Clallam County Watchdog

Jeff Tozzer

Holding County Leaders Accountable www.ccwatchdog.com

  1. 1 DAY AGO

    The Quiet Land Grab

    While county commissioners here debate letters of support and hold work sessions, a federal program has already transferred nearly 3 million acres into tribal control—by design. The same strategy now mirrors what’s happening in Clallam County, where land, influence, and decision-making power are steadily shifting. The question isn’t whether this is happening. It’s whether anyone representing local residents is willing to say it out loud. This Isn’t New—It’s Been Happening for a Decade For years, residents have been told that land transfers, trust acquisitions, and expanding tribal influence are isolated decisions—case-by-case, unique, and limited. They’re not. They’re part of a coordinated federal strategy. According to a Department of the Interior report, the federal government has: * Paid out $1.69 billion * Consolidated nearly 3 million acres * Worked hand-in-hand with tribes to identify and prioritize land for transfer All under a program specifically designed to move land into permanent tribal trust ownership. This isn’t speculation. It’s policy. Local Case: The Wildlife Refuge Push Isn’t an Outlier Now bring it home. In Clallam County, we’re watching a strikingly similar pattern unfold: * The Jamestown Corporation pursuing control of Dungeness and Protection Island National Wildlife Refuges * Local governments being asked to provide letters of support * Public concern being brushed aside as misunderstanding or opposition Sound familiar? It should. Because the federal report makes clear that: * Tribes help identify priority lands * Federal agencies work to align acquisitions with tribal goals * Outreach and coordination are built to facilitate those transfers In other words, what’s happening here fits the model exactly. Where Does Ron Allen Fit Into This? Let’s be precise. There is no direct mention of Jamestown S’Klallam Chairman Ron Allen in this specific federal report. However: * The program emphasizes strong federal-tribal partnerships * It relies heavily on tribal leadership to guide priorities * It promotes nation-to-nation coordination and influence Ron Allen is widely recognized as one of the most politically connected and influential tribal leaders in Washington State, particularly in federal policy circles. So while he’s not named in this document, the type of leadership structure the program depends on is exactly the kind of influence he operates within. That matters. Because it shows that what may appear locally as a single tribe’s initiative is often supported by a much larger federal framework and network of relationships. The Priority Problem: Who Is Government Working For? One of the most revealing lines in the report isn’t hidden—it’s stated plainly: * Tribal input was “critical” * Efforts were tailored to tribal priorities * Land selection was guided by tribal leadership Now ask the obvious question: Where in this process are county residents represented? Where is: * The taxpayer? * The neighboring landowner? * The competing local business? * The public that has used these lands for generations? They’re not in the framework. The Long Game: This Looks a Lot Like “Land Back” The report avoids political language—but the direction is clear. It openly calls for: * Continued land consolidation * Additional funding to expand the program * Policies that increase tribal land control and jurisdiction That’s not a short-term fix. That’s a long-term transfer strategy. Call it what you want—but functionally, it aligns with what many now describe as the landback movement. The Silence at the Local Level Here’s the uncomfortable part. This is all happening while: * County commissioners rarely challenge or question these efforts * Letters of support are considered with minimal scrutiny * Public concern is often dismissed or ignored And yet, the consequences are real: * Land moves out of the local tax base * Regulatory authority shifts * Economic competition becomes uneven This isn’t about opposing tribes. It’s about asking whether your elected officials are representing you in a system where others clearly have a seat at the table. “The government you elect is the government you deserve.” — Thomas Jefferson The Pattern Is the Story This isn’t about one land transfer. It’s not about one tribe. It’s about a repeatable, scalable model that has already reshaped land ownership across the country—and is now visible in Clallam County. The federal government calls it restoration. Tribal leaders call it sovereignty. But for local residents, the question is simpler: Who is making sure your interests are part of the conversation? Download the Land Buyback Program for Tribal Nations here: Today’s Tidbit: The Olympic Herald If you aren’t subscribed to the Olympic Herald, you should be. While much of the local narrative gets filtered or softened by legacy media, the Olympic Herald’s reporting has been peeling back layer after layer of what’s really happening inside the Clallam County court system—and it’s not flattering. The pattern that’s emerging is hard to ignore, and frankly, it should concern anyone who still believes justice is applied evenly. Two recent cases they highlighted tell the story better than any commentary could: * Aaron Fisher received 90 months—seven and a half years—for the death of 70-year-old Richard Madeo near the Sequim Safeway gas station during last year’s Irrigation Festival. * Richard Loren Pratt was sentenced to 116 months—nearly ten years—in Grays Harbor County for killing at least five cow elk. Read that again. A human life: 7.5 years.Five elk: nearly a decade. Draw your own conclusions, but it’s difficult to reconcile those outcomes without asking what, exactly, is being prioritized—and whether the system is delivering proportional justice. This is precisely why independent journalism matters. When local courtrooms operate largely out of public view, it takes persistent, unfiltered reporting to surface the outcomes that demand scrutiny. If nothing else, these cases should prompt a broader conversation about accountability, consistency, and whether the scales of justice in our region are as balanced as we’re led to believe. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.ccwatchdog.com

