You don’t need to spend much time on the slopes to know that winter sports enthusiasts are the ultimate gearheads. Beyond the outrageous fashion fads (neon one-piece, anyone?), design and technology breakthroughs allow manufacturers to roll out more lightweight and higher-performance gear every season.

The steady advances are great for bombing down runs on powder days and pretending you’re Lindsey Vonn. But the heaps of old skis, snowboards, and boots that get tossed into garages, sheds, and trash piles are a wasteful legacy. Notwithstanding niche craftsfolk who turn their share of old skis into fences and Adirondack chairs, much of this stockpile is destined for the landfill.

Greg Schneider is well aware of the problem. As recycling program manager for Snowsports Industries America, an industry trade group, Schneider has spent three seasons collecting castoff equipment from a handful of retail outlets in Colorado and Utah, and he’s already built up a 300-ton massif of ancient gear.

His next challenge? Finding a use for the stuff.

A former ski instructor, Schneider began his quest to repurpose spent snow toys in 2008. He originally worked with a Canadian company to figure out how to break down skis and other gear into usable parts. But when the company went out of business, it was back to square one. Goodwill provided Schneider with a place to store his mountain of forsaken gear in a warehouse in Denver, while he took another run at the issue.

Finally, in 2010, Schneider connected with a company in Loveland, Colo., called Waste-Not Recycling. Using state grant money raised with landfill-collection fees, the partners researched and then acquired equipment for a disassembly line. The row of equipment looks a little like a contraption out of Willie Wonka’s factory, except instead of spitting out candy, it turns out bits and bolts of aluminum and other metals, separated with magnets, and shredded ribbons and pieces of plastics and composite materials that can include fiberglass, carbon fibers, and even Kevlar.

This is what 300 tons of old ski gear looks like. (Photo by Greg Schneider.)

Once they have the process mastered, the team wants gear makers to close the loop and recycle old equipment into new items. In addition to one day making new snowboards out of old ones, they imagine turning discarded gear into shelves for retail displays or decking at resort areas. To support the recycling program, participating retailers ask customers to pay a voluntary fee — $1 for new skis or a snowboard, and 79 cents for a rental.

Schneider recently shared progress on the initiative with product manufacturers at the Snow Show in Denver, the largest annual snow sports industry trade show. “There’s a core group of manufacturers that are very interested in sustainable design,” he says. “We’re gaining traction now. We’re on the cusp of breaking this open.”

But even if the industry did commit to recycling old gear, Schneider could only handle a tiny fraction of what gets thrown away each year. The crew at Waste-Not is still learning how to efficiently run and power the processing line, and the larger goal of repurposing materials into new gear is still at least a few years away.

Schneider plans to expand collection efforts to include major retailers in Boise and Albuquerque and ski areas around Park City, Utah, and Breckenridge, Colo. But with processing moving ahead slowly, collection will have to expand gradually — lest a Goodwill warehouse employee gets buried under a mountain of sweat-stained boots and old skis.

Asked for a ski analogy, Schneider deadpans: “We’re moving on from the bunny hill.”

Money’s tight to fund cleanups of Superfund sites like this one in Pennsylvania.

Photo: U.S. EPA.

How did Superfund, which used to have an annual account ledger of $1.5 billion, end up functionally bankrupt? Going back to 1995, the Republican-controlled Congress killed off the corporate “polluter tax” that levied money from petroleum and chemical industries that are responsible for the abandoned toxic messes. The tax was a keystone in the creation of Superfund by President Carter in 1980, and it supplied more than $1 billion annually. Without the tax, states and taxpayers were left footing the bill after 1995.

Toxic sludge infiltrating the water and tainting the air in 1,200 communities sounds like a pressing issue. But President Bush has halved the number of annual Superfund cleanups compared to President Clinton, and he’s refused to reauthorize the “polluter tax” even though he could easily jockey the bill through Congress.

