Chiggers Stokes created DIY Hydropower for his remote off-grid cabin and learned hard lessons along the way.
In July of 1978, on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state, I stood on land shown on old maps as the Flying S Ranch. My wife and I had bought this land and cobbled together an 800-square-foot cabin for about $800 in salvaged 2x4s, and for the next four decades, this jewel-green sponge of meadow, moss, and fern absorbed our sweat, tears, a couple of units of blood, and much of our income and discretionary time.
For a while, we struggled with generators to power the cabin and survived a summer romance in the temperate rainforest on a 40-watt solar panel for which we paid $450. I read an article in Mother Earth News by a self-professed electrician who swapped the blades of a lawn mower with a pulley and belt and used this homespun system to power a 12-volt car alternator that charged deep-cycle batteries. My version worked dandy, but I learned a lot of lessons in electrification during this time – including that I needed a better way to power our home.
One day, as I pondered solutions over the property’s beautiful salmon stream, Hemp Hill Creek, I gazed in envy at the energy potential flowing through its water. Could I conspire with the stream to divert a portion of its flow to support the electrical demand of my growing family? The story that follows shows that I could, and did, yet I wouldn’t recommend everyone follow suit.
Hydro for the Home
Water traveling down a pipe is only a few steps removed from electricity traveling down a wire. After all, “current” refers to both. In its simplest form, hydroelectric generation converts the kinetic energy from falling water into mechanical energy – spinning a rotor, known as a “runner,” within an armature that, in turn, spins an electrical generator.
Any home sitting near falling water is, in theory, a candidate for powering with hydroelectricity. Outbuildings and hunting cabins can get by on only a few kilowatts of electricity, suitable for “nano-hydro” systems, but a house or large cabin will probably need a “micro-hydro” system, referred to as those producing between 100 and 2,000 watts of electricity. Even a small diversion from a stream can send enough water through a pipe, or “penstock” in hydro terms, to power a battery.
In practice, however, successful microhydro projects depend on many factors. Seasonal flow variations, freeze-thaw cycles, the distance from the water source to your home, and local laws all impact results. But, “if such a site is yours,” Paul Scheckel writes in The Homeowner’s Energy Handbook, “you have struck your own little oil well, and opportunity awaits!”
Gauging the Situation
A nano- or microhydro system’s total potential is a combination of two factors: “flow,” referring to the gallons of water moving through your system at a given time, and “head,” or how much pressure is delivered to the generator. Pressure is expressed in pounds per square inch (psi), and, as Scheckel’s book explains, each vertical foot of drop creates 0.433 psi of pressure. Therefore, total pressure (in psi) equals the feet of head multiplied by 0.433.
When you know flow and head, you can get the right-sized turbine, generator, and penstock, and divert only the water you’ll actually need from the stream. Watts equals volts times amps. I repeated this equation like a mantra, because with it, I could also calculate my household’s electrical load and size fusing, and check with a nomograph or electrician to choose appropriate wiring.
Typical house wire is 12-gauge, suitable for use in kitchens, baths, and most other rooms. Consider 10-gauge wire or thicker for higher-load, low-voltage systems powered by a 12-volt, deep-cycle battery (the lower the gauge, the thicker the wire). And keep in mind that “gauge” on its own isn’t standardized; refer instead to American Wire Gauge (AWG), which is a standardized system for electrically conductive wires. A regular breaker panel will work for fusing, because they’re keyed to amps. However, to run a 240-watt load at 12 volts – such as what’s used by a small inverter – will require at least a 20-amp breaker.
Around the same time I was considering implementing microhydro, a change in electrical code resulted in electricians dumping considerable quantities of unused house wire. I was able to purchase 2,500 feet of 10/2 wire, which went a long way toward solving my low-voltage, high-current transmission problem.
I set up the system to accept 60 gallons of water per minute flowing through more than a half-mile of 2-inch pipe with couplers every 300 feet – not optimal in any way! With this setup, I achieved 120 watts of output, or about 2.88 kilowatt-hours of electricity generation per day.