    17 min
  2. 2 DAYS AGO

    Behind the Curtain: What Jamestown Doesn’t Want You to See

    For years, the Jamestown Tribe’s newsletter was public. Now it’s restricted—available only to Tribal citizens who request it. Why the sudden change? After reviewing the latest issue, the answer may be uncomfortable: a steady stream of taxpayer-funded projects, expanding benefits, and business activity that directly competes with local residents—all happening with limited public visibility. There was a time when anyone in Clallam County could go online and read the Jamestown Tribe’s monthly newsletter. That’s no longer the case. Now, unless you’re a Tribal citizen, you’ll see a message saying the site is “under construction” and be told to call or email to request access. Transparency, apparently, now comes with conditions. That might not raise eyebrows—until you actually look at what’s inside. Public Money, Private Upgrades One of the centerpiece articles, authored by the Washington State Department of Commerce, reads less like oversight and more like promotion. It opens with a long detour into the symbolism of the western red cedar—climate impacts, cultural references—but never really connects those ideas to anything concrete. Then it gets to the real point: money. State and federal grants are being used to upgrade tribal-owned housing—new roofs, insulation, heat pumps, and water systems. On the surface, that sounds reasonable. Until you look closer at what some of those “housing” units actually are. At least six of these properties are not basic housing—they’re high-end vacation rentals located on the golf course and marketed through the Tribe’s own resort platform. These are income-generating assets, competing directly with local vacation rentals, hotels, and small landlords throughout Clallam County. And unlike every other operator in that space, they don’t operate on a level playing field. These properties are not subject to local property taxes, and in many cases, avoid the same lodging taxes and regulatory burdens that everyone else is required to navigate. So the equation becomes hard to ignore: public dollars are being used to upgrade revenue-generating vacation properties… that then compete against the very taxpayers who funded them. That’s not just economic development—it’s government-funded competition. The Grant Pipeline Never Stops The newsletter makes one thing clear: grant funding is everywhere. * Nearly $900,000 for housing upgrades alone * Over $1.3 million for a solar microgrid project * Additional clean energy and infrastructure funding layered on top And then there’s the bucket truck—purchased with Department of Energy grant funds. The justification? It will maintain tribal powerlines and infrastructure. Fair question: what powerlines? And if it’s a regional asset, why is it owned exclusively by one entity? The newsletter frames it as generosity—The Tribe will let others use it if needed. But the reality is simpler: state and federal dollars paid for it. Your money. Expanding Services for a Shrinking Population The Tribe continues to expand social and community services—adding new case managers, clinical staff, and program administrators. At the same time, the newsletter highlights ongoing elder services, food programs, and subsidized support systems available to Tribal citizens: * Food pantry access up to 400% of federal poverty levels * Elder meal delivery and events * Case management and employment assistance * Cultural stipends ($40/hour for participation) These are real benefits—substantial ones. But they exist alongside a broader county population that is struggling with housing, addiction, and access to basic services. Two systems. One funded largely by the same taxpayers. Treaty Rights, Subsidized Access The newsletter also highlights subsistence cards and treaty-managed harvests—tracking every fish and shellfish taken to maintain allocation shares. These are long-standing rights—but they come with infrastructure, staffing, and enforcement supported in part by public funding streams. Again, the question isn’t whether these programs exist—it’s who pays for them, and who benefits. Carefully Framed Messaging In a more subtle section, the Tribe advises citizens on how to interact with federal immigration authorities, offering guidance and “Know Your Rights” materials. It’s framed as safety and awareness—but it also reflects a broader pattern: messaging that emphasizes external threats, internal cohesion, and reliance on tribal systems. The Railroad Bridge Question Then there’s the Railroad Bridge. The Tribe owns it. The total cost to replace it is estimated at $3.1 million. Yet: * They’ve already received $2.55 million in state funding * They’ve launched a capital campaign asking for donations * The shortfall is roughly half a million dollars — the same amount they spend on Christmas lights each year This is from an organization that routinely generates over $100 million in revenue annually. At some point, it’s fair to ask:Why is the public always expected to fill the gap? “Our history shows that we have always been self-reliant and determined to forge our own path.” — Jamestown Tribe website Why Hide the Newsletter? Taken individually, each of these items can be explained away. Together, they tell a different story: * Public funding flowing into privately controlled assets * Business activity competing with local residents * Expanding benefits unavailable to the general public * Continued reliance on grants and subsidies * And now, reduced public visibility into it all Which brings us back to the original question: If this is all above board… why make the newsletter harder to access? Download the April Jamestown Tribal Newsletter here: Today’s Tidbit: “None of the White Man’s Business?” One item in Saturday’s Social Media article sparked a lively comment thread—and it’s worth a closer look. A comment claimed that what the Jamestown Tribe does is “none of the white man’s business.” It wasn’t anonymous. It was posted by Jonathan Arakawa—a youth leader who is already working within local schools, helping shape curriculum and student understanding of tribal sovereignty, civic engagement, and governance. According to his own organization, he has presented to hundreds of middle school students and helped train school staff in these areas. That’s what makes this notable. This isn’t some fringe opinion—it’s coming from someone actively involved in educating the next generation, under the banner of “unity” and “social wellness.” And yet, the message here is exclusionary. You can’t promote civic engagement on one hand, while telling part of the public that local issues are none of their business on the other. Especially when those same issues involve public funding, public policy, and economic activity that impacts the entire community. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.ccwatchdog.com

