll get it back. I spent the money because we had a signed contract.”

The pause was the result of an executive order issued by President Donald Trump on his first day in office freezing hundreds of billions of dollars for renewable energy — including REAP.

At least 7,500 farms and rural businesses across the country have received REAP grants from the USDA since 2023, according to a Floodlight analysis of USDA grant data.

On Friday, a USDA spokesperson said some funding for REAP would operate as normal, but only if it came through the Farm Bill. That apparently won’t help the Forgueses or potentially thousands of other farmers like them who had more than 25% of their project paid for by the USDA. That’s the cutoff point where funding from the Farm Bill stopped and funding from the Inflation Reduction Act started.

Since 2023, when Inflation Reduction Act funding became available, the USDA has given or loaned approximately $21.3 billion through programs that could be used to support renewable energy in rural areas, according to a Floodlight analysis of agency data.

The legality of the continued freeze in federal funding remains unclear.

On Friday, a federal judge in Rhode Island kept in place a temporary restraining order from Jan. 31 that ordered the Trump administration to stop withholding federal funds appropriated by Congress. Attorneys general from 22 states and the District of Columbia, led by New York, argued that the broad funding freeze violated the separation of powers and several other laws.

The lone attorney representing the Trump administration argued that the agencies were exercising their lawful discretion.

Rural electric companies also hit

Some programs, like REAP, go directly to farmers looking to place solar panels or wind turbines on their land. Others, like the New Era program, help rural electric cooperatives build renewable energy to lower members’ monthly bills. New Era was not among the programs cited by the USDA spokesperson as operating as normal.

The Yampa Valley Electric Association, which serves Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and parts of Wyoming, expected to get $50 million from the USDA’s New Era program, according to Carly Davidson, the co-op’s public relations specialist. 

New Era is the USDA program dedicated solely to renewables that has allocated the most money, more than $4.3 billion in grants since 2023, according to a Floodlight analysis. 

The Yampa Valley association was planning to use the money to purchase renewable energy to keep electricity costs low for its members, Davidson wrote in a statement. The project is still in the planning stages, but it would provide both solar generation and battery storage, according to Yampa Valley Electric. 

Connexus Energy, Minnesota’s largest consumer-owned electric cooperative, was hoping to use its $170 million in New Era grants to build out its renewable generation portfolio, spokesperson Stacy Downs said. The co-op, which serves over 146,000 customers, still hopes the funds will come through so it can add solar, wind and hydropower, as well as battery storage, Downs said, adding, “We’re still hoping to be receiving them.”

Electric infrastructure program intact

The largest USDA energy program, the Electric Infrastructure Loan and Loan Guarantee Program, offers money to rural co-ops, which use it to expand or upgrade their power grids with new transmission lines and smart-grid technology. That program, which allows for the connection of more renewables, has loaned out $12 billion since 2023. 

On Friday, a USDA spokesperson stated that the program was operating as normal, along with four other USDA programs that could potentially be used to reduce carbon emissions: Rural Energy Savings Program, REAP Program with funding appropriated through the Farm Bill, Guaranteed Underwriter Program, and High Energy Cost Grants.

“These freezes seem to be intentionally chaotic and unclear,” said Hannah Smith-Brubaker, executive director of Pasa Sustainable Agriculture, a nonprofit that helps farmers adopt sustainable practices and that also receives money from the USDA.

“We are fielding calls every day from farmers who are mid-project, and their contractor wants to know when they’re going to be paid.”

Rural businesses, farmers still waiting 

Patrick Hagar, co-owner of Squashington Farm near Mount Horeb, Wisconsin, is feeling that uncertainty. Hagar and his wife purchased a 20-acre farm three years ago in southern Wisconsin, where they grow organic produce.

Last fall, they put money down to purchase a solar array that will end up costing them $50,000, he said. They were promised $15,000 back from the USDA through a REAP grant.

“The vast majority of the fossil fuel energy and carbon outputs are being put forth by a small (group) of really wealthy businesses,” Hagar said. “I don’t think that absolves small farms and small businesses from trying to do what they can.” 

But, he added, “It’s frustrating to have a signed contract for something, and feel like, you know, you live in a country where a signed contract doesn’t mean what a signed contract has always meant.”

And it’s not just farmers affected by the freeze. Small rural business owners who qualify for various USDA renewable grants and loans are also waiting to see what happens with USDA’s review of funding — money the agency has already agreed to pay.

Atul Patel, owner of the Holiday Inn in Frackville, Pennsylvania, planned to install a solar system on his hotel costing just over $360,000.

“We would like to be energy independent,” Patel said. “In this area, the lights flicker a lot.”

Patel said he put 20% down on the project and was planning to finish the installation once the weather improved in the spring. 

He added, “Our fingers are crossed.”

Floodlight is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates the powerful interests stalling climate action.

‘Chaotic’ USDA funding freeze stalls rural renewable projects is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Peat bogs sequester a massive amount of the Earth’s carbon dioxide. But even as scientists work to better understand bogs’ sequestration, the wetlands are under threat.

On a cold winter afternoon, naturalist and educator Mary Colwell guided visitors on a chilly tour of the Volo Bog Natural Area in northern Illinois. 

Crouching down from a boardwalk that runs through the wetland, Colwell pointed to one of the stars of the tour: sphagnum moss. With her encouragement, the group touched the little branch-like leaves of the pale green moss growing at the base of a nearby tree.

“Then in warmer weather, this is so soft,” Colwell said. “It’s unreal.”

Bog ecosystems are some of the most efficient carbon storage ecosystems in the world. They cover just 3% of the Earth’s surface, yet hold up to 30% of global carbon.

The bog’s keystone species, sphagnum moss, plays a key role in its storage capacity. Sphagnum acts like a sponge — it holds up to 20 times its weight in water.

“Sphagnum moss itself is incredible,” Colwell noted. “It’s very slow-growing.”

It grows so slowly, in fact, that it can take thousands and thousands of years for a peat bog to develop. Volo Bog started to form from a glacial lake more than 6,000 years ago. It’s still encroaching on the center of the lake, called the “eye” of Volo Bog.

But while bog ecosystems provide habitat, filter water and store carbon, they have been disappearing for decades. Wisconsin has lost half of its wetlands. In Illinois, more than 90% of wetlands have been lost. There are about 110 million acres in the United States, with more than half in Alaska — but nearly 70% have been drained and developed over the past 100 years. 

Unlocking sphagnum moss’s secrets 

Scientists think sphagnum moss may hold important lessons about carbon dioxide sequestration, but there’s much they don’t know. 

Sona Pandey is the principal researcher at the Danforth Plant Science Center in the St. Louis suburbs and is part of a team researching sequestration and bogs. 

“The first time I saw a peat moss under the microscope I just literally fell in love with it,” Pandey said. “That’s the only way to describe it. It’s beautiful to look at.”

Pandey’s research team is growing moss in a lab, studying its DNA, and trying to figure out how it is threatened by climate change — and how it could be a solution. 

Moss excels at storing carbon. It thrives in waterlogged, acidic conditions. It doesn’t decompose, acting almost like a giant mat of living carbon. 

But when it’s threatened, that carbon has to go somewhere. The main threat to bogs – draining for development and agriculture – exposes these waterlogged species to air, which kick-starts the decomposition process from microbes. 

“It is a possibility that all the carbon which is stored in peat bogs at the moment will be released to the atmosphere,” Pandey said, noting how it will become a greenhouse gas.

She said if we understand these mosses on a microscopic level, scientists and conservationists can better protect and restore them on a larger scale. Her research could lead to making informed decisions about which species would be more successful to reintroduce as part of potential restoration projects.

Protecting what’s left 

Historically, bogs have been undervalued, often drained to make land more usable.

Trisha Atwood, an associate professor and ecosystem ecologist at Utah State University, said people are slowly beginning to see them in a new light.

“There has been substantial changes in people’s perception of these wetlands just because they don’t typically hit people’s top 10 most beautiful places,” Atwood said. “Governments are starting to realize that they have these other benefits.”

While forests and forest soil often get attention for their carbon sequestration, Atwood said wetlands are even more important, storing 30 to 50 times faster and at a higher rate than other systems.

“They’re like no other ecosystem on Earth,” she said.

Even as some aspects of wetlands are seen as more valuable, a 2023 Supreme Court decision rolled back most existing protections for these ecosystems. The Sackett v. The EPA decision ruled that the Clean Water Act doesn’t protect wetlands that aren’t continuously connected to bigger bodies of water. The decision has been criticized for putting ecosystems, like bogs, at risk. 

Rebecca Hammer is an attorney for the freshwater ecosystems team at the Natural Resources Defense Council, an environmental advocacy group. She said peat bogs are particularly affected by the Sackett decision because they are mostly isolated from larger bodies of water.

“They generally begin their life as a lake that doesn’t have a drainage or connection to another water body, which allows vegetation and plant material to collect,” she said, “and the sphagnum mosses that grow there to collect over 1000s of years.”

About half of U.S. states have existing legal protections for wetlands, but these ecosystems in 24 states are left without any protections, legal or otherwise.

There are bogs scattered throughout the Mississippi River basin all the way down to the coast. 

Hammer said the decision could have a near-permanent effect on bogs.

“When peat bogs are destroyed or polluted, affected by development, we lose all of those benefits,” she said. “We really can’t replicate peat bogs. They take thousands of years to form. So once they’re gone, they’re gone.”

Colwell, who takes visitors on tours at the Volo Bog, says more needs to be done to protect what’s left. 

“We’re trying to restore these natural systems,” she said, “and when we restore them, they can increase the amount of CO2 that they will take.”

This story is a product of the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an independent reporting network based at the University of Missouri, of which Wisconsin Watch is a member, in partnership with Harvest Public Media, a collaboration of public media newsrooms in the Midwest. Sign up for Wisconsin Watch’s newsletters to get our news straight to your inbox.

Bogs hold a climate solution through carbon capture, but many have been drained is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

A year and a half after Wisconsin lawmakers earmarked $125 million to clean up toxic “forever chemicals” known as PFAS, the funds have yet to flow to contaminated communities.

That’s due to a legal and philosophical debate over the limits of government power and the potentially harsh consequences of a decades-old environmental law.

Lawmakers continue to hash out the rules to guide who would receive the money and, more importantly, the legal risks for entities that request it.

The Legislature’s GOP-controlled finance committee won’t transfer the cash designated to address Wisconsin’s PFAS problem to the state Department of Natural Resources, so it continues to accumulate interest in a trust fund.

Democratic Gov. Tony Evers is now trying again — this time, embracing an idea penned by the Republican legislators with whom he sparred.

Evers’ plans, to be included in his upcoming budget proposal, include a cash infusion that expands the trust fund balance to $145 million, along with a provision contained in a GOP-authored PFAS bill that Evers vetoed last year.

That measure, introduced in 2023 by Sen. Eric Wimberger, R-Oconto, created grants for municipalities and owners of PFAS-contaminated properties — so-called “innocent landowners” — who didn’t cause their pollution.

