Communities of the Catawba River: Where Water Becomes Power and Wealth

Lake Norman & Mountain Island Lake

From quiet coves to nuclear cooling towers, this is the Catawba River’s final act before it leaves the region—and it’s anything but neutral.

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Where the Water Pools—and Power Concentrates

Lake Norman is the largest manmade lake in North Carolina, stretching 33.6 miles long with over 520 miles of shoreline. Built between 1959 and 1964 by Duke Energy as part of the Cowans Ford Dam project, it powers the Piedmont through hydroelectricity and cools the turbines at the McGuire Nuclear Station. Mountain Island Lake, just downstream, may be smaller—only 3,281 acres compared to Lake Norman’s 32,510—but its function is arguably more critical: supplying drinking water to over one million residents in Mecklenburg County.

These two lakes do more than hold water—they convert geography into energy, infrastructure, and wealth. And they do it on the backs of communities upstream.

Built for Growth—but Not for Everyone

Lake Norman’s shoreline reads like a directory of Charlotte’s affluence: Cornelius, Davidson, Mooresville, Huntersville. Often dubbed the “Inland Sea,” the lake is surrounded by marinas, country clubs, and sprawling developments that offer waterfront tranquility just 30 minutes from Uptown Charlotte. Beneath the surface, however, lies a buried history—communities that once stood where the lake now sits were flooded in the name of progress, and voices from upstream have long been excluded from conversations about its use.

Downstream, Mountain Island Lake lacks the polish and tourism appeal of its neighbor, but it holds perhaps the most critical role in the chain. Formed in 1924 to power the Mountain Island Hydroelectric Station, this quieter body of water now serves as Charlotte’s lifeline. It is where water pumped from upstream towns becomes utility—filtered, treated, and sent to taps in one of America’s fastest-growing metros. This lake doesn't make headlines, but its strategic importance is profound.

Water Agreements and Interbasin Transfers: Who Decides?

The water that fills Lake Norman and Mountain Island Lake begins its journey in Old Fort and Marion. It moves through Morganton, Hickory, and the town of Catawba—places that built their identity around the river’s strength, only to see it rerouted and repurposed with little voice in the matter. Interbasin Transfers (IBTs), like those sought by Charlotte, have shifted not just the river’s path but the region’s power dynamics.

Charlotte’s growth has increased demand for more Catawba water—creating political tension and legislative pushback. In 2024, lawmakers introduced new restrictions on IBTs, fueled by concerns from smaller communities who fear their resources are being extracted for someone else’s benefit. The water that cools data centers and powers homes in Charlotte still originates upstream, and the imbalance has become impossible to ignore.

Environmental Cost, Economic Disparity

While both lakes are engineered to provide power and utility, they’re also flashpoints for environmental strain. Lake Norman has faced ongoing issues with coal ash contamination and shoreline erosion, driven by dense residential development and runoff. Despite regulations mandating buffer zones and erosion control, the damage is visible—and irreversible in some areas.

Mountain Island Lake, meanwhile, still bears the ecological scars of the decommissioned Riverbend Steam Station, where unlined coal ash ponds leaked arsenic and cobalt into surrounding groundwater. Duke Energy’s cleanup began in earnest only after years of legal and public pressure. Even today, questions remain about how sustainable these reservoirs are in the face of population growth and climate change.

The imbalance isn’t just ecological—it’s economic. Catawba County and Caldwell County host massive server farms powered by energy and cooled with water from these lakes, but the high-paying tech jobs remain in Charlotte. The infrastructure exists here; the wealth does not. The water flows south, and so does the prosperity.

A Regional Reckoning Is Overdue

Communities like Hickory, Marion, and Morganton aren’t anti-growth. They simply want a seat at the table. They want infrastructure investments to reflect the burden they carry. They want Duke Energy, Charlotte’s corporate sector, and even state officials to recognize that the lakes at the end of the Catawba, in this region, don’t exist in isolation—they’re the final chapter in a regional story of imbalance.

Lake Norman and Mountain Island Lake represent the culmination of decades of decisions made without upstream consent. They are not just lakes. They are mirrors, reflecting the hierarchy of growth and the politics of power in the Catawba Basin.

If there is to be sustainability—economic, environmental, or regional—it will require more than water-sharing agreements. It will require truth-sharing, benefit-sharing, and a recalibration of who gets to write the next chapter.

