New Hampshire
New Hampshire grapples with nuclear waste storage – Valley News
In New Hampshire and across New England, nuclear energy is in the spotlight. But as plans for the region’s nuclear future are charted, some of the big questions that stirred New Hampshire in the 1980s remain unanswered.
Gov. Kelly Ayotte has called for New Hampshire to embrace new nuclear technology, while state legislators have introduced multiple bills to promote its development. Then, last week, Ayotte joined the rest of New England’s governors in a bipartisan joint statement calling for the region to pursue advanced nuclear technologies while championing its two existing nuclear power plants.
There are timeline and economic questions about the implementation of emerging nuclear technologies. But front-end logistics aside, some say there’s a bigger and enduring problem: How will we safely handle nuclear waste, in New Hampshire and nationwide?
The spent fuel that nuclear reactors spit out is hot and remains dangerously radioactive for thousands of years. The U.S. Nuclear Waste Policy Act of 1982 requires it be safeguarded and separate from nearby populations for at least 10,000 years. The law also requires the United States to come up with a national system to facilitate that at a centralized location, but no plan has yet emerged.
The matter is close at hand in New Hampshire, from the hilly west of the state, where a federal proposal for a deep nuclear waste storage site once threatened to displace residents, to the Seacoast, where spent fuel from the Seabrook Station power plant is generated and stored. To activists, just how we will handle the hazardous material is a hanging question that challenges the wisdom of embarking on a new nuclear era.
“There have been efforts over several decades here in New Hampshire to raise attention to this issue, but, obviously, we haven’t seen much real movement,” said Doug Bogen, executive director of the Seacoast Anti-Pollution League.
No stranger to nuclear waste
Three hundred or so million years ago, the long, fiery process that turned New Hampshire into the Granite State began. As magma seeped up into the crust from below and began to cool, seams of grainy, crystalline granite slowly formed.
The immense pockets of stone formed through this process are called plutons. When erosion washes away the sediments and soils around them, plutons can form mountains like the 3,155-foot Mount Cardigan. That peak is the crest of New Hampshire’s largest pluton: an approximately 60-mile long and 12-mile wide stretch of granite running through western New Hampshire.
In the 1980s, this swath of stone attracted an unexpected visitor: the United States Department of Energy, searching for a site to excavate a long-term storage facility for the nation’s nuclear waste.
Spent fuel remains radioactive for several million years, but its radioactivity decreases with time. The period of “greatest concern,” where levels of radiation are more dangerous to humans, lasts about 10,000 years, according to the International Atomic Energy Agency.
So, to keep the waste contained over that period, the U.S. government plans to rely on a combination of engineering and favorable geology, according to Scott Burnell, senior public affairs officer with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. A long-term storage site is envisioned underground, because certain minerals can help shield radiation.
Granite is one such mineral. That’s what drew the department to western New Hampshire in the ’80s, Bogen recalled.
In 1986, the department announced that a 78-square-mile area on the pluton, centered around the town of Hillsborough, was one of a dozen sites across the country under consideration for a potential deep storage facility. Residents understood then that a number of surrounding towns would have been partially or entirely seized by the federal government through eminent domain to make way for the facility. Many were distraught.
“There weren’t any Yankees that were going to take that,” said Paul Gunter, a founding member of the anti-nuclear Clamshell Alliance.
The “Clams,” as well as the New Hampshire Radioactive Waste Information Network, which Gunter also co-founded; the Seacoast Anti-Pollution League; and other environmental groups, towns, and individuals mobilized quickly. In addition to organizing demonstrations, activists also circulated a warrant article opposing the generation and dumping of nuclear waste in New Hampshire. One hundred and thirty-seven towns ultimately voted to pass it, according to the New Hampshire Municipal Association.
Their opposition was multi-pronged, Gunter said. Organizers had health and safety concerns about the management of nuclear power and highly radioactive waste, including a lack of faith that the radiation would be safely isolated from human populations. They were also concerned about the proliferation of nuclear technology and the security risks that would come along with the transport of highly enriched nuclear fuel through their region. With some pacifist Quaker roots, the Clamshell Alliance also was, and remains, deeply opposed to nuclear weapons, Gunter said. They consider the matters of nuclear power and nuclear weapons inextricable.
News that New Hampshire was under consideration for a possible dump broke in January 1986. Later that year, the New Hampshire Legislature passed a law opposing the siting of such a dump in the state. When the Department of Energy dropped New Hampshire from its list, the storm seemed to have passed.
But while the Clams and others celebrated that, they continued to oppose the issue around which they had first come together: Seabrook Station nuclear power plant. At the time, then-Gov. John H. Sununu said he believed the two matters had to be considered separately. But Gunter said opposing the generation of nuclear waste went hand-in-hand with opposing its storage.
To this day, he said, the issues are often discussed separately, allowing the threat of nuclear waste to take a backseat in discussions and planning around nuclear energy.
