How do you grow crops with no water? A rancher on the Gila River is trying an old approach

GILA BEND — A modest home sits alone on a stretch of dirt road about 25 miles from Gila Bend. In the backyard, Annie, a Great Pyrenees, her white fur desert-stained, retracts under the shade of a mature tree as she naps before her evening shift as a livestock guardian dog.

Around the front of the house, Dax Hansen sits at an oversized table with his extended family and the crew of Oatman Flats Ranch as they fuel up with homemade breakfast burritos for the day ahead. The children play cowboy with a rope fashioned as a lasso and a wooden cutout in the shape of a steer. Their laughter contrasts with the bleating cries from sheep that romp across the plateau that rises over this western American homestead.

Hansen is a man who wears many hats, both figuratively and literally. He is a recently converted desert farmer, a fin-tech and blockchain lawyer, a father and a husband, a self-proclaimed “tree-hugger.” And atop his salt-and-pepper hair, he sports a Rocky Balboa-like fedora. Two straws of white Sonora wheat are tucked gently into the brown ribbon that encircles the hat's straw brim.

The straws in his hat embody his unconventional approach to his farming as the first organic regenerative certified farmer in the Southwest, with an emphasis on conserving water and restoring the health of the soil that acts as the gut health for what grows in this part of the desert. White Sonora wheat has been the cream of Hansen's crop in recent years, an arid-adapted variety he has found success growing on his family farm near Dateland.

Regenerative agriculture is a holistic land management approach with principles that date back to Indigenous farmers. Instead of letting the land fallow or repeating a cycle of planting water-intensive crops that cannot survive the harsh conditions along the lower Gila River, Hansen has worked to develop strategies to make less water go further. He has successfully introduced arid-adapted crops, integrated livestock on his land and used non-traditional farming methods to improve soil health and biodiversity.

While regenerative agriculture has been a way to conserve water and grow healthier crops for centuries, the alternate farming method has seen a resurgence in popularity in recent years as a way to potentially reverse the effects of climate change by rebuilding soil organic matter and restoring degraded soil biodiversity, resulting in both carbon drawdown and improvements to the water cycle.

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The windows are rolled down as Hansen steers his dirt-crusted SUV away from the house at the entrance of the ranch and deep into the fields of young blue beard durum.

“There isn’t a playbook for what we’re doing,” he said, his left arm hanging out of the vehicle, catching the breeze from the mild February air. “We’re creating the playbook.”

The fields, planted with cover crops, are a striking ribbon of greenery among the dried landscape of the desert that surrounds it. But the land on Oatman Flats has not always looked this healthy. In recent decades the land and crops struggled to survive as the Gila River struggled to keep its flow.

Once a perennially flowing river, the Gila cuts directly through Hansen’s property, splitting it into two. But years of aridification, groundwater overpumping, decreased precipitation and steady diversion have turned the river bone dry. The only remnants are a void in the ground that molds the river's former body and a reflective road sign approaching the ranch that alerts drivers of the river that once flowed.

Hansen's aunt and uncle, who lived on the property about 50 years ago, tell the story of a mighty river in the 1970s. His uncle was riding his horse through the water and at one point the current was so strong, it swept the horse away and drowned it.

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“The Gila River has stopped flowing here,” Hansen said. “It’s been a fragile river in the first place, but it used to flow more regularly when I was a kid down there, we would see it running.”

In 2019, the year the advocacy group American Rivers named the Gila “America’s Most Endangered River,” hydrologist Jon Fuller paddled its entire 649-mile length, from the headwaters at the Continental Divide in New Mexico to its mouth at Yuma. In the parts of the lower river that ran dry, he biked and hiked the exposed streambed.

Fuller’s trek along the disappearing river took him directly through Oatman Flats. Hansen had recently purchased the property from his family, and he asked the veteran hydrologist to gauge the viability of his newly acquired land.

“I just asked on a scale of zero being dead, 10 being robust and alive, 'how alive is this area out here?' And Jon said it’s about a one or two, almost gone,” Hansen said. “And it’s been an all-out sprint since then to just find the right tools to farm in that area so we can bring agriculture back with the amount of water and the environment we have.”

A long history of living on the river

Agriculture has been an integral part of this land — and the river — for centuries. Indigenous people have lived along the river for at least 2,000 years, establishing complex agricultural systems long before European settlers reached the areas in the 16th century.