    42 min
  3. 3 DAYS AGO

    Ozias Blames the Feds — But Clallam County Is Living the Results

    When Commissioner Mark Ozias responds to concerned citizens, a pattern emerges: blame Washington, D.C., defend current policies, and dismiss the role of local decision-making. But the conditions on the ground in Clallam County tell a different story—one shaped not by distant policymakers, but by years of choices made right here at home. If you haven’t subscribed to Clallam County Letters, you’re missing some of the most provocative exchanges between concerned citizens and the officials elected to represent them. When a Clallam County resident recently reached out to the Board of Commissioners, Commissioner Mark Ozias responded with a familiar explanation: homelessness is being driven by rising costs and cuts to the federal safety net. It’s a convenient answer. It’s also incomplete. Commissioner Ozias has served in local government for over a decade. The president he references has been in office just over a year. Yet somehow, the responsibility for what we’re seeing on our streets—addiction, disorder, and growing encampments—belongs almost entirely to the federal government. That doesn’t hold up. Not every county in America is experiencing the level of overdose deaths and public disorder that Clallam County is. Local policy matters. Local leadership matters. And local outcomes reflect local decisions. Authority When It’s Convenient In his response, Ozias also defended Health Officer Dr. Allison Berry, stating: “Dr. Berry is not a police officer and cannot arrest or forcibly move anyone…” But that explanation raises an obvious question. During COVID, Dr. Berry exercised sweeping authority—mandating masks, requiring proof of vaccination for entry into restaurants, and shutting down businesses that did not comply. She had authority then. Now, when it comes to addressing public health hazards tied to encampments, open drug use, and environmental degradation, we’re told her authority is limited. Which is it? A False Choice — and an Inappropriate One In another response to a constituent, Ozias wrote: “If your argument is ‘let them die rather than trying to save their life with Narcan’ I would just say that I do not agree with you, though I certainly know others who share your opinion.” No one made that argument. It’s a strawman—and an inappropriate one. Concerned residents are not advocating for death. They’re asking why current policies appear to enable continued addiction without requiring a path to recovery. That’s not cruelty. That’s concern. What’s Missing: Personal Responsibility Commissioner Ozias frames the issue this way: “It is not harm reduction that is causing people to live on the street and/or to be addicted to drugs. Rather it is the lack of affordable housing and a decayed social safety net that are leaving people without options.” Housing matters. But this framing leaves out a critical piece: personal responsibility. People do not become addicted to fentanyl because rent is too high. Addiction is a behavioral and medical issue. It requires treatment, accountability, and intervention. What we’re seeing instead is a system that often provides services without expectations. When there are no expectations, behavior doesn’t change. When Policy Becomes the Problem This isn’t theoretical. It’s already playing out. Peninsula Behavioral Health’s North View luxury apartments for the homeless represent a model of permanent supportive housing where drug and alcohol use will be permitted and tolerated. Similar approaches in Seattle offer a preview of what follows. In Seattle’s Beacon Hill neighborhood, four parks have effectively been overtaken by an open-air drug market. Hundreds of people living in tents. Open use. Dealers operating openly. Residents threatened. Public spaces lost. One local observer put it plainly: “This is not a down-and-out homeless camp… This is an open-air drug market. There’s prostitution, theft, dealing, using, property destruction.” Another described the policy mindset behind it: “Somewhere in the last decade, Seattle decided that leaving people to rot in public parks was the enlightened approach… That’s what we are calling compassion.” This isn’t a housing crisis—it’s a drug crisis. And until our leaders are willing to acknowledge that, the current approach won’t reduce suffering; it will continue to concentrate it. Closer to Home For many in Clallam County, this already feels familiar. Drive past Serenity House in Port Angeles, and you’ll see it: open use, visible dealing, makeshift privacy screens just feet from families trying to live normal lives. One resident described the contrast: A man playing catch with his son in front of housing units—while just yards away, a drug economy operates in plain sight. That’s not a housing crisis. That’s a policy failure. The Affordability Argument Falls Apart If unaffordable housing is the root cause, then what have county leaders done to make housing more affordable? The record suggests the opposite: * The county commissioners regularly support tax increases * The commissioners back policies that shift land into tax-exempt trust status * Through the Washington State Association of Counties, the commissioners lobby for expanded taxing authority without a public vote Each of these decisions increases the burden on property owners—and drives costs higher. You cannot cite affordability as the problem while advancing policies that make it worse. A Dead End In a recent podcast responding to Commissioner Ozias’ remarks—titled “A Pathetic Deflection”—Clallamity Jen and The Strait Shooter captured the Board of Commissioners’ approach with a line that hits uncomfortably close to home: “The best place to turn around is a dead end.” Clallam County has hit that dead end. We are now 16 years into a 10-year plan to end homelessness. More money is being spent than ever before. Outcomes continue to decline. At some point, the question isn’t whether we’re trying hard enough. It’s whether we’re trying the right things at all. What Comes Next This is not a problem beyond our control. The County—through the Board of Health and its Health Officer—has both the authority and the obligation to address conditions that threaten public health and safety. What’s missing isn’t funding. It’s a willingness to change course. Because we cannot fix a problem we refuse to acknowledge. And until that happens, the gap between what residents are experiencing—and what they’re being told—will only continue to grow. “It is much easier to treat symptoms than to cure causes.” — Carl Jung What to Watch Today This afternoon at 4:30 p.m., the Port Angeles City Council will hold a special meeting to discuss “Camping and Encampment.” For residents who have been raising concerns about public safety, open drug use, and the growing impact of encampments, this is an opportunity to pay attention. Click here for instructions on how to attend, either in person or virtually. Today’s Tidbit The City of Sequim is reminding residents to keep their lawns mowed—warning that overgrown grass may be deemed a public nuisance if it obstructs sidewalks, threatens public health or safety, attracts rodents, or diminishes neighborhood character. Just across from City Hall: This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.ccwatchdog.com

