When the Jamestown Tribe breached a Dungeness River levee before Clallam County’s replacement was built, it triggered a $15 million emergency, real flood danger to local residents, and exposed just how powerless the County is when dealing with sovereign tribal authority backed by the federal government. Emails obtained from the US Army Corps of Engineers reveal how the Tribe called the shots, the Army Corps shrugged, and Clallam County taxpayers got stuck footing the bill—with no accountability and no say.
Note: The Randy Johnson mentioned in this article is the Jamestown Tribe’s Habitat Program Manager, not the County Commissioner by the same name.
By any measure, the Dungeness River Levee Setback Project was a mess—but not just any mess. It became the most expensive and dangerous civics lesson in Clallam County history: when tribal sovereignty, federal approval, and local government collide, the result is confusion, expense, and accountability dumped squarely on county taxpayers.
What started as a collaborative restoration project with the Jamestown S’Klallam Tribe turned into a one-sided exercise in control, where the Tribe acted on its own timeline, federal regulators rubber-stamped it, and Clallam County was forced into a reactive scramble—emptying its coffers and risking its residents’ safety.
The breach heard round the Peninsula
In late July 2022, County officials were forced to admit what had just happened: a critical portion of the Dungeness River levee had been removed—before the County’s new setback levee had been built. The Tribe had acted first, breaching the levee under the authority granted by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers under Section 408 of the Rivers and Harbors Act.
Clallam County, by contrast, had just rejected all bids for levee construction because of cost overruns.
The result? A 500-foot gap in the flood protection system, a legal and physical void through which an emergency quickly flowed.
Internal emails obtained from July 2022 show Tribal Habitat Program Manager Randy Johnson openly admitting to the dangerous conditions the breach created:
“Together these [levees] will serve as a dam… This inadvertent dam could impound over 4 million cubic feet of water. Then, when the dam is overtopped and fails, approximately 10,000 to 25,000 cfs would likely be released. … Loss of human life would be a very real possibility.”
He was urging the County to immediately declare an emergency and build a temporary cross-dike, a plan the Tribe offered as a “fire insurance policy”—but one it refused to take responsibility for constructing.
In other words: “Here’s how you fix the problem we just caused—but it’s your problem.”
Who pays when a sovereign nation makes a mess?
While the Tribe enjoyed sovereign immunity and moved forward with its habitat restoration goals, Clallam County got stuck with the bill. On August 2, 2022, the County Board of Commissioners passed an emergency resolution stating that “a section of original levee was removed prior to completion of the new levee and associated work by the County,” creating a “real danger, and significant and unacceptable flood risk.”
The price tag? Up to $15 million in emergency response costs, not counting the extra contingencies and logistical nightmares created by the Tribe’s timeline.
As part of negotiating over an interim dike—the so-called “blue line” plan—the Tribe demanded:
A $15 million bond
$750,000 in escrow for restoration
Up to $25,000 in legal reimbursements to cover their own staff and consultants
That wasn’t cooperation—it was extortion, dressed up in the language of environmentalism.
Even when the Tribe offered a “solution,” it was one where Clallam County had to fund the fix, approve the permits, and carry the liability. The USACE? Silent. The Tribe? Unapologetic. The County? Cornered.
The dike that didn’t exist
In multiple emails, County and Tribal officials discuss the “blue line” dike—intended to plug the 500-foot gap and prevent catastrophic flooding. Randy Johnson offered detailed engineering specs:
8,200 CY of select levee fill
1,400 CY of excavation
1,068 tons of riprap
2,000 tons of road base material
900 CY of topsoil to restore the site post-removal
But Johnson also made it clear: the Tribe didn’t actually want the dike built. It just wanted to show that the County could build it if it chose to. The plan was political theater—proof that the County had “options,” even if all those options were outrageously expensive and reactive to a problem the Tribe had just created.
Email diplomacy from Tanzania: The $200K fix the Tribe rejected
While Clallam County struggled to avert a flood disaster, a telling series of emails revealed how outmatched they were in negotiations with their so-called partner.
