Will deadly 1949 flood be repeated in Fort Worth? This project aims to prevent it
In May 1949, 11 inches of rain fell on Fort Worth in nine hours, turning the Trinity River into a 14-block-wide body of water and crippling our community of 350,000 people. This month marks the 76th anniversary of that event — the worst natural disaster in Fort Worth history.
The flood left 13,000 people homeless and 10 people dead. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, along with the local sponsor Tarrant Regional Water District, responded by constructing a 27-mile levee system and floodgates intended to contain the river through Fort Worth in a major rain event. Almost 75 years later, the system remains intact, but conditions have changed.
Fort Worth has experienced substantial growth. Just recently, Cowtown's population officially exceeded 1 million residents. More rooftops, development, and impervious concrete have reduced the amount of land available to soak up rainfall. At the same time, extreme weather conditions stand to increase the regularity and intensity of significant rainstorms.
We cannot wish away natural disasters. Just as drought will return, so will the rains. We've recently endured heavy storms that caused rivers to rise and our reservoirs to fill. Water from local lakes had to be released to ensure the safety of our community. Only through proactive, careful planning were we able to mitigate impacts to our city and daily lives.
But as history shows us, it is not a matter of if another major flood will hit this area, but when. With proactive preparation and planning, a community can withstand an onslaught from the elements. Fortunately, for the citizens of Fort Worth, local leaders have for years been hard at work to ensure this community will be ready for whatever comes.
The Central City Flood Control project involves the construction of a 1.5-mile bypass channel near downtown Fort Worth that will reroute floodwater from the Trinity River. By redirecting the Clear Fork and West Fork through the bypass, water levels will be lowered, enabling the existing levee system to manage the flow more efficiently and providing increased flood protection for the community. Once completed, the project will protect thousands of acres of established neighborhoods, which have become significantly more populated since the original levee system was built in the 1960s.
The area once fully protected by the levee system is currently home to more than 14,000 residents, 7,200 homes, and almost 1,100 businesses.
Beyond keeping flood waters at bay, this multi-faceted, multi-benefit flood control project has also inspired a re-imagining and a rediscovery of the Trinity River as a community asset. Even before construction begins, the benefits can already be seen. In one of the largest environmental cleanup efforts in the state, more than 400,000 tons of contaminated soil has been removed to make way for the bypass channel.
Flood water storage areas are now helping protect the city from flooding. Environmental remediation near Gateway Park on the city's east side has also removed hazardous materials, allowing for the creation of wetlands, aquatic habitat, improved forested areas and recreational trails.
Urban revitalization has been a benefit of this transformative project from the beginning. The ambitious and innovative design of the flood control project provides an opportunity to create Panther Island. A once-neglected industrial section near the Trinity River will be transformed into a vibrant neighborhood with green spaces bustling with activity and opportunities for living, working, shopping, connecting, and playing.
With preparatory work nearing completion, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers is expected to begin construction on the north half of the bypass channel in early 2026.
Corps officials have said they are 'absolutely committed to ruthlessly continue' the Central City Flood Control Project, but it can only do so if it has the money. Delays triggered by the lack of congressional funding have affected the project, as it has others across the country. Sometimes those delays have devastating consequences. For example, in 1991, the Corps recommended building a 12-mile-long diversion channel from the Comite River to the Mississippi River near Baton Rouge to control flooding. But funding issues dragged the project out and, in 2016, a powerful storm dumped 21 inches of rain on the region, resulting in dire flash flooding.
About 109,000 homes were flooded in Louisiana, and residential property damages were estimated at $3.8 billion. And just last year, a similar story played out in Asheville, North Carolina.
Around the country, communities are asking themselves, could it happen here? In Fort Worth, one of the fastest-growing cities in the U.S. that sits on the banks of a major river that has already flooded, the answer is yes — but we have options. We can invest in flood protection today or spend billions in disaster recovery tomorrow.
Mattie Parker is the mayor of Fort Worth, Carlos Flores is the District 2 city councilman of Fort Worth and Leah King is the board president of the Tarrant Regional Water District.