It also truncated the DNR’s power to mandate cleanups.

But in his new budget proposal, Evers hopes to carve what appears to be a narrow liability exemption.

It would only apply to cropland that was polluted with PFAS when the owner unknowingly received contaminated fertilizer derived from sewage sludge. The Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources already has said it doesn’t enforce its cleanup policy under those circumstances.

What are PFAS?

PFAS, short for per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, are a family of more than 12,000 compounds commonly found in consumer products like food wrappers, nonstick pans and raincoats along with special firefighting foam that can extinguish the hottest of blazes.

The intractable chemicals are turning up in drinking water around the country. In 2022, the EPA released health advisories, suggesting virtually no amount of several PFAS is safe for consumption.

The DNR is currently monitoring PFAS contamination at more than 100 sites.

What are state cleanup requirements?

State rules require reporting and environmental restoration by parties that pollute air, soil or water or discover past contamination on their property even if they aren’t directly responsible.

The DNR holds parties liable for PFAS contamination they didn’t cause but also exercises discretion to force past spillers to clean up instead of current property owners. The law also under certain circumstances exempts neighbors of contaminated properties from liability when a spill crosses property lines.

The department’s authority comes from Wisconsin’s spills law, passed in 1978. The Wisconsin Supreme Court affirmed that legislators intended to see pollution cleaned up regardless of who caused it. Failing to do so, it said, is just as, if not more, dangerous to human health than the initial spill.

The power of Wisconsin’s spills law has come under scrutiny in recent years as the scale of PFAS cleanup costs comes to light.

What do the Senate bill’s backers dislike about current policy?

Last session’s Senate bill would have prevented the DNR from enforcing provisions of the spills law when the responsible party qualifies as an innocent landowner and allows the department to clean up its property at the agency’s expense.

Wimberger said the measure would prevent the financial ruin of landowners who seek help from the department to address PFAS pollution or obtain clean water, without which their “application for a grant is a self-incriminating statement they have a polluted property and are an emitter.”

The threat of enforcement against the owner of a contaminated property might cause banks to think twice about refinancing a loan or even require a borrower to pay up in full, he said. Looming enforcement could increase the difficulty of selling a property.

At its most pernicious, the law might drive property owners to avoid testing for pollutants, risking their health for fear of the financial consequences.

Is this actually happening to landowners?

Wimberger has often portrayed innocent landowners as homeowners or farmers who unknowingly had PFAS-containing inputs spread atop their fields.

But last year, Midwest Environmental Advocates, which opposed the bill, reviewed each of the 130 PFAS spill cases the department reported online.

The firm determined only seven cases applied to individuals and none concerned farmers whose contamination originated from PFAS-contaminated fertilizer. Most concerned businesses like chemical and energy companies, defense contractors and salvage yards.

What impacts would the Republican proposal have?

Wimberger said department promises to exempt farmers don’t suffice, and throwing money at the problem is ineffective unless lawmakers enact enforcement guardrails.

Although the GOP bill would have protected individuals, liability exemptions also could extend to businesses like private landfills or paper mills that spread pulp and industrial sludge onto farm fields.

A list of more than 20 potential innocents compiled by one of the bill’s co-authors includes an electric transmission company whose transformer exploded in 2019 and the city of La Crosse, which the state currently holds responsible for PFAS contamination caused by the city’s fire department at its municipal airport. The bill’s backers say the property owners lacked a choice when firefighters sprayed the PFAS-containing foam.

Attorneys from the nonpartisan Legislative Council told lawmakers PFAS manufacturers and companies that test those chemicals likely wouldn’t qualify as innocent landowners. 

However, the proposal would have prevented the DNR from enforcing cleanup laws against companies based on PFAS samples taken from company properties unless the department could show the contamination exceeded a government standard.

But Wisconsin lacks PFAS standards for groundwater, and GOP-backed bureaucratic hurdles, including a 30-month time limit on the rulemaking process, have encumbered efforts to create them.

The state’s second attempt will expire in March. 

Evers recently jump-started a new effort to create PFAS groundwater rules and proposed an exemption from the usual holdups.

“Safe drinking water should not be a partisan issue, and yet it has been,” said Marinette City Council member and clean water advocate Doug Oitzinger, whose county is coping with PFAS contamination linked to a firefighter training site owned by Johnson Controls International. “We have failed utterly as a state to have environmental laws that protect us when it comes to PFAS.”

What does Evers say he’ll include in his upcoming budget?

Evers’ proposal would transfer money to the DNR for PFAS testing and removal at public drinking water systems, testing of private wells, grants to stem the release of PFAS into the environment, research into PFAS destruction methods and statewide PFAS testing. Evers also would allocate $7 million to innocent landowners for testing and cleanup.

He continues to call for the release of the PFAS trust fund money, the balance of which now stands at $127.1 million, including unspent funds from a state firefighting foam cleanup program.

“We cannot afford more years of inaction and obstruction,” Evers said in a statement. “I urge Republicans and Democrats to work together to do what’s best for our kids and Wisconsin’s families by investing in critical efforts to improve water quality.”

But potential spills law impacts remain unknown until the governor’s budget clarifies the scope of liability protections Evers hopes to create.

“I’ve been waiting for months for the governor to clarify his definition of an ‘innocent landowner,’ and he has refused to respond to my requests,” Wimberger said in a statement.

Evers’ staff have said the governor remains opposed to limiting department authority, and if Republicans present a proposal identical to last session’s bill, he might veto it again.

Wisconsin Watch is a nonprofit, nonpartisan newsroom. Subscribe to our newsletters for original stories and our Friday news roundup.

Wisconsin is still sitting on $125 million for PFAS cleanup is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Katie McCullough loved Arizona winters, but hot summers could be a drag. After purchasing a recreational vehicle, she spent time trekking cross-country to deliver shelter dogs to a no-kill rescue. 

McCullough, 56, visited friends and family, too, with her own canine pack — then, Rosy, Eddie Spaghetti, Ky, Pally, Duke, Nudge and Nutter Butter — a tossed salad of breeds.

During the pandemic summer of 2020, she once again loaded her RV and found respite in Dane County public parks. Why not make Wisconsin a half-year thing, she thought, with space for her and the pups?

McCullough, who works in cybersecurity, heard about 36 acres near the village of Rio. She purchased the property, sight unseen, and its spring-fed pond the following year.

“I don’t regret it at all,” McCullough said with a laugh.

She soon met the neighbors — about 10 furry lodge dwellers.

McCullough realized she had a beaver problem.

They live atop a small muddy island and constructed a dam roughly a decade ago. Fuzzy cattails grow across its 20-foot breadth. The dam left a once-lovely creek bone dry. 

Backed-up water enlarged the surrounding marsh and pond, where sandhill cranes, geese and ducks meander through a boggy stew of algae, lily pads and submerged logs.

Rooted in sodden ground, tall oaks — some more than 100 years old — withered and toppled. McCullough couldn’t access several acres of her property. 

Friends, family and locals recommended trapping the rodents and blowing the dam sky-high with Tannerite. 

The solution seemed dramatic and destructive.

“We’re all here for a purpose, right? To think that beavers are just born a nuisance,” McCullough said. “It’s tough because some populations do have to be controlled if there aren’t natural predators. But I’m not good at being a natural predator.”

Surely, other options besides trapping or bystanding existed.

Damming behavior

Beavers once numbered between 60 million and 400 million across the North American landscape, but development and unregulated hunting nearly decimated them. Twentieth-century conservation efforts helped beavers recover somewhat — to an estimated 1.5% to 20% of their historical population.

Conflicts with humans ensued as beavers returned to their former ranges: chewing trees, plugging culverts, flooding roads and farm fields.

Few studies quantify the costs of beaver damage, and the limited data are decades old. One pinned annual timber losses in Mississippi at $621 million, adjusted for inflation, while another determined that every dollar spent on beaver control saved that state $40 to $90.

Traditional responses involve trapping and dam breaching, but generally, these interventions require regular enforcement because new beavers move in.

Surveys show trapping support increases when people experience beaver-related damage, but an expanding body of research showcasing beavers’ ecosystem and economic benefits is drawing attention to the drawbacks of removal.

When beavers remain on the landscape, they create wetlands, which mitigate climate change impacts like drought, wildfires and flooding — problems increasingly seen in the Midwest. Other wildlife also depends on the habitat.

A growing chorus of advocates and ecological consultants are popularizing flow control devices, a solution to beaver flooding problems. They limit beavers’ damming behavior and reduce impacts on human infrastructure.

Hand-constructed with flexible plastic pipes and wire fencing, several types exist: pond levelers, culvert fences and decoy dams. Some bear trademarks like Beaver Deceiver and Castor Master.

They aim to reduce the desirability of potential dam sites, redirect beavers’ attention or “sneak” pond water away without attracting their notice. And they aren’t terribly common in Wisconsin. 

McCullough opted for coexistence.

State wildlife agencies generally regulate a trapping season to manage beaver populations and minimize property damage. Wisconsin’s forestry and fisheries divisions, dozens of municipalities, railroad companies and some tribal governments also contract with the U.S. Department of Agriculture to remove beavers and dams from designated lands and waters.

The state imposes few restrictions for handling nuisance beavers on private property.

The Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources doesn’t remove them at landowner request or offer damage compensation, but people may hunt or trap beavers and remove their dams on their property without obtaining a license.

If a beaver dam causes damage to a neighboring property, the injured party may enter the property where the dam lies and remove it without being charged with trespassing.

There also are risks to ignoring one’s beavers. 

People who own or lease beaver-occupied land and don’t allow their neighbors to remove them are liable for damages.

Ditching dynamite

But Wisconsin wildlife managers recommend people consider alternatives before killing the animals, including flow devices like pond levelers.

They date to at least the 1920s when USDA Chief Field Naturalist Vernon Bailey proposed using an “entirely successful” drainage pipe constructed with logs and threaded through the dam.

“It is useless to tear out or dynamite beaver dams, as the beavers, if active, will replace them almost as fast as destroyed,” he remarked.

Subsequent testing indicated that early levelers sometimes failed, but the concept has evolved.

Modern devices control water height using a flexible plastic tube resting on a pond’s bottom. A cage surrounds the intake and prevents beavers from swimming close enough to detect flowing water, which researchers believe triggers their building itch. The other end of the tube passes through the dam, forming a permanent leak.

Installers say levelers, which cost $2,000 to $4,000, function for about 10 years, and annual maintenance takes less than an hour. They can modify setups to accommodate fish passage, narrow and shallow streams, large ponds and downstream beaver dams.

“No two beaver situations are the same,” said Massachusetts-based Beaver Solutions owner Mike Callahan, who has installed more than 2,000 flow devices and trains consultants. “The best solutions obviously are going to be ones that work for the beavers and that work for us.”

States throughout the Mississippi River basin, including Illinois, Kentucky, Minnesota and Missouri, recommend flow devices, but with varying awareness of best practices. The Arkansas Game and Fish Commission and University Extension even advertised Bailey’s design from 1922.

