Above: A braided section of the Arkansas River flows east toward Kansas on Oct. 3, 2020 in Pueblo County, Colorado. Photo by RJ Sangosti.

Photojournalists RJ Sangosti and Elliot Ross, former and current Ted Scripps Fellows at ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ Center for Environmental Journalism, use photography to show immediate and long-term water concerns throughout the rapidly changing Western landscape.

Dead fish line the sun-baked shore of Neenoshe Reservoir in eastern Colorado. Water in the sandy Arkansas River bed inches slowly eastward. Exposed rock, water lines, marooned boats and fresh green growth illustrate dramatic changes to the Colorado River and its tributaries happening at this very moment.

Two Colorado photojournalists on the front lines of Western water’s decline have captured these pivotal scenes — and in doing so, and convey the consequences of hundred-year-old legal agreements, showcase what’s at stake and start conversations that will shape not only the future of Western water, but the rights of the people who rely on it.

“Drought, climate change and water issues in the West — no matter if it’s in the Colorado or Arkansas river basin, it’s all tied together,” said Sangosti.

The photographers received Ted Scripps Fellowships, a philanthropy-funded program celebrating over 25 years at ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ Center for Environmental Journalism. As the region’s environment and its resources rapidly change, seeing is believing.

RJ Sangosti

After two decades of covering Colorado breaking news for The Denver Post, RJ Sangosti needed a change. In 2020, during his Ted Scripps Fellowship, he found his calling covering Western water issues: “I knew the impact of what was happening on the Colorado River, but the fellowship made it crystal clear that this was the story of my life,” he said.

Sangosti’s transition to documenting Colorado’s environment was inspired by his firsthand experiences. Over the years, he saw changes happening in his home state that were affecting places he loved. He wanted to bring a voice to something that his kids would be proud of, and water in the West is “the biggest thing that we all need to be concerned about.”

“As climate change affects the West, we’re the first ones to see how a major river is affected,” he said. And in a dry region heavily reliant on major rivers for its water, communities in the West are also “going to be the first ones to feel it.”

“This is a story that I can work on, and should work on, until I don’t want to work anymore,” Sangosti said

Right: A sunken boat reemerges at Lake Mead National Recreation Area, Nevada, during low water levels in 2023. Photo by RJ Sangosti.

The story of Western water is a story about people. Whether to drink, complete chores or stay cool, water is not guaranteed in drought-stricken and disproportionately impacted communities.

Children cool off in a pool outside a home in Haswell, Colorado, which was hit hard by drought.

Pelicans gather on a small island exposed by low water levels in 2020 at John Martin Reservoir in Hasty, Colorado. In 2019, Colorado and Kansas agreed to provide an additional water source to feed the reservoir, which the Colorado Parks and Wildlife calls a conservation pool. It took 40 years for this agreement to come to fruition.

Yolinda Mejia siphons water into a fivegallon bucket to use for a load of laundry outside her home on the Navaj

Above: The sharp curves within the northwestern arm of Glen Canyon form a stunning backdrop for the dramatic gap between the high-water line, marked by white calcium carbonate deposits, and the black mass of water below

Elliot Ross

Elliot Ross was raised in part on Colorado’s eastern plains in a ranching family focused on weather and water. As he pursued photography, he dreamed of assignments that would take him to wild places around the world. Yet after years of working with elite photographers in New York, he returned home in 2018 to find that “water was more of a conversation than it had been when I left,” he said.

His time as a Ted Scripps Fellow brought him back to his Western roots, using his camera “to understand this most precious resource that we have — that a lot of us, myself included — take for granted [that it] runs clean out of the tap.”

In 2024, for the second half of his Scripps Fellowship, Ross is focusing on issues of water equity and justice to foster conversations about the disadvantaged populations who do not have the same access to this vital resource, especially tribal nations in the region.