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The Los Potreros wetland, with Chimayó visible in the distance. (Nadav Soroker/Searchlight New Mexico) Twice last year, in the spring and fall, water burst from the Rio Santa Cruz and poured into the tiny northern New Mexico community of Santa Cruz, between Española and Chimayó. It cracked concrete ditch liners and spilled into houses and a trailer park. Irrigators along the streams are frustrated and worried about the time and money that beavers could cost them. The memory of the 2024 floods looms — a flood or a block can cost tens of thousands of dollars and leave farmers without reliable access to water in a season when they need it most. With drought intensifying, they're under increasing pressure to share a limited resource and don't want to navigate another area of stress. 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In all, the surrounding ditch organizations had to spend around $35,000 to repair the damaged waterways. Acequia organizations typically have very little money. After they spend what they raise from member dues on maintenance and repairs, they're usually left with a couple of thousand dollars in their annual budgets, at most. That year, the acequia spent whatever extra money they had on flood repair, getting assistance from Rio Arriba County (around $18,000) and the East Rio Arriba Soil and Water Conservation District (around $5,000). The flooded area was in Santa Fe County, but, acequia leaders say, they couldn't get assistance from Santa Fe officials. Because Rio Arriba constituents were affected by the flooding, the two Rio Arriba entities agreed to help. In the past few years, citing evidence that beavers can make a place more drought-resilient, Santa Fe County and a prominent national conservation nonprofit, Defenders of Wildlife, have encouraged the presence of the big, paddle-tailed rodents in a stream system that includes the Rio Quemado and the Rio Santa Cruz. Stemming from those rivers is a dense network of dozens of acequias, which, with gravity and gates, make it possible to divert water to farmers' fields. People in the communities around Española and Chimayó depend on it to irrigate their chile, corn, melons, berries, stone fruits, greens, carrots, flowers, alfalfa and other crops. Irrigators along the streams are frustrated and worried about the time and money that beavers could cost them. The memory of the floods in Santa Cruz looms — a flood or a block can cost tens of thousands of dollars and leave farmers without reliable access to water in a season when they need it most. With drought intensifying, they're under increasing pressure to share a limited resource and don't want to navigate another area of stress. 'Now we have to worry about beavers?' says Brian Martinez, a parciante (water recipient) on the Acequia de la Puebla in the community of La Puebla who grew up digging ditches in Chimayó. 'I don't know of any acequia that would be doing somersaults to do that.' Several acequias leaders contend that they've received inadequate communication about planning by the county and Defenders of Wildlife — some find the communication they have received to be disrespectful and condescending — and many view the two organizations as outside entities that shouldn't be able to impose their ideas about local waterways without significantly more community input. The issue is especially fraught, given the history of Santa Fe-based environmentalists in northern New Mexico, who have, more than once, argued that they know better than Chicano residents how to take care of the natural world, and who have sometimes blocked them from practicing traditional agriculture. 'They need to come and see what our issues are,' Ross Garcia, commissioner on the Acequia de los Ortegas in San Pedro, says. 'We've been irrigating for generations.' In recent years, environmentalists around the world have been singing the praises of beavers, pointing to them as a natural solution to the climate crisis. The dams they build alter the flow of water, slowing and spreading it. Their storage tactics allow the ground to soak in water, which, during dry stretches, can seep back out. Streams throughout the western U.S. that once ran year-round started running dry during droughts; when beavers took up residence again, the streams began to flow year-round once more. The wetter an area is, the less likely it is to ignite in a wildfire. And studies indicate that beavers' aquatic engineering revitalizes biodiversity and mitigates dangerous bacteria. Beavers are native to the mountains and valleys of northern New Mexico. Hoping to establish the positive trends the creatures can bring about, Santa Fe County and Defenders of Wildlife have implemented projects that involve welcoming the animals — who move in on their own and are not released — into wet areas around Chimayó. Various laws make it illegal to remove beaver dams and kill beavers, and conservationists argue that learning to live alongside them is well worth it. Peggy Darr, a wildlife biologist who worked with Santa Fe County during the creation of a controversial wetland and now advocates for beaver conservation with Defenders of Wildlife, is planning to install beaver dam analogs (BDAs), which mimic beaver habitats, on the Rio Santa Cruz and the Rio Quemado. BDAs can attract beavers to take up residence. 'One of the goals of BDAs is to have beavers take over and improve upon our restoration work, as there are not enough resources, financial or otherwise, to do the critical work beavers do for free,' Darr wrote in an email. Santa Fe County also encouraged beavers to move into a Chimayó wetland, called Los Potreros, which the county has worked to conserve over the past few years. Historically a wetland and then a grazing pasture, the area was put up for sale and slated for development in the 1990s. In response to community concern and advocacy, Santa Fe County eventually purchased the area in the name of 'cultural preservation and conservation of traditional agriculture and natural habitat,' according to county communications coordinator Olivia Romo. In 2021, with a grant from the New Mexico Environment Department, the county contracted with Ecotone, a Santa Fe-based landscape planning firm, to restore the wetland. 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(No one, as of now, appears to be planning to molest or kill beavers.) Acequia leaders are worried about how much water is being diverted from the Rio Quemado into the field. The few meetings the county hosted to discuss its plans left residents feeling confused and unheard. 'It was done pretty quickly, without much input from the community,' says Michael Diaz, a flower farmer in Chimayó and the mayordomo of the Acequia de los Martinez Arriba, which historically irrigated the former pasture. Diaz has seen the benefits beavers can bring to mountain wetlands. 'I'm totally down for that,' he says. 'But not if it's just for Santa Fe County to look cute.' He's watched the wetland soak up huge quantities of water. He wants to know how much of that water evaporates and whether the absorption limits downstream use. He's also worried that beavers will reproduce and fill the waterways with dams and burrows, which he doesn't have the time or money to clear. 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'To expect an acequia to cost share whatever amount of money it might be isn't tenable.' Defenders of Wildlife has also hired a farmer, Emilio Borrego, to talk to community members about how they might make use of the advantages beavers offer. Borrego is the chairman of the Acequia de la Otra Vanda in the community of Córdova, upstream from Chimayó. 'I get that it's not so black-and-white, and it's an issue that takes time,' he says. But he believes he's benefited from the presence of beavers. He says that upstream dams have acted as speed bumps for the water during heavy storms, and they've played a crucial role in protecting Córdova from severe flooding. Borrego also accesses regular waterflow for the crops that he grows. Córdova's environment is different from the communities between Chimayó and Española. It sits at 7,146 feet in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristos, about 1,000 feet higher than Chimayó, with a higher stream that feeds it. 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