Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 1

HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

PEOPLE, PARTNERSHIPS & PROJECTS MAKING A DIFFERENCE
Acknowledgements

Restore America’s Estuaries (RAE) is indebted to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration for providing the funding for 

this publication.

Th e N.C. Coastal Federation, a RAE member group, produced the publication. Frank Tursi was its editor and lead writer and Christine Miller copy edited 

the stories and supervised the design and printing. Christine also wrote some of the stories. Both are federation staff members. Howard White of the RAE 

staff also contributed stories. 8 Dot Graphics in Raleigh, N.C., designed the publication.

We thank the following people who graciously gave of their time to be interviewed:

Clay Bernick, environmental management administrator, Virginia Beach, Va.; Lisa Calvo, watershed coordinator, Jacques Cousteau National Estuarine 

Research Reserve; Meredith Comi, oyster program director, N.Y./N.J. Baykeeper®; Chris Cryder, director of restoration and stewardship, Connecticut Fund 

for the Environment and Save the (Long Island) Sound; Laura Rose Day, executive director, Penobscot River Restoration Trust; Christy Everett, Virginia 

assistant director, Chesapeake Bay Foundation; Troy Fields, executive director, Mid-Puget Sound Fisheries Enhancement Group; Karen Wilson Forget, 

executive director, Lynnhaven River Now; Dr. Eugene C. Gasiorkiewicz, professor emeritus of biological sciences, University of Wisconsin-Parkview; 

Andy Good, vice president of U.S. programs, Atlantic Salmon Federation; Pam Holy, president, Chiwaukee Prairie Preservation Fund; Dr. Hugh Iltis, 

professor emeritus of botany, University of Wisconsin-Madison; Curt Johnson, director of programs, Connecticut Fund for the Environment and Save the 

(Long Island) Sound; Bill Johnston, permit administrator, Virginia Beach, Va.; Sarah King, former project manager of North River Farms, N.C. Coastal 

Federation; Tommy Leggett, Virginia oyster restoration and fi sheries scientist, Chesapeake Bay Foundation; Harry Lester, president, Eastern Virginia 

Medical School, and co-founder of Lynnhaven River Now; David Lewis, executive director, Save Th e (San Francisco) Bay; Maria Martinez, restoration 

ecologist, Save Th e (Narragansett) Bay; Serena McClain, associate director, River Restoration Program, American Rivers; Todd Miller, executive director, 

N.C. Coastal Federation; Doug Myers, director of science, People For Puget Sound; Eric Pake Jr., commercial fi sherman; Steve Richter, director of 

conservation for southwest Wisconsin, Th e Nature Conservancy; Steve Ritchie, executive project manager, South Bay (San Francisco) Salt Pond Restoration 

Project, California Coastal Conservancy; and Dr. James Wesson, Oyster Restoration Program, Virginia Marine Fisheries Commission.

Citation: Tursi, F.T, C. Miller, H. White. Hope for Coastal Habitats: People, Partnerships & Projects making a diff erence. 2009. Restore America’s Estuaries.

Photo: Sunset on Bogue Sound in North Carolina. Courtesy of Cheryl Burke.

Printed on recycled paper.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE 2

Acknowledgements & Credits

PAGE 3 

A Letter from Restore America’s 

Estuaries & Table of Contents

PAGES 4-5

Introduction

Publications like this one are usually 

depressing. This isn’t one of those 

publications.

With inspiration, collaboration, time, a 

willingness to work and funding from 

progressive government agencies, people 

can accomplish great things.

PAGES 6-12

Coastal Wetlands

The sinks and faucets of the coast 

• North River Farms, North Carolina

• Chiwaukee Prairie, Wisconsin

• South Bay Salt Ponds Restoration, 

 California 

PAGES 13-19

Shellfi sh Beds

Water fi lters and baby nurseries

• Lynnhaven River, Virginia

• Project PORTS, New Jersey

• Community Oyster Restoration, New Jersey

PAGES 20-21

Submerged Aquatic Vegetation

Underwater gardens nurturing the young of 

many species

• Save The Bay, Rhode Island

• Penobscot River Restoration, Maine

PAGES 22-27

Dam Removal/Fish Passage

Build (or destroy) them and they will come

• Barker Creek Salmon Passage, 

 Washington

• Branford Fish Ladder, Connecticut

PAGES 28-30

Beach Dune/Barrier Islands

Necklaces for the shore

• Great Lakes Dunes Restoration, Michigan

• Chaland Headlands Restoration, Louisiana

PAGE 31

Want to Know More? 

A list of websites by category

We are, all of us, from the sea. We are continually lured back to its edge to share our 

kinship with it. Some of us set down stakes. But many come to nourish their youthful 

spirit by fi shing, sailing or swimming. We come to relax by a placid marsh or to admire 

the sun rising above the ocean’s horizon.

And yet, no place on earth more directly embodies the challenge of balancing our own lives with the lives of our fellow 

species than these special places where the land meets the sea. Here, at the coastline, the ocean reaches out for the land, 

with estuaries as its fi ngers and hands. In this unique nexus - characterized by the dynamic mixing of salt and freshwater 

in tidal cycles - abundant life is created and nurtured. Th ey are renowned for the young fi sh and shellfi sh that they rear.

By 2075, it is estimated, three-quarters of our nation will live within 50 miles of the coast. Without delay, we must 

solve the conundrum of developing coastlines while also protecting and restoring the very habitat that draws us there.

Th e 11 conservation groups that make up Restore America’s Estuaries have committed themselves to preserving and 

restoring the lands and waters essential to the richness and diversity of coastal life. Th ey have undertaken hundreds 

of restoration projects as part of a national campaign to restore the health of our nation’s estuaries. Th ey have put 

thousands of volunteers to work 

remaking marshes, rebuilding 

shellfi sh beds or replanting underwater grasses. 

In the following pages you will 

read about people who have made 

a diff erence locally. We hope that 

this publication shows that it can be 

done. From San Francisco Bay to the 

Penobscot River in Maine, people are 

restoring our coast’s natural vitality, 

one river, one bay, one watershed at a 

time. As the stories that follow show, 

it takes inspiration, commitment, 

hard work and, yes, money. But there 

is still hope for our coastal habitats.

President

Restore America’s Estuaries

RAE MEMBERS

American Littoral Society

Highlands, N.J.

www.littoralsociety.org

Chesapeake Bay Foundation

Annapolis, Md.

www.cbf.org

Coalition to Restore Coastal 

Louisiana

Baton Rouge, La.

www.crcl.org

Conservation Law Foundation

Boston, Mass.

www.clf.org

Galveston Bay Foundation

Webster, Tex.

www.galvbay.org

North Carolina Coastal Federation

Ocean, N.C.

www.nccoast.org

People For Puget Sound

Seattle, Wash.

www.pugetsound.org

Save The Bay – San Francisco

Oakland, Calif.

www.savesfbay.org

Save The Bay – Narragansett Bay

Providence, R.I.

www.savebay.org

Save the Sound, a program of 

CT Fund for the Environment

New Haven, Conn.

www.savethesound.org

Tampa Bay Watch

Tierra Verde, Fla.

www.tampabaywatch.org

p

P d

WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG
4 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

Publications like this one are usually depressing. Coastal 

ecosystems in America are in trouble. Wetlands continue 

to be fi lled. Underwater grass meadows continue to 

disappear. Oyster and clam beds continue to be polluted. 

Writing about them, then, invariably leads to long lists 

of statistics that catalog the losses. Th e accompanying 

downward trending charts reinforce the numbers. Th ey 

all combine to leave readers numb and feeling hopeless.

Th is isn’t one of those kinds of publications. You will 

fi nd plenty of bad news in the following pages. It’s unavoidable, given the 

state of our coastal habitats. Our goal here, however, isn’t to highlight what 

we’ve lost, but to celebrate what we’re winning back. Th is isn’t a publication 

about destruction and despair; it’s more about restoration and rejuvenation.

You’ll fi nd 12 stories on the following pages. Th ey are mainly 

about ordinary people who were inspired to save a piece of our coast’s 

disappearing natural heritage. You’ll read about Harry Lester of Virginia, 

for instance. His memories of eating oysters from the Lynnhaven River 

drove him to start a movement that reclaimed some of the polluted river 

back for the oysters. Th en there are the Chums of Barker Creek. Th e small 

citizens group had formed to clean up the imperiled urban creek that fl ows 

into Puget Sound near Bremerton, Wash. Its work eventually led to the 

removal of a highway culvert that reopened miles of historic spawning 

grounds for salmon and trout. You’ll also meet Phil Sander and Al 

Krampert. Th e two strangers were drawn together by their love of America’s 

fast-disappearing prairies. Th ey ended up working together tirelessly for 40 

years to save what is now the last untouched prairie on the shores of Lake 

Michigan, maybe the last one in the entire Midwest.

Th ese stories have common threads. All are about people moved by their 

memories and desires to ignore the grim statistics and downward trends 

and take action to reverse them, at least in their small parts of the coast. 

Many of the stories illustrate the complex partnerships among government 

agencies, non-profi t and citizen groups, corporations and universities that 

are now often required to save a marsh or reclaim a river. 

Money, of course, was an essential ingredient all of the restoration 

projects. Inspiration will get you just so far. So, many of these stories 

feature grant programs from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric 

Administration (NOAA), which provide the necessary money that allows 

people to put their inspirations to work. NOAA’s Offi ce of Habitat 

Conservation’s work runs the gamut from protection to restoration; this 

publication highlights some of the successful restoration eff orts. Since 

1996, those grants have funded nearly 2,000 projects that have restored 

over 60,000 acres of coastal habitat and reopened more than 2,600 miles 

of streams to migrating fi sh. Since 2005 alone, NOAA provided an 

estimated $50 million to support nearly 800 projects to restore coastal 

fi sheries habitat. 

You’ll also see Restore America’s Estuaries mentioned often in the 

stories. Th e non-profi t coalition of 11 conservation groups across the 

country is committed to restoring our nation’s estuaries, one community, 

one estuary, one project at a time. Founded in 1995, Restore America’s 

Estuaries has raised tens of millions of dollars for more than 1,000 

community-based habitat restoration projects nationwide. RAE has 

mobilized more than 250,000 volunteers, and restored tens of thousands of 

acres of coastal habitat across the country.

Make no mistake; we’re not attempting to sugarcoat reality. Th e 

transformation of our coasts began when the fi rst humans set down stakes 

along them, but the degradation is accelerating at an alarming rate as 

more and more Americans move to the water’s edge. Scientists studied 12 

once-productive and naturally diverse estuaries, including San Francisco 

Bay, Galveston Bay, Chesapeake Bay and Massachusetts Bay, and reported 

in 2006 that human development has depleted more than 90 formerly 

important species, destroyed 65 percent of seagrass and wetland habitat 

and severely degraded water quality.

Carlos Duarte, a researcher at the Spanish Council for Scientifi c 

Research, noted at a conference of biologists in 2007 that the story is the 

same all over the world. “Coastal habitats,” he said then, “are disappearing 

at a rate of between 1.2% and 9% a year and are now the biosphere’s most 

imperiled systems, with rates of loss four to ten times faster than those of 

the tropical rainforest.”

Th e problems are real and will likely get worse as our climate changes this 

century. But despair won’t improve things. Instead, this publication takes 

Christy Everett’s advice. She works for the Chesapeake Bay Foundation. 

You’ll meet her later. “Th ings aren’t perfect and we will all have to do more,” 

she says. “But you have to show people that you can slow the pace of deterioration, that they can make a diff erence. You have to give them hope.”

DAMAGES TO OUR HABITATS

Our activities can have dramatic and sometimes destructive effects on vital 

coastal habitats. Here are just a few of the major ways:

• Altering the landscape directly, such as draining wetlands, dredging though 

shellfi sh beds or bulldozing sand dunes.

• Contaminating water with bacteria and toxic substances from stormwater that 

runs off roads, parking lots and other types of constructed surfaces.

• Polluting water with excessive nutrients from agricultural and home fertilizers 

and from domestic sewage.

• Building dams on rivers, which block fi sh from migrating up or downstream.

HOPE FOR HABITATS

SEAHORSE & SEAGRASS © Jeff Jeff ords, www.divegallery.com
Restore America’s Estuaries Restore America’s Estuaries •WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 5

INTRODUCTION

HABITAT IS HOME

Animals and plants aren’t much different from us in their needs. They need shelter, 

sources of food, and mates to live with and reproduce. And like us, some require 

specifi c kinds of food and shelter while others tolerate a wider range of conditions. To 

them, “habitat” is merely a fancy name for home.

Their homes, like ours, come in many varieties: windswept dunes and waving 

strands of underwater seagrasses, saltwater marshes that fringe the marine 

shoreline and inland tea-colored swamps, beds of clams and reefs of oysters. 

Surrounding it all is the water itself, the essential ingredient that sustains all 

the other habitats. Each one is connected to the other, and they interact to form 

coastal “ecosystems”.

Many animals live in these ecosystems and depend on different types of habitats 

at different times in their lives. Some species of fi sh, for instance, spend their early 

lives in salt marshes where the shallow, nutrient-rich water provides plenty of food 

and offers a haven from many predators. Later in life, these same animals move into 

the ocean where they prowl deep-water reefs as predators themselves.

Abundant and healthy coastal habitats make for healthy fi sh populations. Our 

coastal marshes produce more tons of vegetation per acre than the rich agricultural 

lands of the Midwest. As a result, coastal estuaries teem with life. Waters far from 

land and not enriched by nutrients carried to the ocean by rivers generally are not 

as productive, animal life not as abundant. Thus, nearshore coastal waters support 

larger populations of fi sh and shellfi sh because nutrients and shelter are more 

available. Almost one-half of the fi sh caught in the United States are caught within 

three miles of shore. More than 90 percent of the fi sh that support our country’s 

commercial and recreational fi shing industries spend at least part of their lives 

in the various habitats that make up our coastal estuaries. These habitats, then, 

are the most productive part of the marine and lake environments, and they are 

becoming increasingly vulnerable to our neglect.

A Tally of Habitat Losses

NATIONWIDE*

• At current rates of coastal development, more than one-quarter of the nation’s coastal 

lands will be altered by 2025.

• More than 60 percent of our coastal rivers and bays are moderately to severely degraded 

by nutrient runoff.

• More than 13,000 beaches were closed or under pollution advisories in 2001, an increase 

of 20 percent from the previous year.

• In the U.S., a sea level rise of one foot could eliminate 17–43 percent of today’s wetlands.

GREAT LAKES 

• More than two-thirds of wetlands fi lled or drained. 

• Southeast Michigan: 90 to 97 percent of original emergent coastal wetlands lost. 

• Detroit River: 87 percent of river’s U.S. shoreline fi lled and bulkheaded. 

NORTHEAST 

• About 90 percent of coastal marshes ditched to control 

mosquitoes by 1930s. 

• Maine: Only 52 percent of spawning and nursery habitat for 

Atlantic salmon remains. 

• Narragansett Bay: 33 percent of shellfi sh beds closed to 

harvest due to pathogens. 

• Long Island Sound: Tidal wetlands decreased by more 

than 35 percent over the past century, and beds of submerged 

aquatic vegetation decreased by 65 percent since the 1950s. 

PACIFIC ISLANDS 

• Hawaii: Coastal plain wetlands decreased by 31 percent over a 

200-year period. 

• Saipan and American Samoa: 64 percent and 25 percent of 

estuarine wetlands lost, respectively. 

CALIFORNIA 

• San Francisco Bay: 95 

percent of historic wetlands 

and riparian habitat damaged 

or destroyed. 

• Southern California: 

Estuarine wetlands eliminated 

by 75 to 90 percent. 

PACIFIC NORTHWEST 

• Washington: 50 to 90 percent riparian habitat lost or extensively modifi ed since early 1800s. 

• Oregon: Nearly half of historic tidal wetlands lost. 

• Alaska: More than half of culverts obstruct fi sh passage; Exxon Valdez oil spill 

contaminated 1,500 miles of coastline in 1989. 

GULF COAST 

• Most estuaries lost 20 to 100 percent of 

seagrass habitat. 

• More than half of oyster-producing areas 

permanently or temporarily closed. 

• Louisiana: Marsh the size of a football fi eld 

lost every 30 minutes since 1930. 

• Tampa Bay: Nearly 80 percent of seagrass 

and half of salt marsh and mangrove habitat lost. 