Water equity is a timely topic. When regional leaders begin creating the 2026 interim guidelines for the Colorado River, Native American tribes will join the negotiating table, and “hopefully, for the first time they’ll be addressing the inequities of the 1922 Colorado River Compact through indigenous inclusion,” said Ross.

Right (kayak): As water levels have dropped in the upper region of Glen Canyon, many valleys are buried in suffocating silt — some upwards of 200 feet deep.

Elliot Ross’ wife, Genevieve, navigates the soupy, silt-filled aftermath of a flash flood in Iceberg Canyon, which removed about two feet of silt from the canyon in one day. This image “illustrates how quickly deposited sediment has been washed out,” said Ross, visualizing geologic change on a human timeline. Photo by Elliot Ross.

As water recedes from canyon walls and valleys, flora thrives once again, forming a diverse ecosystem within the vast number of tributary canyons that feed into the main Colorado River channel. 

Ross’ summer 2024 exhibition at the Denver Botanic Gardens, “Geography of Hope,” puts a positive spin on these changes and illustrates the opportunities that can take root even in the absence of water. Western ecological documentation was sparse before the construction of Glen Canyon Dam in 1964, which created Lake Powell by flooding almost 190 miles of canyon upstream. As this artificial lake shrinks, we are watching a major river and long-sunk ecosystem reestablish itself in Colorado, said Ross.

Houseboats gather in the deepest water available, with access to one of the last operating boat ramps off Lake Powell’s Bullfrog Bay. Here the decline of Western water is startlingly clear, as recreational boats sit unused on the lake. While 3 million visitors each year vacation and recreate on the reservoir, Ross is more concerned with those unable to access the water. In 2024, for the second half of his Scripps Fellowship, Ross is focusing on issues of water equity and justice to foster conversations about the disadvantaged populations who do not have the same access to this vital resource, especially tribal nations in the region. Water equity is a timely topic. When regional leaders begin creating the 2026 interim guidelines for the Colorado River, Native American tribes will join the negotiating table, and “hopefully, for the first time they’ll be addressing the inequities of the 1922 Colorado River Compact through indigenous inclusion,” said Ross

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Photos by RJ Sangosti and Elliot Ross

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When Lars Gesing (MJour’15) moved to the U.S. from Germany in 2013, he became enamored with the American West. After spending several years traveling America as a reporter, Gesing turned to photography to spend more time exploring his new home country. His gallery, , opened in Seattle in March 2022. His work has been shown worldwide, including in San Francisco, Vienna and Athens. 

What are some highlights from your journalism career? 

For a few years, I worked as a TV news producer in Washington, D.C., for the German public broadcaster ARD. I covered the big political stories of our time, including the consequential 2016 election and its aftermath. My favorite piece I worked on during that time was a feature documentary about how climate change already impacts the coastal communities of Alaska’s native peoples. 

What inspired you to switch from reporting to photography? 

Once I moved to Boulder from Germany, my camera quickly became my vehicle to translate the wild and foreign lands of the West into something I could understand — a photograph. But it was during a two-week trip to Alaska while we produced our documentary that I realized the real voice I wanted to listen to was that of the land itself. 

Coming from Germany, what aspects of the American West keep you here? 

The American West for centuries has been a land of hopes and dreams for fortune-seeking people from across the world — myself included. It’s a timeless land of intense beauty and mystery that has maintained this aura that it’s a place where hard work and a healthy dose of risk just may be rewarded with the life of your dreams. 

Which of your photographs is your favorite?

A few years ago, I was photographing the bison herd in the Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge during the first snow of fall. As the snowfall thickened, something moving happened: Individual small units of bison moved closer together to shield each other from the raging storm — like a family does in hard times. The resulting image, “Family Bonds,” is my favorite for that reason: It is a show of the strength of family, even if those bonds are stretched across oceans and continents, like they are in my case. And of course, as a lifelong Buff, there really was only one answer to this question!

What do you hope people glean from your art? 