Pond levelers relatively uncommon in Wisconsin

Wisconsin residents have constructed beaver pond levelers, as have the Department of Natural Resources and USDA. But state natural resources staff say they rarely receive inquiries.

Despite their simple design, obtaining state authorization to install a flow device often takes longer than other activities like small-scale dredging and riprap installation because Wisconsin lacks a standard pond leveler permit.

Projects can vary across designs, siting and placement, with potentially significant impacts to where and how pond water flows, said Crystal vonHoldt, department waterways policy coordinator.

That makes it hard to develop a catch-all permit, but time-pressed agency staff certainly welcome any opportunity to streamline their review process, she said.

The law requires employees to evaluate impacts to water quality, navigation, wildlife, scenic beauty and public access to boating and fishing.

A department staff member told McCullough’s contractor and restoration ecologist Clay Frazer — who has overseen multiple beaver-related projects in Wisconsin like mock beaver dams — that many landowners opt not to install them after learning of the challenges.

Hiring a consultant to navigate the process can be cost-prohibitive. McCullough’s bill exceeded $10,000, but a grant offset it.

Proponents say the meaty requirements usher landowners toward a lethal resolution, which Wisconsin’s beaver trapping rules seemingly favor.

Community levels with beavers

Billerica, Massachusetts, had a flooding problem.

The town’s troubles followed a 1996 statewide voter referendum that banned foothold traps. Conflicts increased as the beavers expanded into the community, home to more than 42,000 residents along with wetlands, streams and two rivers. Prime habitat.

Things came to a head in 2000, and the town contracted with Callahan to address the problem non-lethally. At 43 locations where the town traditionally utilized trapping, he installed flow devices.

“They’re kind of instrumental in preventing certain culverts and major roads here in town from getting flooded,” said Isabel Tourkantonis, the town’s director of environmental affairs.

Trapping continued at another 12 sites because the devices either failed or the landscape made their use untenable.

Non-lethal management saved Billerica taxpayers $7,740 annually in avoided trapping and dam removal costs, according to a town analysis. The number of beavers killed dropped more than fivefold.

Maintaining 380 acres of beaver-created wetlands provided an estimated $2 million of free services each year, including water filtration, flood reduction and plant and wildlife habitat.

“It’s not just a matter of, ‘Let’s trap them and get rid of them,’” Tourkantonis said. “They also create important habitat that needs to be protected.”

Since the study concluded five years ago, the number of conflict sites has increased to 60, and Billerica annually budgets $15,000 for trapping and device maintenance.

Compared to fixing beaver-damaged roads and culverts, it’s a bargain, Tourkantonis said.

“If there’s a way to co-exist with an important animal population, that’s, I would think, the goal.”

Massachusetts landowners navigate a different permitting process.

To install a flow device, trap beavers out of season or remove a dam, they only need to obtain approval from a local health board or conservation commission — generally at little cost. It takes a few days.

Staff at the federal, Vermont and Massachusetts fish and wildlife agencies characterized the events that led to Massachusetts’ current system — beginning with the 1996 referendum — as a “calamity by design.”

The changes effectively ended state-regulated wildlife management, they reported, leading to increased confrontations with and negative views of beavers along with illegal trapping.

However, Tourkantonis said the new procedures cut “through the red tape and make it a little bit easier for folks to address an immediate public safety hazard.”

Flow devices have limits

Scientists have conducted virtually no peer-reviewed research evaluating the effectiveness of flow devices.

But studies supporting their use documented financial savings, high customer satisfaction and trapping reduction.

Callahan analyzed 482 sites where he added flow devices or trapped and found only 13% of pond levelers failed within two years compared to 72% of trapping sites to which beavers returned.

Yet flow devices aren’t silver bullets.

A study conducted by the USDA’s wildlife control agency in Mississippi indicated that half of levelers failed to meet landowners’ goals — although the participants didn’t always maintain them.

Callahan, like many coexistence proponents, attributes device ineffectiveness to the faulty installation of outdated models. They say this can confirm preexisting beliefs that flow devices are ineffective, or at best, temporary solutions.

“If they’re designed properly with the right sturdy materials and installed properly, these things work great,” he said. “If you have a crappy design, yeah, it’s not going to work.”

But Callahan estimates one in four beaver showdowns in Massachusetts require trapping.

Levelers aren’t effective in high-flow streams or developed floodplains, he said, where even a foot of water could swamp a home or neighborhood.

Drainage and irrigation ditches also aren’t ideal sites nor locations where water must be lowered to a depth in which beavers can’t live. Otherwise, they’re liable to build a new dam.

Jimmy Taylor, assistant director of the USDA’s National Wildlife Research Center, said flow devices have their uses but aren’t a beaver control substitute.

“If you’re looking at a large scale, simply putting in flow devices may not solve all of your problems, and it might not even be an applicable tool,” he said.

Damage control can alternatively involve removing dams, lodges and the plants beavers eat; installing fences or scary props and noisemakers; applying spicy or bitter repellants to food sources; and shooting.

“To try to just focus on one tool only, whether it’s lethal or non-lethal, is just not pragmatic,” Taylor said.

People tolerate beavers until conflict reaches a threshold.

One study found attitudes toward them soured in urban and rural areas, and people grew more accepting of lethal control as damage severity increased. Meanwhile, acceptance of flow devices decreased.

But another survey found that most landowners were open to beavers remaining on their property when they were offered incentives like technical assistance or compensation — a finding that could bolster support for investing in non-lethal techniques.

Previous efforts in Congress to appropriate several million dollars toward those efforts have proven unsuccessful.

Seeking to change ‘hearts and minds’

Frazer and McCullough hope to streamline Wisconsin permitting, making their case “one good flow device at a time.”

“It’s statutes. It’s permitting,” Frazer said. “But it’s also just hearts and minds. It’s people changing the culture of how they think about beaver.”

Their ponds look messy — dead trees and all — but to beaver backers, their value rivals rainforests or coral reefs.

“Let nature participate in what we need to accomplish,” McCullough said.

A smiling, buck-toothed beaver statue inconspicuously sits on the gravel driveway outside her home. Its concrete paws grasp a skinny tree stump, chewed to a sharp point.

McCullough’s sister, who lives in North Carolina, located the cartoonish creature on Facebook and gave it a fresh paint job — a family rib over McCullough’s beaver troubles.

Too heavy to mail, the 50-pound figurine hitched rides to weddings and socials, crawling its way north to Wisconsin like a baton handoff in a relay.

After a year, it finally arrived.

Editor’s Note: This story was updated to clarify how many beavers were on Katie McCullough’s property.

This story was produced in partnership with the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an editorially independent reporting network, of which Wisconsin Watch is a member. It was also reported with support from the Solutions Journalism Network, a nonprofit organization dedicated to rigorous and compelling reporting about responses to social problems. Sign up for Wisconsin Watch’s newsletters to get our news straight to your inbox.

Opting for coexistence: Some Wisconsin landowners learn to live with beavers is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

A bill that would empower Wisconsin municipalities to block the construction of solar and wind farms in their backyards has been introduced a second time.

Currently, local governments possess limited authority to regulate the siting and operations of solar and wind farms, but as the number and size of projects grow — solar panel fields spanning thousands of acres and wind turbines as tall as the Statue of Liberty — some residents from the Driftless Area and central Wisconsin say the state’s system for approving energy projects unfairly stacks the scales of power against communities that live alongside the facilities.

Meanwhile, a clean energy advocacy group and former Wisconsin utility regulator said the bill would enable a discontented minority to dictate energy policy for the entire state, effectively kill renewable energy development and generate uncertainty for businesses.

The Republican-backed proposal comes amid a wave of construction after federal lawmakers invested billions of dollars during the Biden administration to slow the pace of climate change. The ensuing backlash and enactment of local restrictions are playing out across the country.

Here’s what you need to know:

Some context: Investment in renewable energy has been a state priority for decades and a requirement for Wisconsin’s utilities. It also is central to Democratic Gov. Tony Evers’ ambitious climate goals. Wisconsin seeks to operate a carbon-free electric grid by 2050. 

In 2023, 9% of net electricity generated within the state came from renewable sources, according to the U.S. Energy Information Administration.

The governor’s Task Force on Climate Change expects most future emissions reductions to come from large-scale utility projects, especially the replacement of aging coal plants with solar farms.

In 2016, the state generated just 3,000 megawatt-hours of electricity from utility-scale solar facilities. Seven years later, it increased to 1.2 million. Nearly two dozen more solar farms are in the pipeline.

Wisconsin’s utility regulator, the Public Service Commission, oversees the approval of large projects, but opponents say gaps in state oversight make Wisconsin attractive to private developers, who aren’t mandated to share project expenses or evaluate ratepayer impacts.

They don’t have to demonstrate the energy created by the new installation is even needed at all — requirements if a public utility were to construct the facility. (The commission considers costs when utilities want to purchase power or an energy facility.) But developers can sell solar and wind farms to Wisconsin utilities. Ratepayers shoulder the infrastructure costs and pay state-authorized rates of return.

The commission reports that, compared to the Midwest and national averages, Wisconsin residents pay higher rates but less on their monthly bills because they consume less energy.

Opponents of large-scale projects also criticize the state’s disclosure requirements, which enable developers to acquire land rental agreements, often confidential, before communities are officially notified.

Residents often accuse industry of minimizing their concerns over impacts to wildlife, roads, aesthetics, property values, utility bills, health, topsoil and water quality. 

Yet climate change jeopardizes those same things, and land rental and municipal payments can be a lifeline. The construction of solar and wind farms can divide towns and neighbors. Public hearings quickly get messy. 

Organizers have mounted challenges, playing out in boardrooms, courthouses and the Legislature. Several towns enacted restrictions on renewable energy projects, a push supported by Farmland First, a central Wisconsin advocacy and fundraising group. Last year, a developer sued two Marathon County towns over their wind farm rules.

President Donald Trump is the latest to seed doubt over the merits of large-scale renewable projects after issuing a Jan. 20 executive order that suspends federal permitting for any wind farm while agency officials review government leasing and permitting practices.

The bill: The proposal requires solar and wind developers to obtain approval from every city, village and town in which a facility would be located before the Public Service Commission could greenlight the project.

Senate Bill 3’s authors, Rep. Travis Tranel, R-Cuba City, and Sen. Howard Marklein, R-Spring Green, said the measure responds to constituents who feel their concerns over continued development in the Driftless Area continue to fall on deaf ears.

“We are hoping to kick-start a conversation because the way I view it now, renewable energy projects are essentially the wild wild West,” Tranel said. “People have figured out that they can profit exorbitant amounts of money off these projects, and they are just popping them up left and right, and our current attitude is long-term ramifications be damned, and I don’t think that that makes any sense.”

Currently, the commission reviews proposals for energy facilities with a capacity of at least 100 megawatts. For scale, an average wind turbine in 2023 had a capacity of 3 ½ megawatts. A megawatt of solar generation might cover 7 ½ acres.