SOUTHEAST 

• From European settlement to 1980, 78 

percent of wetlands lost. 

• Nearly half of protected barrier island beaches 

and dunes and intact saltwater and freshwater 

marshes have also been lost. 

• South Carolina: About one-third of shellfi sh 

areas permanently closed. 

• North Carolina: Almost 68,000 acres of 

shellfi sh beds permanently or temporarily closed.

MID-ATLANTIC 

• Delaware Estuary: More than 25 

percent of historic wetlands lost and 

more than a third of tidal wetlands 

invaded with Phragmites. 

• Chesapeake Bay: 60 percent 

of historic wetlands, 88 percent 

of submerged grass beds and 98 

percent of native oyster reefs lost. 

* Stedman, S. and T.E. Dahl. 2008. Status and trends of wetlands in the coastal watersheds of the Eastern United States 1998 to 2004. 

National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, National Marine Fisheries Service and U.S. Department of the Interior, Fish and Wildlife Service.
6 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

William Byrd led the party that surveyed the North 

Carolina-Virginia state line through the Dismal Swamp 

in 1728. He summed up what most settlers of America’s 

coast thought of the vast stretches of marshes, swamps 

and bogs that confounded them.

“Never was rum, the cordial of life, found more necessary than it was in this dirty place,” Byrd wrote in his 

history of the survey.

What we now call “wetlands” were considered wastelands in Byrd’s day. 

Th ey were thought to be unhealthy and, thus, were avoided and given 

names like “Dismal.” Th e only good swamp, Byrd and his contemporaries 

concluded, was a drained one.

Until rather recently, the most productive use of a swamp or marsh, it 

was thought, was as a soybean fi eld, a housing development or a shopping 

center.

We now know and understand more about wetlands, of course. We 

know, for instance, that an acre of salt marsh can be more productive than 

an acre of corn, and we now understand that without wetlands our coastal 

estuaries and the abundant sea life they support wouldn’t exist.

THE BENEFITS

Generally, a wetland is an area that is fl ooded by water frequently 

enough to support plants that live in wet soil. Along coastal shorelines, 

that broad defi nition embraces such diverse ecosystems as salt marshes that 

fringe sounds and bays to inland shallow depressions that periodically fi ll 

with rainwater.

Each type of wetland is important in keeping our coastal estuaries 

healthy. Th e salt marshes, for instance, provide food and sanctuary to 

countless creatures, from marsh periwinkles to Canada geese. Songbirds 

depend on wet prairie potholes near the Great Lakes to survive their continental migrations.

Th e large expanses of shallow water and thick vegetation found in 

wetlands provide abundant food and cover for the young of numerous 

creatures, making the marshes the nursery for many species of fi sh, shellfi sh 

and other critters.

 Inland, wetlands trap stormwater long enough to allow pollutants and 

debris to settle out before they reach coastal waters. Such wetlands also 

help recharge freshwater aquifers that so many people depend on for their 

drinking water.

Wetlands can also be important natural areas, supporting rare plants and 

animals. And scientists are just beginning to understand how wetlands help 

fi lter water and move it around the estuary. Th ey are the sinks and faucets 

in the estuary’s plumbing system -- holding water or slowly releasing it. 

THE TRENDS 

 We didn’t always know the importance of wetlands. For much of our 

history, Americans have done their best to drain and fi ll what we judged to 

be wet, worthless places. How well we’ve done the job is hard to accurately 

gauge. Estimating historic wetland losses is diffi cult because defi nitions of 

wetlands have changed over time; methodologies and mapping techniques 

have diff ered. 

But the U.S. Department of the Interior, in an exhaustive report to 

Congress in the late 1980s, made an eff ort to determine the amount of 

wetlands lost in America since colonial times. It determined that more than 

half of the 221 million acres of wetlands that colonists found in what would 

become the lower 48 states were gone by the 1980s. In more than 20 states 

more than half of the wetland acres were lost. Some states had lost almost 

all their wetlands. States around the Great Lakes, like Indiana and Illinois, 

had lost more than 80 percent of their wetlands. You will read later about 

a project to protect a prairie wetland on Lake Michigan. California lost 91 

percent of its wetlands. Th e losses, the report noted, meant that the lower 48 

WHY RESTORE WETLANDS?

Here’s a list of just some of the reasons:

• Slow fl oodwaters 

• Protect uplands from erosion 

• Improve water quality 

• Provide setting for recreation and study 

• Help maintain strong economy

• Provide habitat for many fi sh, wildlife and plant species (Many endangered 

species inhabit wetlands or wetlands play an important part of their life cycle)

• Recharge groundwater 

• Produce products used by humans: timber, peat, fi sh, rice, cranberries, 

blueberries, hay for livestock 

WETLANDS: The Sinks and Faucets of the Coast

WETLAND GAINS AND LOSSES IN THE COASTAL WATERSHEDS OF THE ATLANTIC, 

GULF OF MEXICO, AND GREAT LAKES, 1998 TO 2004. Stedman, IBID
Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 7

Wetland Restoration at 

North River Farms

After the bears mauled the water sampling machines for 

the third or fourth time, the scientists decided to put up 

the electric fence. 

Th e paw prints were a good sign. Th ey meant that the bears had found 

the newly restored wetlands to their liking, but the wreckage of expensive 

machines had to stop. 

Monitoring water quality is an important way of tracking the progress 

of the wetland restoration project on the North River in eastern North 

Carolina. Scientists had to document how much agricultural runoff the 

new wetlands removed from runoff entering the river and neighboring 

Ward Creek. So the curious bears had to be constrained. Th e electric fence 

did the trick. 

Bears, bobcats, deer, coyotes, raccoons, a myriad of birds and blue crabs 

and other aquatic life have all been showing up in growing numbers since 

the N.C. Coastal Federation and its partners bought and started restoring 

North River Farms on North Carolina’s central coast about a decade ago.

North River Farms is the largest wetland-restoration project ever 

attempted in North Carolina. When it’s complete, the federation and its 

partners will restore about 6,000 acres of wetlands and streams. Turning 

the farm fi elds back to wetlands is expected to benefi t the rich fi shing 

waters of North River and Core Sound.

Th e runoff from North River Farms and the adjacent, 44,000-acre 

Open Grounds Farm is the main reason for the high levels of bacteria 

that forced the state to close shellfi sh beds in part of the river and several 

adjacent creeks. Th e restoration project’s goal is to restore the land’s natural 

drainage, which should improve water quality and should eventually lead 

WETLANDS AND CLIMATE CHANGE

Wetlands on China’s Qinghai-Tibet plateau have shrunk by more than 10 

percent over the past 40 years, posing a threat to agriculture and river fl ows. 

Scientists from the Chinese Academy of Sciences blame global warming. Though 

more rainfall is falling on the plateau, they say, water fl ow to the region’s river has 

decreased because of increased evaporation from higher temperatures. 

Climate change will have a similar effect on wetlands in the United States, 

scientists say. Flooding from rising seas will inundate many coastal wetlands. 

The Pew Center on Global Climate Change estimates that a 1.5-foot rise in sea 

level brought on by melting glaciers and ice caps - which many climate scientists 

consider a conservative outcome of a warming climate - would fl ood about 

46,000 square miles of coastal wetlands – or an area equal in size to Pennsylvania. A fi ve- to seven-foot rise could mean the loss of 30 percent to 80 percent 

of coastal wetlands, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency estimates.

The Association of State Wetland Managers issued a draft report in early 

2009 that predicted that increased temperatures and increases or decreases 

in precipitation will have severe effects on wetland ecosystems. The effects will 

be particularly great on coastal and estuarine wetlands, which cannot migrate 

inland because of steep topography, levees, seawalls or other development. The 

effects will also be signifi cant for small, shallow wetlands such as vernal pools 

and prairie potholes, where temperatures and evaporation rates may substantially increase without corresponding increases in precipitation. Compounding 

this in coastal areas will be the likely increase in tropical storms and heavier 

and more abundant rainfall bringing increased freshwater and sediment. 

Changes in the hydrological cycle will affect inland wetlands too and test their 

abilities to contend with increased rainfall in some areas and decreased rainfall 

in others as well as changes in groundwater recharge and discharge.

WETLANDS

states lost an average of 60 acres of wetlands every hour for 200 years.

Similar estimates done since the late 1980s have found that while the 

rate of loss has slowed, wetlands are still being destroyed. Watersheds along 

the Atlantic and Gulf coasts lost more than 360,000 acres of wetlands 

between 1998 and 2004, according to a study released in 2009 by NOAA 

and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Th ese continued losses come almost 

two decades after President George H.W. Bush committed the country to a 

“no net-loss” policy on wetlands. 

THE THREATS

Historically, most wetlands were drained and converted to cropland, 

pastures and forests. In California, for instance, almost 700,000 acres of 

wetlands were turned into rice fi elds. But the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service 

attributed almost 80 percent of the recent losses of freshwater wetlands in 

the Atlantic and Gulf coast watersheds to development activities. Th e regions 

contain some of the fastest-growing counties in the country, as more and 

more people fl ock to the water’s edge to live or vacation.

Th e report ends with a warning: 

“Th e results of this study suggest that wetland protection and restoration require more attention in coastal watersheds... Public policymakers 

and coastal managers have been confronted with the daily task of fi nding 

a balance between benefi ting from economic growth and mitigating the 

eff ects of growth on coastal environments. Th is task will become more 

challenging as the coastal population continues to grow in a limited 

space, thereby exacting more pressure on the remaining natural habitats, 

including wetlands.”

VOLUNTEERS PLANT ONE OF THE TENS OF THOUSANDS OF TREES THAT WERE 

USED TO TRANSFORM THE FARM Courtesy of the N.C. Coastal Federation
8 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

to the reopening of shellfi sh waters. 

Th e newly created wetlands replace farm fi elds that were contributing 

pollutants to the river. Th ey will also slow down and treat the contaminated 

runoff from Open Grounds Farm that fl ows through the project site. In the 

re-created wetlands, the runoff will soak into the ground or slowly meander 

through re-created streams that mimic what was there before the land was 

ditched and turned to farm fi elds in the 1970s and ‘80s. Much of the bacteria 

and other pollutants will be naturally removed before entering the river.

“At the time this land was ditched and drained, no one realized how 

much impact runoff had on downstream water quality,” said Todd Miller, 

the federation’s executive director. “Now we know that good water quality 

and healthy fi sheries depend on wetlands, and this project will provide a 

big sponge in the headwaters of coastal waters that should become cleaner 

and more productive.”

But, fi rst, a sizable tract of land had to be bought. Putting together the 

diverse partnership required to buy the farm and undertake a restoration 

of this size was a complex eff ort of its own that involved some unlikely 

bedfellows. Th e federation bought several parcels with money from the 

state Clean Water Management Trust Fund in 1999 and began restoration activities with grants from NOAA’s Community-based Restoration 

Program and Restore America’s Estuaries. Th e partnership kept expanding. 

Th e list now includes the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, the U.S. Department of Agriculture, N.C. State 

University, Duke University, farmers, private foundations and investors, a 

hunting group, a private mitigation land bank, students and local residents. 

All bring sweat equity, money or both to the eff ort. 

Volunteers – sometimes local, sometimes from places as far away as the 

corn belt of Iowa – have worked for thousands of hot sweaty hours to plant 

hardwood trees and wetland grasses or build oyster reefs from recycled 

shells. Students by the droves come to the site for hands-on examples of 

what they’re learning in science class. 

Th e latest transformation of the land is occurring with the help of some 

of the same people who changed it the fi rst time. Sarah King, the federation staff member who managed the project from 2004-2007, remembers 

an encounter she had out at the farm one day when she was leading a tour. 

“I was taking them through the project at an interpretive sign right by 

the farm entrance,” she recalled. “Midway through, a pickup truck pulled 

up and a gentleman got out.

“He asked what we were doing, and if we were part of the work that was 

going on here. I wasn’t sure what he thought about it, but I said, ‘Yes, I was 

with the Coastal Federation and it was our project.’ ”

Th en King got a pleasant surprise. “He came up and told us that he was 

so happy we were doing it. He wanted to get involved and help any way he 

could. He was great.”

It turns out that Eric Pake Jr., the man who showed up and joined the 

tour that day, had a long history with the farm. Helping to drain and clear 

the farm was his fi rst job out of high school in the 1980s. 

As an adult, Pake went on to take up fi shing, and over time watched 

with dismay as both water quality and the catches declined. He realized that 

something had to be done to clean up the water if the fi shing was to revive. 

Th at’s why he was thrilled when he heard eff orts were being made to 

restore the farm. “I love this place and what the Coastal Federation is doing 

here has already made a diff erence in the water quality of North River,” he 

told the Carteret News-Times in 2005. 

He continues to work on the restoration, and he’s gotten his two 

teenaged daughters involved, as well. “It’s helped everything in the quality 

of the North River,” he explained. “I’ve been told by the old-timers that the 

oysters are back like they were in the ‘50s and ‘60s, big as your hand. And 

now we can take them from the water in some places. And puppy drum, 

they feed around oyster rocks—they’re back, too.” 

8 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

IMPROVING WATER QUALITY OPENS 

PORTIONS OF NORTH RIVER 

Restoring wetlands at North River Farms may have paid early dividends 

in 2006, when the state opened portions of the river that had been closed to 

shellfi shing for decades.

The N.C. Division of Marine Fisheries opened 209 acres of previously 

closed oyster beds in North River and Ward Creek, a tributary of the river. State 

inspectors found that bacteria levels had dropped enough to safely reopen 

portions of the river.

The action came after several hundred acres of wetlands had been restored 

at North River. This is a welcome trend. As restoration work continues, the 

project’s partners are hoping for more good news, and more oysters. 

TOP LEFT: WETLANDS ALONG NORTH RIVER WERE FILLED AND LINED WITH 

DITCHES TO CREATE FIELDS TO GROW SOYBEANS, WINTER WHEAT AND 

POTATOES. Courtesy of the N.C. Coastal Federation TOP RIGHT: BULLDOZERS BEGIN 

THE RESTORATION BY TURNING THE UNIFORM FARM FIELDS INTO A MAZE OF 

FURROWS, HOLES AND HILLS THAT ARE MEANT TO MIMIC THE RANDOMNESS 

OF NATURE. Courtesy of the N.C. Coastal Federation BOTTOM: VOLUNTEERS PRUNE 

YOUNG BALD CYPRESS THAT WERE PLANTED AT THE FARM Courtesy of the N.C. 

Coastal Federation
Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 9

Th e sight of the great American prairie astonished early 

explorers sailing along the western shore of Lake Michigan. 

Unending fi elds of tall grass came down to the water’s edge, 

trampled in spots by wandering bison. Th e ground was covered by a riot of blooming native wildfl owers. Th eir colors 

depended on the season – yellow puccoon and purple shooting stars in the spring, black-eyed susans and golden coreopsis in the summer and a grand show of goldenrods, asters and 

red, gold and brown Indian grass in the fall. Aldo Leopold, 

one of America’s great naturalists and himself a native of the 

prairies, would later call it the “calendar of colors.”

Th at prairie along the lake shore is gone now, as are most of the others. 

Th e prairie that stretched across half a continent, that was celebrated in 

Woody Guthrie songs and in John Wayne westerns, has been so thoroughly 

plowed and ditched, paved and cut that less than one half of one percent of 

the original still remains. It is one of the truly imperiled ecosystems in the 

world, and with it has gone the song birds, the mammals and the plants 

that had depended on it. Along the heavily urbanized lake shore north of 

Chicago, the old prairie now sprouts pavement and masonry, glass and steel. 

But there is a place, just across the Wisconsin line, where a remnant of 

the virgin prairie still exists. South of Kenosha in a township fi ttingly called 

Pleasant Prairie, the calendar of colors still blooms.

Th e Chiwaukee Prairie, a long, narrow treeless tract along the lake’s 

shore, has never been plowed, planted or successfully drained, though some 

have tried. Local activists saved the fi rst few acres from the bulldozers in 

the mid-1960s. Since then, a coalition of local people, college professors, 

conservation groups and state agencies has worked assiduously to piece 

together plot by plot the rest of the almost 600 acres that are now preserved 

as one of the largest prairie complexes in the state and the most intact 

coastal wetland in southeastern Wisconsin.

