You probably drive past the exit on I-91 in Vernon and don't even blink. It's just another stretch of Vermont woods and river. But for decades, that spot was the heart of a massive, roiling debate that split the Green Mountain State right down the middle. The Vermont Yankee power plant wasn't just a building with a reactor; it was a political lightning rod, a source of cheap juice, and eventually, a ghost.
Honestly, the story of Vermont Yankee is kind of a wild ride. It started operating back in 1972, a time when nuclear power was promised as the "too cheap to meter" savior of the American power grid. For forty-two years, it pumped out a huge chunk of Vermont’s electricity—at one point providing about 70% of the state’s generated power. That’s an insane amount of eggs in one basket.
Then things got messy.
If you ask someone in Brattleboro about the plant today, you’ll get two very different stories. One person will tell you about the high-paying jobs and the reliable carbon-free energy that vanished. The next person will bring up the tritium leaks in 2010 and the cooling tower collapse in 2007. Both are right. That’s what makes this history so frustratingly complex. It wasn't just a "good" or "bad" place. It was a 605-megawatt boiling water reactor caught between shifting economics and a state that was increasingly uncomfortable with its presence.
The Economic Death Spiral of Vermont Yankee
Why did it close? You'd think a plant providing that much power would be a goldmine. But the reality is that the Vermont Yankee power plant got squeezed by a pincer movement of cheap natural gas and soaring maintenance costs.
By the early 2010s, the "fracking revolution" had flooded the market with inexpensive natural gas. Suddenly, running a massive, aging nuclear facility in a state with strict environmental oversight didn't look so profitable to Entergy, the company that owned it. They weren't making the margins they needed. In August 2013, they dropped the bombshell: the plant would shut down for good.
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People were shocked, even the ones who had been protesting for years to shut it down.
When the reactor finally scrammed for the last time on December 29, 2014, it wasn't just the end of an era for physics; it was a localized economic earthquake. Over 600 people worked there. These weren't just "jobs." These were "buy a house and put three kids through college" jobs. When those paychecks stopped circulating in Windham County, the ripple effect was felt in every hardware store, diner, and real estate office in the region.
The Safety Scandals That Broke Public Trust
You can’t talk about this place without talking about the leaks. In 2010, workers found radioactive tritium in monitoring wells. It wasn't a massive, Godzilla-creating amount, but it was there. And the real kicker? Entergy officials had previously told state regulators under oath that the plant didn't have the kind of underground pipes that could even leak like that.
Turns out, they did.
That single event basically nuked—pun intended—any remaining trust between the plant operators and the Vermont legislature. Former Governor Peter Shumlin made the plant's closure a cornerstone of his political identity. The state actually tried to vote to shut it down, leading to a massive legal battle that went all the way to federal court. The state lost that round because, legally, only the federal government (the NRC) gets to decide if a nuclear plant is "safe." But the political atmosphere became so toxic that Entergy eventually realized they were fighting a war on too many fronts.
What's Actually Left at the Vernon Site?
If you go there now, it's weirdly quiet. The decommissioning process has been surprisingly fast, actually. Usually, these things take sixty years under a process called SAFSTOR, where you basically let the radiation decay on its own schedule. But a company called NorthStar took over the site with a plan to do it much faster.
They call it "accelerated decommissioning."
Basically, they've been tearing down the turbines, the reactor vessel, and the cooling towers. Most of the physical structures are gone or being dismantled as we speak. But here is the thing nobody likes to talk about: the fuel. Even though the plant is "gone," the spent nuclear fuel is still sitting right there on the banks of the Connecticut River. It’s in these massive concrete and steel canisters called dry casks.
Because the federal government still hasn't built a permanent national repository (looking at you, Yucca Mountain), Vermont is now an involuntary host to a high-level nuclear waste storage site. It’s safe, sure. It’s monitored. But it’s there. And it’ll be there for a long, long time.
Lessons from the Vermont Yankee Power Plant Era
What can we actually learn from all this? First, energy independence is a moving target. Vermont went from being a massive energy exporter to a state that has to buy a lot of its power from Hydro-Quebec and regional gas plants. We traded one dependency for another.
Second, the "carbon-free" debate is grueling. When Vermont Yankee closed, Vermont’s carbon emissions actually went up. Why? Because the 24/7 "baseload" power the nuclear plant provided had to be replaced by something, and wind and solar weren't (and still aren't) ready to handle that entire load alone. Most of that gap was filled by natural gas.
It’s a bit of a paradox. To be "green," the state pushed out a zero-carbon source because of safety fears, only to end up using more fossil fuels in the short term.
The Realities of Decommissioning
NorthStar’s work in Vernon has become a bit of a blueprint for other states. They’ve managed to move faster than almost anyone expected. But the "greenfield" status—the idea that the land will be returned to a state where you could build a playground or a farm on it—is still a ways off.
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- The Cask Storage: There are 58 dry casks sitting on a concrete pad. They aren't going anywhere until the Department of Energy figures out where to put them.
- The Land Use: Vernon is trying to figure out how to reinvent itself. You can't just replace a nuclear plant with a boutique pottery studio and expect the tax base to stay the same.
- The Environmental Monitoring: Even after the buildings are gone, the groundwater will be monitored for decades. It’s a permanent commitment.
Actionable Steps for Understanding Nuclear in New England
If you're following the energy landscape today, you need to look beyond the headlines. The Vermont Yankee power plant isn't just a local history lesson; it's a warning for the current fleet of aging reactors across the US.
- Check the ISO-New England Dashboard: If you want to see where your power comes from right now, ISO-NE has a live "Fuel Mix" chart. You’ll see exactly how much gas, nuclear, and renewables are hitting your lightbulbs in real-time. It’s eye-opening to see the hole Yankee left behind.
- Review the NRC Inspection Reports: The Nuclear Regulatory Commission keeps a public record of the Vernon site. If you’re worried about the casks, read the actual inspection logs. They are dry, technical, and surprisingly transparent.
- Follow the Vernon Planning Commission: For a look at how a town survives the loss of its biggest taxpayer, watch the local Vernon meetings. They are currently navigating the transition to a post-nuclear economy, and it’s a masterclass in small-town resilience.
- Research the "Advanced Nuclear" Pivot: While Yankee is dead, there’s a new push for Small Modular Reactors (SMRs). Knowing why Yankee failed (size, cost, rigid tech) helps you understand why some people think these smaller, "fail-safe" reactors might be the future.
The Vermont Yankee power plant remains a ghost in the system. Its closure changed the state's politics, its air quality, and its economy in ways we’re still trying to map out. It’s a reminder that in the world of energy, there are no perfect solutions—only trade-offs.
The cooling towers might be gone, but the conversation about how we power our lives is louder than ever. Whether you viewed it as a reliable workhorse or a ticking time bomb, the plant's legacy is etched into the Vermont landscape. It’s a story of 20th-century ambition meeting 21st-century reality. And honestly, it’s a story that isn't quite finished as long as those casks are sitting by the river.