Local governments review projects less than 100 megawatts in capacity, but municipalities can impose restrictions on solar and wind farms only in limited instances, such as demonstrating they will protect public health or safety — a tall order. Additionally, municipalities that enact siting restrictions on wind farms cannot impose criteria more stringent than commission rules.

The bill would apply to any solar or wind farm with a 15-megawatt capacity or more. If a municipality fails to take action within an allotted period, the proposed facility would be approved automatically. 

An identical proposal introduced during the previous legislative session, exclusively backed by GOP lawmakers, failed to receive a committee hearing.

Yea: Some of the bill’s backers view the influx of large energy projects as the harbinger of “utility districts” across Wisconsin’s rural spaces, primarily for the benefit of urbanites.

It’s not that proponents of local control snub clean energy, said Chris Klopp, a Cross Plains organizer who has joined challenges to transmission and solar projects. Rather, regulators could respond to climate change more equitably.

“This idea that you can just decide you’re going to sacrifice certain people, well, I think there’s a problem with that,” she said. “Who decides, and who gets sacrificed? None of that is a good conversation. It should be something that works for everyone.”

Nay: Representatives from EDP Renewables, NextEra Energy, Pattern Energy and Invenergy — developers with a Wisconsin presence — didn’t respond to requests for comment.

But former Public Service Commission Chair Phil Montgomery said local governments lack the agency’s battery of professionals it takes to evaluate whether an energy project would meet the state’s energy needs.

Empowering Wisconsin’s 1,245 towns, 190 cities and 415 villages to weigh the facts against their own standards would spell disaster for ratepayers, he said.

Michael Vickerman, former executive director of RENEW Wisconsin, a renewable energy advocacy nonprofit, said the bill unfairly targets wind and solar.

“You’re deciding that this industry will no longer be welcome in this state,” he said. “It becomes such an arbitrary and mysterious, unstable, unpredictable process that the developer says, ‘Screw it. I’ll just go to Minnesota. I’ll go to Illinois.’”

What’s next? More than 20 co-sponsors, all Republicans, signed on to the bill, and it has been referred to a Senate committee. Klopp hopes to rally more lawmakers to obtain a two-thirds, veto-proof majority.

Montgomery said even if it leads nowhere, the bill certainly sends a message to investors.

Editor’s note: This story has been updated to clarify information provided by former Public Service Commission Chair Phil Montgomery.

Bill Watch takes a closer look at what’s notable about legislation grinding its way through the Capitol. Subscribe to our newsletters for more from Wisconsin Watch.

Republican bill seeks more local control over wind, solar farms is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

A new study builds on previous research that shows winters on the Great Lakes are growing shorter due to climate change.

The Great Lakes have been losing an average of 14 days of winter conditions each decade since 1995 due to warming air temperatures, according to the study published in the peer-reviewed journal Environmental Research Letters.

The study’s lead author, Eric Anderson, an environmental engineering professor with the Colorado School of Mines, said researchers arrived at their findings by examining ice conditions and surface water temperatures.

“We do see that winter time — whether you think about it in terms of ice or think about in terms of really cold water temperatures — we’re just seeing less days where those conditions exist,” Anderson said.

Research has already found the Great Lakes are losing ice cover at a rate of about 5 percent each decade for a total loss of 25 percent between 1973 and 2023. Those changes are occurring as the region has seen among the greatest increases in average winter temperatures over the past 50 years.

The study builds on that research by focusing on changes in water temperatures during the winter months. Anderson noted only Lake Erie typically sees heavy ice cover each winter, whereas the other Great Lakes often see areas of open water.

Winter is typically a blind spot for researchers due to difficulties in obtaining measurements when there’s less ice cover on the lakes. For the study, they relied largely on satellite data, as well as several monitoring stations, to examine how mixing of the lakes from top to bottom may be changing during the winter. Typically, the lakes tend to mix in the fall and spring when temperatures are the same at the top and bottom.

Winter days on the Great Lakes are being lost to spring and fall

During the summer, the surface of the lakes is warmer and the bottom is colder. In the winter, the opposite is true.

The study’s co-author, Craig Stow, said the reason for that is the maximum density of water is 4 degrees Celsius or about 39 degrees Fahrenheit. Stow, who is a scientist with NOAA’s Great Lakes Environmental Research Lab, said researchers found there’s been an increase in the number of spring and fall days in the lakes.

“The winter days are being lost to those spring and fall times where the temperatures are essentially the same from the very top to the very bottom,” Stow said.

Stow said that means the lakes are staying warmer in the fall and warming up earlier in the spring.

Winter days on the lakes were defined as days with ice cover or having surface temperatures of less than 2 degrees Celsius. The loss of winter days was found over nearly the entire area of lakes Superior, Huron and Erie. In lakes Michigan and Ontario, the loss of winter days was primarily along the shorelines and bays.

“We saw decreases in ice cover in areas where you tend to see large amounts of ice, so Green Bay and up near Beaver Island and Straits of Mackinac,” Anderson said. “We didn’t see big decreases in ice for the rest of the lake, so you didn’t have a lot of coastal ice loss along the eastern side of Wisconsin or down near Chicago.”

However, researchers did see a loss of colder temperatures in open waters around the southern shoreline of Lake Michigan, shifting to more days that had temperatures like spring or fall.

Lake Superior didn’t lose as many ice days as lakes Huron or Erie because it doesn’t see as much ice cover in the middle of the lake. 

“It was losing some number of days with coastal ice, particularly along the Wisconsin shoreline of Superior in the western end there,” Anderson said.

Even so, he said the lake experienced a big shift to temperatures closer to what one might expect in the spring and fall out in open waters.

Anderson and Stow said the changes could have implications for the Great Lakes in terms of extended periods when algal blooms may occur, the duration of shipping seasons, effects on the food web and the $7 billion fishing industry.

“We looked at a couple decades here of  change that we see you’re losing a half a month of what we used to think about being the winter,” Anderson said. “That’s really important for the chemistry of the lake. It could be important for the biology of the lake.”

Researchers say questions remain about whether the loss of winter days may stay the same or accelerate, which is one of the things they hope to examine in the future.

This story was originally published by WPR.

Study finds winter days on the Great Lakes growing shorter due to climate change is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Flood control along the Mississippi River is a central piece of a newly passed federal law — work that advocates believe is critical as the river basin sees more frequent and severe extreme weather events due to climate change. 

The Water Resources Development Act (WRDA) is passed by Congress every two years. It gives authority to the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers to undertake projects and studies to improve the nation’s water resources. 

Signed into law Jan. 4, this year’s package includes studies on increased flooding in the upper basin, flood mitigation measures throughout the river system, ecological restoration, and a $6 billion floodwall in Louisiana. 

The Mississippi River is managed in large part by the Army Corps, so it often features prominently in the bill, with a dual aim of making the river more suitable for shipping and restoring environmental degradation from flooding, nutrient pollution and climate change. 

Kirsten Wallace, executive director of the Upper Mississippi River Basin Association, called this year’s WRDA “a pretty special one.” She said it contained wins for many of the diverse stakeholders along the river, including shippers, environmental advocates, riverfront communities and federal and state agencies — who don’t always agree. 

Advocates lauded the law’s emphasis on nature-based solutions. In a press release, Stephanie Bailenson, policy team lead for The Nature Conservancy, said, “Since 2016, Congress has directed the corps to consider natural and nature-based solutions alongside or instead of traditional infrastructure. This latest act continues that trend.”

But all of these projects are only promised because funding doesn’t come until later, when Congress appropriates it. Many projects authorized in previous versions of the law are still unfunded, according to the Congressional Research Service.

Here’s what will affect the river in the Water Resources Development Act of 2024: 

Study of flood risk on the upper Mississippi River

The law authorizes a large-scale study of flooding on the Upper Mississippi River System, which includes the Mississippi River from its headwaters to where it meets the Ohio River at Cairo, Illinois, as well as the Illinois River and portions of some smaller tributaries.

The upper river has seen two major floods in the last few years: one in 2023 and one in 2019, which lasted for months and caused billions of dollars in damage. 

The study’s chief goal: figuring out how to reduce flood risk across the entire river system, instead of relying on municipalities to try to solve flooding problems themselves, which can sometimes have impacts downstream. North of St. Louis, for example, levees constrain the river to protect communities and valuable farmland from flooding — and some levee districts have raised those levees higher, safeguarding themselves but effectively pushing floodwaters faster downstream. 

“This plan allows more of a comprehensive way for levee districts to improve what they currently have … in a way that doesn’t put them in a position to be adversarial or just impose risk somewhere else,” Wallace said. 

She said the study will be a challenge, but that levee districts are eager for solutions as flood risks and heavier rainfall increase. 

Once the study receives funding, it will be led by the Army Corps’ St. Louis District, Wallace said. It’ll solicit input from cities, towns and ports along the river, recreators, the shipping industry and federal environmental agencies like the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the U.S. Geological Survey. 

Flood projects for cities from the headwaters to the delta 

Cities and towns along the river could get help for the localized effects of flooding too, thanks to several projects authorized by the law. Upstream, that includes La Crosse, Wisconsin, which will enter into an agreement with the Army Corps to study the role of the city’s levees, which were constructed around the river’s record flood in 1965. 

“We have to have an eye on maintaining what we’ve got and looking toward the future and whatever conditions the river might undergo to be prepared as best we can,” said Matthew Gallager, the city’s director of engineering and public works. “Because obviously, nature is going to win.” 

Downriver, Louisiana secured the largest project authorization within the law. To protect communities in St. Tammany Parish, a county north of Lake Pontchartrain, Louisiana, plans to build a $5.9 billion levee and floodwall system totaling 18.5 miles in length to protect over 26,000 structures, most of which are family homes. 

The St. Tammany Flood Risk Management Project is slated to receive $3.7 billion in federal funding. The other 35% will come from non-federal sponsors, such as the Louisiana Coastal Protection and Restoration Authority (CPRA). 

“By authorizing the St. Tammany project for construction, Congress recognizes again the national importance of Louisiana and that CPRA can work with the federal government to execute a multi-billion coastal protection project successfully,” said CPRA Chairman Gordy Dove.

The law also authorizes a federal study of the Lake Pontchartrain Storm Surge Reduction Project, a component of Louisiana’s Coastal Master Plan meant to protect nine parishes bordering the lake. The Army Corps will investigate whether the proposed project to reduce flood risk is in the federal interest. 

Other approved flood control projects will be funded along the lower Mississippi River and its tributaries, including the Ouachita River in Louisiana. Several counties in Mississippi will also receive funding to improve environmental infrastructure, such as water and wastewater systems. 

Near Memphis, the bill authorizes the Hatchie-Loosahatchie Ecosystem Restoration project, which covers a 39-mile stretch of the lower Mississippi River. The project aims to manage flood risks while also restoring and sustaining the health, productivity and biological diversity of the flyway. 