    41 min
  4. 4 DAYS AGO

    Ignored, Then Obedient: How Clallam County Responds to the Jamestown Corporation

    For eight months, Clallam County’s request for a simple conversation about taxes has been met with silence. But when the Jamestown Corporation wants something—letters of support, land transfers, legislative backing—the machinery of local government moves instantly. Emails show not just cooperation, but deference. And now, as the Commissioners prepare to discuss a response to the BIA—possibly for the first time in over a decade—the public is left with a fundamental question: who is really leading Clallam County? The Double Standard, in Plain Sight In August, the Clallam County Commissioners sent a letter to the Jamestown S’Klallam Tribe. It wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t political. It wasn’t even demanding. It simply asked for a conversation—specifically, whether the tribal corporation would consider contributing more toward property taxes and lodging taxes that fund county services. Eight months later? Nothing. No response. No meeting. No acknowledgment. When the County followed up, the reply they received was as revealing as it was dismissive: “We will let you know if/when we need further conversations.” That wasn’t a partnership. That was a signal. But When Jamestown Asks—Everything Moves Contrast that silence with what happens when the Jamestown Corporation wants something from the County. The difference is immediate—and documented. Internal emails show the Jamestown Corporation actively requesting a letter of support for federal legislation that would transfer the Dungeness and Protection Island National Wildlife Refuges into tribal trust. Not just requesting. Providing the letter. Drafted. Structured. Ready for signature. “I’m attaching a draft letter of support…” From there, the process becomes almost automatic: * The County schedules a work session around Jamestown’s availability * Then Jamestown coordinates the timing * Presentations are arranged to “educate” commissioners * The draft letter—written externally—is positioned to go out under the Commissioners’ names All before any meaningful public discussion. Sequim Saw It First This isn’t isolated. The same playbook was used with the Sequim City Council. As previously reported, a “letter of support” considered by Sequim wasn’t truly authored by the City—it was provided to them. Officials didn’t write it. But they’re considering adopting it. And now, the same pattern is playing out at the County level. Different jurisdiction. Same script. Pushy When It Matters, Silent When It Doesn’t The contrast is hard to ignore: * When the County asks for a conversation → silence * When the County follows up → deflection * When Jamestown wants support → immediate coordination * When legislation is involved → draft letters provided for signature This isn’t just influence. It’s asymmetry. And it raises a deeper question about governance: is this a partnership—or a one-way expectation? And What Happens When Citizens Speak Up? There’s another layer to this dynamic—and it involves the public. When engaged citizens raise concerns about land transfers, taxation, or the growing influence of the Jamestown Corporation, they aren’t met with meaningful dialogue. Too often, they’re dismissed—not just by tribal leadership, but by their own elected officials. Jamestown Corporation CEO Ron Allen has characterized critics as “whiners and complainers” who need to be “set straight.” Think about that. Residents asking legitimate questions about public land, tax fairness, and local governance—reduced to a label. But it doesn’t stop there. Many citizens who attempt to engage with the Clallam County Board of Commissioners are being dismissed, ignored, or even belittled during public meetings and correspondence. Questions go unanswered. Concerns are minimized. Participation is tolerated—but rarely respected. At the same time: * The County’s own request for a conversation is ignored * Public concerns are acknowledged privately, but not acted on publicly * Letters of support move forward without meaningful public input So where, exactly, is the space for the public? Because it’s becoming increasingly clear: If you’re an elected official aligned with Jamestown, your voice is elevated. If you’re a citizen asking questions, your voice is diminished. "So, to the Jamestown Tribal Council and members of the Jamestown S'Klallam Tribe, I'd like to take this moment to apologize for my lack of communication. I believe that the Jamestown S'Klallam Tribe is our most important partner in local governance whether we're talking about healthcare, or habitat restoration, or transportation, or emergency management, or economic development, or any of the myriad of areas that we work together for this community, and I hope to do better in meeting that standard in the future." — Commissioner Mark Ozias, April 2024 Weak Leadership Creates Strong Influence There’s a common thread connecting the Clallam County Board of Commissioners and the Sequim City Council: Weak leadership. Because strong leadership asks questions. Strong leadership negotiates. Strong leadership doesn’t sign letters it didn’t write. The Jamestown Corporation has proven effective at identifying and supporting candidates who align with their priorities: * Financial backing in key campaigns * Promotion of groups like the Sequim Good Governance League * Relationships that translate into access—and outcomes That’s not accidental. That’s strategy. What Happens Next Matters Today’s work session may be one of the most important in years. On the agenda: * Discussion of a response to the Bureau of Indian Affairs regarding land transfer * Discussion of transferring the Dungeness and Protection Island Wildlife Refuges This could be the first time in over a decade that Clallam County formally responds to a federal trust land action. The public can attend: * In person * Virtually But there’s a catch: No public comment. Which means the only voices in the room will be the ones already at the table. The Real Question This isn’t about being “for” or “against” the Jameston Tribe or Corporation. It’s about balance. It’s about accountability. It’s about whether Clallam County represents its residents—or defers to whoever asks most effectively. Because right now, the pattern is clear: When the County asks, it waits. When the Jamestown Corporation asks, it acts. And that’s not governance. That’s compliance. Today’s Tidbit In yesterday’s article, County Commissioner candidate Jake Seegers highlighted a troubling detail: a voucher distributed through the County’s Harm Reduction Center that allows recipients to take a free shower at the Shore Aquatic Center. At the same time, according to the Clallam County Sheriff’s Office sex offender registry, there are currently 27 registered sex offenders in Port Angeles—more than a third of them listed as transient. The Shore Aquatic Center isn’t just another facility—it’s where families bring their children. It’s where kids use locker rooms, often out of direct sight of parents, with the expectation that the environment is safe. Residents need to be aware of this when they drop off their grandkids at the pool—or when their kids head into a locker room, and they tell them they’ll meet them in a few minutes, trusting that nothing will go wrong. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.ccwatchdog.com