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#LakeNorman #MountainIslandLake #CatawbaRiver #CharlotteWaterCrisis #DukeEnergy #EnvironmentalJustice #WaterPolitics #FoothillsCorridor #NCInfrastructure #CharlotteNC #HickoryNC
#InterbasinTransfer #NorthCarolinaWater #RegionalEquity #CommunitiesoftheCatawbaRiver

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Hickory, NC News & Views | Hickory Hound | June 1, 2025

 

 

Check out the Communities of the Catawba River from last week: 

Communities of the Catawba River: Where the River Begins - May 27, 2025

Communities of the Catawba River: Where Industry Rose and Power Shifted - May 29, 2025

 

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Across the Foothills Corridor, a region once known for its industrial ingenuity and cultural cohesion, a quieter story is unfolding. There are no headlines, no emergency declarations, and few camera crews. But if you listen closely, a deep structural shift is taking place—one that speaks volumes about what happens when the national spotlight turns away.

Once the backbone of American manufacturing, towns from Lenoir to Valdese anchored a postwar economy with furniture, textiles, and hard-earned stability. Today, many of those same towns are navigating an uneasy transition. The mills are gone. The jobs that replaced them rarely offer benefits, let alone generational security. And the connective tissue of civic life—from local journalism to youth sports leagues—is thinning with each passing year.

This is not a story of collapse. It is a story of what lingers after momentum leaves.

Many communities in the Corridor still bear the physical marks of a more prosperous era: wide brick main streets, high school auditoriums, downtown facades built to last. But the economic engine that powered them has been redirected—first offshore, then toward metropolitan hubs. Charlotte and Raleigh boom. The Corridor adapts.

But adaptation is not the same as progress.

Infrastructure tells part of the story. In places like Granite Falls and Morganton, sewer systems date back to the 1950s. Broadband remains inconsistent in outlying areas. While major cities invest in smart grids and multimodal transport, foothills towns are often left to patch what they have.

Population trends reveal another dimension. While some counties have stabilized or seen mild growth, much of it is retirement-driven. Young adults, especially those with degrees or ambition for high-wage sectors, often relocate. The communities left behind maintain a sense of identity—but must do so with fewer hands and aging volunteers.

Public governance reflects the strain. With declining revenues, towns face hard choices: maintain aging infrastructure or invest in future-facing projects? Fund parks or broadband? There are no easy answers, and in many places, no coordinated plans. Counties often work in isolation, despite shared challenges.

Yet beneath the quiet, something persistent endures. It can be seen in local farmers markets, in volunteer fire departments, in the slow but steady work of community colleges offering upskilling to those transitioning from fading industries. There is resilience here—not romanticized, not performative, just steady.

And there is opportunity.

Healthcare has emerged as a key sector. So have niche manufacturing and heritage tourism. In Valdese, a renewed focus on Waldensian history has sparked modest economic renewal. In Hickory, downtown revitalization is being attempted through streetscaping and business incubation. These efforts are real, but they exist within a context that remains structurally imbalanced.

Too often, regional strategy is reactive rather than proactive. Grants are pursued without alignment. Economic development is defined by outside recruitment rather than local incubation. And coordination between towns—despite common interests—remains limited.

This leaves a corridor of communities working hard but often working alone.

What they need is not charity. Not saviors. What they need is recognition: of their worth, of their strategic position between the Piedmont and Appalachia, of their potential as more than logistics hubs or discount retirement zones. What they need are partnerships that value place-based knowledge and localized stewardship.

The story of the Foothills Corridor is not over. But it is at risk of being written by people who have never lived here, or worse, forgotten altogether. As state and federal policy shift toward regional investment, now is the time to ensure these towns are not afterthoughts.

They do not ask for pity. They ask to be seen clearly—and dealt with honestly.

As the state looks to the next phase of economic development, the quiet durability of the Foothills Corridor deserves a seat at the table. Because in a world chasing speed and scale, there is strategic value in communities that still know how to hold the center.

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 Hickory, NC News & Views | Hickory Hound | May 18, 2025

 

The Dirt Is Moving—But What Are We Really Building?

Across Hickory, rooftops are multiplying. The dirt is turning faster than it has in decades, and everywhere you look—on the outskirts, in tight city parcels, and even on old forgotten lots—new homes are appearing.

