"The Everglades empties off the Florida peninsula into
a shimmering panorama of tidal flats, serpentine channels and bright-green
mangrove islets. The balance of life there depends upon a seasonal
infusion of freshwater from the mainland. Once it was a certainty
of nature, but no more. The drones who in the 1940s carved levees
and gouged canals throughout the upper Everglades gave absolutely
no thought to what would happen downstream to the fish and birds,
not to mention the Indians. For the engineers, the holy mission
was to ensure the comfort and prosperity of non-native humans. In
the dry season the state drained water off the Everglades for immediate
delivery to cities and farms. In the wet season it pumped millions
of gallons seaward to prevent flooding of subdivisions, pastures
and crops.
Over time, less and less freshwater reached Florida Bay, and
what ultimately got there wasn't so pure. When the inevitable
drought came, the parched bay changed drastically. Sea grasses
began to die off by the acre. The bottom turned to mud. Pea-green
algae blooms erupted to blanket hundreds of square miles, a stain
so large as to be visible from NASA satellites. Starved for sunlight,
sponges died and floated to the surface in rotting clumps.
The collapse of the famous estuary produced the predictable dull-eyed
bafflement among bureaucrats. Faced with a public relations disaster
and a cataclysmic threat to the tourism industry, the same people
who by their ignorance had managed to starve Florida Bay now began
scrambling for a way to revive it. This would be difficult without
antagonizing the same farmers and developers for whom marshlands
had been so expensively re-plumbed. Politicians were caught in
a bind. Those who'd never lost a moment's sleep over the
fate of the white heron now waxed lyrical about its delicate grace.
Privately, meanwhile, they reassured campaign donors that-screw
the birds-Big Agriculture would still get first crack at the precious
water.
For anyone seeking election to office in South Florida, restoring
the Everglades became not only a pledge but a mantra. Speeches
were given, grandiose promises made, blue-ribbon task forces assembled,
research grants awarded, scientific symposiums convened... and
not much changed. The state continued to siphon gluttonously what
should have been allowed to flow naturally toward Florida Bay.
In the driest years the bay struggled; turned to a briny soup.
In the rainiest years it rebounded with life.
The condition of the place could be assessed best at remote islands
such as Pearl Key. When the mangroves were spangled with pelicans
and egrets, when the sky held ospreys and frigate birds, when
the shallows boiled with mullet and snook, that meant plenty of
good water was spilling from the 'Glades; enough for a reprieve
from the larceny perpetrated upstream.
Carl Hiaasen
Lucky
You (1997)
barnes
and noble page
