Today as I sat in a boat in the Gulf, surrounded on all sides by oil-tainted seas, its hard to say what hit me the hardest. Was it the graceful and enigmatic dolphins surfacing through the slick? Or Captain O’Neill pointing out the spots where he fishes for speckled trout, redfish, flounder, crab and shrimp, and hearing the desperation in his voice? Was it seeing first-hand the soup of oil droplets, dispersed but thick as Louisiana bean soup, as far down in the water column as one could see? Or was it the overwhelming odor of petroleum that left me feeling slightly nauseous?
It’s hard to say. But the cumulative impact was heartbreak. Heartbreak because standing there on the boat, all I could feel was helplessness.
We knew we were physically vulnerable, standing out in the middle of the vast oil spill, so we didn’t stay long. But for the few minutes that we were there, the magnitude of the spill hit us all like a ton a bricks.
As Captain Carey O’Neill stood behind the wheel of the Victoria, the 23’ skiff we were in, a skiff which he built by hand in his backyard, he told us today was the first day he had actually encountered oil, the first time it had gotten close enough to his marina to easily reach it. It took us only an hour to motor through the bayou and out into the Gulf. We hit oil right in the vicinity of Little Gosier Island, which is now submerged thanks to the erosion caused by Hurricane Katrina.
We saw oil in all of its possible stages, including weathered rust-belt fingers stretching as far as we could see; shiny oily sheen floating on the surface; suspended oil droplets dispersed by chemicals but so dense it still turned the water brown; and clumps of oil so thick it effectively trapped marine debris that floated in its path. We were a mere 4 miles from Breton Island, the westernmost barrier island in the Breton National Wildlife Refuge. We had stopped at the refuge on the way out to check to see if oil had made it to shore (we did not observe any). It was easy to see why it was a refuge. Thousands of birds – brown pelicans, frigates, laughing gulls, terns – swarmed around us – it was the most remarkable assemblage I have ever seen in my life.
The ride back to the marina was a sober one. I sat in the back of the boat, watching Captain O’Neill and wondering what is in store for him. He had told me that he expects fisherman might get through the season this year by working for BP to help contain the spill. I asked him what would happen after that, and his silence in response was loud and clear to me. Nobody knows at this point. Nobody knows how many livelihoods will be destroyed. How many fish will die before they can be caught, before they can reproduce. How many shrimp will be contaminated. How many dolphins will suffocate. How many marshes will be lost.
Eventually, my feelings of helplessness turned to anger. How could we have allowed this to happen? How unfair that the most vulnerable among us will be hit the hardest. It is so senseless.
My anger was energizing, though. It reminded me that in this great country, we live by democratic principles, and that means I am not helpless, that we are not helpless. We have the power to change things that are broken. We have a voice, we have a vote, and we can make a difference.
After witnessing the great Gulf oil spill, I say emphatically that WE NEED CLEAN ENERGY NOW! We need clean energy that doesn’t despoil our precious planet and safe jobs that don’t imperil our workers. It’s time to end our addiction to oil.
-- Regan Nelson --
Skip Luke
Switchman (ret): Grand Canyon Railway;
Engineer (ret): Georgetown Loop RR Inc., Sumpter Valley Ry., Monticello & Sangamon Valley;
Dispatcher(ret): Illinois Central, White Pass & Yukon, Burlington Northern Ry.
Mariner, Musician, Miner
