A Love That Runs Deeper Than Those Damn Wells

Many people have wondered why my wife and I have been so angered by even the thought of offshore drilling off the coast of Florida. Even our kids have made comments about our many postings on Facebook, our frantic emails with emergency calls to action, and even our participation in Hands Across the Sand and the second protest demonstration a few weeks go at the Vinoy basin. Others may have thought the same, but were too polite to mention it.


So let me tell you why I feel so strongly about this issue.


You see, long before I met and fell in love with my wife, I fell in love with Florida's natural beauty. I was fortunate to be born here and had the opportunity to grow up along the west coast, first on the beaches of Pinellas County, and then north to Crystal River, which was a magical place in the early 1960's.


I have vivid memories of month-long stays every June on Indian Rocks Beach, playing with my siblings, cousins and friends from early morning to sunset. On full moons, we'd hunt for blue crabs along the shore line using a flashlight, a long-handled crab net, pulling a washtub behind us in which to throw our catch. We'd wear shoes to protect ourselves from stingrays buried in the sand.


It didn't matter that there was no TV at the cottage. We were never bored. Fishing, swimming, making sand castles, collecting shells, catching sand fleas and fiddler crabs for bait. The water and the sand were clean and beautiful. It was always sad to come back to Tampa after a month at the beach.


In 1960, my father and two of his friends invested in a vacation home in Crystal River that the three families shared. Our family would go to Crystal River nearly every third weekend and for several weeks during the summer when we were out of school. We had a couple of small boats that we would use to explore the incredible spring-fed river and the pristine Nature Coast and its crystal clear grass flats in the Gulf which serves as the nursery for most sea life in the Gulf.


It was there that I learned to water ski, scuba dive, discover a love of all sorts of water birds, get my mask knocked off by the tail of a Manatee when I got too close (before any regulations were in effect I might add), catch and clean scallops, and really develop a deep love for fishing and the outdoors.


Crystal River, circa 1960 had crystal clear water, no algae (from excessive fertilizer runoff, like exists today) or aquatic weed problems-- and very few residents. The nuclear power plant had not been constructed. Commercial fisherman (in their unique wooden boats with the outboard motor placed in a cut-through in the bow for running in shallow water) would set blue crab traps and gill net fish in the Gulf and in Salt River. Only a few people were diving in the springs. There was only one dive shop where you could get a scuba tank filled.


The river was wide, and water skiing was allowed nearly everywhere. There weren't any "No Wake" zones, Manatee Protection Areas, speed limits, or jet skis. There were no limits on the number of fish that you could catch and take home to eat, and no regulations on scallops, either.


The river is a seven mile trip to the Gulf of Mexico. At nearly the half-way mark, the river forks. Crystal River is the northern route to the Gulf and Salt River is the more southerly route. Salt River is laden with treacherous oyster bars and is a maze of mangrove islands and sawgrass islands that all look nearly the same. It is extremely easy to get lost or turned around in there. There was a time when I could navigate it well and knew exactly where to go to not destroy the lower end of the outboard motor. Now I don't know where all the oyster bed are, and I'm too reluctant to rely upon my decades' old knowledge out there.


Whether you choose Salt River or Crystal River, the scenery is like stepping back hundreds of years. Thankfully, these are places that man and his dredges and fill dirt have not yet found. For as far as your eyes can see, there are thousands of acres of marsh and sawgrass interspersed with upland areas populated with sabal palms. Every time I make the trip, I know that this part of Florida has remained the same since the Spanish explorers came. I like that. It is what makes me an environmentalist at heart. This is the Florida that stole my heart.


I've already alluded to some of the things that we had in the old days--before any regulations. There were no limits on harvesting fish. It was always "open season" for recreational fishermen and commercial boats. The only question was how big your ice chests were and how long you wanted to clean the fish.


I was always excited to get invited to go King Mackerel fishing with my father and his friends during the bi-annual kingfishing runs (that occur along the West coast when this migratory species makes its way along the coast in search of water in the 68-72 degree range). I vividly remember watching the sun rise while staring at the wake of a big "cabin cruiser" boat as we cruised out of Clearwater Pass early one morning. It was the annual kingfish run and it was going to be a good day. Not too rough. We had plenty of white bait and followed the diving birds to the large pods of bait offshore where there were no less than 100 boats forming circular patterns in the area where the fish had been found. Each of these boats were loaded with anglers and had multiple lines in the water. Everyone was catching lots of fish.


We proceeded to catch a normal day's catch of 200 fish, most of them in the 15 pound range, but several topping 25 pounds. It was the most amazing combination of adrenalin, testosterone and hops and barley that I had ever seen in my 9 years. There were times when all 5 anglers would have a fish on at the same time, dipping over and under each other to keep from crossing lines. As fish would be brought along side, they'd be gaffed and thrown into the cooler, being wary of their razor sharp teeth. The action was non-stop, all day long. When we came back to the dock, the men would clean the fish and I'd try to sell some to tourists or locals looking for fresh fish. Little thought was given to the pressure being put on the fish stocks. We always had fish left over after giving some to friends and neighbors. Our freezer would be packed with the rest.