I have dedicated my creative life to searching the grand natural beauty of the American West, this land of opportunity and perpetual hopefulness, for moments that encapsulate what it means to feel truly at home: moments of comfort and awe, of raw beauty and genuine happiness, of silent reflection and cherished togetherness. 

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Photos courtesy Lars Gesing

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If you search ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ social tag, , on Twitter, you’re guaranteed beautiful photos of campus from CU scientist Tomoko Borsa. Borsa is the facility manager of the university’s COSINC facility, which houses sensitive and high-performance instruments, ranging from scanning electron microscopes to atomic force microscopes. 

Borsa, who is from Tokyo, is drawn to ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ open and dynamic atmosphere, she said. Her favorite spot on campus is the giant field by the Leeds School of Business, on the east end of main campus.

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Photos courtesy Tomoko Borsa

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Photojournalist Ross Taylor captured the final moments between pet owners and their companions. The work has gone viral.

The photographs are heartbreaking.

As they watch their beloved pets take a final breath, the families photographed by Ross Taylor cover their mouths in despair, wipe tears on the backs of their arms and wail in agony. They cradle their companions in their arms and kiss them goodbye.

With his “Last Moments” photo series and forthcoming documentary, The Hardest Day, Taylor captured the visceral emotions of dog and cat owners as they euthanized their pets at home. His work resonated with people worldwide — millions have viewed his photos online.

For Taylor, assistant professor of journalism at ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������, the project was a chance to highlight the connection between humans and animals. He also hopes to comfort grieving pet owners by showing they’re not alone.

“We should not minimize the intensity of the human-animal bond,” said Taylor, whose other work has earned numerous awards, including a 2012 Pulitzer Prize nomination. “If somebody is going through a difficult moment with the loss of a pet, we should stop and move with greater care toward each other.”

Taylor was inspired for the project by a friend who opted for a home euthanasia procedure for her dog in 2016. After researching the practice, he spent several weeks in Tampa, Florida, the next summer shadowing staff members at Lap of Love, a national network of veterinarians who offer hospice and in-home euthanasia services. He also followed veterinarians with the organization Caring Pathways in Denver.

 

My dogs are there for me no matter what — on my darkest days, on my best days.”

 

He photographed the final moments of pet owners like Wendy Lehr, whose dog, Mimosa, was euthanized in August 2017 after the nine-year-old South African Boerboel was diagnosed with liver cancer.

Though the photographs of Mimosa were painful to view, Lehr said they helped soothe and validate her grief.

“A lot of people look down on pet owners as if we’re being ridiculous — ‘It’s just a dog,’ or ‘I can’t believe you’re acting this way,’” said Lehr, who lives in Odessa, Florida. “They don’t understand the kind of bond that a human can form with a dog. My dogs are there for me no matter what — on my darkest days, on my best days.”

Taylor and co-filmmaker Luke Rafferty are entering the 53-minute Hardest Day documentary into festivals and plan to make it available in late 2020. The film offers a window into the challenging work veterinarians perform on a daily basis — caring for pets, but also offering compassion and support to their humans.

“It’s not enough to love animals,” said Dr. Dani McVety, Lap of Love’s founder. “Everybody loves animals, but you have to love the people who love the animals. And that’s what we do. When they’re crying, you just look at them and you say, ‘I know.’”

“Last Moments” offers teaching moments for Taylor’s CU classes. For instance, the project exemplifies a modern digital phenomenon: going viral. His work was seen in The Washington Post, Daily Mail and People. When posted on Buzzfeed, the photos were viewed more than 1.5 million times in one week alone.

“Whenever you do any type of journalism, it’s really crucial to make sure your motives are sound,” Taylor said.

Taylor learned photography in his father’s darkroom in Mint Hill, North Carolina, before studying journalism at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and Syracuse University, where he earned a master’s degree. Though Taylor’s seen a lot during his career — he’s photographed conflict zones, trauma hospitals and the aftermath of natural disasters — he was moved by the pain he witnessed as families said goodbye to their pets.