    53 min
  5. 5 DAYS AGO

    Thirty Minutes on the Laurel Street Stairs

    In this week’s Sundays With Seegers, County Commissioner candidate Jake Seegers examines a brutal 30-minute assault on the Laurel Street stairs—an incident that unfolded in the downtown core without intervention. Jake connects the violence to a broader pattern: policies that tolerate instability, avoid enforcement, and increasingly normalize outdoor living. The question is no longer whether it’s working—but whether anyone will change course. Assault on a Landing At 5:02 a.m., February 22, on the stairway behind the downtown Port Angeles fountain, a homeless man—Jake Veach—sat beside his camp, recently established on the first landing from the top. What followed was not a brief altercation or a momentary loss of control. According to the police report, the violence stretched over roughly thirty minutes—an extended, escalating assault carried out in plain view on public property, just below a neighborhood of families. During that time, according to the police report, Mr. Veach was repeatedly kicked, stomped on, and struck by the suspect, Isoble Snow. The report makes clear that he attempted to disengage, at times sitting back down and trying to avoid further conflict with Snow. But the assaults continued—again and again—over a sustained period that should give anyone pause. Thirty minutes. That detail matters. It speaks not only to the brutality of the attack, but to the absence of interruption—no effective intervention, no meaningful disruption, no system stepping in before things escalated further. All of it captured on camera. All of it unfolding on a public pedestrian connection between a residential neighborhood and the downtown core. At approximately 5:33 AM, the violence intensified. The report indicates that the suspect, Isobel Snow, stabbed Mr. Veach in the left tricep multiple times. When he attempted to grab her hand—possibly to disarm her—his right hand was lacerated. Even after the stabbing, the incident did not immediately end. Mr. Veach collapsed, clutching his arm. The suspect moved away, then re-engaged. The confrontation continued before eventually de-escalating into conversation—and even an embrace. At 5:51 AM, the incident was reported. Responding officers arrived to find both individuals next to a large pool of blood on the stair landing. According to officers, Mr. Veach claimed his injuries were self-inflicted or the result of “falling on scissors.” Ms. Snow stated she arrived to find him bleeding and called for help. Historical Context Disclaimer: The following section reflects personal observations and conversations, as well as accounts from individuals living in the area. It is not part of the official police report and has not been independently verified. I met Jake in mid-February. His camp, at the time, was feet from Tumwater Creek. He collected rocks. I happened to have a small stone in my pocket from the beach and offered it to him. He accepted it with appreciation. We talked for about fifteen minutes. Jake told me he came from Idaho, in part because Washington offers more services—specifically, clean drug use supplies. He said he had been living along Tumwater Creek for two to three years. He was candid about his drug use: “Everybody has to use out here. If you’re homeless, you have to.” He appreciated the food, clothing, and supplies available through local programs, including the County’s Harm Reduction Health Clinic. But he also expressed frustration—suggesting, for example, that syringe distribution should require exchanges. More importantly, he expressed a desire to get out. He wanted inpatient treatment. Stability. A way forward. When asked what would happen if enforcement made outdoor living no longer an option, he said he would go to Serenity House temporarily—and then he would “leave town.” A Bit Downstream Later that month, the contents of an abandoned camp spilled down the bank of Tumwater Creek—scattering solid waste across Port of Port Angeles–owned property just north of Jake’s camp. According to a reliable eyewitness, the camp had previously been occupied by Isobel Snow. Signs of drug use were just steps away. The same source also identified Snow’s previous encampment, which had burned to the ground. Prior to the incident on the stairs, Mr. Veach and Ms. Snow reportedly had a history that included a domestic violence no-contact order. The assault on the Laurel Street stairs was captured on camera. But it raises a larger question: how much violence and instability goes unseen—hidden by dense brush, distance, and the constant rush of Tumwater Creek? If this is what unfolds in a visible, monitored location, what is happening in the places we don’t see? When Advocacy Becomes Enablement At the March 17th meeting of the City of Port Angeles City Council, nearly an hour of public comment was delivered. A clear pattern emerged. Speaker after speaker urged the city to allow outdoor camping to continue—many calling for fewer restrictions, or a hands-off approach so long as camps appeared orderly. It did not feel spontaneous. The repetition in language and framing suggested coordination, with many speakers advancing nearly identical ideas. One commenter urged the city to establish areas where unhoused individuals could “exist safely… with sanitation… and protection from harassment.” Another warned that “attempts to prohibit camping and encampments are a clear attack on homeless populations.” Others advocated for designated outdoor communities “where these people can reside in safe, secure… communities,” while one speaker cautioned that banning camping “would be devastating… there’s nowhere else to go.” Perhaps most telling was the suggestion that, “If a campsite is clean and the people aren’t harassing anyone, leave it.” Taken together, the message was consistent: outdoor living should be preserved and protected. But what happened on the Laurel Street stairs raises a difficult question—what does that look like in practice? When Leaders Can’t Say “No” Maybe the stabbing at Laurel Street could have been avoided. Instead, individuals with known instability—living outside despite available shelter capacity—are enabled by a system that provides resources, access, and freedom without consistent expectations or enforcement. This is not an isolated incident—it is a glimpse into a lawless society encouraged to grow at the expense of the lawful. The City of Port Angeles has repeatedly failed to enforce existing trespass laws or meaningfully address unauthorized encampments. The Clallam County Board of Health and Health Officer Allison Berry have refused to comply with their lawful duty to “prevent, control or abate nuisances which are detrimental to public health,” when conditions deteriorate on public or private land. Meanwhile, harm reduction efforts have expanded without sufficient accountability for outcomes. Supplies are distributed widely, and in many cases, are discarded unused, contributing to growing waste in public spaces and sensitive environments. Residents have taken notice. The Lincoln Street Safeway is now commonly referred to by some as the “UnSafeway,” reflecting concerns about open drug use and dealing. Panhandling continues, often unaddressed, contributing to a steady flow of cash into the drug trade. Basic services are widely available—but many are concentrated in the same areas where drug activity is prevalent. Free food is abundant. WSU Extension keeps an active document of local food resources here. Showers are available at Serenity House, Salvation Army, The Answer for Youth (TAFY), and now in the same locker rooms utilized by children and families at the taxpayer-funded William Shore Memorial Pool. Transients are invited to shower Monday through Friday between 5:30 am and 10:30 am. TAFY provides free tents and camping gear and pays for propane tank refills at a nearby gas station—fuel that is often used for unventilated heating sources inside tents. City, Port, and County-owned property has effectively become a largely unregulated option for outdoor camping, substance abuse, and illegal dumping. Clallam Transit connects all of these services with convenience, free of charge. The map below is not exhaustive, but it illustrates the network of services, resources, and lack of enforcement that made the Laurel Street Stairs a prime location for this incident. “If you build it, [they] will come.“ - Field of Dreams, 1989 The Officer Who Said “No” In contrast, one moment in the report stands out. When Ms. Snow asked to smoke a used cigarette from an ashtray while in custody, the arresting officer refused. He followed protocol. He held the line. It’s a small detail—but a telling one. Because, in a system where nearly every request is accommodated, the first “no” can trigger instability. According to the report, Ms. Snow reacted by repeatedly striking her head against the divider in the patrol car. Like a spoiled child who is granted their every request, when finally told “no,” Ms. Snow melted down into a tantrum. That reaction is not random. It reflects a broader pattern—one shaped by a system that too often avoids setting limits. Private Landowners Caught in the Middle Not all stakeholders have accepted this trajectory. The Port of Port Angeles has taken active steps to address trespassing, waste, and environmental damage on its property. During a February 24, 2026 Port Commission meeting, Port Security Lead Jack Lowell outlined efforts to address these issues, including active vegetation management to improve visibility and deter camping, the placement of “No Trespassing” signage across Port property, increased security patrols, and a $70,000 fence installation along 18th Street near the airport, across from Serenity House. Security staff also make near-nightly contact with campers, asking them to move along—some comp