Guess what, the commercial fisherman were even worse stewards of the resource than the recreational anglers. As a result, the king mackerel fishery nearly died completely by the mid 1970's. However, in 1976, the Federal Government passed the Magnuson-Stevens Fishery Conservation and Management Act and for the first time set limits on the harvesting of these fish. Today, the fishery of king mackerel has been rejuvenated, but with modest bag limits to protect the fish from man's greed.


Today I open the paper and read the headline from the tragic oil spill: "GLOOM DEEPENS."


Yesterday, my son, said--we'll, I guess you and mom were right about that offshore drilling. I guess it isn't as safe as they claimed it was.


There is no consolation in being right. There is no "I told you so moment" that makes any of this good, in any way. The hundreds of hours that I've spent scalloping on the crystal clear grass flats off of Crystal River and Homosassa may soon be only a memory. The damage to the fragile mangrove island and sawgrass areas that I described above will be irreparable. I've feared that all along. It's why I've been obsessed, some might say.


We have an obligation to preserve this state and to pass it on to future generations in a better condition than we found it. Excessive development that began in the 1960's and has continued unabated ever since, has dug us a huge hole. As the saying goes, when you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is to stop digging.


The absence of regulation or deregulation of things previously regulated is the issue with environmental protection. For those preaching for less government, this is one area where we have to say--you are wrong--we must insist upon more regulation. I've been there and done it. I've over fished. Now I don't--because it's regulated. It's even worse when the motivation for violating environmental laws is for greed and profit. Time and time again we see a blind eye turned toward regulation, because it will cost too much.


Well, in light of the current disaster, how are the economics looking this week?


That's why we've been speaking out against drilling and will continue to do so. It's about the beauty of this state and about the economics. We are too dependent upon the sales tax revenue from tourism and the jobs that our coasts provide (nearly 950,000 people's jobs in Florida relate to the coast in some way). Fishing is already being curtailed in the Panhandle. Jobs have been impacted and the oil hasn't hit Florida yet.


That's where regulation must come into play, in a big way. This week we learned that BP was not required to have a $500,000 shut off valve on its rig because deregulation of the industry in the US made that possible. In Norway, they make BP spend the money for the valve. We let greed rule and we get a spill of unmatched proportion. We also learned that the oil companies initially lied about whether or not the rig was even leaking, and hoped it could be another non-news event for them. We also learned that BP has had other spills that have not been reported in the news and that they have no competent plans for dealing with a spill of this type.


We didn't regulate fishing in the 1970's and nearly wiped out king mackerel. None of us on the boats would regulate ourselves. Sad, but true.


The citizens of Florida banned gill netting by a constitutional amendment (when the legislature refused to act), and fish stocks around the state are again healthy and growing.


Left alone to his own devices (especially for profit), man will not control himself. Look anywhere there has been no regulation or deregulation. Throw in greed and lots of money, and that's something that we just have to rein in. (Enron and later Wall Street taking us to the brink of financial disaster are other examples of what happens when deregulation and less governmental controls are the mantra.)


Not only do we need to clean up this spill, but we need to require rigid frequent inspections of the thousands of rigs already in the Gulf and ensure that they have working shut off valves. And, unlike the lax regulations of coal mines, we need to shut them down if they violate the laws.


And, mind you, this will be a very tall order, because, mechanical things and salt water don't work well together.


It's just a matter of time before anything on the Gulf fails. Anyone who has owned a boat operated in salt water will testify that performance of that boat is only temporary. We simply must have a much higher regulatory standard for polluting oil wells in the Gulf. It is no surprise that a valve under 5,000 feet of salt water failed to close. Surely we all know this.


So, why are the American people so gullible in believing the oil industry's sound bites that drilling technology is safe? Common sense tells us otherwise.


Today, I'm glad to slow down in Manatee areas because I still grin with amazement whenever one pops his or her head above the water to take a breath, especially the baby that doesn't have prop scars on its back like its mother.


I love the fact that I had to throw back nearly 30 fish last Friday because we had already caught our limit, and that many of the trout that we threw back into the waters of Charlotte Harbor were more breeders of than 20 inches long--a rarity when gill netting was still allowed.


It didn't bother me that we had to throw back the snook that we caught because the season on snook is closed. Record freezes killed a lot of fish this year and we need to help restore the stock before taking more.


I just hope and pray that the oil slick can be harnessed and recovered before it does irreparable damage to the Florida coast that I love so much.


I want to regulate all of this so that we pass this beautiful place on to future generations in a much better condition. It's the very least we can do.


The Iroquois Tribal leaders were much wiser than we are. They said that when making decisions, we should consider the affects of those decisions on the next seven generations.


"Drill Baby Drill," isn't exactly that type of tribal wisdom.


It's past time for green renewable energy. Windmills and solar panels won't pollute our grass flats or kill our fish.


Get angry and make this happen!