Salton Sea: A Journey Through Time
The Salton Sea’s story stretches far beyond the 20th century. It’s a saga of shifting rivers, ancient lakes, human ambition, and an accident that rewrote a desert’s fate.
From Ocean to Desert
Millions of years ago, the land we know as the Salton Basin was part of a vast inland extension of the Pacific Ocean. The Gulf of California reached deep into what is now Southern California. Over time, tectonic uplift raised the surrounding mountain ranges, and the Colorado River began dumping colossal loads of silt into the gulf. Slowly, this created a delta that cut the basin off from the sea, leaving behind a low-lying desert floor.
The Rise and Fall of Lake Cahuilla
For thousands of years, the Colorado River meandered across its delta, sometimes emptying into the Gulf, other times spilling into the Salton Basin. When it did, a vast freshwater body — Lake Cahuilla — formed. At its peak, it stretched roughly 100 miles long and 35 miles wide, its surface 40 feet above modern sea level. Cahuilla people lived along its shores, fishing, hunting, and farming. Eventually, the river would swing back toward the gulf, and the lake would evaporate “little by little,” leaving only dry playa and salt deposits until the next cycle.
Dreams of Water in the Desert
By the 1800s, explorers, surveyors, and settlers crossing the Salton Sink imagined its agricultural potential. Geologist William P. Blake was among the first to publicly propose diverting Colorado River water into the basin for farming. Dr. Oliver Wozencraft later championed a similar plan, seeking government approval for a massive irrigation project. Though his efforts stalled, the seed of the idea had been planted.
Imperial Valley’s Beginning
In the early 1900s, engineer Charles R. Rockwood and investor George Chaffey brought Wozencraft’s dream closer to reality. They built a network of canals that looped through Mexico to bypass the massive Algodones Dunes, delivering river water to the Imperial Valley. Within just a few years, thousands of settlers arrived, and crops flourished in the desert.
1905: The Runaway River
The success didn’t last. Silt clogged the main canal, and in 1904–1905, crews cut an unscreened bypass through the riverbank in Mexico to keep the water flowing. That “Mexican Cut” proved disastrous. Heavy rains sent the entire Colorado River into the Salton Sink for nearly two years. Farms, towns, and the New Liverpool Salt Works disappeared beneath rising water. The Southern Pacific Railroad eventually closed the breach in 1907, but the flood left behind a vast inland lake — the modern Salton Sea.
The Sea in Its Youth
The new lake quickly became a fixture of the region. Agricultural drainage from the Imperial and Coachella valleys prevented the water from evaporating. Migratory birds found refuge along its shores, and fishing boomed. By the mid-20th century, the Salton Sea was more than a survival landscape — it was a playground.
The Desert Riviera
In the 1950s and ’60s, the Salton Sea’s calm waters and warm winters drew crowds rivaling California’s top state parks. Marinas buzzed with regattas, yacht clubs hosted events, and fishing tournaments brought in record catches of corvina. Developers built resorts and waterfront communities, envisioning a permanent desert coast.
Decline and Abandonment
The dream unraveled in the 1970s. Floods from wet years damaged shoreline developments. Without an outlet, the sea’s salinity climbed higher than the ocean, fueled by concentrated agricultural runoff. Algal blooms, fish die-offs, and bird deaths became common. One by one, marinas closed and communities emptied, leaving behind skeletal piers and sun-bleached ruins.
The Present Dilemma
Today, receding shorelines expose toxic dust from the dried lakebed, threatening both wildlife and nearby residents. State and local agencies debate restoration strategies — from building habitat ponds to importing water from the Gulf of California — but funding and consensus remain elusive.
Why This Story Matters
The Salton Sea is more than a geographical feature; it’s a mirror of human ambition and the unforeseen consequences of reshaping nature. From its prehistoric shoreline to its accidental rebirth in 1905, and now to its uncertain future, this place has always been in flux. Its story isn’t finished — and the choices we make now will write the next chapter.