Meanwhile, the EPA made its boldest budgetary allowance by announcing the allocation of $30,000 to promote “environmentally beneficial behavior” on prime-time television sitcoms and dramas. Through the new campaign, the EPA will place environmental messages on popular shows hoping viewers will mimic their favorite actors.

Picture Will & Grace composting in the back alley of their Manhattan apartment. Or CSI: Crime Scene Investigation detectives properly disposing of their forensic lab byproducts. Malcolm in the Middle might sport a canvas bag with the EPA logo to carry his recyclables from the school cafeteria.

Of course, $30,000 is just a drop in the tube, and the modest budget would afford about a second of commercial time during the American Idol finale. The agency admits it will pursue charitable partnerships with TV producers, since to buy a product placement spot in a prime-time show the EPA would have to pay up to $1 million.

Superfund TV?

The campaign allows the EPA to reach the American people where they’re most attentive and vulnerable: on their couches. Jay Leno’s curbside interviews on The Tonight Show prove that more people know the names of the American Idol finalists than the recently resigned EPA administrator (Christie Todd Whitman, for those playing along at home). The EPA’s prime-time push allows Bush to do some cheap greenwashing in people’s living rooms while Superfund dwindles and other environmental-quality laws such as the Clean Air Act are gutted.

Thirty thousand bucks is just a drop for Superfund, too. The chump change allocated for TV wouldn’t clean up one-thousandth of an average Superfund site. What the television campaign reveals is that the administration cares a lot more about being popular than being proficient.

If the EPA is going to dive into prime time, why not do it Hollywood-style? Take the leftover $28 million from the dregs of the Superfund account and put on a reality show!

Choose Whitman’s replacement as the new EPA chief through a show like Survivor. Challenges for the contestants could include sidestepping U.S. compliance with the Kyoto Protocol or rolling back the regulations of the Clean Air Act. Chemical manufacturers could hand down immunity. The process would whittle down contestants for the EPA chief position while bringing Americans up to speed on Bush’s environmental agenda and attracting commercial revenue.

A second approach would be for the EPA to boost its sagging Superfund program through a show like American Idol. Imagine communities littered with toxic waste competing for funding by showcasing their talents in the face of environmental degradation and mysterious health afflictions. The winning towns could use their newfound cash to conduct the cleanups the government won’t, while local economies left stricken by industries that ran out on the bill would be revitalized.

But if the EPA really wants to promote some “environmentally beneficial behavior,” the agency might as well just use its $30,000 to print 30,000 bumper stickers reading: “Kill Your Television.”

Denver: the mile dry city.

Photo: NREL.

Meanwhile, the state of Colorado is looking for its silver bullet. After an unprecedented boom in growth and tourism during the 1990s, the state is suffering an unprecedented three-year drought. The average snowpack last year was only a little more than half of normal conditions, and 2002 state stream flows were the lowest in 100 years of record-keeping. Tree-ring data suggest that the state is in the throes of its most severe drought in three centuries.

Colorado is not the only Western state that is suffering. But the high population density in the Denver metropolitan area and along the Rocky Mountain Front Range means Colorado faces a different situation than less populated states such as Montana and Wyoming. Moreover, the distance between the state’s water supply (the majority of which comes from the Western Slope of the Rockies) and the population centers of the Front Range also makes Colorado unique.

Colorado officials and citizens hold the drought responsible for development constraints, rampant summer wildfires, declining tourism, and some share of the state’s $900 million budget deficit. It is no surprise, then, that the state is looking for its own plumber to unclog the stopped flow of water — and cash.

That search has led to a stand-off between state and municipal officials and environmentalists. The former groups say there is no way around building new reservoirs and diversion pipelines. Environmentalists counter that those measures could cost billions of dollars and wreak havoc on Colorado’s rivers and forests; they claim the state’s needs can best be met through reduced water consumption and increased efficiency. The state capitol has become the battlefield for these rival positions, and legislators have considered literally scores of water bills this winter and spring.