The land along the lower Gila River had been farmed since the Hohokam inhabited the area, changing hands along with history. It was home to the Pee-Posh tribe, the site of the Oatman family massacre, and the location of the Oatman Flat station. The land has been in the Hansen name for a much shorter time, yet still a significant period, especially in the face of water shortages exasperated by drought and population growth that spurred diversion along the river during the 20th century.

Dax Hansen’s grandfather, Ray Judd, began raising quarter horses and growing cotton on the land south of Oatman Mountain when he purchased the acres on the western edge of Maricopa County in the 1950s.

But human development of the Gila watershed led to large diversions of the river and the construction of flood control structures, forever altering the water supply to the lower stretches of the river.

Following Ray Judd’s death, the family struggled to cultivate the land, altered by the effects of diversion, and turn a profit. Hansen’s aunt and uncle, who took over the farm after the patriarch’s death, had leased the land to another farmer who was also unable to successfully grow crops on the turned-over soil.

Discouraged by the fate of the river and the condition of the land, Hansen’s aunt and uncle put the land up for sale in 2018. But Hansen said he could not stand by and watch his family’s history dry up alongside the Gila, so he purchased the land in what he called a one-in-a-million chance to make it work.

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“I just couldn’t bear to lose it because of all of this rich history around it. I felt a stewardship to this land," he said. “It’s sort of my Hansen family identity so I bought it, but it had been significantly degraded.”

Hansen, who was a tech lawyer based in Washington state, said his farmer genes kicked in when he bought the property. He initially wanted to grow alfalfa, but with a nudge from his wife and daughter, who encouraged him to grow organic and sustainable products in a drought-stricken region, he stumbled upon an organic regenerative approach that would not only allow him to turn a profit but also help revive and restore the land along this thirsty stretch of river. 

“I looked around for other farming options and realized I could farm arid-adapted crops like Sonora wheat. We could focus on things like agave and prickly pear too,” Hansen said. “And if we could do that with a lot less water and make our water go further and bring the area back by using what is called regenerative agriculture, we could make it better.”

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Using less water, rebuilding damaged soil

Regenerative agriculture as a holistic land management approach has existed for centuries and was long used by Indigenous communities. Common practices of regenerative agriculture include the use of cover crops, minimal or no tillage, enhanced crop rotation, composting and livestock integration.

Dr. Michael Kotutwa Johnson is a member of the Hopi Tribe and an assistant specialist within the University of Arizona's School of Natural Resources and the Environment. He says Indigenous communities have relied on the principles of regenerative agriculture for millennia.

“I’m from the Hopi tribe up north near Flagstaff and we’ve been doing regenerative practices since time immemorial, so this is nothing new to us,” said Johnson. “We’re able to grow crops like corn, which takes a lot of water, up in an environment where there’s only 6-10 inches of annual rainfall, as opposed to the 30 or more inches that are needed to raise a crop like corn.”

Regenerative agriculture not only conserves water in drought-stricken places but can also be used to reverse the effects of climate change by rebuilding soil organic matter and restoring degraded soil biodiversity.

Environmentalist Paul Hawken and an international team of scientists shared the results of a long-term investigation into solutions for addressing climate change in the book, "Drawdown: The Most Comprehensive Plan Ever Proposed to Reverse Global Warming." The team estimated that regenerative agriculture could reduce carbon dioxide in the atmosphere by 23.1 gigatons by 2050, if adopted at their most conservative estimates, and ranked the practice as the 11th most promising solution to climate change.

Hansen took the process of switching to regenerative agriculture practices a step further by ensuring the best quality of his products and becoming regenerative organic certified.

“We became the very first farm in the whole Southwest to be regenerative organic certified,” he said. “What we figured out with just white Sonora wheat, you can save, for every pound of wheat that’s grown and consumed, 700 gallons of water over conventional crops like alfalfa and cotton that are grown out there.”

When Hansen took over, he hired experts to do ethnobotany reports and hydrology assessments to understand what used to be grown in the area and how much water was left underground. Hansen said the water table has dropped 40-50 feet in the last few decades.

“I let the earth tell me what we can grow, so I jumped right in immediately trying to rebuild the soil and keep it covered,” he said. “It’s a complex situation because literally nobody else is doing what I’m doing.”

He has found success in the use of cover crops and planting native trees like mesquite to keep soil thriving and healthy. Cover crops can increase soil organic matter by protecting the soil surface from erosion and adding biomass to the soil. All the while it creates a habitat for microorganisms, like fungi, that help contribute to soil biology.

“That’s all Bermuda grass over here,” Hansen says waving his hand over an untilled field. “Most farmers see it as a curse, but we use it to our advantage.”