“You don’t show emotion in the moment, but you absolutely feel it and your heart breaks for people every single time,” said Taylor. “I definitely get emotional talking about it, and when I edited the film, I cried a thousand times.”

Photos by Ross Taylor

Hardest Day Collection

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James Balog (MGeog’77) photographs Adam Lewinter (MechEngr’06) as he surveys the 150-foot-deep Birthday Canyon carved by meltwater in the Greenland Ice Sheet in June 2009. The black substance is cryoconite made up of silt and soot blown onto the ice sheet from afar. The ice sheet covers 80 percent of Greenland and is the second-largest ice body in the world. In addition to writing seven books, James founded Extreme Ice Survey, the most wide-ranging, ground-based, photographic study of glaciers ever conducted. He is featured in the award-winning documentary Chasing Ice.

In every issue we feature professional-quality photography by alumni or students on these two pages. To submit your images for consideration, please e-mail christine.sounart@colorado.edu.

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Kevin Moloney (Jour’87) captured this scene in Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park on the border of Utah and Arizona while on assignment for The New York Times. He says Monument Valley has an iconic view rarely captured at night. He did most of his photography under the cover of darkness. The foreground lights are cast by a passing car driving up from the valley floor. The park, operated by the tribe, was a popular set for Western films of the 1930s through the ’60s.

In every issue we feature professional-quality photography by alumni or students on these two pages. To submit your images for consideration, please e-mail marc.killinger@colorado.edu

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Xiaomei Chen (MAnth’06) captures a slice of Americana as Bill Smith, left, and Ryan Hysell watch the Albany Independent Fair’s derby on Friday, Sept. 7, 2007. She says a demolition derby usually consists of five or more drivers competing by deliberately ramming their vehicles into one another. The last driver whose vehicle is still operational wins. Both observers said it was the best derby in Athens County, Ohio.

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CU professor David Shneer studies the relationship between individual and collective memory through the lens of Jewish photojournalists who covered Nazi atrocities in the Soviet Union during World War II. Courtesy Evgenii Khaldeai and the Fotosoyuz Agency

When photojournalists in the Soviet Union began chronicling Nazi crimes against Jews during World War II, they left a major piece of the story out — the Jews.

While the Soviet Army often urged the press to publish stories and photos of the murder of Soviet citizens, photo captions did not specify the victims were Jewish, says David Shneer, associate professor of history and director of the Jewish studies program. Instead Soviets framed the Nazi atrocities as being against the entire nation.

“Do you think a bunch of Russian peasants wanted to go fight a war because of the Jews?” Schneer asks, noting that he began his research related to the issue of overlapping Jewish and Soviet narratives in 2002 when he visited a photo gallery in Moscow.

At the gallery, he discovered Jews dominated photojournalism during the war, which peaked his interest in the ways in which the photographers observed anti-Semitic atrocities but did not write about them. The Soviet Union deliberately chose not to acknowledge the killing of Jews immediately after the war as well. Shneer’s interest lies in uncovering what happened during the war and how the journalists’ position in the state led to their position of “forgetting” the Holocaust.

“Returning iconic photographs to their original news context shows how photographs function in the creation of narratives and memories,” Shneer says. “Soviet Jews (the primary photographers) among them saw the war as many tragedies in one — personal, family, communal and national.”

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The late afternoon sun shines on Norlin Library amid the tranquility of summer. Above the entrance reads, “Who knows only his own generation remains always a child.” Photo by Glenn Asakawa.

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While crossing the Salar de Uyuni in southwest Bolivia, Judd Rogers (IntlAf’02, MBA ’09) stopped to take a picture of a tourist amid a surreal landscape that many compare to a Salvador Dalí painting. During the wet season in February, a thin sheet of water glazes over part of the largest salt flat in the world, which covers more than 4,000 square miles and sits at 12,000 feet. It is still drivable as long as you don’t mind the corrosive consequences to your car.

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