    56 min
  6. 2 APR

    A Roadmap to Expansion

    The Jamestown Corporation calls its Comprehensive Plan a “road map.” But when you follow that map closely, it doesn’t just outline growth—it outlines a deliberate, decades-long strategy to acquire land, expand sovereignty, and shape the future of Clallam and Jefferson Counties. The question is no longer whether this is happening. It’s whether the public fully understands it—and whether anyone is asking where it ends. The Plan Is Not New—It’s Been in Motion Since 1985 The Tribe’s Comprehensive Plan didn’t appear overnight. It began in 1985 and was formally updated in 2016. From the beginning, the objective has been clear: Rebuild the Tribe’s land base and expand economic development. What started as roughly 10 acres in Blyn in 1986 has already grown into more than 1,700 acres. And importantly, the plan explicitly states: “At some time in the future, all of this property will likely be in reservation/trust status.” That single sentence carries significant implications. Trust land is not subject to local or state jurisdiction—meaning zoning, taxation, and regulatory authority shift away from Clallam County and the State of Washington. A 363-Square-Mile Target Area One of the most revealing elements of the plan is the Tribal Land Consolidation Area. According to the Tribe’s own document: * Spans 32 miles east-to-west * Covers 36 miles north-to-south * Encompasses approximately 363 square miles This is not a small footprint. It stretches across large portions of Clallam and Jefferson Counties, identifying where the Tribe intends to: * Acquire land * Develop economically * Convert properties into trust status This is not opportunistic growth—it is geographically defined expansion. “Reacquire Homelands”: Cultural Restoration or Strategic Expansion? The plan frequently references: * “Reestablishing homelands” * “Reacquiring lands” * “Usual and accustomed areas” tied to the 1855 Point No Point Treaty These phrases are grounded in history—but they are also being operationalized into modern land acquisition policy. The Tribe’s defined “usual and accustomed” areas include: * Strait of Juan de Fuca * San Juan Islands * Admiralty Inlet * Hood Canal That’s not just symbolic geography—it’s tied to legal rights to fish, hunt, and gather, and increasingly, to influence over environmental and land-use policy. Infrastructure That Follows Development—Or Leads It? One of the more striking sections involves transportation: “Safety improvements on [US Highway 101] should be timed with Tribal land development.” This raises a critical question for local residents: Are infrastructure projects—like highway redesigns, access changes, or even roundabouts—being planned in coordination with Tribal development goals? The plan confirms that: * The Tribe has already secured funding for infrastructure projects * Additional improvements are tied directly to future development At a minimum, this suggests alignment between transportation planning and Tribal economic expansion. Whether that includes specific projects like Highway 101 roundabouts is not explicitly stated—but the framework for coordination is clearly there. Economic Strategy: Competing as a Sovereign Entity The Tribe identifies its “comparative advantages” as a sovereign nation and targets key industries: * Tourism * Healthcare and medical services * High-tech business * Marine services * Construction This is not just community development—it is regional economic competition, with unique advantages: * Different regulatory environment * Access to federal funding streams * Ability to convert land into trust status * Ability to shelter businesses from taxes that competitors must pay The plan openly acknowledges the need to: Expand governmental authority and request increased federal funding. The Self-Sufficiency Paradox Perhaps the most important—and least discussed—section is the Tribe’s stated goal of: * Self-sufficiency * Self-reliance * Reduced dependence on federal funding At face value, that sounds reasonable. But elsewhere, the plan states: The Tribe will continue working with Congress to request increased funding. So which is it? * A transition away from federal support? * Or an expansion of funding alongside an expansion of authority? And more importantly: When will that transition to “self-reliance” actually happen? Accountability Without Access The plan emphasizes measurable outcomes: “Every Tribal program… should have some expected result… documented and compared with expected results.” That sounds like accountability. But for the general public: * These results are not readily accessible * Tribal governance operates outside many state transparency laws * Local residents have limited visibility into outcomes tied to regional impacts So while the framework for accountability exists internally, external oversight is minimal to nonexistent. The County’s Role: Acknowledged—but Limited The plan makes an important admission: “Decisions made by Clallam County or the State… will have an impact on our ability to utilize those lands.” In other words, local policy still matters—for now. But as land transitions into trust status, that influence diminishes. A Bigger Question: Who Is This Plan For? There’s no question the Comprehensive Plan is well-structured, strategic, and long-term in vision. But it raises a fundamental issue: * Is this plan designed primarily for Tribal benefit and sovereignty expansion? * Or does it equally consider the long-term interests of the broader public living in the same region? Because as land moves into trust status: * It exits local tax rolls * It leaves local regulatory control * It shifts governance away from elected county officials And yet, its impacts—on infrastructure, housing, environment, and economy—remain shared. “For ten thousand years, a nation of people lived and prospered on these lands of the Olympic Peninsula. These strong people of the S’Klallam tribes had a system of governance, engaged in commerce, managed natural and human resources, and exercised power over their territorial boundaries.” — Opening to the Jamestown 2016 Comprehensive Plan Final Thought The Jamestown S’Klallam Tribe has been clear: “The Comprehensive Plan is the Tribe’s road map.” The roadmap is not hidden. It’s public. The real issue is whether local residents, elected officials, and policymakers are reading it closely—and asking the hard questions about where it leads. Because once you understand the scope—363 square miles, long-term acquisition, and eventual trust conversion—this stops looking like incremental growth. It starts looking like a generational strategy. And strategies like that don’t unfold by accident. Today’s Tidbit The Jamestown Corporation is ramping up efforts to take control of the Dungeness and Protection Island National Wildlife Refuges, transferring them out of public ownership and into tribal control. According to the Sequim Gazette, Protection Island’s history “starts and ends with the S’Klallam people.” That claim, however, overlooks documented history indicating the presence of the Chemakum Tribe prior to the S’Klallam. Tribal officials say “appropriate public access” will continue. But that raises a simple question: Who decides what “appropriate” means? The same access? Reduced access? Conditional access? Jamestown Corporation CEO Ron Allen framed the effort as transparent, noting outreach to city and county officials for letters of support. He also acknowledged public skepticism in a Sequim Gazette article yesterday: “Some folks just don’t like Jamestown… People just don’t understand why the properties are important to us.” But these lands are not just tribal history—they’ve been part of the American public trust for over a century, since designation under Woodrow Wilson. According to Allen, the approximately 900 acres include historically significant areas, but they are also federally protected wildlife refuges. And potential future use raises additional concerns. Allen indicated that, if permitted, an oyster operation could be introduced—public records show the oysters will be a non-native species for commercial viability. Meanwhile, a lawsuit remains pending between Protect the Peninsula’s Future and the Department of the Interior over aquaculture activity near the Dungeness refuge. And there are still unresolved historical questions. Claims of permanent tribal settlements on the Dungeness Spit and Protection Island are debated, in part due to the lack of a reliable freshwater source. However, the area on the Spit is tied to the historical Dungeness Massacre, where the Jamestown Tribe slaughtered 17 Tsimshian Indians who were resting during a long canoe journey. All of this leads to a larger issue: This isn’t just about history.It’s about control—of land, access, and future use. And once public land is transferred out of the public domain, there’s no easy way to get it back. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.ccwatchdog.com