“Th is was one of the fi rst projects in the state of Wisconsin where a 

volunteer coalition of people got together to really protect a place,” noted 

Steve Richter, a director of conservation in Wisconsin for Th e Nature 

Conservancy. “People were a big part of this.”

But, fi rst there was the ice. Th e Chiwaukee is a gift of glaciation. It 

formed about 13,000 years ago when Lake Chicago, the predecessor of 

Lake Michigan, receded. Th e prairie is really an old beach covered by a 

thin layer of topsoil. Th e wind and waves of the receding lake left behind a 

series of sand dunes that now support an amazing variety of plants, noted 

Dr. Eugene C. Gasiorkiewicz, a retired botany professor at the University 

of Wisconsin’s campus in nearby Parkside.

“You have these undulating sand bars and you have diff erent species of 

plants at one level where there are wet sinks and other species in drier areas 

as you climb the grade,” he said. “It makes for a very unique habitat.” 

More than 400 species of 

vascular plants have been found 

here. Th e variety of habitats, 

coupled with their location in the 

extreme southeastern corner of 

the state, allows several rare and 

geographically restricted plants, 

amphibians, reptiles, birds, 

invertebrates and mammals to 

thrive here. Twenty-six rare plant 

species, 10 of which are listed as 

endangered or threatened, grow 

in the prairie. Rare plants include 

smooth phlox (Phlox glaberrima 

ssp. interior), Ohio goldenrod 

(Solidago ohiensis) and marsh 

blazing star (Liatris spicata). Rare 

animals include Blanding’s turtle 

(Emydoidea blandingii) and the 

silphium borer moth (Papaipema 

silphii). Because of this extraorWETLANDS

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Michigan

KENOSHA CO.

LAKE CO.

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116th St.

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116th St.

91st St.

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Chiwaukee Coastal Prairie

TALL STANDS OF NATIVE GRASSES AND BLUE SKIES OFFER A STUNNING CONTRAST ON THE CHIWAUKEE PRAIRIE. © Barbara J. Slane, courtesy of the Wisconsin 

Chapter of Th e Nature Conservancy 
10 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

In the gathering dusk of a spring night in 1965, Phil Sander and Al Krampert 

stood atop the embankment that anchored the railroad line to the shore of Lake 

Michigan. Spread below them was the last untouched prairie in Wisconsin, 

maybe the last in the entire Midwest, a vast, treeless expanse that was ablaze 

in the purple of blooming shooting stars. 

“We were struggling with our fears and trying to arrive at an important 

decision,” Krampert remembered fi ve years later in a written memoir. “I was 

seeking his support and I strongly suspect he was seeking mine. We needed 

the courage to move in the direction we knew we had to go. We had to make 

the decision to save Chiwaukee Prairie.”

The two had known each other for about a year, drawn together by their love 

of wild places and of this place in particular. What they didn’t know that night 

by the railroad tracks was that this prairie would keep them bound together for 

the next 30 years as they would tirelessly lead a coalition of citizens, scientists 

and conservation groups in a grassroots effort to save it.

Sander, a native of nearby Kenosha in southeastern Wisconsin, had spent 

his boyhood roaming what was then known as Weyhe Prairie. “In those halcyon 

days there were no roads or homes along the fi ve-mile stretch of the shore 

south of Kenosha,” Sander wrote in his own memoir of those childhood years 

dinary diversity, Chiwaukee Prairie was recognized as a National Natural 

Landmark by the National Park Service in 1973.

Pam Holy grew up around the prairie. She’s now president of the 

Chiwaukee Preservation Fund, Inc., a non-profi t group that is descended 

from the committee of activists that began eff orts to save the prairie. “We’re 

the hands-on group for the prairie,” she says. “We’re out there frequently 

doing whatever needs to be done.”

Th ey diligently remove invasive species, such as clover and buckthorn. 

Th ey pick up trash and cut fi re breaks for the controlled fi res that Th e 

Nature Conservancy conducts to maintain the prairie. When they’re not 

getting dirty, the group’s members are leading birding trips or holding 

workshops on the lichen of the prairie.

“Th ey’re out on the land all the time,” Richter said. “Th ey’re proud of 

what they do, and they’re proud of the prairie. Having people involved like 

that is the reason why this has been such a long-term success.”

Money didn’t hurt either. Th e Wisconsin Chapter of Th e Nature Conservancy has been one of the steadfast partners throughout the more than 40 

years of preservation eff orts. It loaned the fi rst citizens group the money 

to buy the fi rst parcels. Since then it has acquired most of the remaining 

prairie, donating much of it to the state and giving some to the University of 

Wisconsin. “Th ere were hundreds and hundreds of landowners that needed 

to be contacted and eventually negotiated with,” Richter said. 

Th ose eff orts resulted in more than 450 lots being acquired and 

preserved. Only 73 left to go. NOAA’s Community-based Restoration 

Program has given the state more than $100,000 to manage its portion of 

the prairie.

Th e Spanish conquistadors, Gasiorkiewicz notes, used to complain that 

the tall grass of America’s prairies would tickle the belly of their horses. It 

heartens him to know that there is still a place where a horse can go for a 

belly tickle. 

BURNING THE PRAIRIE

Before the European settlers arrived, the prairies of North America burned 

regularly. Lightning sparked fi res that could burn hundreds of acres. Native 

Americans put the prairies to the torch to drive game, protect their villages, 

ease travel and encourage growth of nuts, berries and seeds.

As a result, the plants and animals of the prairies adapted to fi re and thrive 

with it as part of their life cycles. Fire recycles nutrients from the thatch into 

the soil, so other plants can use them, and direct heating of seeds in soil 

stimulates germination. In the spring, fi re-blackened soil absorbs the sun’s heat 

and warms quickly, which helps plants get an early start. Burning also helps to 

control shrubs and trees that invade the prairie. Without burning, many of the 

prairies would eventually turn into forests.

Most prairies have to be burned every three to fi ve years to ensure plant 

diversity and to control invading species, explained Steve Richter of the 

Wisconsin Chapter of The Nature Conservancy, which owns and manages a 

portion of the Chiwaukee Prairie. These so-called “prescribed burns” are less 

frequent in the Chiwaukee because of the railroad, which runs through the 

prairie. Sparks created by the wheels rolling along on the tracks frequently 

ignite fi res in the prairie.

“It causes about three wildfi res every year somewhere in the prairie,” 

Richter said. “That’s usually enough.”

I have planted a garden, so I know what faith is.

I have seen oak trees in the breeze, so I know what grace is.

I have listened to birds singing, so I know what music is.

I have seen mornings without clouds, after showers, so I know what beauty is.

I have seen the miracle of sunset, so I know what grandeur is.

And because I have perceived all these things, I know what wealth is.

—BY PHIL SANDER

SAVING THE CHIWAUKEE 

WILDFLOWERS PRODUCE A RIOT OF DIFFERENT COLORS IN THE CHIWAUKEE 

PRAIRIE DEPENDING ON THE SEASON. © Barbara J. Slane, courtesy of the Wisconsin Chapter of Th e Nature Conservancy 
Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 11

WETLANDS

The Healing of San 

Francisco Bay Begins

Th e sluice wheel was turned on July 19, 2004, and one 

of the most ambitious wetland-restoration projects in the 

country took its symbolic fi rst step with a rush of briny 

water into the southern tip of San Francisco Bay. For the 

fi rst time in more than 40 years, bay waters circulated 

through stagnant industrial salt ponds to begin the long 

process of remaking marshes.

It will probably take three decades to fi nish the job, but when the 

project is completed 53 old salt ponds, covering more than 16,000 acres, 

will be transformed back to tidal marsh or bird nesting habitat, and San 

Francisco Bay will be a better place.

“I tell people that when we’re done, the bay won’t be like it was before 

people settled here because there have been too many changes,” says Steve 

Ritchie of California’s Coastal Conservancy, the project’s manager. “We 

will have to work with the natural systems that we have, but restoring these 

lands will lead to vast ecological improvements.”

San Francisco Bay and the Sacramento-San Joaquin delta form the West 

Coast’s largest estuary, draining about 40 percent of California’s land. With 

its blend of fresh and ocean waters, thousands of miles of rivers and streams 

and numerous microclimates and landscapes, the estuary is an ecological 

treasure that supports an enormous diversity of fi sh, other animals and 

plants. About 120 fi sh species, 255 bird species, 81 mammal species, 30 

reptile species and 14 amphibian species live in the estuary. Nearly half the 

birds of the Pacifi c Flyway, a critical migratory route, and two-thirds of 

California’s salmon pass through the estuary.

A century ago, the Bay Area contained almost 200,000 acres of tidal 

marshes and close to 100,000 acres of seasonal wetlands, creeks and 

streams. Today, it is surrounded by the fourth-largest metropolitan area in 

THE DISTINCTIVE SCARLET SALT PONDS MAKE CONVENIENT WAYPOINTS FOR 

ASTRONAUTS, WHO TOOK THIS PHOTOGRAPH FROM SPACE. Courtesy of the 

National Aeronautics and Space Administration

after World War I. “Weyhe Prairie was a mysterious stretch, an isolated land of 

swells and swales, tall grasses and cattails that reached over our heads. At times 

we felt as though we were lost in a prairie jungle.” 

Krampert grew up on a Midwestern farm during the Depression. Zane Grey’s 

novels of the old West and Hamlin Garland’s essays on prairie life sparked what 

would become a lifelong passion for the wildfl owers of the fast-disappearing 

prairies. As an adult, Krampert traveled the West seeking them out. 

On one visit to Chiwaukee in 1964, he sought out Sander instead. They touched 

on many things during that fi rst meeting in Sander’s house – fi shing, hunting, 

traveling, ecology. But mainly they talked about Chiwaukee Prairie.

“Phil,” Krampert asked fi nally, “is there anything we can do to save it?”

The railroad tracks that the Chicago and Northwestern laid through the prairie 

had kept early settlers at bay in the 1800s. Back in those days of steam locomotives, fi remen on the Chicago-Milwaukee run regularly cleaned their stacks and 

fi reboxes in the prairie. The resulting wildfi res deterred anyone with thoughts of 

building a house in the prairie or even planting crops there.

The giddy exuberance of the 1920s descended on the prairie when investors 

from Chicago announced various plans to build a model city for the rich, an 

18-hole golf course, a hotel and an enclave of sumptuous lakefront houses that 

they named Chiwaukee on the Lake. An electric railway would connect it all to 

Chicago, about 50 miles to the south. Though lots were platted and sold, the 

Depression intervened. A few palatial houses were built along the lake and part of 

the golf course opened, but most of the plans died with the stock market. About all 

that’s left of them is a name.

“People think ‘Chiwaukee’ is an Indian word,” explained Eugene C. Gasiorkiewicz. He’s a retired professor at the University of Wisconsin-Parkside in 

Kenosha and published the fi rst and most complete plant list for the prairie. “It 

was a marketing ploy,” he went on. “The prairie is halfway between Chicago and 

Milwaukee. The developers came up with the word in hopes of attracting buyers 

from those cities. The Indians had nothing to do with it.”

Over the years, other development plans for the prairie also came and went, but 

an announcement in early 1965 had an ominous ring. Developers said they would 

build a massive marina for 1,000 boats, a large motel and a golf course in part of 

the Chiwaukee near the Illinois state line. 

That would be the end of the prairie, Hugh Iltis knew. He was a botanist at the 

time at the University of Wisconsin’s main campus in Madison. “As someone who 

was very much interested in the fl ora of Wisconsin, I knew the Chiwaukee was 

absolutely fabulous,” Iltis, now 84, said. “The marina would have destroyed a very 

special place, and I wanted to raise a little hell about it.”

He started with the Kenosha county commissioners who had to rezone the 

prairie to make way for the marina. Iltis and Orie Loucks, another Madison 

professor, drove two hours in a blinding snowstorm to attend the commissioners’ 

rezoning hearing in February 1965. Krampert remembered Iltis arriving late and 

standing before the board with melting snow dripping from his coat.

“You are rezoning land in Pleasant Prairie Township,” Iltis told the commissioners. “Your children will ask, ‘What is a pleasant prairie?’ and you will have no 

answer - for you will have destroyed it.” 

Others also spoke against the rezoning. Most were local people, but some drove 

10 miles from Racine or all the way from Milwaukee and Marquette. It did no good. 

The commissioners rezoned the land.

Meeting in the hallway afterwards, opponents formed an impromptu committee 

and appointed Krampert to head it. “The women liked him because he was very 

handsome,” Iltis said. “But he was a good choice. He was a great big guy, oozing 

continued on page 30...
12 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

the country, and 90 percent of the bay’s original tidal marshes are gone. 

Th ey have been drained, fi lled and converted to farmlands, highways, 

landfi lls, industrial complexes, shopping malls, housing developments, 

commercial salt ponds and airports. Not surprisingly, populations of 

marsh-dependent fi sh and wildlife have also dwindled, while water quality 

has decreased and the risk of fl ooding has risen.

Th e non-profi t group Save Th e Bay formed in the 1960s and began 

pushing for the bay’s restoration, noted David Lewis, its executive director. 

“Th e regional movement that we started to prevent the bay from being fi lled 

in defi nitely led to general and widespread support for restoration,” he said.

Amid much fanfare in 2003, Cargill, Inc. and state and federal agencies 

announced the fi nal terms of a deal that would turn over ownership of 

land and mineral rights to 16,500 acres of Cargill salt ponds to the public 

agencies for $100 million. Cargill, a multinational food and agricultural 

products company, was producing at the time about a million tons a year 

of common salt from the vast array of huge ponds scattered along the bay.

Anyone fl ying into San Francisco has seen them – large red rectangles 

clustered along the bay’s shore. So distinctive are these scarlet landmarks 

that astronauts use them as convenient waypoints. Th e color comes from 

the microbes and brine shrimp that thrive in the pond’s high salinity 

waters. Every one of those rectangles was once a tidal marsh.

Returning the salt ponds to that state again isn’t as simple as merely 

knocking down the dikes that separate them from the bay, Ritchie explains. 

For one thing, there are the birds to consider. Th e bay’s natural wet fl ats 

disappeared long ago, and birds that need such habitat have come to 

rely on the artifi cial salt ponds as substitutes. Th e ponds provide critical 

foraging habitat and shelter for at least 20 migratory bird species, but 

western sandpipers are particularly dependent on them. In spring, their 

numbers on the ponds can swell to 700,000—a signifi cant percentage of 

the population on the Pacifi c Flyway.

Western snowy plovers, an endangered species, breed on the barren 

islands of salt that form after the water evaporates. “To us those places look 

like moonscapes,” Ritchie says, “but the snowy plovers think they’re quite 

cool. Th ey can see any predators coming.”

Th e restoration also has to provide public access and ensure that the 

densely populated communities that ring the bay aren’t fl ooded by storms 

and high tides after the levees encircling the ponds come down. “We can’t 

fl ood Silicon Valley,” Ritchie said. “Th at wouldn’t be good.”

All those issues were worked out during an extensive planning process, 

and the rest of the work on what’s formally known as the South Bay Salt 

Pond Restoration Project was to begin in 2009 through early 2010 with 

three major restorations, totaling more than 2,200 acres. California’s severe 

budget shortfall almost brought it all to a halt, though, but Ritchie found 

other sources of money – including $5.8 million from a NOAA stimulus 

grant – to keep the project on track.

NOAA has contracted with Save Th e Bay, to restore crucial transition zone 

habitat at the edge of several ponds. “Th e low marsh will take care of itself. It’s 

really not necessary to do any planting,” Lewis said. “Our community-based 

restoration is focused on restoring critical habitat in the high marsh and levees 

that have been overgrown with weeds and exotic plants.”

Th e group works with landowners to develop a restoration plan and to 

re-establish native plants. It grows the plants from seeds collected locally 

and volunteers plant the seedlings.

HISTORY OF SALT PRODUCTION IN 

SAN FRANCISCO BAY

Salt production has a long history in San Francisco Bay, going back to native 

Ohlone, who dug small ponds to evaporate bay water for salt that they used or 

traded. Spanish settlers dug larger ponds that they called “salinas,” broad, open 

areas of marsh that captured water during high tides. During the dry, windy 

summer months, the water would evaporate and the salt would be harvested.