In New Orleans, a study was authorized to investigate ecosystem restoration and water supply issues, such as the mitigation of future saltwater wedges that threaten drinking water and wetlands at the very end of the Mississippi River. 

More support for the Upper Mississippi River Restoration program 

The law also increases the amount of money Congress can give to the Upper Mississippi River Restoration program, which funds habitat restoration activities and scientific research on the upper river. 

Congress increased the money it can direct to the research part of the program by $10 million, bringing the total the program can get to $100 million annually. 

The funding boost “really is a recognition of the value of the science … the understanding that has improved about how the system is functioning over the last three decades,” said Marshall Plumley, the Army Corps’ regional manager for the program. 

If given extra funding, Plumley said program staff want to use it to better understand the effects of the increased amount of water that has flowed through the river in recent years. That increase, partly attributed to wetter conditions due to climate change, is changing the river’s floodplain habitats, including forests and backwater areas. 

A change to how new water infrastructure gets funded

The Mississippi River functions as a water superhighway, transporting around $500 million tons of goods each year. Infrastructure to keep shipping running smoothly is costly, and one adjustment in WRDA 2024 is aimed at shifting the burden of those costs. 

Taxpayers have been funding inland waterway infrastructure for nearly two centuries, but in 1978 Congress established the Inland Waterways Trust Fund, which requires the private shipping industry to pitch in. 

Today, the trust fund’s coffers are filled by a 29-cent per gallon diesel tax on commercial operators that use the Mississippi River and other inland waterways, adding up to about $125 million per year in recent years. New construction — like wider, more modern locks and dams on the upper river — is paid for through a public-private partnership: the private dollars in the fund, and federal dollars allocated by Congress. 

Until recently, the private dollars covered 35% of new construction costs, and federal dollars covered 65%. The new WRDA adjusts that to 25% and 75%, respectively. 

Advocates for the shipping industry have long believed taxpayers should have a bigger hand in funding construction because it’s not just shippers who benefit from an efficient river. 

The balance in the trust fund “always limits” construction that can happen in a given year, said Jen Armstrong, director of government relations for the Waterways Council. 

“We can’t afford to have projects take three decades or two decades to complete,” Armstrong said, “because we have other locks that are deteriorating.” 

Armstrong said she believes shifting more of the cost to the federal government will accelerate those projects. 

Not everyone supports the cost share change, however, including American Rivers, which has opposed the creation of new locks on the upper Mississippi in favor of helping the river revert to more natural processes. 

Kelsey Cruickshank, the group’s director of policy and government relations, called it “a disappointing development that continues to give short shrift to the incredible ecosystem of the world’s third-largest freshwater river system.”

Editor’s note: A previous version of this story incorrectly stated the upper river experienced major floods in 2022, the floods were in 2023. This story has been updated. 

This story is a product of the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an editorially independent reporting network based at the University of Missouri School of Journalism in partnership with Report For America and funded by the Walton Family Foundation. Wisconsin Watch is a member of the network. Sign up for our newsletter to get our news straight to your inbox.

New federal law addresses climate extremes and flooding along Mississippi River is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

The Victor J. Daniel Jr. coal plant — now the largest electric generator in Mississippi — began pumping out power in 1977. In 2001, it got a second life, when owner Mississippi Power added two new turbines that could run on natural gas. Plant Daniel’s coal furnaces were supposed to shut down in 2027. 

But now, the plant is slated for a third act. Georgia Power won regulatory approval to buy power from that plant through 2028, due to what the utility called “unprecedented” growth in electricity demand. 

Coal-powered generation of electricity has steadily declined in the United States over the past 15 years, driven out by cheaper fuel sources including natural gas, wind and solar — cutting a main source of U.S. greenhouse gas emissions. 

In the meantime, however, estimates of U.S. electricity demand in 2029 have increased nearly five-fold from those made just a few years ago, fueled by demand from data centers and other high-energy-using industries.

Many utilities see keeping coal around — including as a backup to intermittent power sources such as wind and solar — as a potential solution. A Floodlight analysis of power plant data shows that owners or operators of more than 30 U.S. coal plants, in states from Wisconsin to West Virginia, plan to delay their retirement, while others are weighing the option. 

That is pushing up utility bills — and slowing progress on cutting dangerous greenhouse gas emissions. 

Between 2015 and 2023, all of those 30-plus plants produced electricity “uneconomically,” adding more than $5 billion in unnecessary costs to customer rates, according to analysis by the Rocky Mountain Institute, a clean energy consultancy. For example, operating Mississippi Power’s Plant Daniel cost customers more than $250 million in excess costs during that time, according to RMI. 

Allowing coal plants to run frequently, even when they are not the cheapest resource, is a fixture of modern electricity markets. Some environmental experts say it’s slowing the development of cleaner resources, while costing customers billions in direct costs and billions more in related health and environmental costs. 

Concerns over those costs may take on new urgency amid the debate over growing electricity demand. Many utilities have said they’re unprepared to meet demand forecasts without keeping fossil fuel plants around longer. 

“​​We really do have growth in demand and forecasts of growth that have not been seen really in the careers of most of the people who are working in the electric power world,” said Michael Jacobs, a senior energy analyst at the Union of Concerned Scientists. “The real question is: Well, how did we get into this situation?”

He added, “Had we had the attention to following through on building the renewables, we would have a fraction of this debate going on.” 

Anxiety around unprecedented load growth began in earnest only a couple of years ago, spurred by large data centers used to fuel artificial intelligence models, cryptocurrency and other energy-intensive industries. The numbers around data center growth have been described as “staggering.” In a December report, the Department of Energy projected that U.S. energy use from data centers could double or even triple by 2028. 

For utilities like Mississippi Power, that may mean longer lifetimes for coal. Mississippi Power declined to respond to specific questions about Plant Daniel, its expectations for load growth, or concerns about its uneconomic dispatch. 

A spokesperson directed Floodlight to its 2024 Integrated Resource Plan, which lays out the utility’s expected mix of generation resources. That plan notes that some fossil units “considered marginally economic” are now in demand to fill gaps in capacity and that the utility anticipates the buildout of several large data centers in its territory.

‘Used and useful?’

Utilities must meet electricity demand 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Because demand fluctuates, the United States has more power plants than needed at any one time. For about two-thirds of the electricity used in the United States, market operators, called regional transmission operators or independent system operators, decide which plants to call on based on how much demand they expect. They start with the cheapest plants and move to more expensive plants as demand increases. “You save the expensive ones for when you really need them,” Jacobs explained. 

All plants that run get paid the amount — called the “clearing price” — that it costs to operate the most expensive facility that ends up running. 

For more than a century, coal was the baseload of our generation fleet: the cheapest resource and the one meeting the majority of demand. But as U.S. gas production ballooned, natural gas overtook coal as the cheapest source of electricity generation in 2016. 

Today, new wind and solar plants often beat out coal — and, at times, even gas — on price. As a result, a wave of retirements has hit the U.S. coal fleet. The plants that do remain are being used less and less, and coal now generates less than a fifth of U.S. electricity, down from nearly 45% in 2010. 

But many holdout plants are still running. 

That’s in part because plants can “self-commit” to run, even if operating them is more expensive than the clearing price. Often, those plants — and the utilities that own them — lose money when they self-commit. But utility regulations mean everyday electricity customers may be the ones picking up the tab. 

In the majority of the United States, utilities are regulated monopolies: Customers must purchase electricity from them. Regulated utilities make money, in part, through a guaranteed “rate of return” on investments in equipment including power plants. Those returns are approved by regulators and paid by customer bills. 

Utilities are required to show their plants are “used and useful” to get approval for including a plant in customer rates. And experts like Michael Goggin, vice president at energy consultancy Grid Strategies, say utilities may be dispatching coal even when it costs customers more to make a plant “look more used and useful than it actually is.” 

In a 2024 report on “uneconomic dispatch” in the Midwest, Grid Strategies showed that 14% of 2023 coal plant starts by regulated utilities were unprofitable. Only 2% of coal starts from merchant plants, which earn fluctuating revenue based on the market, were unprofitable.

Without so-called uneconomic dispatch, customers could have saved more than $3 billion in 2023, according to RMI. In Louisiana, for example, regulators determined that electric utilities Cleco and SWEPCO had overcharged customers by $125 million by continuing to run the now-shuttered Dolet Hills coal-fired plant. 

The consultancy also estimated that coal-related health impacts reached over $20 billion in 2023, for emergency room visits and diseases including lung cancer and cardiac disease that could have been avoided. That’s not to mention the hundreds of millions of tons of climate-damaging carbon dioxide these plants emit per year.

Delaying the clean energy transition?

Goggin argued the practice of making plants look more viable than they are may also keep them around longer, crowding out the transition to cleaner and cheaper energy.

“Having these coal plants in the way, that are pumping out uneconomic megawatt-hours and that are using up transmission capacity — in many cases in prime wind and solar spots — is impeding that,” he said.

Increasing demand may at least temporarily inflate electricity prices and push more coal plants into the black. But it also appears to leave an opening for later retirements. 

All of the plants Floodlight identified with delayed timelines have already been producing power uneconomically for years. “Every year, there are less and less months, and less and less hours where it’s economic to run coal plants, and utilities have been dispatching these coal plants pretty similarly over the last 20 years,” said Gabriella Tosado, a senior associate with RMI’s carbon-free electricity program.

State utility regulators are responsible for ensuring that utilities only pass on prudent costs to their customers. In some places, that’s already happening. The Michigan Public Service Commission rejected $11 million in costs to be passed on to customers due to a utility running more expensive coal plants. In Minnesota and Missouri, regulators have investigated the issue. But Tosado said more regulators should be scrutinizing utility arguments about keeping coal plants online. 

In a working paper for the National Bureau of Economic Research, economists from Columbia University, the University of Arizona and Northwestern University showed that the current utility regulatory structure creates “potentially conflicting incentives,” resulting in less than half as much coal power retired as would be shuttered in a scenario designed to minimize cost. 

But minimizing costs within current regulatory constraints is a challenge. The paper’s authors also found that a scenario that minimizes cost could reduce utility profits significantly enough to require external financial support to maintain electrical reliability.

In its report, the Department of Energy suggested connecting data centers to clean energy, rather than fossil fuels, including adding new generation on former coal plant sites. 

And coal plants also don’t necessarily need to retire immediately; utilities may also consider running them during part of the year, when they are truly needed. Some utilities, like Minnesota’s Xcel Energy, have already pursued this route (some utilities are even speeding up coal retirements). 

“It’s been my view that we don’t need to retire and dismantle every power plant that burns fossil fuels. We just need to be extraordinarily shy about burning fuel in them,” said Jacobs, who helped author a 2020 report on uneconomic dispatch. But, he added, “the utility practice of not facing up to competition, not wanting to deal with change, is not a strategy that’s going to work for society or the economy.” 

Floodlight is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates the powerful interests stalling climate action.

Coal was on its way out, but surging electricity demand is keeping it alive — costing people and the environment is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Jerry Boardman doesn’t remember exactly when he started collecting acorns in the fall.

