A Sea in Flames - Carl Safina [72]
In August 2009, the Coast Guard effectively overruled its 1999 report, declining to require the substantial increase in the amount of mechanical response equipment.
“BP could fire all their contractors because they’re doing absolutely nothing but destroying our marsh,” rages Billy Nungesser, the president of Plaquemines Parish. Weeks in, he says, “I still don’t know who’s in charge; is it BP? Is it the Coast Guard?” “The boom has been a disaster from the beginning,” Florida senator Bill Nelson tells a Senate hearing. “You have a big mess, with no command and control.” Florida’s attorney general says he’s “absolutely appalled.” The mayor of Orange Beach, Alabama, says it’s “a very discombobulated and dis-coordinated effort.”
By now people have found more than 350 dead or moribund loggerhead turtles along the Gulf Coast since the blowout began—including 20 carcasses in a single day. More than 60 have been covered in oil. Fishing gear remains suspect for some of the deaths. Meanwhile, more than 70 human Louisiana residents have reported oil-related illness to the state’s Department of Health and Hospitals.
Morning. Another day of this. I’ve driven from the Florida border, across Alabama and Mississippi, and into Louisiana, and I’m watching dawn rise in the rearview mirror. What an awful night. In the last couple of weeks our dog, Kenzie, had lost her appetite. Yet just a couple of days ago she was walking with her tail high, giving us hope that she’d get better. After I left for the Gulf she weakened rapidly, and last night she was suddenly unable to walk. Patricia called me at midnight and took her to an all-night veterinary clinic. They found a tumor in her spleen and blood in her body cavity. The vet said that operating would not guarantee success even in the short term, and partly because of Kenzie’s age, approximately thirteen, he recommended euthanasia. Pat sat with Kenzie for a while, then called me tearfully at 2:00 a.m. to say our dog was gone. I will always remember our walks on the beach and watching her run so far along the ocean, or alongside us as we biked around Lazy Point; and, more recently, helping us herd our new chickens back into their coop, and being so interested yet gentle with the infant raccoon that fell to earth in our yard. I regret that I was not home for this crisis. I regret that Patricia had to shoulder the burden alone. I regret being here. Busyness hurts relationships.
Dew and low fog hang heavy on the grass. Eighty-three degrees by 6:30. Roads lined with pines and worry.
Radio news: Louisiana’s Governor Bobby Jindal is accusing BP of dragging its feet on paying claims; President Obama will meet today with grieving relatives of workers killed in the explosion. The president wants to include deepwater drilling “as part of a comprehensive energy strategy.” The radio says wildlife workers are picking up birds on islands. There’s concern about oiled pelican nests.
I think they should destroy all the nests and try to frighten the adults away; that would break the adults’ motivation to keep returning and continuing their exposure. For the population’s future, saving breeders is more important than trying to save eggs or even chicks. If adults die or get immobilized and rescued, their eggs and chicks are doomed anyway. That’s uncomfortable to say, but it’s true.
Along the interstate, signs for a concert venue advertise coming headline acts: Liza Minnelli (still?), Ringo Starr (still), the O’Jays (really?). The highway reaps its constant harvest of armadillos; our most heavily armored surviving mammal cannot survive our daily onslaught. More to pity. An alligator with an urge to roam has had its ambitions crushed. Glad I wasn’t in that car.
The sign reminds travelers, “Welcome to Louisiana