Where the Colorado River crisis is hitting home

LAS VEGAS — These days it can feel almost cliche to throw around the word Dystopian. But it's hard not to use it while standing on the narrow road crossing the Hoover Dam as tourists gawk at the hulking structure's exposed columns that for decades were underwater.

"It's amazing to see the water so low," says Arthur Murzeau, who's on holiday in Las Vegas from Belgium.

Lake Mead, the nation's largest reservoir, is so low it's getting perilously close to what's known as "deadpool," the level where the dam's hydropower turbines would be shut off for the first time in its 86 year history.

"I think we need [politicians] to take actions," Murzeau says. "We need people to react and to be really aware of what's going on."

But are enough people aware?

Even in the worst drought in 1,200 years, and despite repeated alarms, day to day life hasn't really changed for most of the forty million people who rely on the Colorado River for drinking water.

Cities and water managers are and work-arounds they've found to prevent a crisis. But travel through the epicenter of the western megadrought,