Tulare Lake in California's San Joaquin Valley was once one of the largest bodies of fresh water in the entire US, but about 130 years ago it disappeared largely thanks to the greed of colonialists, who drained the waters to create farmland workable.

However, last year, the once beloved lake suddenly reappeared, bringing with it both positive and painful effects.

In the late 19th century, Tulare was "the largest body of fresh water west of the Mississippi River," explained Vivian Underhill of Northeastern University in a news release.

At the time, it contained so much water that a steamship could carry "agricultural supplies from the Bakersfield area to Fresno (in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley) and then to San Francisco"—a distance of nearly 300 miles.

However, in the following decades, the "ancestral lakes" and connecting waterways that made such a route possible disappeared completely thanks to man-made irrigation.

Named "Pa'ashi" by the indigenous Tachi Yokut tribe, Tulare Lake was fed primarily by snowmelt from the Sierra Nevada mountains, as opposed to precipitation, which is scarce in the region.

Fresno receives a little more than 25 inches of rain a year on average, and sometimes less than three, according to the National Weather Service.

Looking at the arid landscape of the San Joaquin Valley during the 21st century, it would be hard to imagine such a large body of water dominating the landscape.

However, in the 1800s, "Fresno was a lakeside town," Underhill said.

The researcher, who specializes in ethnography and environmental justice, explained that the lake first began to disappear in the late 1850s and early 1860s, thanks to "the desire of the state of California to take [historically indigenous] land and put it in private ownership".

This process was called "reclamation" and often involved "either draining flooded land or irrigating desert land to create arable farmland," she said.

If "people could drain that land," they "would be given ownership of parts of that land." So there was a huge incentive for white settlers to start doing that work," she added, describing the process as a "deeply colonial colonial project".

The first time the lake completely disappeared was around 1890, when "its water was basically used to irrigate all the dry land around that area," she continued.

"Now the valley is criss-crossed by hundreds of irrigation canals, all of which were originally built to take lake water and dump it on irrigated fields."

And yet, in 2023, Tulare Lake came back from the dead.

"California just got flooded with snow in the winter and then rain in the spring," Underhill explained.

"If you have a rain and snow event, the snow melts very quickly," and it all still goes into the depression where Tulare Lake used to sit.

Months after the lake's revival, the impacts can be seen in the local wildlife.

"Birds of all kinds — pelicans, hawks, waterfowl" are coming back, Underhill said, adding that "Tachi also say they've seen burrowing owls around the coast," a species described as "vulnerable or endangered. "

For the Tachi Yokuts, "returning the lake has just been an incredibly powerful and spiritual experience," Underhill said.

"They held ceremonies by the lake. They have been able to practice their traditional hunting and fishing practices again.”

However, for the region's farmers and landowners, the picture has been much less rosy.

Many of these agricultural workers have suffered devastating losses as a result of the floods, with many losing their homes entirely.

Efforts are already underway to drain the lake once more, and Underhill said she expects it to remain in some form for about two more years — although new river weather events over California this year could complicate that.

"Under climate change," says Underhill, "floods of this magnitude or greater will occur with increasing frequency."

“At a certain point, I think the state of California would have to realize that Tulare Lake wants to stay. And in fact, there are many economic benefits to be gained by letting it remain.”

She also noted that last year's revival was not the lake's first comeback since the 1800s.

"It happened in the '80s, it happened once in the '60s, a couple of times in the '30s," she said.

Looking at the larger environmental context, Underhill pointed out: "This landscape has always been one of lakes and wetlands, and our current irrigated agriculture is just a centuries-old blip in this larger geological history."

"This was not actually a flood. This is a turning lake.”

However, in March this year, the Guardian went to visit the iconic lake and found "grass sprouts and thick mud".

Less than a year after its resurgence, Tulare Lake had shrunk to just 2,625 acres, according to the Kings County Office of Emergency Services.

And officials now expect his "imminent disappearance," Abraham Valencia, with the emergency services office, told the newspaper. That is, "preventing unanticipated snowmelt runoff that causes flooding upstream."

In other words, as Dani Anguiano wrote: "Despite predictions, the lake is almost gone."