Sucking It Up

The Broncos will pay one man $40 million to be quarterback; Colorado is considering an even more extravagant price to get its water back. The state government believes that, even during non-drought conditions, some of the water flowing through the state goes to waste. “The long-term issue is really about storage, because we can’t store all the water we’re entitled to,” says Greg Walcher, director of the Colorado Department of Natural Resources. Walcher says that up to 2 million acre-feet of water that rightfully belong to Colorado (thanks to interstate water agreements) flow out of the state some years. That’s enough to supply 2 million families annually. Much of the lost water leaves through the Colorado River and is used by Arizona and California.

One of Denver’s drought-dry reservoirs.

Photo: Denver Water.

Those who believe that restoring the lost flow is the best way to address droughts and shortages — mainly state officials and developers — are backing the Colorado Aqueduct Return Project, better known as the Big Straw. The proposal entails building a 200-mile long pipeline to pump 400,000 acre-feet of Colorado River water from the Utah border back upstream to the Front Range to be recycled. The river would then carry a constant stream of used water to downstream farms and towns on the Western Slope. The pipeline would have to raise the water 4,500 feet in elevation along its journey, and would cost at least $5 billion. Supporters started their campaign by pushing a $500,000 feasibility study through the state legislature.

To West Slope communities and environmentalists, the project is patently extravagant and absurd. “As we say, the Big Straw sucks,” says Elise Jones, executive director of the Colorado Environmental Coalition. “In this current economy, we could do a lot better with $500,000.”

But Walcher says no project is beyond consideration in these desperate times. “The governor’s telling everybody: ‘We’re not sure it can work but it’s irresponsible not to at least study it,’” says Walcher. The legislature approved the $500,000 for the study, but the project itself could still be derailed due to its outrageous price and substantial environmental impact. At the very least, it would certainly be delayed by legal challenges and other obstacles.

Meanwhile, other bills pose more immediate threats — such as the effort by Front Range water developers to create a $10 billion drought-relief fund that would allow communities to draw revenue bonds from the state in order to construct new water development projects. “Our least favorite bill [this year] is the $10 billion bonding issue,” says Jones. “It’s completely unnecessary and its magnitude is staggering.”

Environmental groups say that despite the budget deficit, lack of financing isn’t blocking large water-development projects. A state bond issue already exists for water projects and cities can purchase existing water rights from farmers for much less money than any new development would cost.

But the lack of thoughtful provisions within the proposed drought-relief fund (such as requiring that all conservation measures be considered before any new development occurs) may encourage towns to build large dams and reservoirs — and could open the door for other environmentally destructive projects, such as clear-cutting state forests to increase water yield and fill new reservoirs. “It’s part of the ‘build-more-storage and log-the-forest agenda,’” says Melinda Kassen, an attorney for Colorado Trout Unlimited and director of the organization’s Colorado Water Project. Kassen and other environmentalists have already defeated a bill that would have included money to study the “logging-for-water” proposal, in part using data from studies showing that clear-cutting public forests would only increase water supply during extremely wet years and would offer no fire protection to communities.

The Gunnison River.

Photo: Colorado BLM.

The drought-relief bond issue could also fund the Little Straw, an approximately 100-mile long pipeline that would pump West Slope water from the Gunnison River basin to the Front Range. The Little Straw’s estimated price of $1 billion to $2 billion looks like a bargain compared to the Big Straw on the Colorado River. “The cynic would say the Big Straw is so big, so expensive, so far-fetched that the Little Straw looks reasonable,” says Kassen.

As far as Kassen and other environmentalists are concerned, spending even a couple billion dollars to capture water is ridiculous, considering the cheaper, more efficient conservation alternatives that they are promoting. Support for the $10 billion drought-relief fund has dissipated toward the close of the legislative session. But even if it fails, voters will probably face a $2 billion water bond referendum on the ballot this November.