    1 hr
  7. 1 APR

    County Opens First-Ever Burden Reduction Center

    In a bold new step beyond harm reduction, Clallam County unveils a revolutionary program aimed at eliminating life’s greatest injustice: doing the dishes. One survivor shares her story of childhood trauma—and the battery-powered bottle opener that saved her life. She agreed to meet because she wanted her story told. She sat across from me in a dim apartment, sleeves pulled down tight despite the warm afternoon. Her voice trembled as she began. “It started when I was about seven,” she said quietly. “Thanksgiving. Everyone else was watching football… and I was alone in the kitchen.” She paused. “My uncle came in.” I leaned forward. “He showed me what to do. How to hold things. How to scrub. And before I knew it…” she swallowed hard, “…I was rinsing.” I exhaled slowly. “It didn’t stop there,” she continued. “Once my sister was old enough, they brought her in too. She didn’t resist as much. Then it was everyone and all the time. Extended family. Holidays. Weekends. Any time there were dishes… we were expected to handle it.” She slowly rolled up her sleeves. The damage was unmistakable. Dry skin. Cracked knuckles. Permanent wrinkles. She had dishpan hands. “Don’t Forget to Presoak” “My mother was the worst,” she said flatly. “We’re estranged now.” She described years of verbal abuse. “She’d say things like ‘Don’t forget to presoak’… or ‘Make sure you wipe the crystal before it spots.’” She shook her head. “I was just a child.” She said the abuse was calculated. “I honestly believe my parents had kids just so they wouldn’t have to do the dishes themselves.” I asked her why she thought that. She stared at me. “Because of what they named us.” A long pause. “My sister is Joy.” Another pause. “I’m Dawn.” I sat back. “…like the dish soap?” She nodded. “They’d say things like, ‘You have such a bubbly personality,’ or ‘Your mind is like a sponge.’” She clenched her fists. “It wasn’t encouragement. It was conditioning.” A Lifetime of Scars Dawn says she worked hard to escape her family. It was all she could think about growing up. She moved out at 32 and never looked back. “I just couldn’t do it anymore. Every plate… every fork… it was like reliving the trauma.” Her sister Joy had left earlier. “Joy’s doing… fine,” Dawn admitted reluctantly. “She’s a regional manager now, owns two homes, runs marathons… but emotionally? Completely unavailable. You don’t go through something like that and come out normal.” The Dishwasher Theory of Crime Dawn believes the issue runs deeper than most people realize. “Do you know who didn’t have a dishwasher?” she asked suddenly. I braced myself. “Ted Bundy.” I blinked. “He had to wash his own dishes,” she continued. “You think that didn’t contribute? Imagine standing there, scrubbing baked-on lasagna… day after day…” She leaned in. “And then being expected to function in society.” I nodded cautiously. “When they caught him, I guarantee there was still cheese stuck to that knife.” A Turning Point Dawn says everything changed when she discovered a new county program. “I met a woman named Windy Grift that runs a behavioral health NGO,” she said. “She told me about a place that could help.” “The Harm Reduction Center?” I asked. She shook her head. “No. Next door to that.” She reached into a bag stamped with the county logo. “The Burden Reduction Center.” She began unloading items onto the table. “A precision cheese slicer,” she said proudly. “Uniform cuts. No more uneven sandwiches.” Next: a motorized bottle opener. “I saw one of these in SkyMall once. I cried.” Then: a small plastic spray bottle with a fan attached. “It mists and cools,” she explained. “And when the battery dies, you just throw it on the ground and get another one.” Breaking the Cycle A door creaked open down the hallway. “That’s my son getting up,” she said. It was 2:00 PM. A lanky teenage boy shuffled out. “Come say hi,” Dawn called. He approached. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Kenmore.” “I made a promise,” Dawn said. “That boy will never wash a dish in his life.” She handed him a lighter, an ashtray, and an extended cigarette holder. “Don’t smoke,” she told him. “But if you do, do it safely.” Kenmore nodded and left for the alley behind Safeway. A Life Rebuilt Dawn stood and opened the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room, revealing a stunning panoramic view of Port Angeles Harbor. “I still can’t believe I got into North View,” she said. “Top floor. Harbor view. Dishwasher included.” She smiled. “My application was a shoo-in. I checked the box for ‘Raised Without Dishwasher.’” “If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they’ll kill you.” — Oscar Wilde One Last Lesson As I prepared to leave, I carried my empty glass to the kitchen. “Just put it in the dishwasher,” she said. I opened it. “But… this is the only thing in here.” She nodded. “I know.” She winked. Then gently closed the dishwasher and started the cycle. Today’s Tidbit This isn’t an April Fool’s joke… but it should be. Washington State Ferries is raising fares again. After implementing a roughly 3% increase on October 1, 2025, another ~3% increase is scheduled to take effect May 1, 2026. For riders, that means paying more for a system that continues to struggle with reliability, staffing, and service consistency. At the same time, the agency is expanding its payroll. WSF is currently hiring a “Tribal Liaison” with a salary range of $91,400 to $122,976 annually. According to the job description, the position is intended to “build and sustain meaningful government-to-government relationships with Puget Sound Tribes,” ensure ferry operations respect treaty rights and cultural resources, and incorporate Tribal perspectives into planning and projects. The role emphasizes coordination, collaboration, and long-term relationship building. All of which raises a straightforward question for ferry riders: As costs continue to rise, how much of the system’s limited resources are being directed toward improving service—and how much is being directed elsewhere? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.ccwatchdog.com