But the thousands upon thousands of them he gathers to share with people working to improve habitat along the Mississippi River makes the 81-year-old resident of De Soto, Wisconsin, a small village between La Crosse and Prairie du Chien, a pretty big deal.

“It’s like a myth or a legend,” Andy Meier, a forester for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers who receives a portion of Boardman’s bounty, said of the integral role it plays in his work. “It just has always been that way.”

In reality, Boardman began collecting around the time that the need for acorns — a nut that contains the seed that grows oak trees — was growing critical. For the past few decades, the trees that grow in the Mississippi River floodplain, known as floodplain forests, have been struggling. Although they’re named for their ability to withstand the river’s seasonal flooding, they’ve recently been overwhelmed by higher water and longer-lasting floods.

Overall, forest cover along the stretch of the river from Minnesota down to Clinton, Iowa, decreased by roughly 6% between 1989 and 2010, according to a 2022 report on ecological trends on the upper Mississippi. In the years since, losses in some places have neared 20% — and were particularly acute following a massive flood event in 2019. 

What exactly is driving the excess water isn’t fully fleshed out, but climate change and changes in land use that cause water to run off the landscape faster are likely factors.

The result is mass stretches of dead trees that can no longer perform their functions of providing wildlife habitat, sucking up pollutants that would otherwise run downriver and slowing water during floods.  

Floodplain forests in the lower section of the river are also diminished. The Lower Mississippi Alluvial Valley, which stretches from where the Ohio and Mississippi rivers meet, in Cairo, Illinois, to the Gulf of Mexico was once almost entirely forest. Today, about 30% of that land is treed.  

Government agencies and various nonprofits are attempting to reverse the forestland decline by planting new trees, and volunteers like Boardman are key to the effort. 

Local is best

Reno Bottoms, a sprawling wetland habitat on the river near Boardman’s hometown of De Soto, is one place where tree die-off has been extensive. Boardman, who has been a commercial fisherman, hunter and trapper on the river for most of his life, called the change in forest cover in recent years “shocking.” To combat it, he puts in about 100 hours a year between August and October gathering acorns from the floodplain in De Soto, Prairie du Chien and La Crosse. 

To maximize his time, Boardman uses a contraption not unlike ones used to pick up tennis balls to scoop up the acorns. One small variety, though, requires one to “get down on your hiney or your knees” to pick them up, he said. For those, he relies on a little grunt work.

The idea is that if the trees that produced the acorns were successful enough at warding off flood damage to drop seeds, those seeds might be similarly resilient if replanted.

Boardman looks for acorns from the bur oak, pin oak and swamp white oak, the latter of which is particularly well suited to the floodplain forest. And the numbers he puts up are impressive — last year, he collected about 130,000; this year, 65,000.

He splits up the total to give to the Army Corps and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, both of which have foresters planting trees to restore floodplain habitat.

“Pretty much everything that Jerry collects, in one way or another, will return to the river,” said Meier, the corps forester.

Last fall, for example, between 20,000 and 30,000 of Boardman’s swamp white oak acorns were scattered near McGregor Lake, a river backwater near Prairie du Chien where the corps is piloting an effort to protect trees from flood inundation by raising the forest floor a few inches.

This spring, Meier said, he was “blown away” by the approximately 1,000 seedlings that had taken root there and begun to sprout.

Having access to Boardman’s acorns is important because it gives the corps the chance to experiment with direct seeding, instead of buying young trees and planting them. Direct seeding is both cheaper and more likely to result in a viable tree because the seed is local.

“When we have an opportunity to get something we know came from the river, we know that it’s adapted to growing there,” Meier said.

Not every community has a Boardman, though, and many organizations doing reforestation work have to shell out for seed or look for options from further afield. 

For example, M&C Forest Seeds, based in Clarendon, Arkansas, pays seed collectors cash for acorns and then re-sells sorted seed to government agencies or nonprofits. M&C contracts with collectors to gather acorns at particular latitudes along the river, which they then market to replanting efforts at similar geographic locations. 

Living Lands and Waters, an Illinois-based environmental organization, uses nurseries to cultivate oaks from the region and distributes more than 150,000 trees annually in three-gallon pots to volunteers or individuals. 

Little by little, through the efforts of various government agencies and nonprofits, it all ends up in the ground. 

For instance, since 2007, Living Lands and Waters has planted more than 2 million trees along waterways in the Mississippi River Basin. The Nature Conservancy, using U.S. Department of Agriculture and other program funds, has reforested about a million acres across Mississippi, Louisiana and Arkansas in the last 30 years. Much of that acreage was on low-lying farmland prone to flooding that had once been forest.

Volunteers key to planting efforts

Whether collecting seeds or planting them, volunteers like Boardman are key to making the work happen. 

Ev Wick, a fifth grade teacher at De Soto’s Prairie View Elementary, has taken his students out for an acorn-gathering day with Boardman for the past several years. Boardman scouts the best trees ahead of time, Wick said, then the kids get to work. They can pick up between 5,000 and 6,000 in a day, propelled by friendly competitions to see who can collect the most or fill their bucket quickest.

They’re interested when Boardman tells them all the acorns they collect will eventually be planted on the islands they see in the river, Wick said. 

Last October, Living Lands and Water brought together people from groups like the Clean River Advisory Council and the Rock Island County Soil and Water Conservation District to plant oak trees near the Quad Cities. Volunteers planted 85 oak trees in a park by the Mississippi River in Illinois City, Illinois. This event helped restore forests but also provided opportunities for people to learn and connect with nature.

“We get individuals that may have never planted a tree before but want to come out because it sounds like a cool, fun thing,” said Dan Breidenstein, vice president of Living Lands and Water. “Not only did they learn how to plant a tree, but they also learned about these different species that we were doing. Every time they visit that area or drive past that building, they’re connected to the area around them, and that tree’s not going anywhere.” 

Organizers are particularly tickled when young people show up.

“My favorite part of today is being outside and in the environment because I don’t go outside much,” said Brooklyn Wilson, a high school junior who volunteered at the October event. “The most important thing to understand is that as a community we need to be able to come together and help and pick up and do what we need to do to better our environment and neighborhoods.” 

Perhaps some of the young volunteers will follow in Boardman’s footsteps. 

As for Boardman, the chance to donate acorns or otherwise help out is a no-brainer.

“That river has given me so much,” he said. “I’ve just got to give back all I can give.”

This story is a product of the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an editorially independent reporting network based at the University of Missouri School of Journalism in partnership with Report For America and funded by the Walton Family Foundation. Wisconsin Watch is a member of the network. Sign up for our newsletter to get our news straight to your inbox.

Disclosure: The Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, The Nature Conservancy and the Clean River Advisory Council receive funding from the Walton Family Foundation.

Volunteers collect and plant acorns along Mississippi River to save struggling forests is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Jay Dee Nichols stamped and packed stiff willow branches between maple wood posts, with muffled crunches.

At 63, the semi-retired handyman from the Wisconsin city of Black River Falls has trapped beavers before. But he’s never heard of a mock beaver dam — much less constructed one.

“It gives you an appreciation for what beavers do,” Nichols said over the shrill beeping of a skid loader. A scratch on his forearm oozed blood, drying into a scarlet smudge.

“They’re one of the hardest-working animals out there, I guess.”

Nichols’ muck boots sloshed in a pool of water that already was forming behind the freshly constructed beaver dam analog, or BDA. The semi-porous wooden structures are often installed across streams to redirect water or capture sediment.

Nichols and three other workers were as busy as beavers for a week in October constructing 12 of them in a forested wetland. 

It’s all part of Jim Hoffman’s latest project.

The BDAs span an unnamed, man-made channel that drains overflow from a reservoir on Hoffman’s cranberry farm, north of Alma Center in Jackson County. The water runs into South Fork Halls Creek, a trout stream where actual beavers have taken up residence.

Hoffman, 60, hopes the BDAs, which could pool up to 1.7 acre-feet of water during floods, improve water quality, stabilize eroded stream banks and enhance wildlife habitat. Most of all, he seeks to trailblaze a path through the state’s onerous dam-permitting process so other Wisconsin landowners can follow in his footsteps.

“There’s a lot of different streams and tributaries that could benefit from this,” Hoffman said.

As average Wisconsin temperatures and precipitation increase in response to climate change, scientists, environmentalists and regulators point to the promise of nature-based solutions. 

Enter the beaver.

North America’s largest rodent is infamous for wood munching. Where they chew, wetlands often follow. The natural sponges filter water and offer flood protection.

The U.S. once was home to 60 million to 400 million beavers, which inhabited a range extending from the northern Mexican deserts to the Arctic tundra. But European and American settlers hunted them to near extinction.

As their population dwindled and agriculture and urban development expanded, wetlands disappeared. Wisconsin, like the rest of the country, lost roughly half since the late 1700s.

Without maintenance from nature’s “ecosystem engineers,” many of the nation’s once multi-threaded streams also became single-channeled and incised — disconnected from their floodplains. When this happens, water tables sink, water temperature increases and plants die. If torrential floodwaters funnel through the simple stream systems, they flush out wildlife and wood.

Nature can repair itself, but the process of restoring stream complexity can take millennia. Mock beaver dams can jump-start the process, reducing the timing to mere decades.

They also can slow the flow of runoff and allow watersheds to store more water. Hoffman sees their potential to limit flooding in Wisconsin, potentially saving taxpayer dollars and creating wildlife habitat.

Watershed councils, conservation districts, Indigenous tribes, and state and federal natural resources agencies frequently deploy them in the American West. But their use in Wisconsin, a state with a historically tempestuous relationship with beavers, is novel. Many regulators believe the critters’ dams harm trout, and the state’s fisheries and forestry divisions contract with the U.S. Department of Agriculture to wipe out beavers that live on designated streams.

Fewer than a dozen permitted projects that incorporate BDAs or similar wooden structures have been built in Wisconsin to date. The Department of Natural Resources recently approved two on trout stream tributaries, signaling an openness to test their potential despite concerns from fisheries managers. Construction is underway in other Mississippi River basin states too, including Iowa, Kentucky and Missouri.

Wisconsin regulators generally treat BDAs as dams that impound water, making for an arduous and expensive permitting process. 

Hoffman spent more than a year and $20,000 to obtain his permit. He is the CEO of a vast Wisconsin construction company and has a running joke.

“The one thing you never do is call the DNR and ask them, ‘Do I need a permit for this?’” he said.

What are beaver dam analogs? 

A healthy streamscape requires space for water to slowly meander. That requires messy wood obstructions like fallen trees and debris-filled logjams.

Much like real beaver dams, the analogs obstruct water and disperse the flow across a wider area. Water pools above and below the dams, and upstream surface height increases.

Sediment accumulates behind the obstructions, sometimes transforming an upstream pool into a wetland and eventually a meadow. But nature’s randomness means beaver dams or analogs can fail.

BDAs are not in themselves a solution, experts say, but tools that initiate natural processes that mend degraded waterscapes. 