And so life went for the next 15 years, with us still realizing less than 10 percent of our hydroelectric potential using penstock that sacrificed 90 percent efficiency to pipe friction.
Letter of the Law
Before I’d continue to fight the battle of pipe friction, matters more pressing than engineering quandaries called: legal matters. In most states, water– and the fish therein – are considered resources belonging to the state in which you reside. Washington requires filing for a water right to divert from any free-flowing streams, lakes, or groundwater. Streams with resident or seasonal fish, particularly salmon, will trigger a lengthy review process, and likely bureaucratic resistance, to any proposed diversion. This isn’t an unreasonable requirement, in my opinion, especially considering that in the vicinity of Flying S Ranch, the Quileute Nation has an interest in fish and healthy habitat lying within its legally recognized grounds. Hemp Hill Creek is critical habitat for spawning beds of threatened coho salmon.
I also faced legal issues around land ownership. Pipe projects that don’t have the express written permission of all landowners can end poorly. “Handshake agreements” without any written contract have limited support in case law. An out-of-state couple owned 160 acres of forestland surrounding the cabin on which 2,000 feet of my penstock depended. A tree farm owned the waterfall above the location where I’d established my water intake. The state of Washington deemed Flying S Ranch the birthplace, reproductive grounds, and cemetery for coho salmon.
I secured a five-year, auto-renewing special-use permit from the logging company for $150. Next, the state’s Department of Ecology granted me a water right to appropriate 60 gallons per minute from Hemp Hill Creek, under the condition I return diverted water back to salmon spawning beds, richly oxygenated and cool. In the end, I kept good on this promise, charging the spawning beds on my property with a gallon per second of cool, highly oxygenated water from the system’s “tailrace” (outlet pipe). The Quileute Nation censused the salmon nest and found the fish to be healthy. As for the absentee neighbors, my tactic was to shower them with small favors, including keeping their roads and trails open and surveying their land to post a boundary.
Lessons Learned
I made many mistakes, beginning with how I selected penstock. I’d installed a half-mile of 4-inch, black corrugated drainage pipe. Corrugated pipe is designed to take the energy out of moving water – exactly contrary to making electrical current from water current. I ignored physics and laid out the long pipe, and the weight of the water immediately tore apart its couplers. I spent the next few weekends adding cement in thrust blocks every 100 feet. A friend and I buried 400 feet of pipe by shovel.
When I opened this revised system to stream water, the buried section of pipe climbed out of its ditch like the living dead, writhing up in huge arches before ripping itself to pieces. As I went up the hill, I encountered 800-pound worms of pipe dragging thrust blocks behind them.
These mistakes didn’t stop me. Later that year, I purchased a nano-hydro unit from hydroelectric designer Dan New, founder of Canyon Industries in Deming, Washington. I hoped my penstock issues would be settled by using eleven 300-foot rolls of 2-inch poly pipe. At the end of the day, after connecting the 2-inch pipe to the 2-inch nano-hydroelectric unit, I was charging a battery at 10 amps – similar to a regular car charger. I celebrated achieving less than 10 percent hydroelectric potential from my stream!
But, by 1990, eight years into the project, it was painfully obvious that the 2-inch penstock I’d run was undersized and I could no longer live without claiming some of the remaining 90 percent hydroelectric potential. I launched into the complicated permitting application with the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife to retrofit my 2-inch poly pipe penstock with 4-inch, schedule 40 PVC pipe. The state, still enthused about the success of the salmon spawning beds, granted me the permit. In the end, after about a decade of trial and (much) error, my scheme delivered 1,000 watts of power.
Overall, looking back on my work, I can share that this project was high-labor and low-output. I worked with what I had in the moment, but I’d do things much differently with hindsight. My advice is to tackle challenges in your off-grid life, but do your homework thoroughly before investing time and resources in such a project.
Chiggers Stokes is a retired National Park Service ranger and author who electrified the historic Flying S Ranch by microhydro in 1982. He writes by lights powered by water.
Originally published in the June/July 2025 issue of MOTHER EARTH NEWS and regularly vetted for accuracy.