    12 min
  8. 31 MAR

    Whose Homeland? What Clallam County Isn’t Being Told

    As Clallam County taxpayers pick up the tab for land moving into trust, a powerful narrative of “homeland restoration” is being used—while a buried history of displacement, violence, and a people nearly wiped out is largely ignored. Seven properties. Thousands in lost tax revenue. And a decade of silence. That’s where things stand in Clallam County today. Recently, seven parcels in Blyn and one near the Cedars at Dungeness Golf Course were transferred into federal trust for the Jamestown corporate entity: * 285 Chicken Coop Road * 193 Zaccardo Road * 387 Zaccardo Road * 383 Zaccardo Road * 65 Nello Place * 1743 Old Blyn Highway * Another property on Old Blyn Highway With those transfers, approximately $25,000 in annual property taxes disappears from the local tax base—funding that would otherwise support schools, fire districts, hospitals, veterans services, and essential government operations. That burden doesn’t vanish. It shifts. The Next Transfer—and the Same Silence Last week, the Bureau of Indian Affairs notified Clallam County that 9.22 acres off Silberhorn Road in Sequim had been approved for land-into-trust acquisition. The justification: “The acquisition furthers tribal interests by facilitating Tribal self-determination and reestablishment of the Tribe’s homelands.” But buried in that same notice is something just as important: * The county was notified of the application nearly a year ago * The county’s response was recorded as “absent” Not opposed.Not supportive.Not even neutral. Absent. For over a decade, federal agencies have asked Clallam County to comment on these transfers—on tax impacts, land use, and long-term consequences. And for over ten years, the county has refused to respond. In practice, silence becomes consent. “We Do Not Have a Role?” A week ago, Commissioner Mike French offered two explanations that deserve closer scrutiny. First, he suggested that concerns raised about land transfers do not reflect the broader public. He stated that the opinions expressed at public meetings requesting that the commissioners respond to the BIA “do not align” with what he hears from a majority of his constituents regarding how he should interact with tribes. Second, he made a more sweeping claim about the county’s responsibility: “We do not have a role,” he said, arguing that because the federal government enters into treaties with tribes, counties have no authority in these matters and that this is “very clear” in the Constitution. That would be a convenient explanation—if it were true. It isn’t. Because the federal government itself tells a different story. The Bureau of Indian Affairs doesn’t send letters for show. Those notices are part of the official process and are specifically intended to gather local government input on taxation, land use, and community impacts. If counties truly had no role, those letters would not exist. But they do. Which brings this back to the real issue: Not whether the county has a role — but whether county leadership is choosing not to use it. The Math Is Not Debatable At a recent presentation to the Clallam County Democrats, County Administrator Todd Mielke explained it clearly: “If anyone is exempt from paying taxes, that doesn’t mean the amount collected is less… that amount gets shifted to others.” This is not political opinion. It is how property tax systems function. When land moves into trust: * It no longer pays property tax * The levy remains * The remaining taxpayers make up the difference Fewer contributors. Higher burden. In a county already struggling with affordability, that matters. The Narrative Driving These Transfers Every one of these transfers is justified with the same language: * “ancestral lands” * “traditional territory” * “time immemorial” * “restoring homelands” The Jamestown S’Klallam Tribe’s history is described as being “faced with the threat of forced relocation by European colonizers” and speaks of returning to its ancestral lands. It is a powerful narrative. But it is not the whole story. What the Map Doesn’t Show A Natural History map, published by Doubleday, shows “probable locations of Indian tribes north of Mexico around 1500 A.D.” That map is important. Because what it doesn’t show is just as telling as what it does. It identifies groups like: * Makah * Chimakuan But it does not clearly identify the modern S’Klallam tribes or bands—Elwha, Jamestown, or Port Gamble—as distinct entities in the way they are framed today. That alone should raise a question: If modern claims rely on “time immemorial” presence in specific locations, why do historical and anthropological records show a far more fluid and shifting reality? The Chemakum: A People Nearly Wiped Out According to the Chemakum’s own history—and supported by Quileute accounts—the north Olympic Peninsula was once occupied by Chimakuan-speaking peoples, including both the Chemakum and Quileute. They were not newcomers. They were not temporary. They were there. Their own account states that the Makah moved down from Vancouver Island and the S’Klallam moved into the region from the north, gradually pushing Chimakuan peoples eastward into the Port Townsend and Chimacum areas. That is not coexistence. That is displacement. And it did not end there. The Attack That Ended a People One of the most documented events in this history is the 1847 coordinated attack on the Chemakum. Historian David Buerge describes how S’Klallam and Suquamish forces joined together with a specific goal: to destroy the Chemakum. The account is direct: * Raiders arrived under cover of darkness * They hid and waited * When families emerged, they were shot * The village rushed to defend itself * The attackers entered Then came the end: * Chemakum men were killed * Women and children were taken as slaves * The village was burned What remained was described as the smoking ruins of the last Chemakum stronghold. The only survivors were those who happened to be away at the time. That is not a minor historical footnote. That is the destruction of a people. Genocide—A Word That Fits the Record This is what followed. * Survivors were scattered * Many were enslaved * Others were absorbed into neighboring tribes * Federal agents later reclassified remaining Chemakum as S’Klallam * Their identity as a distinct people effectively disappeared Their territory? Awarded decades later to the S’Klallam by the Indian Claims Commission—on the basis that the Chemakum had “abandoned” it. Abandoned? After being attacked, enslaved, and erased? If genocide includes: * killing * forced dispersal * enslavement * cultural erasure Then the Chemakum story fits that definition far more closely than most are willing to acknowledge. And yet, in modern conversations about “historical injustice,” the Chemakum are almost never mentioned. The Quileute Connection The Quileute Tribe—the closest linguistic and cultural relatives of the Chemakum—preserve a parallel account. Their history describes the Chimakuan people as kin, separated long ago, and recounts that the Chemakum were ultimately wiped out, leaving the Quileute without their closest relatives. This is not an outsider’s claim. It is part of the historical memory of a living tribe. Selective History, Real Consequences Today, land transfers are justified using simplified language: * “restoration” * “homelands” * “ancestral territory” But those terms omit key realities: * Tribal territories shifted over time * Migration occurred * Warfare reshaped the region * Entire groups were destroyed Ignoring that history does not make it irrelevant. It makes the public conversation incomplete. Meanwhile, Back in the Present While this narrative is being used to justify land transfers: * Property is leaving the tax rolls * The burden on remaining taxpayers increases * Local governments lose revenue * And elected officials remain silent For more than two years, residents have asked commissioners to do something simple: Respond to the BIA. Document the impact. Represent the public. Instead, the record shows: Nothing. The Real Question This is not about denying tribal history. It is about acknowledging all of it. It is not about opposing sovereignty. It is about demanding accountability from local leadership. And it is not about rewriting the past. It is about refusing to accept a version of history that is selectively told to justify present-day decisions with real financial consequences. “The way to right wrongs is to turn the light of truth upon them.” — Ida B. Wells-Barnett The Bottom Line The story of this land is not simple. It is not clean. And it is not one-sided. Before federal policies, before treaties, before modern politics—this land was shaped by conflict, displacement, and, in the case of the Chemakum, the near destruction of an entire people. Today, land is being transferred in the name of justice. But justice requires honesty. And right now, Clallam County is getting only part of the story. While land changes hands…while taxes shift…while history is simplified… Your elected officials remain exactly where the federal record says they are: Absent. Today’s Tidbit What important work is the Clallam Conservation District doing to represent the public interest—especially now that county commissioners have agreed to direct $2 million in taxpayer funding to the CCD over the next decade through the $5 parcel fee (a fee not paid on parcels held in tribal trust)? So far, one example stands out. The CCD has submitted a letter of support to the Washington State Department of Ecology backing a project to “identify an alternative and sustainable irrigation water supply for Cedars @ Dungeness Golf Course” owned by the Jamestown Corporation. According to the letter, that includes investigating deep groundwater sources and recycled water

    36 min

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Holding County Leaders Accountable www.ccwatchdog.com

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