Bayou-Diversity: Nature and People in the Louisiana Bayou Country

Epilogue

Epilogue On April 20, 2010, the Deepwater Horizon rig leased by BP exploded in the Gulf of Mexico 78 miles southeast of Venice, Loui­ si­ ana, killing 11 workers. The event was the beginning of what President Barack Obama called the “greatest environmental disaster of its kind in our history.” Estimates of the amount of crude oil that gushed wildly into the Gulf over more than 3 months were as high as 184 million gallons. The office of Delta/Breton National Wildlife Refuges is located at the end of the road in Venice on Grand Pass near its confluence with the main stem of the Mississippi River. Within 10 miles of this place in all directions, like capillaries at the terminus of North America’s largest drainage, lie Flat Boat Bayou, Lost Dog Bayou, Long Island Bayou, Buras Bayou, Felice Bayou, Sullivan Bayou,­ Dalton Bayou, Goat Bayou, Dead Man Bayou, Bottle Bayou, Sawdust Bend Bayou, Oil Mine Bayou, Bayou Tambour, Bayou Little Channel, Bayou Dum Barr, Bayou Petit Liard, and Bayou Tony. KO Field Diary, 2 May 2010 11:30AM—I am writing this from the office of Delta NWR. This second floor room has large windows all around, and I can see the Mississippi River and adjacent waterways filled with commercial boatyards, piers and docks. The weather is harsh, 23 mph sustained winds from the south with gusts to 215 216 / Bayou-Diversity 34. It is pushing northward a menace that has alarmed the world. It is headed this way. A crisis of unknown proportion is imminent. 12:50PM—Four large helicopters, like giant dragonflies, suddenly appeared and began landing 200 yards north of this building at the Chevron shore base. One is a Blackhawk, two behemoths carry U.S. Marine Corps emblems, and a smaller one is labeled United States of America. We received word that the president of the United States would soon arrive in his motorcade , driving down from New Orleans because the weather did not fall within safety parameters required for him to fly in the helicopters. A Coast Guard cutter cruises slowly below my window. 2:20PM—The presidential motorcade arrives, twenty-six vehicles strong, with an armored car, ambulance, and three identical , black SUVs with dark-tinted windows. They pass our office and stop at the Coast Guard station for a news conference. 2:40PM—Another helicopter identical to the smaller one arrives . Redundancy is obvious. 3:30PM—The motorcade returns and stops at the end of our driveway. The president gets out of one of the SUVs and conducts an informal yet orchestrated question and answer session with local commercial fishermen concerned about the permanence of their way of life. He is facing me wearing a dark jacket and blue shirt with an open collar as he gestures to the worried men in white boots. 3:45PM—Everyone remounts as the motorcade turns around and drives the few hundred yards to the heliport. The most powerful man on the planet boards one of the smaller helicopters. 3:58PM—In an extraordinary show of might, the helicopters roar to life and fly north with the wind. It strikes me that they are all the color of oil. On the following afternoon we eased out of the boat slip at the office in a 29-foot catamaran powered by twin 250 horsepower ­ Suzuki Epilogue / 217 outboards. The big (gasoline-consuming) motors had plenty of reserve as we cruised at 30 knots across the Mississippi River, down another pass, and out into the Gulf of Mexico. In just over an hour we set anchors on the leeward side of North Breton Island and waded ashore. This place knows of the fickleness of permanence in natural systems. The remnant of a much larger island, it once harbored a schoolhouse for the residents before hurricanes reduced it to 40 acres of scrubby mangrove and sand spits. Later, in 1904, Teddy Roosevelt in an executive order declared it the second National Wildlife Refuge in America. On this day the place was spectacular. Thousands of shorebirds, gulls, and terns whirled and swirled in clouds of wings, some in rigid formation, others beating across the grain intent on life’s chore of the moment. Two peregrine falcons slashed through the flocks causing short-lived panic. This vibrant pulsing of activity mesmerized us for a while, making it difficult to remain on-task. Our mission involved another species, one...