New Hampshire’s high-level radioactive waste act was quietly repealed in 2011, and a subsequent attempt by the late former Rep. Renny Cushing to reintroduce legislation on the topic, opposing the siting of a high-level waste facility in New Hampshire, was defeated in 2020.
Where we are now
Hillsborough’s story has echoes elsewhere across the country. The most progress toward a potential deep storage site occurred at Nevada’s Yucca Mountain, where excavation took place, but the site was abandoned amid opposition from the state.
In broad strokes, a similar story has repeated in other instances where a site was proposed, Burnell said. But a spokesperson for the Department of Energy, the agency charged with finding a location, said their search continues nonetheless.
President Donald Trump’s administration has taken a new tack, framing the search for a waste facility along with potential new development as a search for a “nuclear lifecycle innovation campus.” The move comes as Trump has attempted to bolster the U.S. nuclear industry, calling for a surge in nuclear generation and development with multiple executive orders.
“The Nuclear Lifecycle Innovation Campuses Initiative is a new effort to modernize the nation’s full nuclear fuel cycle,” a spokesperson for the department’s Office of Nuclear Energy said in an email. That would involve a federal-state partnership with funding for a nuclear technology facility where many stages of the process could be colocated, they said, naming fuel fabrication, enrichment, reprocessing, and “disposition of waste” as some of what would occur at such a site.
The deadline for states to submit “statements of interest” for hosting sites was April 1, and the spokesperson said “dozens” of responses had been filed. But they declined to say whether New Hampshire was among those, and the New Hampshire Department of Energy did not immediately respond to the same question.
In the meantime
Spent fuel generated at Seabrook Station is initially stored in 40-plus-foot-deep pools of water for preliminary cooling, then moved to steel-and-concrete casks, according to Burnell and NextEra spokesperson Lindsay Robertson. The concrete casks remain on-site on a concrete pad, Burnell said. Until another plan is developed, this is the case for spent fuel generated at reactors across the nation.
The storage facilities in use at Seabrook were tested and built to government standards, intended to withstand “extreme weather,” Robertson said. She declined to say how much spent fuel was generated or stored at Seabrook Station.
Since coming online in 1990, Seabrook Station has generated a significant portion of New England’s power without generating much news. Yet Gunter said his concerns about the station and storage of its spent fuel have not been ameliorated with the passage of time.
“They’ve been affirmed,” he said.
Gunter has concerns about concrete degradation and wiring at Seabrook Station and other power plants nationwide. Regarding waste, Gunter and Bogen said they worry about sea level rise affecting the storage area; Seabrook Station is located adjacent to tidal marshland. And, lacking a national plan for more long-term storage of nuclear waste, they wonder what will happen to the material currently stored on a temporary basis at Seabrook if no such plan emerges.
Gunter said his concerns about nuclear waste are part and parcel to his overall opposition to nuclear power, including those generators already in use.
“The new reactors are still on paper. The real threat is really in the day-to-day operation of aging nuclear power plants that are way past their shelf life,” he said.
Nuclear power plants are expensive to construct, creating what Bogen called the “opportunity cost” of embracing them at the expense of other sources of power generation. He and Gunter see renewable energy, principally through offshore wind, as safer and faster to deploy, and were disappointed to see politicians renew their focus on nuclear energy.
“It is coming back in a rebranding, which this industry is very well versed in,” Gunter said. “… Nuclear waste is going to be a persistent hazard over geological spans of time, while the electricity is going to be a fleeting benefit.”
Bogen said he wanted to see more reinforcement of the waste stored at Seabrook in a model called hardened on-site storage. But in terms of dealing with future waste, he and Gunter believe the best solution would be to stop generating it altogether.
“If you find yourself in a hole,” Bogen said, “the first thing you do is stop digging.”
Conversely, the New Hampshire Department of Energy does not see the question of nuclear waste as a barrier to further development in the state, according to an email from department Legislative Liaison Megan Stone. The nuclear roadmap that Ayotte’s March executive order directed the department to craft would include consideration of the “nuclear lifecycle,” including storage and “disposition” of waste, Stone said.
Then, she alluded to the expectation that a federal plan would emerge. “Dry cask storage is a safe and effective method of storing spent nuclear fuel until it is collected by the federal government,” she said.
It wasn’t until I moved out of state for my first year at Syracuse University that I realized just how special New Hampshire is.
As a freshman, the first three questions you’re always asked upon meeting professors and fellow students are: name, major and hometown. When I answer that I’m from Webster, N.H., I’m often met with slightly perplexed expressions from domestic and international students alike. Something along the lines of, “I’ve been to Boston, but I don’t really know anything about New Hampshire” or “There’s a lot of mountains up there, right?”
So, I came up with a sort of elevator pitch. A quick and easy explanation of what New Hampshire is.
