Lake Dillon sits at almost 2 miles high in the Rocky Mountains. The dam and reservoir that produced this Summit County resort, along with Dillon Village on its shore and the town of Silverthorne just below it, are collectively one of Colorados winter-summer fun destinations. Dillon Dam is 5,288 feet long by 231 feet high, creating a large freshwater source for the city of Denver, as well as 25 miles of scenic shoreline. The dam stores 85.5 billion gallons of water from the Snake and Blue Rivers and Ten Mile Creek. On cue, these waters rush eastward to the South Platte River Basin through the Transmontane Project, or Roberts Tunnelaugered hundreds of feet under the Continental Divide in one of the Wests most controversial water relocation epics. Today Dillon, Silverthorne, and the Blue River Basin on Colorados western slope see their share of sailboating, snow and Nordic skiing, windsurfing, and snowboarding.

Tracing the origins and growth of the Denver Water Department, this study of water and its unique role and history in the West, as well as in the nation, raises questions about the complex relationship among cities, suburbs, and rural areas, allowing us to consider this precious resource and its past, present, and future with both optimism and realism.

The beauty of Lake Dillon brings smiles to the faces of many, but to others, it brings back painful memories. To some, it symbolizes newness, growth, and development; to others, it recalls the death of a familiar, comfortable, and slower way of life. But, no matter how one feels about it or how one describes it, barring a major disaster, the dam and lake are here to stay. With it have come changes to a town's raison d'être, as well as in land use, recreation, scenic beauty, vegetation, stream flow, and wildlife, and the county's economy.

Lake Dillon sits at almost 2 miles high in the Rocky Mountains. The dam and reservoir that produced this Summit County resort, along with Dillon Village on its shore and the town of Silverthorne just below it, are collectively one of Colorado's winter-summer fun destinations. Dillon Dam is 5,288 feet long by 231 feet high, creating a large freshwater source for the city of Denver, as well as 25 miles of scenic shoreline. The dam stores 85.5 billion gallons of water from the Snake and Blue Rivers and Ten Mile Creek. On cue, these waters rush eastward to the South Platte River Basin through the Transmontane Project, or Roberts Tunnel--augered hundreds of feet under the Continental Divide in one of the West's most controversial water relocation epics. Today Dillon, Silverthorne, and the Blue River Basin on Colorado's western slope see their share of sailboating, snow and Nordic skiing, windsurfing, and snowboarding.

Winner of the Western Writers of America 2014 Spur Award for Best Western Nonfiction, Contemporary Mention the Colorado high country today and vacation imagery springs immediately to mind: mountain scenery, camping, hiking, skiing, and world-renowned resorts like Aspen and Vail. But not so long ago, the high country was isolated and little visited. Vacationland tells the story of the region's dramatic transformation in the decades after World War II, when a loose coalition of tourist boosters fashioned alluring images of nature in the high country and a multitude of local, state, and federal actors built the infrastructure for high-volume tourism: ski mountains, stocked trout streams, motels, resort villages, and highway improvements that culminated in an entirely new corridor through the Rockies, Interstate 70. Vacationland is more than just the tale of one tourist region. It is a case study of how the consumerism of the postwar years rearranged landscapes and revolutionized American environmental attitudes. Postwar tourists pioneered new ways of relating to nature, forging surprisingly strong personal connections to their landscapes of leisure and in many cases reinventing their lifestyles and identities to make vacationland their permanent home. They sparked not just a population boom in popular tourist destinations like Colorado but also a new kind of environmental politics, as they demanded protection for the aesthetic and recreational qualities of place that promoters had sold them. Those demands energized the American environmental movement-but also gave it blind spots that still plague it today. Peopled with colorful characters, richly evocative of the Rocky Mountain landscape, Vacationland forces us to consider how profoundly tourism changed Colorado and America and to grapple with both the potential and the problems of our familiar ways of relating to environment, nature, and place.