For a town with a history steeped in industrial factories, this level of residential development might look like a long-awaited rebound. But anyone paying attention can’t help but ask: What exactly is driving all this construction? And who is it really for?

WBTV: Are new homes in the Carolinas built to fail? WBTV to share what we’ve learned May 29, 2025

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Data Server farms in North Carolina - (Google Doc embedded in title) -  I think that if Data Centers are going to have a significant impact on the Economics of our local communities, then it is high time that people start learning what they represent. 

Former CEO of Google Eric Schmidt says we will need 90 gigawatts of power for A.I. - TedTalk - May 15, 2025 -A nuclear plant produces roughly a gigawatt of power. That should tell you the amount of capacity we need. That is over what presently exists. We are going to have to get innovative with energy.

Google Document for this article. - June 1, 2025

*** I have created Google Documents for this material and Links are attached.

 The Index of Hickory Hound Stories from 2025 onward

This list will permanently remain under the Problems & Solutions forum to your right.
Look directly above and that is how you sign up for the e-mail list of the Hickory Hound to get updates.

Communities of the Catawba River: Where Industry Rose and Power Shifted

The Catawba River flows with the memory of work. For decades, it coursed through the engine room of western North Carolina, passing through towns that once stood at the center of industry, innovation, and regional momentum. Morganton, Hickory, and the Town of Catawba are not merely dots on a map—they are milestones in a journey that reveals how prosperity is won, and how influence is quietly lost.

 

Morganton: The Foundry of Foundation

Nestled near the South Mountains and Lake James, Morganton bears the weight of a longer history than most towns in North Carolina can claim. Long before European colonists arrived, this land was home to the Mississippian culture—a place called Joara, where Hernando de Soto’s men built Fort San Juan in 1567. It was the first European settlement in the interior of North America. But Morganton’s modern history was forged in factories. Incorporated in 1784 and eventually becoming the county seat of Burke County, Morganton built its reputation as a center of furniture manufacturing, textiles, and skilled labor.

Today, the echoes of that industrial era are still visible, though the economy has changed. Morganton has embraced revitalization, leaning into its cultural heritage and natural beauty to remain relevant. But the river still runs through it—feeding into a broader regional identity that ties it to Hickory and beyond. What the town now grapples with is not the memory of what it once was, but the uncertainty of what role it can play in a region whose power has shifted downstream.

 

Hickory: The Engine That Stalled

Further east, the City of Hickory stands as a symbol of what western North Carolina once promised. It was here that craft met commerce—where woodworking mastery fueled one of the nation’s most respected furniture industries. Hickory didn’t just grow; it led. With a metro population surpassing 365,000 today, it remains the economic anchor of the Unifour region.

But like many manufacturing towns, Hickory suffered under the weight of globalization and deindustrialization. Its once-bustling factories gave way to empty warehouses, and its skilled labor force faced an uncertain future. Yet, Hickory is nothing if not adaptive. The city invested in fiber-optic infrastructure, recruited data centers, and modernized its hospitals and universities. It launched the City Walk—a pedestrian corridor meant to reshape urban life and attract new investment.

Still, beneath the city’s aesthetic reinvention is a more sobering reality. When Charlotte requested a massive interbasin transfer from the Catawba River nearly two decades ago—33 million gallons a day—Hickory had the means to respond, but not the posture. It invested in image but not in influence. And when the decision passed without significant pushback, it became clear: the city that once defined the region’s economy had lost its regional leverage. The water flows on. So does the power.

 

Catawba: The Forgotten Fulcrum

At the edge of Lake Norman, the Town of Catawba carries a quieter legacy. Incorporated in 1893, this modest community once depended on agriculture and the railroad. Its population has never breached a thousand, and yet, it sits at a critical juncture—close to the river’s path and just west of where Charlotte begins to extend its reach.

Catawba’s story is not about dominance but proximity. As the Catawba River slows into Lake Norman, the conversation shifts from economic development to water politics. And though this town doesn’t drive the policy decisions that govern the basin, it is directly affected by them. The town’s access to natural resources is shaped by deals struck elsewhere. Its future is tied to voices it often cannot hear.

Catawba is not forgotten by geography. It’s forgotten by the dynamics of decision-making. And it shares that plight with Morganton and Hickory, even if the scale is different.