This picture depicts the ponds in the mid-19th century. By the end of that 

century, the relatively small and scattered ponds were subdivided and expanded 

in scale from 20 acres to 1,000 acres. Within 100 years, this native industry 

would grow into one of the largest solar evaporation industries in the world. That 

development resulted in the greatest transformation of the bay’s landscape.

Credit: From New Historical Atlas of Alameda County, Thompson and West, 1878. Reprinted with 

permission of Bay Nature magazine, Oct-Dec. 2004

TOP LEFT: AFTER BAY WATER EVAPORATES, INHOSPITABLE, BARREN SALT FLATS 

ARE LEFT BEHIND. MIDDLE: AFTER RESTORATION, THOSE BARREN FLATS BECOME 

WETLANDS AGAIN. ABOVE RIGHT: A DREDGE BEGINS THE WORK OF RESTORING 

A SALT POND. All photos courtesy of the California Coastal Conservancy

continued on page 31...
Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 13

SHELLFISH BEDS

America’s native oysters are excellent ecosystem 

engineers. Th e homes that they build in the shallows 

of our estuaries help keep the water clean, protect the 

shoreline from damaging waves and attract a wide array 

of other marine creatures that come to the oysters’ home 

to eat, reproduce or to fi nd shelter from predators.

Th ese large congregations of oysters are known by various names – beds, 

bars, banks, reefs, rocks, hard bottom. By any name, they are among the 

most productive fi sh habitat along our coastal shoreline.

THE BENEFITS

Th e Eastern oyster (Crassostrea virginica), native to the Atlantic and Gulf 

coasts, is the best-known builder of massive reefs. Successive generations of 

oysters live atop the dead shells of their descendents. Over time, scientists 

estimate the mass of oysters can approach as many as 6,000, or about 45 

bushels, within a single square yard of a healthy reef.

Combine a cafeteria buff et, a hospital nursery and a water fi ltration 

plant and you come close to what that reef means to the estuary. All those 

oysters form dense layers of shells that rise from the soft mud around it. 

Th is island is fi lled with nooks, crannies and crevices that are inhabited 

by organisms great and small. Just how many species use an oyster reef 

depends on its location and the water’s temperature, depth and salinity. 

Scientists in North Carolina have documented more than 300 species of 

invertebrates and more than 40 species of fi sh and crustaceans on reefs 

there. Shrimp and small fi sh like gobies, blennies and toadfi sh feed on the 

algae, bacteria, fungi and worms that colonize the oyster reefs.

Others need the reefs to successfully spawn. Toadfi sh, for instance, 

attach their eggs to the underside of oyster shells, while gobies, blennies, 

and skilletfi sh place their eggs in the shells of recently dead oysters.

Th e small fi sh and crustaceans, of course, attract larger species in search 

of a meal. Red and black drum, bluefi sh, spot, Atlantic croaker, weakfi sh, 

spotted seatrout, summer and southern fl ounder and blue crab are just a 

few of the important species that feed at the reefs.

Newly hatched sheepshead, gag, snappers, shrimp, and stone and blue 

crabs fi nd shelter among the shells, which are considered important nursery 

habitat for numerous species.

Th e oysters themselves play a vital role as the estuary’s natural fi lter. By 

removing organic material and nutrients from the water, the oysters help 

keep the water clear and free from algae, which in turn aids the underwater 

grass beds.

Reefs also stabilize stream banks and decrease erosion. Large areas of 

oyster shells can block waves and reduce erosion and turbidity.

THE TRENDS

America’s oysters were once a worldwide delicacy. Th ey came fi rst from 

the Northeast, from places like Bivalve on the Maurice River in southern 

New Jersey. By 1890, more than 90 railroad cars full of Delaware River 

oysters were leaving the little town each week. Catches steadily dropped 

throughout the region and nearly ceased in the 1950s after disease wiped 

out many of the remaining oysters. Th e oysters have never fully recovered.

But by then, the industry had moved south. In the late 1800s, annual 

oyster harvests in the Southeast routinely topped 10 million pounds a year, 

and peaked in 1908 when the harvest was nearly 20 million pounds. Since 

then, though, the oyster populations have collapsed under the weight of 

disease, pollution and overfi shing. Th e commercial harvest fell throughout 

the 20th century and is now at historic lows. Today, yearly harvests in the 

Southeast average about three million pounds. Before the 1950s, Chesapeake Bay accounted for almost half the catch of the Eastern oyster; today 

it yields only about 2 percent.

Th ough they have fl uctuated over the years, oyster harvests along the 

Gulf Coast haven’t shown a similar collapse. Th e Gulf States are now the 

leading producers of Eastern oysters.   

On the west coast, overfi shing and pollution have all but wiped out the 

native Olympia oyster (Ostreola conchaphila or Ostrea lurida). 

THE THREATS

Fishing for oysters with towed dredges is the greatest physical threat 

to oyster reefs. Studies have shown that using dredges for one season can 

reduce the height of an oyster reef by 30 percent. Trawling for shrimp, 

crabs and clams and dredging channels can do similar, but less dramatic, 

damage to the reefs.

Water pollution and diseases are more widespread threats. Sediment 

washed off the land during storms can bury oyster shells. Without the shell 

on the bottom, oyster larvae can’t attach themselves, or “set.” Excessive 

sedimentation can also harm shellfi sh by clogging their gills. Sediment was 

the largest cause of water-quality degradation in the Albemarle-Pamlico 

estuary. Excessive nutrients, such as phosphorus and nitrogen, can also lead 

to layers of water so devoid of oxygen that oysters, which are unable to 

move to better water, suff ocate. Polluted stormwater runoff can contaminate the shallow water where oysters grow with high levels of bacteria that 

the oysters ingest and then become unsafe to eat.

OYSTER REEFS: Water Filters and Baby Nurseries

OYSTERS BUILD UPON THE SHELLS OF OTHERS. Photo courtesy of the N.C. 

Division of Marine Fisheries.
14 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

Profi le of the Amazing Oyster

Th ey aren’t the prettiest things in the water, but oysters 

have long been one of the most important – ecologically 

and gastronomically – on both sides of the Atlantic. 

When they arrived on the shores of North America, the fi rst white 

settlers were most impressed with the abundance, size and succulence of 

oysters, whose thick rafts of reefs were hazards to unwary navigators in 

their small wooden boats. Friendly Indians reportedly brought oysters 

along with wild turkeys to the fi rst Th anksgiving. Th ey taught these 

strangers how to hunt for the fat shellfi sh with leather tongs and how to 

dry them for winter food. Settlers on the other side of the continent found 

large mounds of oyster shells scattered about what they would come to call 

San Francisco Bay, attesting to the natives’ affi nity for the shellfi sh.

Across the Atlantic, oysters had been a prized food since the 

pre-Christian era. Th e ancient Romans served large quantities at their 

banquets, learned to cultivate them and even made a monetary unit, the 

denarius, equal in value to one oyster.

Quite an illustrious history for a critter that doesn’t even have a 

backbone. In fact, oysters are scientifi cally classed as mollusks, a word from 

the Latin meaning “soft.” Protecting those soft bodies is a hard shell made 

up of two valves that are joined by a hinge and held together by a strong 

muscle. Except in the earliest stage of their development, oysters even lack 

the power of locomotion. Th ey spend much of their lives lying still on the 

fl oor of brackish bays, coves and estuaries, usually attached to rocks, other 

oysters or some other hard, submerged object, sometimes in great clusters.

Many diff erent species of oysters live in the inshore waters of the world’s 

temperate and tropical seas. Th e one native to the Atlantic and Gulf coasts, 

Crassostrea virginica, is commonly known as the American oyster, the 

Atlantic oyster and the Eastern oyster. It is a hardy species that can live 

in waters as varied in salinity and temperature as those found from Nova 

Scotia to the Gulf of Mexico.

Th e Olympia oyster, Ostrea conchaphila, that the Native Americans 

of our Pacifi c coast so loved were all but wiped out by overharvesting 

and pollution and are now the subject of an active restoration eff ort that 

NOAA is helping fund. Most of the oysters commercially harvested on the 

West Coast were introduced from Japan.

THE SEXY OYSTER

Th e separate sexes of the American oyster ripen in early summer. When 

the water warms to about 68 degrees, they release eggs and sperm into 

the water. During the spawning season, a single female, by clapping her 

shells gently, will puff out many millions of buoyant eggs, and a male will 

release an even greater number of sperm. Th e fertilized egg develops into 

a microscopic larva, which swims and drifts in the tidal currents for about 

three weeks. Th e larva may travel far from the spawning area, feeding on 

microscopic plants and, in turn, being eaten by other animals. Less than 

one percent of the young larvae reach the next stage of development.

When it’s about the size of a grain of pepper, each larva extends a 

probing foot and seeks a permanent place to live. Once it fi nds a suitable 

clean, hard surface, the foot gland ejects a tiny pool of cement-like 

adhesive. Th e little oyster then turns on its left side, cements itself to 

the object, and remains immobile for the rest of its life. From then on, 

it can feed only on what food the water brings and is unable to escape 

overcrowding, pollution or its enemies.

Th e small oyster, or spat, now the size of a dime, grows by pumping 

water through its body and fi ltering out its food – mostly algae and 

decaying plant material. In this way it cleans the waters. A healthy threeinch-long oyster can fi lter approximately 50 gallons of water a day. 

Oysters provide other ecological benefi ts as well. Oyster reefs, with their 

many folds and crevasses, can have fi fty times the surface area of a similarly 

extensive fl at bottom. Its convolutions provide habitat for an enormous 

range of other animals, such as worms, snails, sea squirts, sponges, small 

crabs and numerous species of fi shes.

STORMWATER AND SHELLFISH

Rain washing off streets, driveways, parking lots and other constructed 

surfaces carries with it a witch’s brew of pollutants, including bacteria, which 

can have a devastating effect on shellfi sh beds.

This “stormwater runoff” is now the largest source of water pollution in most 

of our coastal watersheds, accounting for as much as 80 percent of the pollution 

in our estuaries and ocean. Runoff contaminated with bacteria is responsible for 

closing hundreds of thousands of acres of oyster and clam beds to harvesting.

TOP: YOUNG 

OYSTERS, CALLED 

SPAT, SET ON A CLAM 

SHELL. Courtesy of 

Bill Shadel, American 

Littoral Society

LEFT: LIFECYCLE OF 

THE OYSTER

continued on page 31...
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SHELLFISH BEDS

GROWING OYSTERS IN THE SHADOW 

OF SKYSCRAPERS

Ben Longstreth had a crazy notion back in 1997. What if oysters could grow 

again in the waters surrounding New York City? What would that say about 

restoring one of the most polluted coastal environments in the world?

It had been more than 70 years since anyone thought about bringing oysters 

back to what had once been prime bivalve real estate. When Henry Hudson came 

this way in 1609, oyster reefs covered 350 square miles of the bay’s bottom, from 

Sandy Hook in New Jersey north to Ossining on the river that now bears Hudson’s 

name. Oysters grew abundantly in the Navesink and Shrewsbury rivers, the Arthur 

Kill and Newark Bay. Up until 1900, New York oysters were in high demand the 

world over and supported an extensive commercial fi shery. 

But overfi shing, siltation and severe pollution drove the oysters virtually extinct 

during the next two decades. New York state banned all oystering in the waters 

around the city in 1924, and the once-thriving oyster business died. The great 

oyster reefs that fi ltered the water were gone. The biological diversity of the estuary 

declined dramatically, and the bay bottom got muddier and its depths murkier.

Longstreth, who had just joined the American Littoral Society’s N.Y./N.J. 

Baykeeper® program in 1997, recruited some volunteers that year and took the 

fi rst steps in the long journey to bring the oysters back. They put out small bags of 

oysters at 15 places around New York. To everyone’s surprise and delight, oysters 

grew well at all but one site.

 In a dramatic second step in 1999, the Baykeeper program created a new 

artifi cial oyster reef at Liberty Island, known historically as Oyster Island. It was 

the fi rst reef built in the bay since the 19th century. “That was an incredible 

moment,” Longstreth remembered in 2006. “It was a great symbol of our 

dramatic progress in cleaning up the bay, and of our total commitment to a full 

restoration of estuary habitat.”

The new reef generated publicity and provided needed marine habitat. Red 

beard sponges, blue crab and other invertebrates took to the reef, but very few 

indigenous oysters. There just weren’t enough oysters left to produce drifting larvae 

that could colonize the reef.

Relying on nature to do the job would take decades. Longstreth and the 

Baykeeper program decided in 2000 to lend a hand. They recruited volunteers 

from around the region to grow oysters in waters near their homes or at public 

sites. These “oyster gardeners” grew about 10,000 oysters at 25 sites that fi rst 

year and successfully produced spawning oysters to plant on two restored oyster 

reefs in the estuary.

Michael Stringer, who managed the Baykeeper’s oyster program from 2000 to 

2003, remembered those early days. “I would go around the estuary and talk to 

folks who just looked at me incredulously,” he said in 2006. “The environmental 

professionals, agency people and research scientists mostly thought we were 

out in left fi eld. They thought oyster beds were from a bygone era and lost to the 

estuary forever.” 

The Baykeeper did fi nd enthusiastic allies. Its oyster program has received 

ongoing funding and support from the American Littoral Society through the 

NOAA-RAE partnership and the Hudson River Foundation. It also got signifi cant 

scientifi c support from NOAA’s National Marine Fisheries Service and approval 

from the N.J. Department of Environmental Protection and the U.S. Army Corps of 

Engineers to build an oyster reef in New Jersey waters.

Meredith Comi, who currently heads the program for the now-independent 

Baykeeper® organization, doesn’t get as many quizzical stares anymore, but the 

challenges of growing oysters in severely polluted water haven’t diminished. She now 

has about 600 active gardeners, who grow oysters at about 70 sites around New 

York. Comi fi gures that they have placed upwards of 300,000 oysters on the two 

reefs that the Baykeeper group maintains in the estuary.

The oysters, though, aren’t reproducing naturally in any numbers yet to 

ensure their continued survival. So young oysters, or “spat,” have to be imported 

from Maryland. The spat are circulated in large tanks that contain mesh bags of 

oyster or clam shells. After the spat attach to the shells, the bags are given to the 

gardeners, who tend them for a year in local waters. Comi then collects the bags 

and places them on reefs.

“I’m always amazed when I go to conferences at how easy it is in other places,” 

she says. “We have an estuary that is pretty much devoid of oysters that are 

producing larvae. We have to set the oyster larvae. It’s time consuming and labor 

intensive.”

Judging success under those circumstances has been a moving target, Comi 

said. Just knowing that oysters will survive in these waters marked a step forward. 

That they will grow was another sign of progress. Now there are indications that 

they are naturally reproducing on at least one reef.

Similar programs pin their ultimate success on the re-opening of polluted 

shellfi sh waters. That’s not likely to happen anytime soon around New York, so 

Comi’s fi nal measurement is broader and less defi ned. 

“We have educated thousands of people about oysters and the pollution of the 

estuary,” she said. “The watermen and baymen want to see this work. They are 

our biggest advocates. Our gardeners also become big advocates for controlling 

pollution. Those are all measures of our success.”

STUDENTS FROM BAYONNE HIGH SCHOOL IN NEW JERSEY BEGIN TO SET THE 

CAGES THAT WILL BE USED TO GROW OYSTERS IN NEWARK BAY. Courtesy of the 

N.Y./N.J. Baykeeper®
16 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

History and Science 

Through Oysters

In southern New Jersey, along the shores of Delaware 

Bay, there are dozens of reminders of the region’s long 

connection to the Eastern oyster: Old boat-building 

sheds that once turned out the sturdy schooners that 

plied the bay’s waters for oysters, remnants of shucking houses and packing plants, towns with names like 

Shellpile and Bivalve. Talk to the old-timers and they will 

tell you about the work songs chanted around the shucking tables, about the boxcars heading north packed with 

oysters, about oyster stews hearty enough to ward off the 

cold of the darkest December night.

Th ey are all part of a rich history when the oyster was king. Sadly, it 

is a story unknown to most of the children who attend the area’s schools. 

Lisa Calvo is trying to change all that.

Calvo had an idea in 2006. At the time she was a researcher at 

Rutgers University’s Haskins Shellfi sh Research Laboratory in southern 

Jersey. Th e oyster, she thought, could be a way to reach out to kids and 

teach them about a healthy Delaware Bay and about the importance of 

restoring its habitat. It also could put them in touch with their history 

and culture. 