Conserving water to help the river

Hansen has recently introduced livestock on his property as part of his regenerative practice. By keeping Bermuda grass in place as a cover crop, livestock will graze on the heat-adapted species of grass and remove it naturally, as opposed to traditional tilling methods that degrade soil quality and destroy soil organic matter. Then livestock will deposit the nutrients back into the soil, thanks to digestion, an alternative to harsh chemicals and pesticides found in fertilizers.

In semi-arid regions where water scarcity remains the most pressing threat to agriculture, these practices could produce substantial benefits on the landscape since soil health determines how much water will be absorbed or rejected.

“Soil health is important because if you have those living microorganisms in there, they are able to capture that water and hold and retain that water,” said Johnson. “So when you remove those through non-regenerative practices such as pesticides, herbicides and other soil amendments, you kill that function, so it gets harder and harder to hold in that soil when this happens.”

Extended drought can leave soil unable to absorb water, even though the soil is parched and in need of moisture. Hydrophobic soil will reject water, causing runoff, and in turn, more water would be needed for irrigation with an already strained water supply.

But as soil health improves, so does its ability to store and hold water. Hydrophilic soil will require less water, especially when paired with arid-adapted crops, which is why Hansen is growing several varieties of wheat and hopes to diversify his crop portfolio, which is soon to include agave.

These alternative agricultural approaches along the disappearing river could provide an adaptive strategy in water conservation that could potentially alter the fate of America’s most endangered river.

The Gila River's long, steady decline

Population growth, overuse, climate change and diversion have all reduced the Gila River's flow for decades, but the urgency to conserve water may be direr than ever. Scientists predict that by 2050, snow will no longer fall in the Black and Mogollon ranges that form the Gila’s headwaters in New Mexico, depriving the river of its main source of water. Experts agree that water use at its current level will not be sustainable in the near future.

And while climate scientists focus their attention at the headwaters of the Gila, downstream farmers and hydrologists look for ways to address the greatest user of water from the reservoirs — the agricultural sector — and how reforming this industry could affect water supply and demand.  

One of the longest rivers in the West, the Gila is fed by many tributaries as it flows across Arizona, including the San Francisco, San Simon, San Carlos, Santa Cruz, San Pedro, Salt, Agua Fria, and Hassayampa rivers. It once was a backbone for biodiversity, wildlife and riparian habitats throughout the state. In the upper Gila River, water still flows regularly, sustaining life from species as small as the threatened Gila trout to large mammals like black bears and mountain lions, although the river's natural discharge has been declining for decades.

But south and west of Phoenix, the river looks much different today than it did a hundred years ago as water was diverted and development sprung up throughout the Gila watershed. Most of the lower Gila is dry or maintains only a trickle of water. Dead fish litter the banks as it runs through Gila Box. Even salt cedar, an invasive and drought-tolerant species, is beginning to dry up and die along the former riparian areas of the river.  

In the few areas where some water remains, the stagnant water is increasing the risk of diseases, especially in summer months as the water cooks up bacteria and becomes a breeding ground for mosquitos, increasing the likelihood of valley fever and west Nile virus spreading to humans and wildlife.

About 275 miles upstream from Oatman Flats, Coolidge Dam rises 249 feet out of the water. It was built in the 1920s by the federal government to provide water to farmers. The dam impounds San Carlos Lake, with the reservoir’s capacity capping at 910,000 acre-feet. Water levels typically sit around 19,500 acre-feet, but in summer months water levels will drop below 100-acre feet, according to the U.S. Geological Survey.

Massive farms produce alfalfa and cotton along the Gila River as it continues downstream from the dam and sucks up any of those leftovers provided by the reservoir. Further down in Dateland, even a trickle of water on the river is rare.

“In the Southwest, it’s a whole different ballgame now because we’re finally realizing the importance of water,” said Johnson. “In my opinion, if we’re not too careful, the only true agriculture in Arizona in about 20 years is going to be Indian agriculture because they can’t just sell their water rights.”

The Arizona Water Settlement Act of 2004 awarded 653,000 acre-feet of annual water to the Gila River Indian Community, which had been significantly disadvantaged by decreased water flow and the construction of Coolidge Dam. The community still relies on producing water-intensive crops like alfalfa, likely due to upfront costs associated with switching crops and practices, according to Johnson.

He believes a broader adaption of regenerative agricultural practices would have positive effects on the Gila River, though the cost and logistics of farmers switching crops and equipment remains a massive hurdle.