“Well, I live in the middle of the woods, off a dead-end dirt road. Enough so that I have videos of moose trotting across my yard, pictures of groundhogs sitting on my front doorstep and memories of my dogs playing with baby deer. But, I’m only a half-hour drive from the capital city, Concord. I’m an hour from the beach, an hour and a half from Boston, where I can see any of my favorite artists perform, and just two hours from Portland, Maine, and Burlington, Vermont. I’m surrounded by woods, lakes and mountains, but still have the option to venture into a city or lay by the ocean for a day if I’d like.”
At first, I was surprised by people’s reactions when they would comment on how nice it must be to live here. Enduring the cold winters and rural isolation gets old, and I certainly don’t plan on staying here forever. Still, I’ve noticed that the way I describe it has always been more affectionate than I gave it credit for.
But what I’ve realized since leaving is that New Hampshire is more than just its convenient geography. It’s a feeling you don’t fully understand until you’re far enough away from it to miss the small things.
It’s recognizing yourself in the lyrics of Noah Kahan, hearing your home described in a way that feels nostalgic and deeply personal. It’s the pride of seeing “Live Free or Die” on license plates and tattoos, knowing it isn’t just a motto, but a kind of identity people grow up internalizing.
It’s summers at Canobie Lake Park, riding Untamed for the tenth summer in a row and still flinching at the top. It’s road trips up North to Lincoln, watching the mountains slowly take over the horizon. It’s holding onto my dad as he snowmobiled around our house, wind biting my face while everything around us turned into a white blur. And it’s the constant hope of refreshing Snow Day Calculator, waiting for that announcement that meant the world would slow down for just one more day.
It’s the small familiarity of it all. Walking into Pitchfork Records and knowing the man behind the counter; talking about music as a shared interest, not a mere transaction. Visiting the middle school for my little brother’s events and knowing the teachers there will greet me like I’m still their student. It’s the kind of place where community quietly becomes a staple of your life.
It’s winter evenings that have a way of slowing everything down. Joining my family on the
couch with the sound of Fritz Wetherbee’s voice coming through the TV, steady and familiar. The introduction of the old, crackling vinyl singing, “There’s an old-fashioned home in New Hampshire with a light in the window for me.”
Although the appeal of New Hampshire has naturally worn off after 19 years in the same small town, and I often joke that I need to leave, my classmates’ replies have reminded me how remarkable the state really is. None of these experiences can quite capture it on their own, but together they point to what it means to be from a place that is small, but feels endless — one where nature, community, history and memory all overlap in ways you only fully appreciate once you leave.
I’ve always loved the idea of travel, and I have every intention of city hopping in the years to come, chasing new places and versions of “home.” But regardless of where I end up, the Granite State will always feel like mine. It’s where I know I can return when I need a renewed sense of familiarity, comfort or perspective.
For me, New Hampshire is more than the place I was born. It’s the confidence of knowing exactly what it feels like to belong somewhere, and the comfort of realizing it’s been there all along.
Addyson Kimball is a lifelong resident of Webster. She is currently a sophomore at Syracuse University, where she is dual-majoring in Political Science and Law, Society and Policy.
I’m always one to relish local eats, adventures, and unexpected experiences from around the area. I kept hearing whispers through the grapevine about a legendary psychic medium out of Portsmouth, a woman in her 70s who people swore is crazy accurate with her intuitive abilities.
And after multiple recommendations from locals, I knew I had to meet her.
Her name is Betty Lipton.
Around the Seacoast, Betty’s name (the “Portsmouth Psychic”) seems to travel in an almost folkloric way. Nobody hands you a business card, but they’ll most certainly mention her and the specificities of their reading that left them with goosebumps.
That alone intrigued me.
In an era where every self-proclaimed psychic has a social media brand and a neon storefront, Betty feels like a relic. The kind of local legend whose reputation was built slowly, person by person, reading by reading, over the course of decades.
Now approaching her late 70’s, she’s reportedly spent most of her life working as a psychic medium but has always known about her gift since childhood. First living in New York for a good portion of her early adult life, she now resides along the seacoast.
According to an interview with WMUR, Betty says, “she’s spent more than 40 years helping locals find clarity, comfort and, above all, connection.”
So on a whim, I called Betty to book an appointment and to my surprise, she had a cancellation that day. Coincidence much?
Found at the heart of Portsmouth, Betty has her own office with a beautiful waiting area for those coming in groups.
I spent 45 minutes with her reading my palm, channeling my energy and inner thoughts and even having a visit from my grandmother (who, to my surprise, is watching over me). And although I won’t disclose intimate details about my read, I will say that she knew details about my life that you certainly wouldn’t find on the internet!
I’ll give you a quick example… Betty told me my daughter would have children who would call me “Mimi”. Ready for the freaky part? My toddler had JUST started calling my mother Mimi this past week.
READ MORE: This Inspiring Free Portsmouth Exhibit Spotlights Christa MCauliffe, 39 Other Trailblazing NH Women
Meeting Betty Lipton started to feel less like booking an appointment and more like a crazy coincidence. As a firm believer of signs and “meant to be” moments, I can vouch that she will help you gain clarity or give you reassurance from a loved one.
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