“I have always been interested in science education,” she said. “I love 

research but I felt a connection to education. I just thought it was a good 

opportunity to do some education.”

With federal funding, including some NOAA money through Restore 

America’s Estuaries via the American Littoral Society, Calvo took her 

Project PORTS (Promoting Oyster Restoration Th rough Schools) to 10 

schools in 2007. She has added four more since.

She goes mainly to elementary and middle schools, off ering pupils 

and their teachers a wide variety of activities that cross curricula and 

grade levels. She works with individual teachers and their classes or with 

entire schools. “For kindergartners, it may just be a touch tank,” Calvo 

explains. “Older children get to hold oysters and examine them on the 

inside and outside and learn about invertebrates.”

Her curriculum guide allows teachers to use the oyster as a vehicle 

to teach basic math and science concepts and history and language arts. 

By incorporating science with local history, pupils can better appreciate 

and understand the complexity of an important local environmental 

problem–the decline of the Eastern oyster. 

After the kids have learned that lesson, Calvo puts them to work 

fi lling mesh bags with recycled shells. She then moves the bags to the 

Haskins Lab where they are placed in the bay to attract baby oysters, 

called spat. Getting students directly involved in an oyster-habitat 

restoration project greatly enriches the educational value of the classroom 
Restore America’s Estuaries Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 17

SHELLFISH BEDS

“ARSTERS” HE-STEW

From James A. Michener’s Chesapeake© 1978, Random House, Inc., Chapter 22, “The Waterman.”

An excerpted conversation between the cook, Big Jimbo, and the crew aboard the 

Skipjack Jessie T. as she prepared for her maiden trip to dredge for “arsters” in 

Maryland’s Choptank River.

A She-stew is the traditional one: Eight oysters per person boiled slightly in their 

own liquor, then in milk thickened with fl our, fl avored with celery, salt and pepper. A 

great opening course, but not a meal for a working man.

A He-Stew is quite different, as Big Jimbo prepared his version. First he took 

a mess a bacon and fried it crisp. As it sizzled, he chopped eight large onions and 

two hefty stalks of celery. Deftly he whisked the bacon out, tossing the vegetables 

into the hot oil to saute. Soon he withdrew them, placing them with the bacon. 

Then he tossed the forty eight oysters into the pan, browning them just enough to 

implant the fl avor, then he quickly poured in the liquor from the oysters and allowed 

them to cook until their gills wrinkled.

Next Big Jimbo did two things that made his stew unforgettable. Taking a 

small pinch of tapioca powder, he tossed it into the oysters and liquor and in a few 

minutes the fi nely ground tapioca powder had expanded it into a large translucent, 

gelatinous mass. When he was satisfi ed he poured the oysters into the milk, which 

he had already brought to a simmer, tossed in the vegetables, then crumbled the 

bacon between his fi ngers, throwing it on top.

The sturdy dish was almost ready. Finally, Big Jimbo dusted the top of the stew 

with Saffron, giving it a golden richness, which he augmented with a hollowly of 

butter at the last moment. When the crew dug in, they found one of the richest, 

tastiest “Arster” stews a marine cook had ever devised.

• Mess of bacon

• 8 Large onions

• 2 Hefty stalks of celery

• 48 Oysters

• Oyster liquor

• Tapioca powder

• Milk

• Saffron

• 1/2 lb. butter

lessons, she said. “I have to grab the kids off the shell pile so the next 

group can bag,” Calvo said. “It’s hands on, it’s dirty and it smells a little 

bit. Th e kids love it.”

Calvo, who now works as the watershed coordinator for the Jacques 

Cousteau National Estuarine Research Reserve in Bridgeton, fi gures in this 

way she has reached more than 1,500 kids in two years. Th ose children have 

fi lled more than 3,500 bags of shells, which then attracted more than four 

million oyster spat. Some of those spat survived and are now growing on a 

sanctuary reef in the bay. Th e kids also know how Bivalve got its name.

“Th is has been a very rewarding experience,” Calvo says.

FAR LEFT: FOURTH-GRADE STUDENTS AT FRIENDS SCHOOL MULLICA HILL IN MULLICA HILL, N.J., PARTICIPATE IN PROJECT PORTS’ “THAT’S GROSS ANATOMY, THE 

INS AND OUTS OF OYSTERS” SCIENCE ACTIVITY. LEFT: JEFF SJOGREN, PROJECT 

PORTS VOLUNTEER, EMPTIES THE SHELL BAGS CONTAINING OYSTER SPAT AT 

THE CONSERVATION AREA IN DELAWARE BAY. ABOVE: STUDENTS FROM WEST 

AVENUE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL IN BRIDGETON, N.J., BUILD SHELL BAGS AT THEIR 

SCHOOL FOR PROJECT PORTS. ABOVE RIGHT: FOURTH-GRADE STUDENTS IN 

CUMBERLAND COUNTY, N.J., CREATE SIGNATURE OYSTER SHELLS FOR PROJECT 

PORTS. THE MESSAGES ARE OFTEN DIRECTED TOWARD THE OYSTERS THEY HOPE 

TO HELP. THE SHELLS ARE LATER PLACED IN MESH BAGS AND USED ON OYSTER 

REEFS IN DELAWARE BAY. All photos courtesy of Project PORTS 
18 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

Hap Chalmers proudly pulled from his pocket a sheet 

of paper with the names of all the restaurants that have 

bought oysters from his son Cam, who has an aquaculture 

business on the Lynnhaven River in Virginia Beach, Va. It 

was an impressive list. On it were the names of restaurants 

in Philadelphia, Baltimore, Las Vegas, New York, even San 

Francisco. More impressive was the fact that anyone at all 

was buying Chalmers’ Lynnhaven oysters.

Just a few years ago, the river was so contaminated by bacteria that 

almost all of its oyster beds were off -limits to shellfi shing. What few oysters 

grew in the river were unsafe to eat and illegal to sell. 

“We’re back!” Hap told a newspaper reporter in late 2008 after showing 

off his list, a broad smile spreading across his face.

Th e Lynnhaven seems to have made at least a partial comeback 

after decades of abuse. Almost a third of its oyster beds have recently 

been reopened for harvesting – a sign of improving water quality – and 

Lynnhaven oysters are once again on local restaurant menus – a fi nancial 

boon to local watermen.

To get this far, the river needed a great deal of help from a great many 

people. City offi cials had to commit themselves to stanching the fl ow of 

stormwater that was poisoning the Lynnhaven with bacteria. State and 

federal agencies had to rebuild the river’s oyster beds that had been covered 

by sediment. Non-profi t groups had to advocate tirelessly on its behalf 

and teach people about the river’s problems, and those who live along the 

river had to roll up their sleeves and volunteer to join committees, attend 

meetings, grow seed oysters for the new reefs, pick up after their pets and 

generally think about the river in a new way. Th e combined eff orts could 

serve as a model for how to resuscitate a comatose river, said Tommy 

Leggett of the Chesapeake Bay Foundation.

“It was a combination of everybody doing something,” noted Leggett, a 

former commercial fi sherman who is now the foundation’s oyster restoration and fi sheries scientist in Virginia. “A whole lot of diff erent folks 

contributed towards the success we’ve seen on the Lynnhaven.”

Th e river was once highly prized for its oysters, but unchecked and 

largely unregulated development in the 1960s and ‘70s gradually took 

its toll. Th e Lynnhaven’s watershed covers 64 square miles of Virginia 

Beach. Within it live almost 250,000 people, or roughly half of the city’s 

population. At least 35 percent of the watershed has been covered with 

roads, parking lots, rooftops and other hard surfaces, which increased 

runoff after every rain. More than 1,000 pipes direct that untreated stormwater to the river, which became laden with sediment and overloaded with 

nutrients, toxins and bacteria. 

“It’s basically an urban river and its watershed has been totally 

developed,” explained Karen Forget, executive director of the advocacy 

group Lynnhaven River Now. “It’s been a major challenge because most 

development took place when there were virtually no limitations on development or controls on stormwater.”

By 2002, 98 percent of the river’s oyster beds were closed to shellfi shing 

because of high bacteria levels and it seemed the Lynnhaven was destined 

to go the way of other polluted urban rivers. But that was the year Harry 

Lester, Andy Fine and Bob Stanton decided to do something about it. Th e 

three businessmen got together with other prominent city leaders to form 

what became Lynnhaven River Now. Th eir goal was simple: Bring back 

the oysters. “We were all novices at this,” Lester recalls. “We had no idea 

what it would take or how long it would take. We only knew that the river 

needed help.”

Th e group’s members did have the ear of the city council, remembers 

Bob Johnston, Virginia Beach’s permit administrator. “Th e council 

members realized how important it was to clean up the river,” he said. 

Th ings began to happen. Th e council, in 2003, declared restoration of 

the Lynnhaven River to be a high priority, and the city set out to reduce 

Lynnhaven Offers a Model 

on How to Restore a River

LEFT: SUNSET ON THE LYNNHAVEN RIVER. Courtesy of Lynnhaven River Now 

RIGHT: OSPREYS GUARD THEIR NEST ON THE LYNNHAVEN RIVER. Courtesy of 

Lynnhaven River Now
Restore America’s Estuaries Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 19

SHELLFISH BEDS

pollutants entering the river. Th e Department of Public Utilities, for 

instance, completed more than 40 projects, costing almost $46 million, 

to extend, repair or rehabilitate the public sewer system in the watershed. 

Th e city spent more than $6 million on other environmental projects, 

ranging from installing solar powered aerators to boost oxygen levels in 

lakes draining into the river and building wetlands to treat stormwater to 

bacterial monitoring and modeling. 

Th e city now has a task force made up of section heads that meets 

monthly to discuss water-quality issues, noted Clay Bernick, Virginia 

Beach’s administrator for environmental management. “It’s gotten 

everybody on the same page, and we’re moving in the same direction,” he 

said. “We’re seeing far less fall through the cracks.”

Plans to manage stormwater in each of the 33 watersheds in the city are 

being devised, and the city is beginning to implement the recommendations of a Green Ribbon Commission that looked at city ordinances, codes 

and procedures to make them more environmentally friendly. It also gave 

Army Corps of Engineers half of the cost of a $3 million study to restore 

the Lynnhaven. Th e study is looking at ways to rebuild wetlands and 

essential fi sh habitats and re-establish underwater grass beds.

“I think the city deserves a pat on the back,” said Christy Everett, 

the Chesapeake Bay Foundation’s assistant director in Virginia. “Th ey’ve 

put amazing resources toward this. Th ey’re doing much more than any 

other city.”

Th e Corps of Engineers’ Norfolk District also played a role. It built 

almost 60 acres of oysters reefs in the river that are now sanctuaries where 

harvesting is prohibited. Along with the Virginia Institute of Marine 

Science and the state’s Marine Resources Commission, the corps has also 

built more than 100 acres of artifi cial oyster reefs and seeded them with 

disease-resistant oysters.

Leggett estimates that the Chesapeake Bay Foundation probably planted 

2-3 million oysters in the Lynnhaven. Many were supplied by volunteers in 

the foundation’s program that helps people grow oysters under their docks. 

Th ose oysters are then used in restoration projects.

Most people, though, give much of the credit for the river’s rebounding 

fortunes to Lynnhaven River Now. Its educational programs teach people 

about the problems facing the river and how their actions aff ect the 

Lynnhaven. It has partnered with the city on a range of activities, from 

producing television ads to upgrading sewer systems. Its advocacy has led 

to a ban on discharges from marine toilets into the Lynnhaven and more 

eff ective controls on stormwater. “Lynnhaven River Now has just been a 

fantastic partner,” Johnston said. “I wish I had one of those organizations 

in every watershed in the city.”

Everybody’s work seems to be paying off . About seven percent of the 

river’s oyster beds were open to harvesting by 2006. More than 1,400 acres 

were opened the following year and another 112 acres were added in 2008. 

Harvesting is now allowed in about 31 percent of the Lynnhaven.

Whether these gains are long-term may be debatable. Some argue 

that the falling bacteria levels are due to abnormally low rainfall and the 

resulting decreased runoff , which carries the bacteria to the river. Everett’s 

not one of them. Th e Lynnhaven has turned a corner, she thinks. But even 

if some of the reopened oyster beds have to eventually be closed again, the 

work everyone has done has already paid dividends, she says. 

“Now there are signs of hope,” Everett said. “You can now eat 

Lynnhaven oysters. You’ve got to give people some hope. While everything’s not perfect, it shows that you can slow the pace of deterioration and 

that you can begin to turn things around.”

BRINGING BACK THE OYSTER: A ‘QUIET JOY’

As a junior offi cer in the Navy stationed in Norfolk, Va., in the early 1970s, 

Harry Lester and his buddies often ate at The Duck, a little oyster place on the 

Lynnhaven River in nearby Virginia Beach.

“You used to tell them how many oysters you wanted and they’d have people 

there shuck them for you. It was such a really wonderful experience and was one of 

those lasting memories,” Lester, 63, recalls. “Then in my adult lifetime it went away. 

The oysters they were shucking and I was eating just disappeared. Life changed.”

Lester settled in Virginia Beach after the Navy. The Duck was torn down; the 

river that supplied its oysters slowly succumbed as a booming city grew around 

it, its oyster beds covered by silt or shut down by bacteria from contaminated 

runoff and sewage discharges.

“I was part of the problem,” says Lester, a commercial real-estate broker for 

30 years. “You could say that I was paying for past sins.”

So Harry Lester felt an obligation to do something. He and Andy Fine, a 

lawyer who also developed real estate, called about 20 of their friends in 2002 

to talk about what they could do to help the Lynnhaven. “We picked the oyster as 

a metaphor for clean water, not having any idea that bringing them back was the 

hardest thing to do,” he said.

The group was made up of mostly business people and well-known 

community leaders. Few had resumes of the typical environmental advocate. 

They did have connections at City Hall and cordial relationships with those who 

served on Virginia Beach’s city council.

“We were the catalyst,” says Lester, now the president of Eastern Virginia Medical 

School. “We had a nice group of names and a little bit of money and we were 

friendly with the city council. We urged the city to do its part to help restore oysters in 

the river. And the city responded. Clean water is a hard thing to be against.”

The committee became what is now Lynnhaven River Now, a non-profi t group 

with more than 3,000 members that is widely credited for leading the effort 

to revive the river. Its programs focus on identifying and reducing pollutants, 

restoring vital habitat, raising awareness and engaging the public. Its partners 

include such diverse groups as the town of Virginia Beach, the Army Corps of 

Engineers, the Chesapeake Bay Foundation, the Virginia Institute of Marine 

Science and the Virginia Marine Resources Commission.

The Virginia General Assembly passed a resolution in 2009 commending Lester 

and Fine for their work on the Lynnhaven. One suspects that seeing the group he 

helped found bring back the oysters of his youth is recognition enough for Lester.

“It’s one of the quiet joys of my life,” he says.

A REEF IS EXPOSED DURING LOW TIDE ON THE LYNNHAVEN RIVER. Courtesy of 

Lynnhaven River Now
20 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

 Th ey clean the water, provide a haven for young fi sh 

and are food for scores of diff erent birds and sea creatures. 

Th ese small fl owering plants, known to scientists by the 

utilitarian moniker “SAV” for submerged aquatic vegetation, grow mostly unseen beneath the water and help keep 

our coastal estuaries healthy. 

THE BENEFITS 

 Th is underwater garden is 

an important part of the estuary’s 

ecosystem. Th e plants are top-notch 

recyclers, for instance. Th ey take 

nutrients such as phosphorus and 

nitrogen from the sediment and release them into the water when they die. 

Within seagrass communities, a single acre of grass can produce more 

than 10 tons of leaves a year. Th is vast biomass provides food, habitat 

and nursery areas for a myriad of adult and juvenile vertebrates and 

invertebrates. A single acre of seagrass may support as many as 40,000 fi sh 

and 50 million small invertebrates. Because seagrasses support such high 

biodiversity, and because of their sensitivity to changes in water quality, 

they are important indicators of the overall health of coastal ecosystems.

 More than 40 diff erent species of fi sh and invertebrates have been 

collected from grass beds, which are busy nurseries for the young of many 

marine species including striped bass, red drum, salmon, fl ounder, blue 

crabs and pink shrimp. Grass shrimp, spotted seatrout and weakfi sh spawn 

in the grass, and the Atlantic bay scallop needs grass meadows to survive. 