The River Remembers

The western section of the Catawba River—from the highlands near Morganton to the confluence near Catawba—is not just a series of tributaries. It is a continuum of culture, labor, and value. These communities helped build North Carolina’s industrial backbone. They trained generations of craftsmen, seeded public institutions, and created wealth for people far beyond their borders.

But in today’s policy environment, they are too often treated as peripheral. Decisions about water use, development incentives, and infrastructure investment are now made in Charlotte’s orbit. The river is still theirs—but the influence is not.

Conclusion: A Call for Rebalancing

If the communities of the western Catawba River are to reclaim their place in the regional dialogue, they must act as a bloc—not in nostalgia, but in clarity. They must assert their importance not just through history, but through vision. The river remembers what these cities built. Now they must remember what they’re still capable of.

They sit not at the edge of the story—but at its turning point.

 

Communities of the Catawba River: Where the River Begins

Hickory, NC News & Views | Hickory Hound | May 25, 2025

Catawba River Crisis: Charlotte’s Water Demand and the 25-Year Strain on Catawba County - April 8, 2025

The Catawba River Crisis: A Foothills Fight for the Future - April 16, 2025

 

Can Hickory’s Youth Turn a River Crisis Into a Tech Revolution? - April 22, 2025

#HickoryNC #MogantonNC #CatawbaNC #CatawbaRiver #FoothillsCorridor  #RegionalVoice #TheHickoryHound #CommunitiesOfTheCatawba  #BurkeCounty #CatawbaCounty #WesternNC #NCWater #Deindustrialization #NAFTA #FoothillsCorridor #I40 #DukeEnergy  #WaterGovernance #MountainToMetro #RegionalPlanning #NCWater

Communities of the Catawba River: Where the River Begins

 

Old Fort and Marion 

In the quiet corners of western North Carolina, where the Blue Ridge Mountains give way to wooded ridges and rushing streams, the towns of Old Fort and Marion sit near the genesis of the Catawba River. Though small in size, these communities are foundational to the broader story of the Catawba—geographically, historically, and symbolically. 

Old Fort, with a population of just over 800, lies at the foot of the Swannanoa Gap. It's here, from the mist-laden trails leading to Catawba Falls, that the river begins its descent. This town was once a military outpost on the edge of Colonial civilization, trading ground between settlers and Native peoples, and later a rail town that hoped, but never quite managed, to become a major hub. The Catawba River runs through it in the form of Mill Creek, one of the headwater streams feeding the basin. Though often viewed as peripheral in modern planning, Old Fort is closer to the Catawba's origin than any other municipality. 

 

 

Marion, just down the road, serves as the county seat of McDowell County and a gateway between the mountains and the foothills. It boasts a richer population and a longer commercial lineage than Old Fort, but the two towns are linked by geography, infrastructure, and economic history. Marion has its own greenway that traces the river’s path, and its residents, like those in Old Fort, rely on the health and governance of that water—even as decisions about its allocation are increasingly made farther downstream. 

Both towns sit outside the centers of influence that now determine how the Catawba is distributed and who benefits from its flow. They are not fighting for control—but they are watching the conversation shift. As more people downstream seek access to the river’s limited capacity, towns like Old Fort and Marion are left to wonder how their place in that system will be acknowledged. 

Together, these communities mark the westernmost pulse of the Catawba’s journey. They don't claim control over the river, nor are they the source of its policy, but they represent its beginning—its physical and civic point of origin. As the first part in the Communities of the Catawba River series, this story isn’t about political struggle or environmental crisis. It’s about place. It’s about being at the beginning of something bigger, and wondering, as the river flows eastward: who will remember where it started?

Hickory, NC News & Views | Hickory Hound | May 25, 2025

Catawba River Crisis: Charlotte’s Water Demand and the 25-Year Strain on Catawba County - April 8, 2025

The Catawba River Crisis: A Foothills Fight for the Future - April 16, 2025

Can Hickory’s Youth Turn a River Crisis Into a Tech Revolution? - April 22, 2025

#OldFortNC #CatawbaRiver #CatawbaFalls #FoothillsCorridor  #RegionalVoice #TheHickoryHound #CommunitiesOfTheCatawba  #Headwaters #WesternNC #NCWater #MarionNC #CatawbaRiver #FoothillsCorridor #I40Corridor  #WaterGovernance #MountainToMetro #RegionalPlanning #NCWater