Why stopping Sumas Prairie from flooding is ‘not politically feasible’

This is the second story in a two-part series on how the Nooksack River has evolved, and how humans have shaped where and how it floods. The first part can be read here.

You can find all of the The Current’s groundbreaking in-depth coverage of the Fraser Valley disasters here.

The Nooksack River could no longer be contained.

Thirty-two years ago, after heavy rain on the slopes of Mt. Baker in November of 1990, the river overtopped its banks.

Near Everson, Wash., about 10km south of the Canada/US border, water spilled across a farmer’s fields and began flowing downhill and to the north. The water flowed through Everson, inundated the small town of Sumas, Wash., then crossed over the border into the western part of Sumas Prairie.

Near one Abbotsford farm, it poured toward an elevated rail line that served as a makeshift flood barrier.

“The railway tracks broke and it came over the top like a river,” a farmhand told the Vancouver Sun in 1990.

The Nooksack flooded homes, killed livestock, and closed critical transportation routes, including Highway 1. Fortunately, the water stopped rising before it poured over a dike protecting Sumas Lake from refilling.

BC’s deputy environment minister toured the carnage.

“It looked to us like this was one of the worst years; it may have been your one-in-200-years flood,” Richard Dalon told the Sun.

Canadians weren’t the only victims.

In the United States, residents, businesses, farmers, and livestock also suffered. Homes were destroyed. Roads and highways were also closed. Millions of dollars in damage were incurred.

The 1990 flood was a disaster for both countries, and one that sparked discussions about how to prevent the next major calamity.

So what happened to those efforts? Why was the Nooksack allowed to spill north last year and devastate Sumas Prairie? And why are American officials refusing to even consider the one approach that could prevent a future disaster?

The simple answer: politics.

Getting any more complex than that requires untangling a decades-long mess involving seven levels of government, evolving environmental standards and principles, and the sometimes contradictory laws of physics and politics. It’s complicated. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.

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