While their popularity increased in the 2000s, historic drawings indicate that small wicker and log dams were constructed as early as the 19th century to “correct” streams in France.

Construction these days hasn’t changed much, with workers pounding posts directly into a streambed and weaving willow or juniper branches between them. Gaps can be plugged with sediment. The analogs, which are biodegradable and transient, function well when constructed in sequence like natural beaver dam complexes. Proponents hope that using natural materials and hand labor reduces building costs, enabling more miles of restoration.

When human and beaver engineers meet

When Hoffman installed his cranberry marshes more than 20 years ago, a developer taught him an important marketing lesson: christen the business after the resource you are destroying. The developer named his housing division Fox Ridge. Hoffman, in turn, called his cranberry operation Goose Landing.

Yet, in Hoffman’s case, he didn’t necessarily displace geese. Hundreds occupy his reservoir on a given day, leaving droppings that serve as free fertilizer.

The 1,000-acre property serves as a laboratory of earthworks and a wildlife cornucopia. 

Hoffman, a Stanford engineer by training, returned to Wisconsin from San Francisco Bay in 1989 and joined the road construction business his great-grandfather started more than seven decades prior, before the United States had an organized highway system.

After starting the cranberry operation, Hoffman mined frac sand, then obtained his commercial fish farming license. Now, he’s stocked the former mining pits — since filled with water — with an angler’s dream: walleye, hybrid muskie, perch, crappie, bluegill and bass.

Hoffman sped past one of the ponds in his Ford Bronco, pointing out the artificial islands he created. To add vegetation, he grabbed trees by their rootballs and shoved them into the virgin soil.

“I like to change my environment,” he said. “I’m an earthmover by character — by business.”

Hoffman’s efforts to “rewild” his land led him to plant turnip and radish plots for deer along with oak trees to recreate a piece of Wisconsin’s historical savannas. He’s replaced row crops with prairie grass and intends to install an osprey nesting box on one of his ponds — even if it means the birds of prey eat his fish.

Mock beaver dams are Hoffman’s latest push.

His interest in them blossomed after he helped a Nordic skiing buddy release an orphan beaver on his property. They constructed a lodge for the two-year-old rodent, tucking in a stuffed teddy bear to keep it company.

“Well, it instantly swam into the pond, and that was the last we saw it,” Hoffman said.

In a section of forest far from the cranberry marshes, the drainage ditch turns into what appears to be a natural stream, which cuts through steep banks.

On both sides lies what resembles a 3- to 4-foot-tall effigy mound running perpendicular across the creek bed. Hoffman wonders if beavers were the original architects.

“It might be hundreds of years old,” he said. “I’m hoping the beavers come back here and say, ‘Well, we almost got a dam built!’”

Mock beaver dams used out West 

Science backs Hoffman’s belief in the restoration power of beaver dam analogs. In one of the first major studies, researchers evaluated their trout impacts and potential to reverse stream incision.

Bridge Creek, a high-desert watershed in north-central Oregon, bore the signs of livestock overgrazing and beaver removal. Following severe storms, the main channel gradually disconnected from the landscape’s floodplain — conditions that persisted even 20 years after cattle stopped chomping on surrounding vegetation.

The researchers monitored conditions before and after installing more than 130 BDAs in Bridge Creek. They compared those sections of creek to areas that lacked BDAs — some that beavers called home and others they did not.

Prior to the study, Bridge Creek contained some beaver dams, but they frequently blew out during major floods. Sediment didn’t have time to accumulate and reconnect the channel to the landscape.

But the BDAs acted as reinforcements. 

Beaver dams in the study area increased more than sevenfold within the first eight years after the scientists added them.

In the BDA sections, land inundated with water increased by 228% and side channels increased by a whopping 1,216%, considerably more than the Bridge Creek sections that lacked them.

As the analogs rehydrated the aquifer, vegetation increased. Groundwater killed off scrubby plants, such as sagebrush, and water-loving willow trees took root.

Could mock beaver dams block or fry fish? 

The impact of beavers on fish remains a hot topic in Wisconsin. For some, it’s axiomatic that beaver dams block trout passage — a belief with a long history.

But that wasn’t a problem at Bridge Creek.

The researchers tagged about 100,000 juvenile trout, enabling antennas to detect fish movement at specific stream locations. They surveyed the stream for more than a decade.

The scientists determined that the installation of mock beaver dams increased the survival, density and reproduction of juvenile trout. They detected no changes to upstream migration in the tagged trout despite the massive increase in human and beaver-made dams. Several spawners passed through upwards of 200 during their migration.

Other studies conducted in California concluded trout easily cross BDAs, either by jumping or swimming up side passages.

Another objection to beaver dams stems from the belief they invariably increase stream temperature: Beaver ponds increase a stream’s surface area, which is warmed by the sun.

But at Bridge Creek, water temperature remained constant or decreased, even during summer. The researchers suggested that pooled water upstream of the dams percolated into the ground, forcing cool groundwater to upwell downstream and mix with that on the surface. An offset to the sun.

The complexes affected temperatures in other ways. 

On one hand, they buffered water temperatures. Stream temperatures periodically fluctuate with day-night cycles and across seasons, but the mock beaver dams compressed the rises and falls. On the other hand, the complexes created variety, filled with warm and cold spots, offering fish a buffet to choose from.

Some studies have documented downstream warming from the analogs. And others from the upper Midwest have documented increased temperatures below natural beaver dam complexes and in beaver ponds, but academics have questioned the research’s scientific rigor.

Nick Bouwes, a Utah State University faculty member who worked on the Bridge Creek study and co-authored a manual that many consider the BDA bible, agrees that the structures could block fish or raise water temperatures in certain ecosystems in his native Wisconsin.

But until there is solid evidence, he said, ultimately those remain assumptions that should be studied.

“It makes you wonder what fish did 3- or 400 years ago when there was an order of magnitude more beaver and an order of magnitude more fish in these systems,” Bouwes said.

Upholding the public trust

In September, Mike Engel, a U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service biologist, oversaw the installation of beaver dam analogs at Briggs Wetland near Beloit, Wisconsin.

The workshop brought together ecologists, consultants, resource managers and regulators from local, state and federal agencies, most of whom dipped their toes into BDA waters for the first time.

Although passionate about such tools, Engel says beavers and BDAs aren’t a panacea for all degraded wetlands or a warming climate.

“There’s certainly people who will grab a hold of the cute, fuzzy critter and like the idea,” Engel said, standing atop a beaver dam that formed a network of ponds adjacent to the Briggs property. “But I think more people will be interested in managing the amount of water they have — whether they need more or they need less due to climate change.”

In other words, what would a well-functioning watershed look like, and what tools and techniques can achieve those ends? The case for mock beaver dams depends on the setting.

“Out West, they have miles and miles and miles of public land,” said Thomas Nedland, who conducts wetland and waterway permitting with the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources.

If the BDAs fail, “all the water that’s backed up ends up going into the woods or the floodplain” without risk to infrastructure, he said. 

“That’s not quite the setting we have here in Wisconsin.”

Such projects might lead to conflicts with property owners, especially if beavers move in and enlarge the structures. They might swamp adjacent corn fields or flood a road or backyard.

Wisconsin’s public trust doctrine also requires regulators to consider the public’s access to natural resources when making permitting decisions. The Department of Natural Resources may impose requirements to maintain the rights to boat, swim and fish, even on artificial ditches that are considered navigable waterways.

Hoffman’s project rang alarm bells for the local county conservationist, who fears the BDAs will attract beavers to the area, leaving floods and unfishable streams in their wake.

Getting the dam permit 

State regulators must consider many factors in considering a beaver dam analog.

Throwing some sticks across a streambed is relatively simple, but several Wisconsin installations have relied upon consultants, federal workers or nonprofit organizations to navigate permitting.

“They’re really important devices. They have a lot of functionality. They’re very simple and inexpensive to install,” said Hoffman’s contractor, Clay Frazer, a restoration ecologist. 

“And they’re way too complicated to permit right now for the average person.”

The Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources required Hoffman to conduct hydrologic modeling and topographic surveying before regulators approved his BDAs, which stand roughly 3 feet high.

To satisfy regulators that the analog wouldn’t overturn when water pooled behind it, he had to load test the wooden posts.

Joel Pennycamp, a Hoffman Construction Company employee, strapped a scale around the top of one. Hoffman stood on the streambank holding onto the end of a neon orange string that stretched across the BDA. When Pennycamp tugged, each post could move no more than an inch. 

Analog proponents say the rigid requirements to build transient structures unnecessarily increase costs and dampen enthusiasm to use nature-based solutions for landscape repair. A potentially laborious permitting process also misses the broader point that process-based riverscape restoration is unpredictable.

“You don’t have to be an engineer. You don’t have to be able to operate large machinery. You’re not going to completely redesign a stream to what you think it should be,” Bouwes said. “Let the stream figure it out.”

One permitting difficulty stems from, in several instances, the state’s classification of the porous structures as dams. Regulators and applicants debate a principle point: Does a mock beaver dam actually impound water or, as researchers say, merely slow or delay it? State employees say they lack latitude to interpret because BDAs, plain and simple, fit the legal definition.

“I often hear back from applicants and they’re like, ‘Well, it’s not very big,’ or, ‘It’s not intended to be there for long,’ or whatever,” said Uriah Monday, a state dam safety engineer. “But they always acknowledge that they need that pool of water to create the energy it’s going to take to do whatever they’re trying to achieve.”

For instance, he said, a raised pool of water is necessary to saturate wetlands, carve stream meanders and trap sediment upstream.

Hoffman’s stream tributary may be artificial, but the state still considers its waters navigable and thus protected. Normally, when dams obstruct public passage, the Department of Natural Resources requires the posting of a portage route. 

For now, the agency isn’t requiring it, but Hoffman hopes to run with the idea.

“So I’m having some signs made up for the beavers in case they get confused when they’re swimming upstream and hit the dam,” he said, grinning widely.

The department also has authorized BDAs through a streamlined general permitting process. Hoffman’s mock beaver dams, however, did not meet the criteria to qualify.

“I don’t blame the DNR for it,” he said. “It’s just that they don’t have a system to accommodate our request.” 

Kyle Magyera, who performs government outreach with the Wisconsin Wetlands Association, believes regulators should carve out exceptions from the dam rules. 

Monday thinks the existing permitting system can work, as it already has, and will ease as the department learns more about the structures. That will include monitoring at Briggs Wetland and Goose Landing.

“We’re actually hopeful too,” Nedland said. “If there’s an efficient, cost-effective way for people to do these kinds of projects in a much easier way that results in less disturbance to the landscape, like boy, that’s a win.”

BDA permitting challenges are not unique to Wisconsin. Even the Bridge Creek researchers were unable to conduct a follow-up round of restoration due to regulatory hurdles.

“It seems like every state, you have to go through the growing pains of getting people familiar with these approaches,” Bouwes said. “When they see what we’re actually doing — we’re throwing sticks in the stream to slow the water down — they become a lot more comfortable with it.”