Waste Not, Want Not

Colorado’s environmental organizations have their own game plan for addressing the state’s water shortage. A report released by Trout Unlimited and the Colorado Environmental Coalition this past January promotes “Smart Storage” and “Smart Supply” principles, instead of new water development. Smart Storage includes expanding the capacity of existing diversions and reservoirs, stashing surplus water in underground aquifers to limit evaporation, and efficiently returning diverted municipal and agricultural water to streams. Smart Supply alternatives include improving water-conservation practices and enabling flexible, temporary water-sharing agreements between West Slope farms and Front Range cities.

Environmentalists say modest conservation goals can meet Front Range water needs over the next 40 years, even under drought conditions. Replacing half of the green lawns in metro Denver with drought-resistant landscaping and retrofitting half of the inefficient showerheads and toilet bowls in the area would save about 130,000 acre-feet of water each year. Reclamation and treatment of used water would augment the available water supply by nearly 200,000 acre-feet annually.

Drought-tolerant landscaping in Denver.

Photo: Denver Water.

But the legislature has balked at conservation and efficiency measures. Numerous communities across the state mandate that all homes maintain emerald-green lawns seeded with water-hungry Kentucky bluegrass. A bill that would have lifted these local rules to allow drought-resistant landscaping didn’t even make it out of committee. A second piece of legislation aimed at residential water-conservation standards withered under opposition from many municipalities that want to deal with conservation on their own.

The water conservation bill is “worthwhile,” says Walcher, “but it doesn’t really solve the long-term problem” because domestic water consumption, including outdoor applications, makes up less than 6 percent of total water use in the state. Agriculture, meanwhile, accounts for 85 percent of water use.

Bills designed to enable the sharing of that agricultural water with thirsty cities are making their way through the state legislature. Temporary water transfers and leasing of water rights are both popular ideas, because they alleviate water shortages during droughts without forcing farmers and ranchers to close down operations and sell their water outright. One bill that would create an “interruptible supply” of water — where farmers agree to turn over their water rights during drought years in exchange for money and return flows — has received virtually unanimous support.

The legislature is also considering creating water banks, where water can be loaned, traded, or sold. Water banks create a mechanism for realizing the highest value of water rights — allowing cities to buy municipal supplies or environmental groups to purchase in-stream flows for fish and wildlife. Environmentalists say that water leasing and banking can reduce agricultural water use and keep water in streams — without building new reservoirs or straws.

Share and Share Unalike

The city of Aurora, located just east of Denver, understands the complex challenge of meeting diverse water needs. Established in 1891 and originally called Fletcher, the 200-person town was incorporated for less then six months before it had to issue its first bond for water development. Within five years, the town announced restrictions on lawn watering for the first time — but hardly the last. Today, 300,000 people live in Aurora and outdoor water-use restrictions are practically an annual event. Illicit lawn-watering or car-washing can result in fines of up to $500.

Peter Binney, the city utilities director, compares Aurora’s water-supply measures to a portfolio where it has invested in both conservation and development. Aurora encourages conservation through special surcharges on outdoor summer use, and the city’s development relies on water from three different basins in the state.

Binney says facilitating the sharing and distribution of water among existing agricultural users and thirsty, growing cities is the critical goal. “Western water law needs to become a little more nimble,” he says, because it currently devalues the water by making reallocation so difficult. Binney says temporary water transfers and water banks may alleviate the problem, but these projects will still require some construction of infrastructure and pump stations, which he refers to as “mini-straws.” Other Western states have also recognized this shortcoming of water law and created their own water-leasing and water-bank systems. But Colorado appears to be the first state working so hard to institutionalize these ideas through its legislature.

No football team can expect to score by only rushing or only passing during a drive down the field. Colorado might build some new projects to transfer and store water. But the state must balance development with conservation and do so without sinking deeper into deficit, foreclosing on its agricultural economy, dividing the state’s populace, and ruining its wilderness. Striking this balance is also politically smart for state legislators, because polls show that the public opposes new water development that will negatively affect their environment and quality of life.

“The majority of the state is against storage that would detrimentally affect environmental quality,” says Kassen, “People are reasonable. Even though they’re scared, they still don’t want to trash the environment.”