Th e grasses are also important food sources for many types of birds.

PROFILE OF COMMON UNDERWATER GRASSES

About 60 species of seagrasses grow in coastal waters worldwide. Here’s a look at 

four that are commonly found in U.S. coastal waters.

EEL GRASS (Zostera marina)

U.S. coastal distribution: Maine to North Carolina, Washington to California. Habitat:

Found in sheltered bays, salt ponds, inlets, tidal fl ats and creeks and at the mouth 

of estuaries. It prefers shallow, high-saline waters and sandy mud. Description:

Slender, ribbon-like leaves with rounded leaf tips that grow along joints of the stem. 

Ecological signifi cance: Important habitat for numerous marine species, including 

blue crabs, Dungeness crabs, spider crabs, scallops, juvenile salmon, seahorses, 

pipefi sh and speckled trout. It is also an important food source for Brant geese. 

SAGO PONDWEED (Potamogeton pectinatus)

U.S. coastal distribution: Widespread along the Atlantic, Gulf and Pacifi c coasts 

and along the Great Lakes. Habitat: Generally found in fresh to moderately brackish 

water and prefers silty or muddy sediments. It tolerates strong currents and wave 

action better than most other underwater grasses because of its long roots and 

rhizomes. It can also grow in polluted water. Description: Long, narrow, threadlike leaves that taper to a point. Branched stems create bushy clusters that fan 

out and fl oat on the surface. Sheath at the leaf is pointed like a bayonet, and the 

clustered fl owers look like beads. Ecological signifi cance: Considered one of the 

most valuable food sources for waterfowl in North America. Its highly nutritious 

seeds, tubers, leaves, stems and roots are consumed by numerous species of 

ducks, geese, swans and marsh and shorebirds.

SHOAL GRASS (Halodule wrightii)

U.S. coastal distribution: North Carolina south though the Gulf of Mexico, California 

coast. Habitat: As the name implies, it grows in shallow water, close to shore where 

other grasses can’t grow. It’s a relatively fast-growing species that colonizes barren 

sandy areas in quiet waters. Description: Ribbon-like fl at leaves that, exposed at 

low tide, look like grass in a lawn. Ecological signifi cance: Because it is hardy 

and fast-growing, the grass is useful in restoring areas damaged by erosion. 

Transplants of shoal grass colonize the damaged areas relatively quickly, preventing 

further erosion and allowing for the establishment of other species of seagrass and 

marine life.

TURTLE GRASS (Thalassia testudinum)

U.S. coastal distribution: Central Florida south to the Gulf of Mexico. Habitat:

Requires high salinity water sheltered from extreme wave action. It reaches 

depths of 60 feet in clear water and can stand brief exposure to air at low tide.

Description: Erect, green leaves that arise in clusters from short stalk. They are 

fi nely veined and rounded at the tips. The fl owers are large, greenish white to pale 

pink and produce prominent seed pods that often wash ashore. It grows in large 

mats throughout its range. Ecological signifi cance: The common name of this 

plant refers to green sea turtles that graze on large fi elds of this seagrass. Many 

fi sh also feed on the plant.

SUBMERGED AQUATIC VEGETATION: 

Underwater Gardens Nurture Young of Many Species

Hughes, A. et al. Associations of concern: declining seagrasses and threatened dependent species.

2009. Front Ecol Environ 2009; 7(5): 242–246, doi:10.1890/080041 (published online 10 Oct 2008)

SPECIES OF CONCERN ASSOCIATED WITH SEAGRASSES
Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 21

SUBMERGED AQUATIC VEGETATION

Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 21

BRINGING THE MEADOWS BACK TO LIFE

Eelgrass, a major source of food and shelter for countless marine creatures, 

has all but disappeared from the inshore waters of the Northeast, but scientists 

and volunteers hope to restore these underwater gardens that are so vital to the 

health of the region’s estuaries.

Narragansett Bay in Rhode Island is like so many of the area’s coastal 

waters. Eelgrass meadows were once thought to cover as many as 100,000 

acres of the bay’s bottom. Less than 200 acres remained in 2001 when Save 

The Bay, a non-profi t group, put an army of volunteers to work in a large-scale 

effort to turn the tide.

With initial funding support from NOAA’s Community-based Restoration 

Program and Restore America’s Estuaries, the group chose three of the most 

successful sites from an earlier test program for a more concentrated restoration effort. Initially, there were successes, but there was also a fair amount of 

heartbreak. There was, for instance, the cold winter of 2004 when ice sheets 

moving across the shallow water sheared off the transplanted grass, or the hot 

summer two years later that led to an invasion of hermit and green crabs, which 

uprooted the plants.

Lessons were learned and methods perfected. “All of the sites we currently 

plant are above 50 percent survival,” noted Maria Martinez, Save The Bay’s 

restoration ecologist. “We consider that a great success.”

She’s particularly encouraged by the results at Hog Island, the northernmost restoration site. The bay’s northern waters are the most polluted and the 

eelgrass losses there the highest. The grass is very susceptible to turbidity in 

the water, which blocks the sun’s rays, preventing photosynthesis. “The success 

at Hog Island is important because it may be an indication of improving water 

quality,” Martinez said.

Ultimate success is far from assured, but there’s no lack of trying. More than 

200 people volunteer each year to help plant the grass. They show up, starting 

each spring, to help remove grass from existing healthy stands and then again to 

move them to the restoration sites. Each planting is a four-day exercise. “Once we 

harvest the eelgrass, it has to be transplanted pretty quickly,” Martinez said.

Volunteers sort the harvested grass, sticking their hands in the smelly bundles 

hoping to avoid biting crabs and slimy sea worms. Some bring kayaks to transport 

the baskets of shoots to the waiting volunteer divers, who do the actual planting. 

In this way, they planted more than 120,000 eelgrass shoots in 2008, the 

largest planting to date.

“All ages come. Entire families come,” Martinez said.”There’s really something 

for everyone to do. Without the volunteers, we couldn’t do the work. It also brings 

an awareness of the bay and how important it is to all of us in Rhode Island.”

The eelgrass restoration project in Narragansett Bay is just one of several 

that NOAA and RAE have helped fund. Some of the others include New Bedford 

Harbor in Massachusetts; tidal ponds at the Ninigret Park and National Wildlife 

Refuge in Charlestown, R.I.; California’s Channel Islands; New Hampshire’s 

Great Bay; San Francisco Bay; and Puget Sound. 

 Plant beds also tend to reduce shoreline erosion by sheltering the land 

from waves. And they help cleanse the water, with their leaves acting as 

screens to remove sediment.

THE TRENDS 

 Th ough they are an invaluable part of our marine environment, 

seagrasses are disappearing at an alarming rate. Scientists, in a study 

published in June 2009*, found that 58 percent of the seagrass meadows 

around the world are in decline. Some of the losses in U.S. waters are 

staggering: Galveston Bay in Texas, the seventh-largest estuary in the 

country, has lost 89 percent of its grass beds since 1956. Mobile Bay in 

Alabama, which was designated as a National Estuary by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, has lost 82 percent of its grasses since 1981. 

Tampa Bay in Florida lost lost 63 percent since 1879. More than a third of 

the grasses have disappeared in the East River in New York since 1937 and 

more than a quarter in Nantucket Harbor since 1994.

Th e researchers also found that about 30 percent of the world’s seagrasses 

have disappeared over the last three decades and that since 1990 the annual 

rate of loss worldwide has increased from four to seven percent a year.

Dr. William Dennison of the University of Maryland’s Center for 

Environmental Science and the report’s co-author off ered a sobering analogy 

when the report was released “Globally, we lose a seagrass meadow the size of 

a soccer fi eld every thirty minutes,” he said in a statement at the time.

THE THREATS

Th e reasons for the historic decline are many. Natural events, such as 

regional shifts in salinity because of drought or excessive rainfall, animal 

foraging, storms, or disease all play a role.

Other factors may be more signifi cant, however. Dredging channels for 

navigation or marinas can destroy seagrasses by removing them or covering 

them with sediment. Docks built over seagrass beds can shade them out. 

Boat propellers can shear off plants or dig them up by their roots, as can 

some types of fi shing gear, such as oyster or clam dredges.

Th ose kinds of physical damage tend to occur in specifi c areas and at 

certain times of the year. Degraded water quality, however, can aff ect grass 

beds over larger areas and longer periods of time. Like any plant, the grasses 

need light to photosynthesize. Too much sediment in the water can block 

sunlight from reaching the plants. Water enriched with too many nutrients 

can trigger algal blooms, which have the same eff ect. Th e sediments and 

nutrients come from many sources – sewage plants, eroding stream banks, 

rural and urban stormwater. 

Runoff can also increase the amount of freshwater entering the estuaries, 

which can decrease salinity and harm the plants. 

FAR LEFT: DIVERS GO THROUGH THE SLOW PROCESS OF HAND PLANTING 

EELGRASS. Courtesy of Save Th e (Narragansett) Bay ABOVE: A HEALTHY SEAGRASS 

BED LIKE THIS ONE PROVIDES FOOD AND SHELTER FOR MANY FISH AND OTHER 

CREATURES. © NOAA, Heather Dine

*Waycott, Michelle, et al . Accelerating loss of seagrasses across the globe threatens coastal 

ecosystems. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, June 29, 2009
22 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

For more than a century, America led the world in building dams. We built them to power sawmills and gristmills, 

to provide water for irrigation, to control fl ooding, to store 

drinking water. No one really knows how many dams 

stretch across our rivers, streams and creeks. Th e Army 

Corps of Engineers in the most comprehensive accounting puts the number at 75,000, but that only includes 

dams over six feet tall. Adding smaller dams could raise the 

estimate to over 2.5 million. All those dams once caused 

Bruce Babbitt, the former U.S. Interior secretary, to 

observe that we have been building, on average, one large 

dam a day since the Declaration of Independence.

Most of those dams once served a need. Th ousands were built generations ago to power mills that ushered in the Industrial Age, but the old 

mills are gone now or have switched to other sources of power. Some dams 

provided water to irrigate crops that fed a growing nation, but the cropland 

has been turned into shopping malls and subdivisions. Many dams are now 

too old to meet current safety requirements and have been abandoned by 

their original owners. And some dams are merely L.D.Ds, which in the 

dam business means “little dinky dams.” No one would miss them.

Yet, thousands of obsolete and old dams remain, capturing rivers behind 

stone, concrete and wood and forever changing them. “Nothing more fundamentally changes a river’s ecosystems than a dam,” notes Selena McClain of 

American Rivers, a conservation group that advocates for our country’s rivers.

THE THREATS

Dams do more than hold back water. Th ey change how that water fl ows. 

Th ey lead to increases in its temperature and alterations of its chemical 

composition. Th ey can change the river’s depth and even its path. Every plant 

and animal species that lives along and in the river is aff ected, probably none 

more so than anadromous fi sh, which are ocean fi sh that move up freshwater 

rivers to spawn. Th e populations of salmon, steelhead trout, American shad, 

striped bass, sturgeon, alewife and other species have been devastated, in large 

part because of the dams we’ve thrown in their way.

Most of those dams have the obvious eff ect of stopping the fi sh from 

swimming upstream, thus blocking off more than 600,000 miles of 

spawning habitat nationwide. Some dams have been fashioned with fi sh 

ladders or other types of mechanisms to allow fi sh to pass. Many fi sh, 

however, have trouble fi nding the ladders or die when exposed to high 

water temperatures in them. Scientists believe that many of the adult fi sh 

that eventually reach their spawning grounds are often too exhausted from 

the journey over the dams and through the unnaturally warm reservoirs 

behind them to spawn successfully.

Th eir off spring don’t have it any easier on the return journey. Dams can 

signifi cantly delay them by turning fast-fl owing rivers into languid reservoirs. 

Th is delay is very harmful to the young fi sh as their bodies undergo physiological changes that prepare them to survive in saltwater. Th e stagnant 

A DAM’S DAMNING EFFECTS

Blocking a moving river with a dam inherently changes the ecosystem by 

destroying the natural processes. Here are just a few of the effects a dam 

has on a river:

• Permanently inundates wildlife habitat

• Reduces water levels

• Blocks or slows river fl ows

• Alters timing of fl ows

• Alters water temperatures

• Negatively effects fi sh respiration

• Obstructs the movement of gravel, woody debris and nutrients 

• Blocks or inhibits upstream and downstream fi sh passage

• Alters public river access

• Negatively affects the aesthetics and character of a natural setting

Some Dams Have Devastating Effects on Rivers and Fish

PURPOSE PERCENTAGE NUMBER

Recreation 31.3 23,185

Fire & farm ponds 17.0 12,557

Flood control 14.6 10,801

Irrigation 13.7 10,176

Water supply 9.8 7,226

Tailings & other 8.1 5,967

Hydroelectric 2.9 2,166

Undetermined 2.3 1,732

Navigation 0.3 243

Source: Army Corps of Engineers National Dam Inventory

DAMS IN THE U.S.

THE VEAZIE DAM IS ONE OF THE TWO DAMS ON THE LOWER PENOBSCOT RIVER 

THAT WILL BE REMOVED. © Bill Curtsinger, courtesy of Penobscot River Restoration Trust
Restore America’s Estuaries Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 23

FISH PASSAGE

THE BENEFITS OF DAM REMOVAL

Not all, or even most, dams should be removed. But removing those that are 

obsolete, dangerous or too expensive to maintain can be benefi cial to a river, its 

inhabitants and those who live along it. Those benefi ts include:

• Restoring river habitat

• Improving water quality

• Re-establishing migratory fi sh runs

• Restoring threatened and endangered species

• Removing dam safety risks and associated liability costs

• Saving taxpayer dollars

• Improving aesthetics of the river

• Improving fi shing opportunities

• Improving recreational boating opportunities

• Improving public access to the river

• Improving riverside recreation

• Increasing tourism

AMERICAN RIVERS LEADS DAM REMOVAL EFFORTS

American Rivers, a nonprofi t conservation group, has for more than a decade been 

at the forefront of restoring the nation’s rivers by helping remove outdated dams.

The group fi rst got involved with dam removal with the Edwards Dam on the 

Kennebec River in Maine. It was the fi rst time that the Federal Energy Regulatory 

Commission ordered a dam removed solely for ecological reasons. The removal 

in 1999 revitalized populations of migratory fi sh such as shad, sturgeon, Atlantic 

salmon and striped bass.

Since then, removing old dams has become a major project of American Rivers, 

noted Serena McClain, associate director of the group’s river restoration program. 

She fi gures that since Edwards Dam the group has been directly involved or 

provided technical assistance in the removal of 147 dams across the country.

NOAA has helped with that effort. Since 2001, it partnered with American Rivers 

to help communities around the country restore their local rivers by removing 

unnecessary dams. This program has provided more than $3 million in fi nancial 

assistance and hours of technical assistance to more than 100 river restoration 

projects. The program focuses on projects that benefi t anadromous fi sh – those 

that migrate between freshwater and saltwater during their life cycle, such as 

alewife and Atlantic salmon.

reservoirs also expose the juveniles to predators, disease and often lethally high 

water temperatures. If they can survive all that, the babies then risk getting cut 

to pieces when forced through the power turbines of hydroelectric dams. 

Th e numbers refl ect the reality. In the Pacifi c Northwest, Chinook, 

sockeye, pink, chum, and Coho salmon, along with steelhead and cutthroat 

trout, have all experienced dramatic declines on dammed rivers. Salmon 

runs that numbered in the millions before the era of dam building have 

now dwindled to only hundreds, and on many rivers and streams have 

been completely wiped out. 

Th e story is much the same in other regions of the country. Th e U.S. 

Fish and Wildlife Service estimates that 91 percent of migratory fi sh 

habitat in northern New England is blocked by dams. Th ese dams have 

contributed to the reduction of Atlantic salmon populations to less than 

one percent of historic levels, with the native salmon fully eliminated 

from many of New England’s rivers. American shad and herring, which 

were once cultural icons in the Mid-Atlantic and Southern states, have 

been decimated to the point that people no longer realize how historically 

important they once were.

THE TRENDS

Th en the Edwards Dam came down. Th e dam stretched across the 

Kennebec River in Maine, severely aff ecting one of the richest and most 

varied fi sheries in the country. A coalition of four environmental groups, 

led by American Rivers, fought the renewal of the dam’s federal license 

and pushed for its removal. Th e federal licensing agency agreed, marking 

the fi rst time that it had ordered a dam be removed solely for ecological 

reasons. It was a turning point for river conservation.