On July 22, 2022, County Engineer Joe Donisi laid it out plainly: the Tribe’s premature breach of the levee had created a 500-foot opening that risked catastrophic flooding. Donisi emphasized that a temporary levee—costing just $200,000—could block the opening, save salmon, prevent downstream destruction, and avert millions in construction impacts. It also would have prevented Towne Road from closing.
Engineer Donisi made the case in a lengthy email to Randy Johnson:
“The 500 foot opening to the river... is the best and obvious location for a temporary levee that would entirely solve the situation you envision.”
“There is absolutely no question about that. One week of design at the most and 10 days of construction are all that is required.”
“A temporary levee at that location would completely block all water, all fish from entering that 500 foot opening and alleviate all concerns the County has about impacts to Phase 2 levee construction costs.”
“Blocking that 500 foot opening would do away with all the calamity, salmon death traps, destruction of Schoolhouse Bridge, etc. you outlined.”
“That temporary levee at that location requires absolutely no permits. None. The cost of this solution is estimated to be $200,000 including removal…”
This option required no permits and could be built in 10 days. Yet, tribal leadership opposed it.
The Tribe had three reasons for rejecting the emergency fix: concerns about damaging their levee, fear of violating a salmon easement, and worries the temporary structure might stay too long. County legal and engineering staff addressed all three concerns—and even offered a formal guarantee of removal. But the Tribe dug in its heels.
Randy Johnson, writing from Tanzania during this negotiation, stood firm. He flatly rejected the emergency dike option—calling it a "Band-Aid"—and argued that the Tribe’s proposal to remove the Corps dike immediately would save the County $2 million and protect salmon.
But there was a catch: the Tribe needed a letter of permission from the County to do the work. And the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers had already warned that such unilateral action wouldn’t be supported without more analysis.
In the end, the Tribe was proposing to solve a crisis it had caused—by escalating it—and expected the County to either approve or get out of the way. It wasn’t a partnership. It was pressure politics.
The Army Corps shrugs
If you're wondering where the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (USACE) was during all this—they were right there. Approving everything.
The Corps had granted the Tribe Section 408 permission on October 25, 2021, authorizing the removal of 4,718 linear feet of federal levee. But when it came time to assign blame, they had no interest. No admission of error. No assertion that the breach was ill-timed or dangerous.
Even after the gap became a crisis, the Corps’ only communication was an email on August 18, 2022, noting that the County’s emergency levee would “satisfy the Corps’ flood protection requirements” and that the Tribe could proceed with removing another 4,230 feet of levee once that was done.
No apology. No accountability. Just more green lights.
Caught Between the Tribe and a hard place
The Tribe did nothing illegal. They had approval from the feds. They acted on their own property. But what this episode exposed is that Clallam County has no tools—and seemingly no spine—when it comes to managing projects involving sovereign tribal nations. The Tribe called the shots. The County footed the bill.
In the end, County officials downplayed the fiasco in public, redrafted resolutions to absolve the Tribe of any blame, issued a letter of apology to the Tribe for not communicating better, and spun the whole incident as a success because the final levee was completed in time for winter rains. That’s like crashing your car, setting it on fire, and congratulating yourself for finally calling 911.
Power, money, and accountability
This wasn’t just a miscommunication. It was a systematic failure in intergovernmental coordination—where local residents and public funds bore the consequences of federal and tribal decisions made without transparency or accountability.
It raises uncomfortable but necessary questions:
Who protects the public when sovereign entities cause harm?
Why was Clallam County negotiating with one hand tied behind its back?
How many millions will taxpayers be expected to spend next time?
The levee held. The public never knew how close we came to a 500-year flood catastrophe. But the documents show it was not because of government foresight—it was because of a desperate, expensive, and last-minute scramble to cover for a partner that never really acted like one.
Last Sunday, readers were asked if the County should be required to provide detailed line-item budgets—not narratives—for large infrastructure projects. Of 132 votes:
99% said, “Absolutely”
1% said, “Only when problems arise”
No one said, “Narratives are fine”
The public records from the Army Corps are too large to attach, but message CC Watchdog with your email if you’d like to receive a copy.
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