Alfalfa is widely grown in Arizona, where conditions allow the crop to be grown year-round. In 2021, Alfalfa had the second-largest production value in the state, coming only behind milk production in revenue, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

“The problem with regenerative agriculture and moving away from alfalfa and cotton is the fact that there is no price mechanism in place to let those fields go fallow or to let them switch over to a new practice,” said Johnson. “The farmers are going to be very, very hesitant to switch away because that’s the only thing they know.”

And while the economic successes of alfalfa production bring in nine-digit revenues for the state, a hefty tradeoff for Arizonans comes in the form of the water being sucked from the ground at record rates to keep up with a massive industry that seemingly struck gold in the desert.

Johnson attributes out-of-state entities buying up land and water rights as an aggressor in the agri-business war occurring throughout the state. In rural areas of the state not covered by the 1980 Groundwater Management Act, wells can be added unbounded, and water can be withdrawn without regulation.

In 2018, Saudi Arabia finalized a ban on alfalfa production in the country because the crop was draining the scarce water supply. Since then, Saudi Arabia has relied on overseas production and labor for the product, and Arizona’s lax groundwater laws made the state a destination for Saudi investors looking to turn a profit.

The overseas reliance on alfalfa stretches beyond the private sector in one region along the Colorado River. The Saudi government leases 10,000 acres of land near Vicksburg in La Paz County from the Arizona State Land Department. It pays $100,000 a year for a farm that allows it to pump all the groundwater it needs to farm alfalfa and send it back to the Middle East.

“We really need to ask ourselves why the people in charge are not doing anything,” Johnson said,  “Why aren’t they trying to stop that?”  

Attorney General Kris Mayes said she wants to end Saudi Arabian farming operations along the Colorado River within the first half of 2023, though there are no current plans from the state to restrict Saudi Arabian alfalfa production statewide.

And while the economic hurdle of a regenerative agriculture boom remains a logistical concern for Johnson, Hansen said that he has been able to make water go further on his land and increase his profit.

“We’ve been able to do a lot more with the limited water that we have where we've been able to bring the whole farm back,” said Hansen. “It's a 665-acre farm with about 400 acres planted and we probably could have only farmed 80 acres of alfalfa or cotton.”

A vision for the future

Regenerative agriculture has the potential to improve crop yields, food production, and farmers' incomes according to some experts. The cost of implementing regenerative agricultural practices was estimated in one study at $355.05 per hectare while net profit is estimated at $530.39 per hectare per year. 

“We have to invest in all the systems around us and because it's overdrawn. It’s our generation's opportunity to restore it,” Hansen said. “It’s finding what are the viable solutions around agriculture in the desert, it’s a lot easier when you’re growing someplace with a lot of water but in the desert, it’s a different ballgame altogether.”

Many species that call the desert home, such as the desert bighorn sheep that can survive weeks without visiting a permanent water source, learned that adaptation was critical to their survival in the hottest and driest biome on the planet. Much like these desert-dwelling creatures, Hansen found adaptation in the form of Sonora wheat, which he now dons as headwear.

Hansen’s experience paints a picture of what food production in the Southwest amid drought and water shortages can look like. He hopes that other farmers along the Gila River and beyond can replicate his business model to enhance the health and viability of the ecosystems they have relied on for centuries.

“My vision is that we will be able to impact hundreds of thousands of acres where we use a lot less water not only from the Colorado River, but from the groundwater because we have just as big of a groundwater crisis happening as surface water with the Colorado,” said Hansen.

Back on the ranch, the SUV stirs up dirt as it moves along an access road, clouding the landscape that passes behind Hansen's tires. He parks next to a field of newly-planted white Sonora wheat. The car chimes in repetition as a gentle reminder that the door has been left ajar. He hops over an aqueduct that separates the crops from his parked car, his black boots hitting the ground in a one-two motion, rattling dirt loose that falls into the water stored below.

Among the wheat, he crouches low to the ground. He plants his jeans, with their faded indigo dye at the knee, onto the field as he digs his hand into the earth and gently pulls a handful of soil. Catching clumps under his fingernails, he holds it close to his face with his eyes shut. He smiles with appreciation and offers a whiff of the soil, which produces a distinctive earthy odor. It is a verification of the restored health of the land beneath him, despite the hardships that have plagued the lower Gila River for decades.

Jake Frederico covers environment issues for The Arizona Republic and azcentral. Send tips or questions to jake.frederico@arizonarepublic.com.

Environmental coverage on azcentral.com and in The Arizona Republic is supported by a grant from the Nina Mason Pulliam Charitable Trust. Follow The Republic environmental reporting team at environment.azcentral.com and @azcenvironment on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

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