Edwards Dam came down on July 1, 1999, opening 17 miles of the 

Kennebec. For the fi rst time in 160 years, the river fl owed freely from 

Waterville to the sea. Th e river’s health rebounded quickly, revitalizing 

populations of shad, sturgeon, Atlantic salmon and striped bass. Since 

then, more than 600 outdated dams have been removed nationwide, and 

the number of recorded dam removals has grown each year, McClain said.

NOAA’s Habitat Protection Division and Restoration Center, among 

others, have played leading roles. Th rough one program, its Open Rivers 

Initiative, regional experts are working to protect and restore access to 

historic migration routes and to encourage communities to help in the 

restoration process. NOAA also engages a large coalition of conservation 

organizations and community groups – including Th e Nature Conservancy, 

American Rivers, Restore America’s Estuaries and the California Conservation Corp. – to work with communities during the restoration process 

and leverage funding for projects.

Th e real importance of these programs, says McClain, is felt far beyond 

the riverbank. In communities where dams have been removed, there is an 

overwhelming excitement and pride, she said. 

“Removing a dam is a great opportunity for us to restore the natural 

environment, give something back to the community and educate people 

about what a natural river looks like,” she says. “To see the concrete come 

down and watch a river fl ow freely again is really quite a thrill.”

ALEWIVES MIGRATE UPSTREAM. © Margaret Pizer/Th e Nature Conservancy, courtesy of 

Penobscot River Restoration Trust
24 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

Project Hopes to Save Last Wild 

Atlantic Salmon in America

Most Americans probably aren’t aware that the salmon 

they buy in stores or order at restaurants were most likely 

raised on farms. Th ese relatives of a magnifi cent wild fi sh 

that migrates 2,500 miles through the frigid waters of the 

North Atlantic spent their short lives in pens, swimming in 

endless counter-clockwise circles on a journey to nowhere. 

Commercial fi shing for Atlantic salmon has all but ended in the United 

States because so few wild fi sh remain. Once native to almost every river north 

of the Hudson, salmon have disappeared entirely from the rivers that feed 

Long Island Sound or drain central New England. Maine’s three big rivers 

– the Androscoggin, the Kennebec and the Penobscot – are the last places in 

America where wild salmon return in any numbers to spawn, but even there 

they’re considered endangered, as they are in the rest of their U.S. range.

Th e reasons are many: water pollution, changes in land uses, disappearance of the fi sh salmon eat, predators eating a smaller and smaller 

population of salmon, overfi shing in the early 20th century. A map of the 

dams built in just Maine provides a graphic illustration of another major 

reason. More than 650 dams stretch across the state’s rivers and streams, 

116 in the Penobscot watershed alone. Th e dams block the returning 

salmon from reaching thousands of miles of spawning habitat.

In a few years, two of those dams along the lower Penobscot should 

disappear from the map and a fi sh bypass will be built around a third, 

opening up more than 1,000 miles of habitat for returning salmon, 

American shad, river herring and seven other species. Th e ambitious project 

to remove the dams, said Andy Good, may be the salmon’s last hope.

“Th is is the best and last chance to save Atlantic salmon in the U.S,” said 

Good, the vice president of U.S. programs for the Atlantic Salmon Federation. “I know that’s a pretty dramatic statement but the situation is dire for 

salmon in the U.S., and we’ve put a lot of chips in this restoration project.”

Th e federation is an international non-profi t group that works to 

conserve wild salmon and its environment. For years, whenever a hydroelectric dam in Maine came up for relicensing, the federation and other 

conservation groups fought for fi sh passages and other concessions. In one 

memorable battle in the 1980s, opponents defeated a proposal to build a 

hydroelectric dam on the last free-fl owing section of lower Penobscot. 

Th at victory had a cathartic eff ect, noted Laura Rose Day, the executive 

director of the Penobscot River Restoration Trust. Th e non-profi t group is 

coordinating the dam-removal project. “During those days, dam removal 

was discussed but was it beyond the sights of anyone at that point. People 

were facing a dam that dwarfed anything else on the river. Th eir main 

concern was stopping it,” she explained. “Th at success then enabled people 

to think beyond one dam and to start thinking about what we can do to 

restore the river back to health.”

Th e thinking turned to talking when PPL Corporation, a power 

company based in Pennsylvania, bought nine hydroelectric dams in Maine 

in 1999 and 2000. Th e company wanted to avoid more contentious 

relicensing fi ghts, Good said. 

“Because of the history on the river, there was an antagonistic relationship 

between my group and other groups and the dam owners. It was sort of 

scorched earth,” he said. “But new owners brought a new dialogue.”

From the talking came a groundbreaking agreement in 2003 between 

PPL and state and federal agencies, several conservation groups and the 

Penobscot Indian Nation. Th e company would sell three of its dams to the 

coalition for $25 million and improve fi sh passage at four others. In return, 

PPL would be allowed to increase energy output at its remaining dams to 

make up for the loss and the groups would drop their opposition to the 

re-licensing.

Two of the dams would come down – the Veazie, which is the fi rst 

barrier on the river that returning salmon encounter, and Great Works, 

about eight miles upstream. Th e dam farthest upriver, Howland, would 

remain but would be decommissioned and a fi sh passage built around it.

Th e announcement had special signifi cance for Barry Dana, who was 

chief of the Penobscot Nation at the time. Atlantic salmon are woven into 

the culture of native American tribes in Maine. Yet for more than 100 

years, the Penobscots couldn’t exercise their tribal fi shing rights to catch fi sh 

such as salmon because the river is virtually devoid of native sea-run fi sh.

“For 10,000 years, we have drawn our sustenance, culture and identity 

from this river that bears our name,” Dana said at the time. “Reconnecting the Penobscot River and our reservation to the Atlantic Ocean 

repairs an important cycle of nature that historically allowed our tribe to 

survive and prosper.”

Th e tribe and the conservation groups formed the trust to see the project 

though. It has successfully raised the money to buy the dams and is actively 

pursuing the remainder – an estimated $30 million for dam removal and 

modifi cations, economic development and mitigation. NOAA gave the 

trust a $6.1 million economic stimulus grant in 2009. It will be used to help 

remove the fi rst dam, Great Works, and to pay for scientifi c monitoring.

Th e trust has applied for the necessary federal and state permits, Day 

said, and hopes to take down Great Works in the summer of 2010. 

THE SETTING SUN CASTS A PURPLE GLOW ON A CANOEIST AND THE 

PENOBSCOT RIVER. © Joe Dana, courtesy Penobscot River Restoration Trust
Restore America’s Estuaries Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 25

Removing or Reconfi guring 

Culverts Can Improve Fish Runs

It doesn’t take tons of concrete or stone stretched across 

a river or stream to block fi sh from reaching upstream 

spawning grounds. Sometimes a simple pipe does the job 

just as well.

For decades, road engineers have commonly used culverts – concrete or 

corrugated metal pipes – to bridge small streams. Th ousands, like the one 

that carried Tracyton Boulevard across Barker Creek near Bremerton in 

western Washington, dot the Pacifi c Northwest. And like the Barker Creek 

culvert, many cut off historic spawning grounds used by salmon and trout 

and are contributing to their decline.

“Th e philosophy behind much of the landscape development of the Puget 

Sound region was to turn a hilly, rocky landscape fl at enough to live on,” 

explained Doug Myers, director of science for the advocacy group People For 

Puget Sound. “Most of our natural water bodies were fi lled. Ninety-seven 

percent of the marshes in central Puget Sound were fi lled in the fi rst 100 

years of statehood. With that kind of development legacy, there are many 

stream crossings that were obliterated, paved over or rerouted.”

State offi cials estimate that in Washington alone more than 1,800 

culverts along state highways block more than 3,000 miles of potential 

stream habitat. Add county and town roads and those on private and 

federal property and the number of culverts approaches 10,000. Th e 

problem is widespread across the region. Studies found that as much 

as 85 percent of the culverts in western Montana blocked fi sh passage. 

Two-thirds of the culverts across salmon streams and 85 percent of those 

crossing trout streams in the Tongass National Forest in Alaska were found 

to be inadequate. Salmon biomass – the total mass of salmon – in streams 

in California, Oregon and Washington is 3-4 percent of historic levels. 

Habitat loss because of culverts is considered to be a major cause.

Th e Chums of Barker Creek couldn’t do much about culverts in Alaska 

or Montana, but it could try to fi x the one up the road on Tracyton 

Boulevard. Th e citizens group of about 60 people had formed in 1993 

to protect a small, urban tidal creek that fl ows into Dyes Inlet between 

Bremerton and Silverdale. A bridge built in the 1800s carried the road 

across the creek. It was replaced in 1939 by a 90-foot long, fi ve-foot 

diameter concrete pipe. Th e culvert was blocking Coho, chum and 

Chinook salmon and steelhead and cutthroat trout from moving upstream.

CULVERTS AND FISH

Just one undersized or poorly maintained culvert across a stream can keep 

salmon or trout from reaching miles of spawning habitat.

Engineers designed culverts to do one thing: Move water under a road 

without fl ooding it. Spawning fi sh never entered their equations.

After heavy rains or snow melt, water can rush through an undersized 

culvert from upstream with force of a fi re hose, making it impossible for fi sh to 

pass. The force of the water falling from the downstream end of the pipe can 

erode the streambed, causing a drop in elevation that even the best leaping fi sh 

can’t overcome. Even if it could jump that high, the fi sh would have to be an 

exceptional marksmen and hit the bull’s eye – the pipe opening – to continue its 

journey upstream.

In saltwater streams, a small culvert will prevent the tide from thoroughly 

mixing the water upstream, creating a stratifi ed water column that is detrimental to young fi sh that are going through physiological changes as they 

prepare to return to the sea. If the water upstream of the culvert is too fresh, the 

ecosystem will change from a salt marsh to a freshwater wetland. That, too, can 

be tough on returning youngsters as they try to prepare for life in saltwater. 

FISH PASSAGE

Th e Chums called the Mid Puget Sound Fisheries Enhancement Group, 

one of 14 regional non-profi t groups that the Washington state legislature 

had created to help people leverage state money with private donations for 

projects to improve the salmon and trout populations. 

“Th ey are a small organization with no paid staff ,” said Troy Fields, the 

enhancement group’s executive director. “Th ey had never applied for the 

grant, but right from the get-go there was a local grassroots organization 

that was a proponent for that project. Th ey were vital at the beginning to 

get the project going.”

Th e two groups soon found willing partners: the People For Puget Sound, 

Kitsap County, the Suquamish Native American tribe, Silverdale, RAE and 

NOAA. Using $417,000 in state money and $83,000 in matching contributions, they began making plans to plug the old culvert and replace it with one 

that is more than six times wider and 20 feet shorter. Work began in the fall 

of 2008 and was completed the following February. 

LEFT: THE OLD CULVERT, RIGHT, WAS REPLACED BY A MUCH WIDER CULVERT THAT 

ALLOWS SALMON AND TROUT TO MIGRATE UP BARKER CREEK. RIGHT: BARKER 

CREEK FLOWS THROUGH THE NEW, WIDE CULVERT. All photos courtesy of People For 

Puget Sound
26 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

People For Puget Sound organized volunteers to place native plants on 

either side of the culvert to help control runoff from the hillside and the 

roadway. In time, Myers said, the plants will mature and their branches 

will provide shade and ideal water temperature for salmon traveling to and 

from the ocean. Th e plants will also be a source of food, as insects drop 

from the branches into the water below.

Th e plans for Barker Creek don’t end with the culvert. Th e groups hope 

to restore the degraded creek by protecting quality habitat when possible, 

reducing stormwater runoff entering the stream, adding wood structures 

to the stream and clean gravel to some stretches to provide suitable salmon 

spawning habitat and restoring adjacent wetland connections to the stream. 

“It’s too early to know how well all this has worked,” Fields said in the 

summer of 2009. “We have not had a fi sh run with the new culvert. But we 

expect to see an improvement.”

Steve Jonn of the Chums of Barker Creek certainly hopes so. He 

likes to bring his four-year-old grandson to the stream to show him 

the salmon running, and he is eager to see the runs increase for future 

generations to witness.

“Hopefully we can keep this (stream) alive so my grandkid can show 

his kids salmon spawning in the middle of an urban area,” Jonn told a 

newspaper reporter in early 2009.

Herring Making the Climb 

from Extinction

Th e pine forests that surround Branford, Conn., the 

soil that nurtures those trees and even the underlying 

bedrock itself imprint a particular scent on the waters 

of Queach Brook. Each spring, alewives and blueback 

herring, driven by internal biological forces, recognize 

that scent as the birthplace of their ancestors. Th e footlong, silver-sided fi sh emerge from the salty waters of 

Long Island Sound and swim up the freshwater stream 

in search of their natal spawning grounds. For more than 

a century, their journey ended in vain four miles later 

where they ran up against civilization.

A 16-foot-high dam, built in 1899 to control fl ooding and store 

drinking water for the town, presented an impassable barrier. Th ousands 

of dams just like it stretch across innumerable rivers and streams along the 

Atlantic coast. Th ey have contributed to the decimation of alewives and 

blueback herring. Populations in streams and rivers that once numbered in 

the hundreds of thousands are now down to single digits.

River herring – the collective term for the two species – are among 

America’s founding fi sheries and are an important food for almost every 

fi sh, bird and mammal that shares the same habitat. Ospreys, bald eagles, 

harbor seals, sea otters, striped bass, cod and haddock are just a few of the 

predators that depend on these fi sh for their survival. Entire ecosystems 

could be in danger as these once abundant fi sh continue to vanish from 

their home waters.

A LIGHT FALLS AS THE MORNING MIST RISES OFF THE BRANFORD SUPPLY POND.

Courtesy of Save Th e (Long Island) Sound

FIDDLEHEADS BURST INTO BLOOM ALONG THE BANKS OF THE PENOBSCOT 

RIVER. © Joe Dana, Courtesy Penobscot River Restoration Trust

Numbers of large and small salmon returning to North American rivers have 

declined markedly since 1975. The large salmon are especially important for their 

ability to spawn large numbers of eggs. However, numbers remain low.

Source: Atlantic Salmon Federation
Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 27

FISH PASSAGE

Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 27

FISH LADDER DESIGNS

Fish ladders are also known as fi sh steps or fi shways. They are artifi cial structures built around barriers in a river or stream, such as dams or locks, that 

allow fi sh to get around the barrier. There are fi ve main types:

• BAFFLES: Uses a series of symmetrical close-spaced baffl es in a channel 

to redirect the fl ow of water, allowing fi sh to swim around the barrier. Pools 

can be included to provide a resting area or to reduce the velocity of the fl ow. 

Baffl es come in variety of designs. The original design was developed in 1909 

by G. Denil, a Belgian scientist. It has since been adjusted and adapted in 

many ways. The “Alaskan Steeppass,” for example, is a modular prefabricated 

Denil-fi shway variant originally designed for remote areas of Alaska.

• POOL AND WEIR: One of the oldest styles of fi sh ladders, this design 

uses a series of small dams and pools of regular length to create a long, 

sloping channel for fi sh to travel around the obstruction. The channel gradually 

steps down the water level, and fi sh must jump from pool to pool in the ladder 

to head upstream, 

• ROCK-RAMP: Uses large rocks and timbers to create pools and small 

falls that mimic nature. These are used to bypass relatively short barriers 

because of the length of the channel needed for the ladder.

• VERTICAL-SLOT: This design is similar to a pool-and-weir system, except that each dam in the ladder has a narrow slot in it near the channel wall, 

which allows fi sh to swim upstream without leaping over an obstacle. 

• ELEVATOR OR LIFT: As its name implies, this design provides a sort of 

elevator to carry fi sh over a dam. Fish swim into a collection area at the base 

of the dam. When enough fi sh enter the area, they are nudged into a hopper 

that carries them into a fl ume that empties into the river on the other side of 

the dam. It’s usually used for tall dams.

SALMON ENTER THE FISH LADDER AT THE VEAZIE DAM. © Bill Curtsinger, courtesy of 

Penobscot River Restoration Trust

In response, more and more obsolete dams are being removed to reopen 

historic spawning grounds. Th at wasn’t an option in Branford, a town of 

about 30,000 a few miles east of New Haven. It still relies on the 17-acre 

impoundment behind the dam for its drinking water. If the herring were to 

continue their journey, a way had to be found around the dam.

