Drought lurked in the minds of all the grownups where I grew up. Even when it rained and there was plenty of water, the focus would shift to how soon that water would be gone.
After a cloudburst, it was a time-honored ritual for my dad to drive us to the bridge over the Salt Fork of the Red River on Highway 83 in Collingsworth County in hopes the river might be roaring. As we would stand there in awe at the sight of those rusty red rapids, my dad would always turn to us and say, somewhat bleakly, “what a shame—all that water going to Oklahoma.”
It’s quite possible that Albert Sidney “Sid” Stinnett, an early-day Amarillo civic booster and businessman, uttered similar words while watching the Canadian River rage bank-to-bank after a deluge. Like my dad, Stinnett thought it was a shame to be blessed with a good rain only to have points beyond benefit from it. And though Stinnett didn’t live to see it, he dreamed of a day when a dam would halt the Canadian’s flood waters in a vast reservoir, ensuring that Panhandle rainfall would benefit Panhandle people.
Stinnett was mostly fixated on a reservoir for crop irrigation, and determined the best spot for a lake on the Canadian was the area east of where it crossed the Dumas highway north of Amarillo. In 1925, he brought in Gen. George Washington Goethals, who had supervised construction of the Panama Canal, for an expert opinion. Gen. Goethals wasn’t sold on the notion that a reservoir on the Canadian could supply enough water for irrigation, but he still thought Stinnett was on to something.
Stinnett died in 1935. A depression and world war put the idea on hold. By the late 1940s, a new generation of dreamers took up Stinnett’s cause, led by men such as Alson Asa “Double A” Meredith, Borger’s city manager. Their interest was less about irrigation and more about bolstering municipal water supplies. These leaders commissioned formal studies to see how much water would be available to fill a lake, and the conclusion was that an estimated 400,000 acre feet of rainwater flowed out of the Panhandle each year to (sorry, Dad) Oklahoma. The U.S. Bureau of Reclamation launched a feasibility study for a dam and reservoir in roughly the same area Stinnett identified. From this effort, the Canadian River Project was born, signed into law by President Harry S. Truman on Dec. 29, 1950.
In 1953, the Texas Legislature created the Canadian River Municipal Water Authority—known as CRMWA—to supply water from the planned lake to almost a dozen Panhandle and South Plains towns through an aqueduct that would stretch 358 miles. The Bureau of Reclamation started construction on a dam near Sanford in 1962, and by early 1965, the pooling water had become a real lake. A.A. Meredith passed away in 1963 and it was decided in 1965 that the new lake should bear his name. Work continued on the dam until later that year, and the project was formally dedicated in 1966. The aqueduct began flowing on April 1, 1968.
Lake Meredith represented fuel for growth in council chambers and corporate boardrooms. For everyone else, the lake was something to behold and enjoy. The National Park Service was brought in to manage recreation at the lake and its environs, and as early as 1965, several campgrounds were opened and boats were already taking to the water. So in many ways, the summer of 1965 marks the beginning of Lake Meredith as a star attraction.
The July 4, 1965, edition of the Amarillo Sunday News-Globe devoted a special section to the new recreational adventures awaiting Panhandle residents. The Amarillo Chamber of Commerce took out a two-page ad splashing every good thing expected from the lake across the pages, punctuating the graphics with a bathing beauty holding a beach ball over her head. Lake Meredith promised the advancement of the good life. Psychologically, we were ascending with the waterline—all the way to a record 101.85 feet by 1973. We had a tangible reserve of water, an assurance we had been sorely lacking.
But over the years, things got complicated. When the waterline started to fall in the first decade of the new century, so did our spirits. Lake levels had always fluctuated, but a string of extremely dry years starting in 2011—the year only seven inches of rain fell in Amarillo—nearly did Lake Meredith in. On Aug. 7, 2013, CRMWA reported that Meredith’s level had fallen to 26.14 feet. Our beautiful lake had dried up over most of its footprint, a depressing turn of events that didn’t bode well for the future of anything in the Texas Panhandle.
We began to pay close attention to weather radar images of rainfall north and west of Amarillo. When we said “we shore needed this” after a solid rain, it became commonplace to add “that oughta help the lake.” Meredith’s declining fortunes kept us in a constant state of water vigilance.
But as Lake Meredith approaches its 60th birthday, things have turned around. A few wet years, combined with careful management by lake authorities, have helped water levels recover. We hit 80 feet in 2023, if I remember right, and we’re getting close to that mark again. It’s not a record, but it’s respectable. Lake Meredith is getting its shine back, and we’re taking notice.
Even at its lowest point, Lake Meredith was still a beautiful sight near the dam Sid Stinnett dreamed about and where “Double A” Meredith gave it his all. We’ll always find any pool of water beautiful around here because water is our life. And Lake Meredith has proven to be life-giving in more ways than one.