Balancing human and beaver needs

By mid-afternoon at Hoffman’s farm, evidence of the day’s construction littered the ground adjacent to the channel where the BDAs stood: empty plastic Powerade bottles, gasoline cans, a chainsaw.

Before getting off work for the day, Nichols and Pennycamp loaded it onto a utility vehicle. Hoffman, meanwhile, browsed through a printout of his state-issued permit, reviewing the details through reading glasses he perched across his nose.

“‘The water is a cool-cold headwater. The proposed dam will not result in significant adverse effects on this resource upon compliance with the conditions in the order,’” he read aloud. “In other words, don’t flood too much, don’t warm the water up too much. Okay, well we’ll debate that later.”

He flipped the page.

The beavers living at Hoffman’s farm are dispersing across the property. One colony chewed down some of his pines and aspens and plugged a culvert, expanding the shoreline as part of a project Hoffman didn’t plan.

It doesn’t bother him because he has more trees to spare and wants to live among the rodents, but he doesn’t begrudge beaver-bothered people. The critters create profound impacts.

Humans and beavers share a common drive to engineer their environment to live. 

“We’ve got to find a way to balance the different needs of each species,” Hoffman said. “You know, us included.”

Why is he doing all this? Permitting, pounding, portage-routing. Really, why bother?

Hoffman’s campaign is more than just a new permitting process. It’s an exhortation to the state to reconsider its treatment of beavers. If he can show that mock beaver dams don’t heat the water or block fish, perhaps the state will stop removing beavers and their dams from trout streams.

“We’re going to hopefully show to them that the beavers in the ecosystem are actually beneficial,” Hoffman said.

Going through the trouble is simply part of a kindred ecosystem engineer’s balancing act.

This story was produced in partnership with the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an editorially independent reporting network, of which Wisconsin Watch is a member. It was also reported with support from the Solutions Journalism Network, a nonprofit organization dedicated to rigorous and compelling reporting about responses to social problems. Sign up for Wisconsin Watch’s newsletter to get our news straight to your inbox.

An ecosystem engineer’s vision: mock beaver dams to restore Wisconsin wetlands is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

A new contract between Kalamazoo, Michigan, and utility Consumers Energy signals a change in direction for the city’s clean energy strategy as it seeks to become carbon neutral by 2040. 

Solar was seen as a pillar of the city’s plans when it declared a climate emergency in 2019 and set a goal of zeroing out carbon emissions by 2040. After spending years exploring its options, though, the Michigan city is tempering a vision for rooftop solar in favor of large, more distant solar projects built and owned by the utility. It’s not alone either, with Grand Rapids, Milwaukee, Muskegon and other cities taking a similar approach.

“Folks want to see solar panels on parking lots and buildings, but there’s no way as a city we can accomplish our net-zero buildings just putting solar panels on a roof,” said Justin Gish, Kalamazoo’s sustainability planner. “Working with the utility seemed to make the most sense.” 

Initially there was skepticism, Gish said — “environmentalists tend to not trust utilities and large corporate entities” — but the math just didn’t work out for going it alone with rooftop solar.

The city’s largest power user, the wastewater treatment pumping station, has a roof of only 225 square feet. Kalamazoo’s largest city-owned roof, at the public service station, is 26,000 square feet. Spending an estimated $750,000 to cover that with solar would only provide 14% of the power the city uses annually — a financial “non-starter,” he said.

So the city decided to partner with Consumers Energy, joining a solar subscription program wherein Kalamazoo will tell Consumers how much solar energy it wants, starting in 2028, and the utility will use funds from its subscription fee to construct new solar farms, like a 250-megawatt project Consumers is building in Muskegon. 

Under the 20-year contract, Kalamazoo will pay a set rate of 15.8 cents per kilowatt-hour (kWh) — 6.4 cents more than what it currently pays — for 43 million kWh of solar power per year. If electricity market rates rise, the city will save money, and Kalamazoo receives Renewable Energy Credits (RECs) to help meet its energy goals. 

The subscription is expected to eliminate about 80% of Kalamazoo’s emissions from electricity, Gish said. The electricity used to power streetlights and traffic signals couldn’t be covered since it is not metered. As the city acquires more electric vehicles — it currently has two — electricity demand may increase, but city leaders hope to offset any increases by improving energy efficiency of city buildings.  

Consumers Energy spokesperson Matt Johnson said the company relies “in part” on funds from customers specifically to build solar and considers it a better deal for cities than building it themselves, “which would be more costly for them, and they have to do their own maintenance.”  

“We can do it in a more cost-effective way, we maintain it, they’re helping us fund it and do it in the right way, and those benefits get passed on to arguably everybody,” Johnson said. 

Grand Rapids, Michigan, joined the subscription program at the same time as Kalamazoo. Corporate customers including 7-Eleven, Walmart and General Motors are part of the same Consumers Energy solar subscription program, as is the state of Michigan.

Costs and benefits

“There’s a growing movement of cities trying to figure out solar — ‘Yes we want to do this, it could save us money over time, but the cost is prohibitive,’” said John Farrell, co-director of the Institute for Local Self-Reliance. 

Until the Inflation Reduction Act, cities couldn’t directly access federal tax credits. The direct-pay incentives under the IRA have simplified financing, Farrell said, but cities still face other financial and logistical barriers, such as whether they have sufficient rooftop space.  

Advocates acknowledge deals with utilities may be the most practical way for budget-strapped cities to move the needle on clean energy, but they emphasize that cities should also strive to develop their own solar and question whether utilities should charge more for clean power that is increasingly a cheaper option than fossil fuels.

“Our position is rooftop and distributed generation is best — it’s best for the customers, in this case the cities; it’s best for the grid because you’re putting those resources directly on the grid where it’s needed most; and it’s best for the planet because it can deploy a lot faster,” said John Delurey, Midwest deputy director of the advocacy group Vote Solar. “I believe customers in general and perhaps cities in particular should exhaust all resources and opportunities for distributed generation before they start to explore utility-scale resources. It’s the lowest hanging fruit and very likely to provide the most bang for their buck.”

Utility-scale solar is more cost-effective per kilowatt, but Delurey notes that when a public building is large enough for solar, “you are putting that generation directly on load, you’re consuming onsite. Anything that is concurrent consumption or paired with a battery, you are getting the full retail value of that energy. That is a feature you can’t really beat no matter how good the contract is with some utility-scale projects that are farther away.”

Delurey also noted that Michigan law mandates all energy be from clean sources by 2040; and 50% by 2030. That means Consumers needs to be building or buying renewable power, whether or not customers pay extra for it. 

“So there are diminishing returns (to a subscription deal) at that point,” Delurey said. “You better be getting a price benefit because the power on their grid would be clean anyways.” 

“Some folks are asking ‘Why do anything now? Just wait until Consumers cleans up the grid,’” Gish acknowledged. “But our purchase shows we have skin in the game.” 

A complement to rooftop

In 2009, Milwaukee adopted a goal of powering 25% of city operations — excluding waterworks — with solar by 2025. The city’s Climate and Equity Plan adopted in 2023 also enshrined that goal. 

For a decade, Milwaukee has been battling We Energies over the city’s plan to install rooftop solar on City Hall and other buildings through a third-party owner, Eagle Point Solar. The city sought the arrangement — common in many states — to tap federal tax incentives that a nonprofit public entity couldn’t reap. But We Energies argued that third party ownership would mean Eagle Point would be acting as a utility and infringing on We Energies’ territory. A lawsuit over Milwaukee’s plans with Eagle Point is still pending.

In 2018 in Milwaukee, We Energies launched a pilot solar program known by critics as “rent a roof,” in which the utility leased rooftop space for its own solar arrays. Advocates and Milwaukee officials opposed the program, arguing that it encouraged the utility to suppress the private market or publicly owned solar. In 2023, the state Public Service Commission denied the utility’s request to expand the program.

Wisconsin’s Citizens Utility Board opposed the rent-a-roof arrangement since it passed costs it viewed as unfair on to ratepayers. But Wisconsin CUB Executive Director Tom Content said the city’s current partnership with We Energies is different since it is just the city, not ratepayers, footing the cost for solar that helps the city meet its goals.

Milwaukee is paying about $84,000 extra per year for We Energies to build solar farms on a city landfill near the airport and outside the city limits in the town of Caledonia. The deal includes a requirement that We Energies hire underemployed or unemployed Milwaukee residents.

The Caledonia project is nearly complete and will provide over 11 million kWh of energy annually, “enough to make 57 municipal police stations, fire stations and health clinics 100% renewable electricity,” said Milwaukee Environmental Collaboration Office director Erick Shambarger. 

The landfill project is slated to break ground in 2025. The two arrays will total 11 MW and provide enough power for 83 city buildings, including City Hall – where Milwaukee had hoped to do the rooftop array with Eagle Point. 

Meanwhile, Milwaukee is building its own rooftop solar on the Martin Luther King Jr. library and later other public buildings, and Shambarger said the city will apply for direct pay tax credits made possible by the Inflation Reduction Act — basically eliminating the need for a third-party agreement.

“Utility-scale is the complement to rooftop,” said Shambarger. “They own it and maintain it, we get the RECs. It worked out pretty well. If you think about it from a big picture standpoint, to now have the utility offer a big customer like the city an option to source their power from renewable energy — that didn’t exist five years ago. If you were a big customer in Wisconsin five years ago, you really had no option except for buying RECs from who knows where. We worked hard with them to make sure we could see our renewable energy being built.”

We Energies already owns a smaller 2.25 MW solar farm on the same landfill, under a similar arrangement. Building solar on the landfill is less efficient than other types of land since special mounting is needed to avoid puncturing the landfill’s clay cap, and the panels can’t turn to follow the sun. But Shambarger said the sacrifice is worth it to have solar within the city limits, on land useful for little else.

“We do think it’s important to have some of this where people can see it and understand it,” he said. “We also have the workforce requirements, it’s nice to have it close to home for our local workers.”

Madison is also pursuing a mix of city-owned distributed solar and utility-scale partnerships. 

On Earth Day 2024, Madison announced it has installed 2 MW of solar on 38 city rooftops. But a utility-scale solar partnership with utility MGE is also crucial to the goal of 100% clean energy for city operations by 2030. Through MGE’s Renewable Energy Rider program, Madison helped pay for the 8 MW Hermsdorf Solar Fields on a city landfill, with 5 MW devoted to city operations and 3 MW devoted to the school district. The 53-acre project went online in 2022.

Farrell said such “all of the above” approaches are ideal.

“The lesson we’ve seen generally is the more any entity can directly own the solar project, the more financial benefit you’ll get,” he said. “Ownership comes with privileges, and with risks. 

“Energy is in addition to a lot of other challenging issues that cities have to work on. The gold standard is solar on a couple public buildings with battery storage, so these are resiliency places if the grid goes down.”

A version of this article was first published by Energy News Network and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

In Michigan and Wisconsin, cities are finding rooftops alone may not achieve solar energy goals is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.