Recently released archival photos of mine tailing pits above Silverton highlight that not much has changed when it comes to complaints about mine waste since the region’s early settlement.
“Ranchers and farmers who want to use water for irrigation in the lower valley have always attempted to force the mine and mill operators to keep the tailings from polluting the streams; however without much success,” the original caption for the 1940 photograph, taken by Russell Lee, said.
The photograph was released by Yale as part of a larger effort by the Library of Congress to collect pictures for historical purposes. Lee was an American photographer best known for his Depression-era work documenting the plight of the rural poor.
The mine tailing photo is especially relevant after the Aug. 5 Gold King Mine blowout, which sent 3 million gallons of acid mine drainage down the Animas River, and reinvigorated a decades-old problem of water quality in the river’s upper basin. But another side note to the historical photo is the fluctuating dynamics between the communities of Silverton and Durango, which have been dependent on each other since the first days of early settlement, through an isolated geography and shared economy.
Silverton was officially established in 1874 by prospectors lured by the mineral-rich San Juan Mountains, and not much later, Durango got its start mostly catering to demands of that industry. Early predictions, according to news clips, proclaimed Silverton was destined to become a city with Durango as a suburb.
Duane Smith, a local historian and retired Fort Lewis professor, said even in the late 1800s, downstream communities wondered why the river changed color, as mining practices of the day were wildly unregulated. People might have worried about the environment, he said, but they were not overly concerned about the environment.
“Back then, a job was a job was a job, so to speak,” Smith said. “So if work had to be done in Silverton, it overwhelmed the concern about what might be happening to the river.”
An 1899 newsclip from the Durango Democrat, pulled by High Country News reporter Jonathan Thompson, shows that early tension between the two communities.
“The question that is crowding upon Durango thick and fast is one of water. The mill slimes from Silverton are now reaching us.”
According to a 1932 report in the Silverton Standard & the Miner, provided by editor Mark Esper, a La Plata County farmer won a legal action against Sunnyside Mining and Milling after the company dumped mine tailings into the Animas, damaging the farmer’s land and stock. The article does not name the terms of the settlement, but the farmer sought $25,000 in damages, about a half-million dollars in today’s dollars.
It wasn’t until the mid-20th century that Durango eclipsed the population of Silverton, a town already feeling the effects of a downturn in the mining industry. Beverly Rich, approaching her 65th year living in Silverton, said she witnessed the changing power structure between the two communities.
“When I was a kid, people up here had a fair amount of money and spent a lot of money in Durango, and Durango appreciated it,” Rich said. “But as Durango became more of a commercial hub, the people really started fussing about (water quality). And they had a right to; tailings were commonly just put in the river, fouling the river.”
Starting in the 1960s, a new wave of environmental consciousness swept across the country, and concerns about mine drainage north of Silverton, as well as radioactive materials in Durango, rose to the forefront of public discourse.
In June 1975, The Durango Herald reported a tailings pond broke north of Silverton, forcing downstream users to shut off water pumps for months. Similar to the recent Gold King Mine spill, wildlife officials then placed a cage filled with fish in the river, only to find no significant die-off of the population. Then, three years later, Lake Emma, an alpine body of water the size of three football fields, broke through the Sunnyside Mine working and emptied 5 million to 10 million gallons of black, mineral-heavy water down the Animas valley.
The last mining operation in Silverton ended in 1991. Since, both communities have relied almost exclusively on a tourism-driven economy. While Durango continues to grow, afforded the luxury of a more accessible location, Silverton has somewhat lagged, pinched by pressure from accruing most of its revenue from only a summer season.
“Obviously, the ratio’s different just in the magnitude of Durango versus Silverton,” said Al Harper, owner of the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad. “But we have a great community at both ends of the track. Both work in harmony together. You need them both.”
In the wake of the spill, some downstream communities blamed Silverton residents for resisting a Superfund designation for so long. But as the hype of an orange river has waned, and the real leg work continues into the winter as stakeholders decide the best route for a long-term solution for leaking mines, municipal and county commissioners have joined together.
Peter McKay said in his 15-year tenure as a San Juan County commissioner, the two communities haven’t been as close as one might have hoped, but now that’s improving.
“Part of the problem might be the perception that nothing was ever done up here to address the acid mine drainage,” McKay said. “Now with this latest situation, people downstream are understanding how complicated it is up here and how much progress has been made over the last 20 years.”
Even in the 1980s, officials were aware of the two towns’ fragile relationship.
“We are closely related,” then-Silverton Mayor Herald Swanson said in a 1981 Durango Herald report. “We are neighbors, but sometimes we forget that. You send us tourists, and we try not to send many back.”
Then, turning serious, he said, “We’re bound by rock and gravel, we’re bound by steel. And we’re still bound by water.”
jromeo@durangoherald.com