Oddly, the idea of a herring revival sprang from the town’s eff ort to 

protect its source of drinking water. A developer in the late 1990s proposed 

building an 18-hole golf course and a residential subdivision on 240 acres 

about a half-mile upstream from the dam. Th e tract was in the middle of 

the cleanest water remaining in the Branford River basin. Th ree natural 

ponds dotted the area, including Linsley Pond, where Dr. G. Evelyn 

Hutchinson, the legendary limnologist from nearby Yale University, 

conducted many classic research studies in the 1930s and ‘40s. Opponents 

feared that sedimentation during construction on the steep, hilly land and 

stormwater runoff from the completed development would foul the town’s 

drinking water source.

Th e local wetlands agency denied the developers’ request to build in 

the wetlands on the property. Th e developers sued, and the case attracted 

conservation groups like Save Th e Sound and land preservationists, which 

supported the town. Th e Connecticut Supreme Court ultimately upheld 

the agency’s decision, and the developers eventually sold most of the land 

to the town and the Branford Land Trust.

“It’s an interesting evolution,” noted Chris Cryder, director of restoration and stewardship for Save Th e Sound, now part of the Connecticut 

Fund for the Environment. “A development issue that non-profi ts 

advocated against and intervened in support of the town’s decision 

ultimately led to protection, and citizens rallied around that.” 

Once the land was saved, attention shifted to saving the river herring. Th e 

land trust joined with the Branford Rotary Club in 2003 to begin planning 

to install an artifi cial channel, called a fi sh ladder or fi shway, to allow the 

herring to bypass the dam. Other partners soon joined the eff ort, including 

the town, Save Th e Sound, Restore America’s Estuaries, the U.S. Fish & 

Wildlife Service, Yale University and the state’s Inland Fisheries Division, 

which identifi ed the waters above the dam as one of its priority sites for 

restoring fi sh populations. Grants from the NOAA Restoration Center, in 

partnership with RAE, matched by corporate contributions through the 

Connecticut Corporate Wetlands Restoration Partnership provided the 

$203,000 for the project.

Th e 90-foot-long aluminum fi sh ladder was completed in the spring of 

2006, connecting Queach Brook to almost 100 acres of open water and 

fi ve miles of river and stream habitat behind the dam. Th e ladder consists 

of a series of baffl es that slows down the fl ow to allow the fi sh to navigate 

upstream. Th e tiered design also gives them level pools to rest in while 

making the journey.

An electronic counter installed by scientists at Yale University has 

recorded more and more herring passing through the ladder each spring. 

About 4,000 made the trip in 2009. Th ose numbers are expected to grow 

dramatically in the next few years as the herring born above the dam since 

the ladder opened return to spawn.

“Th e numbers are now small but the increase is in a positive direction,” 

said Curt Johnson, director of programs for Save the Sound and the 

Connecticut Fund for the Environment. “It’s often a 20-year process. It 

took decades to screw this up and it will take time to bring things back.”
28 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

Th ey have been likened to jewels, touted as paradises and 

described as restless ribbons and lonely sentinels. Whatever you call them, however, America’s barrier islands are 

among the country’s most important coastal features. 

Running more than 3,500 miles along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts, 

these islands are just what their name implies: barriers. Th ey guard our 

coastlines, providing invaluable buff ers to vulnerable shores and inland 

areas from violent storms and waves. 

A barrier island is a narrow island of sand that forms parallel to the 

shoreline. Th ey aren’t anchored on bedrock; like their smaller cousins, spits 

and shoals, they are essentially big sandbars. 

In its simplest form, a barrier island consists of shallow beach facing out 

into open ocean; a central dune (or dunes) running the length of the island 

and dividing it in two; a low-lying overwash area – often a mud fl at; and a 

salt marsh forming on the landward side of the island, abutting a shallow 

lagoon, sound or bay separating it from the mainland. Th ese salt marshes 

are among the most ecologically productive places on Earth. 

Barrier islands are relative newcomers to the world stage. While theories 

vary, many geologists believe that barrier islands began forming at the end 

of the last ice age, 15,000 years ago. As the glaciers receded and sea levels 

rose, new coastlines formed, leaving shallow dunes off shore. Rising waters, 

waves and currents fed sediments to these newborn islands. 

Th ough we like to think that these islands are permanent, they are not. In 

fact, barrier islands are among the most changeable environments on Earth. 

Because they are loose aggregations of sand and fi ll, barrier islands 

are dynamic. Tides and storms routinely rearrange them, shifting and 

removing sand, forming and reforming the shape and structure of each 

island. Geologically ephemeral, the islands wax and wane in response 

to the rise and fall of sea levels. As ocean levels rise and the continental 

coast behind the islands retreats, barrier islands can “migrate” toward the 

receding shoreline, losing ocean-side beach as the waters rise, particularly 

during storms, and gaining new sand on the landward side, following the 

coast in a millennial rhythm. 

And, occasionally, they disappear altogether. In one famous recent 

instance, an entire chain of uninhabited barrier islands off the LouisianaMississippi coast, the Chandeleurs, vanished almost completely in a relative 

heartbeat, a victim of Hurricanes Dennis and Katrina in 2005. Today the 

Chandeleurs, a fraction of their former selves, consist mostly of tattered 

islets and underwater shoals. 

While we often think of their central role as protectors of our coasts, 

barrier islands are also havens, providing refuge and habitat for thousands 

of species of plants and animals, and serving as stopovers for many kinds of 

migrating birds who depend on the islands for rest, food and water during 

their journeys.

TRENDS AND THREATS

Increasingly, these fragile islands are also providing havens for 

Americans in the form of homes, resorts and vacation spots. 

BARRIER ISLANDS: Coastal Protectors

TOP LEFT: GRANDE ISLE TOP RIGHT: BARRIER ISLAND PLAQUEMINES PARISH 

BOTTOM: CAPE HATTERAS NATIONAL SEASHORE Courtesy Bill Russ
Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 29

BEACH DUNES & BARRIER ISLANDS

Chaland: Rebuilding 

Barrier Islands

Shielding our coasts from Maine to Texas, barrier islands 

play an essential role in protecting America’s coastlines 

and providing habitat for wildlife. Th eir importance is 

recognized all over the world, but barrier islands are most 

benefi cial in areas where rising sea levels and storms affect coastlines.

Because of frequent hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico, development, oil 

and gas activities, diminishing sediment deposition from the Mississippi 

River and other Gulf feeders and climate change, Louisiana has one of the 

highest rates of shoreline erosion in the world, ranging from twenty to 100 

feet a year. 

As a result, the Chaland Headland barrier islands in Plaquamines Parish 

about 60 miles south of New Orleans have almost completely vanished. 

NOAA, with partners that include the Louisiana Department of Natural 

Resources, the Army Corps of Engineers, Plaquemines Parish and the 

University of New Orleans, undertook the largest barrier island restoration 

projects ever attempted by the agency.

Th is three-mile long project’s primary purpose is to prevent breaching 

of the barrier shoreline and to protect and create habitats. Th e Chaland 

Headlands provide shelter and food for a variety of shoreline birds and 

wildlife that are vital to coastal Louisiana. Reconstructing the system of 

wetlands nourished by the Mississippi River is critical for estuarine fi sh and 

shellfi sh populations and will help protect coastal communities.

Th e Chaland Headlands project will ultimately restore about 180 acres 

of dune and beach, along with 246 acres of inter-tidal salt marsh. Sand 

and silt will be mined from an off shore area in the Gulf of Mexico to 

restructure the dunes and marsh.

In early 2007, NOAA completed the fi rst phase of the project by 

pumping more than 1.7 million cubic yards of sand to reconnect the 

three island sections that were left after Hurricane Katrina roared through 

two years earlier. Th is phase saw more than 1,200 acres of coastal habitat 

restored, and the Chaland Headlands Restoration project was named one 

of America’s Top Restored Beaches by the American Shore and Beach 

Preservation Association.

Th e Chaland Headlands Restoration project certainly has had its fair 

share of challenges. Th e project began just four days before Katrina made 

landfall just eight miles away. Human factors and ecological changes have 

helped divide the islands into three small fragments, increasing the tiny 

archipelago’s vulnerability to storm surge and erosive forces that threaten to 

wear away coastal wetlands.

Over a 20-year period, the Chaland Headlands Restoration project 

should restore more than 330 acres of barrier island and coastal wetlands at 

a cost of $76 million. Fighting both the destructive capabilities of humanand storm-caused agencies is likely to be an ongoing battle with this 

project, but restoring these crucial barrier islands is and will be a great asset 

for the critically threatened Louisiana coast. 

More than 400 major barrier islands line the East and Gulf coasts, from 

New England to Mexico. Among the most notable are Cape Cod in Massachusetts; New Jersey’s Long Beach; Assateague Island in Maryland and 

Virginia; North Carolina’s famous Outer Banks; South Carolina’s worldclass resorts, Hilton Head and Pawley’s islands; Jekyll and the Sea Islands in 

Georgia; Amelia, Captiva, Key Biscayne, Palm Beach, Sanibel and Miami 

Beach in Florida; and Galveston, Matagorda and Padre islands in Texas. 

Some of these barrier islands are among the most populated, most 

developed and, consequently, some of the most threatened inhabited sites 

in North America. 

In fact, over the past 60 years, America’s barrier islands have been at the 

center of a real-estate boom. Between 1950-1975—a period that coincides 

with the post-War economic boom—urban development on coastal islands 

in the United States increased 150 percent. More than half of the U.S. 

population now lives in coastal counties. According to one recent study, 

the permanent population of those counties is increasing by an astounding 

3,600 new residents a day.

Barrier islands are at risk from natural erosion from tides and storm and, 

increasingly, from rising sea levels due to climate change. 

While estimates vary, many scientists peg current sea-level rise at about 

an eighth of an inch annually, 

imperceptible to the casual 

observer, but very noticeable 

on low-lying barrier islands 

that seldom top-out at more 

than a few feet above sea level. 

As the air temperature rises this 

century, so will the ocean level, 

though more slowly. Every 

careless cook who failed to 

keep an eye on a pot of boiling 

spaghetti water knows all about 

thermal expansion. Add water from melting glaciers, and sea level could 

rise as much as 10 inches by 2030 and three feet by 2100 – about twice the 

current rate.

Although a foot or two of sea level rise may not sound like much, 

the eff ect could be severe. For example, computer models done at Duke 

University show that a 13.7-inch sea level rise would inundate about 770 

square miles of the N.C. coast, an area nearly the size of Great Smoky 

Mountains National Park. North Carolina’s coastal wetlands and other 

low-lying areas could be inundated, much of the Outer Banks would 

disappear, and the Albemarle and Pamlico sounds could merge with open 

waters that Dr. Stan Riggs, a geologist at East Carolina University, calls 

“Pamlico Bay.”

A warmer world also means warmer seas which generate more storms 

and more violent storms. Th e Atlantic seaboard and Gulf Coasts are 

too often ground zero for hurricanes which erode, rearrange, move and 

occasionally destroy barrier islands outright. 

As the islands have thinned, we have tried to prevent the migration, 

and sometimes the outright loss, of beach and land, through groins, 

levees, jetties, and breakwaters. As beaches have eroded, we have replaced 

them wholesale by pumping sand on them, a process known as “beach 

nourishment.” 

In the end, these may be temporary “fi xes.” 

SATELLITE VIEW OF NORTH CAROLINA’S 

BARRIER ISLANDS
30 | HOPE FOR COASTAL HABITATS

Protecting a Scenic Highway 

and Restoring a Lakeshore

Lake Superior, with the largest surface area of a 

freshwater lake in the world, is often overlooked as 

having a pristine, stunning shoreline; but if you ask 

any of the occupants of the 3 million cars that travel 

alongside it every year, they will tell you otherwise.

Th e lake’s natural beauty has been evident for centuries. In 1919, the 

Michigan State Highway M-28 was built beside the southern shore of Lake 

Superior stretching from Wakefi eld to near Rosedale. M-28, together with 

U.S. 2, forms a pair of main highways connecting the Upper Peninsula 

from end to end, providing a major access route for traffi c from Michigan 

and Canada.

Because of its vicinity to the shoreline, M-28 is considered to be part 

of the Superior Lake Circle Tour; where travelers can drive beside the lake. 

In addition to incredible scenic shoreline views, the highway also passes 

through woodland forests, swamps and urban areas. 

Th e Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore and the lakeside town of 

Marquette are directly off of M-28, off ering dramatic sceneries, public rest 

areas and easy shore access; which in return, leads to millions of visitors 

each year.

In recent years, the wear and tear of the highway near the lake’s 

shoreline has been threatening public safety. Gusting winds from the lake 

carry sand and snow onto the road causing severe erosion. Road closures 

are a frequent occurrence, as is damage to nearby homes and dune habitats. 

Local organizations and the public began to take note of these problems, 

and with funding by NOAA, created the Lake Superior Dune Restoration 

and Public Access Project. Th is project has restored sand dunes and planted 

seagrass, trees and other native plants to control erosion and prevent the 

strong winds from further damaging the highway and harming the public. 

SAVING THE CHIWAUKEE continued from page 11

confi dence, and he was very good at organizing people.”

Iltis gave Krampert his fi les on the Chiwaukee and his marching orders. “It’s up 

to you people now to save that prairie,” he told him.

But how?

The Chiwaukee gave them the answer. Sander and Krampert spent that May 

day in 1965 walking through the tall grass and shooting stars, studying maps that 

showed the 1,200 privately owned lots in the prairie. Above them, upland plovers 

plunged to earth in majestic dives. Bobolinks and marsh hens chattered incessantly 

all around them.

They identifi ed a thin strip of land, about 15 acres, in the middle of the 

proposed marina development. Somehow, the developers had overlooked it. Buying 

it could stop the marina.

They stood at the railroad tracks in the fading light debating how to raise the 

money. Would people donate to save what many considered a patch of noxious 

weeds? It was the kind of challenge no one had taken up before.

“Al, we’ve got to start somewhere,” Sander said, “and the only way we’ll ever 

know if it can be done is by trying.” 

The Wisconsin Chapter of The Nature Conservancy, which would remain a 

steadfast partner over the next four decades, agreed to lend Krampert’s committee 

$5,500 to buy the errant strip. By the end of 1966, the committee raised more 

than $26,000, and 74 acres of the precious prairie were preserved. The marina 

project fi zzled. 

 It was only the beginning. “The number of owners involved was the greatest 

obstacle,” Krampert wrote. “They were literally scattered all over the four corners of 

the Earth.”

Most were contacted over the next 40 years, and little by little, acre by acre, 

the prairie was saved. More than 500 acres are now preserved and owned by the 

state, the conservancy or the University of Wisconsin.

The Chiwaukee Prairie exists today because of the will of determined people 

like Phil Sander and Al Krampert who had a vision of the possible, noted Richter. 

“They had a great combination of passion and advocacy. And they could build a 

coalition,” he said. “These people had no scientifi c background, but they knew this 

was a very special place and they could excite the academics in the 1960s to really 

go to bat for them.”

Krampert died in 1994 and the main road into the prairie was renamed in his 

honor. 

Forever a student of nature and natural history, Sander unearthed a fossil 

that led to the discovery, some 30 years later, of two complete woolly mammoth 

skeletons near Kenosha that are now major attractions at the town’s museum. He 

died in 2006 at age 99. The University of Wisconsin created a scholarship in his 

honor, and birding trails and natural areas around Kenosha bear his name.

Th e project also took the public’s interest into account and constructed a 

scenic overlook and pedestrian access to Lake Superior’s shoreline. 

While maintaining the eff orts of the Lake Superior Dune Restoration and 

Public Access Project, the southern shore of Lake Superior should continue 

to attract visitors for years to come. Th ese steps should allow the growth of 

wildlife habitats, endless scenic views and public enjoyment to fl ourish.
Restore America’s Estuaries • WWW.ESTUARIES.ORG | 31

RESOURCES

WANT TO KNOW MORE? 

• NOAA Offi ce of Habitat Conservation: www.nmfs.noaa.gov/habitat

• Restore America’s Estuaries: www.estuaries.org

• American Littoral Society: www.littoralsociety.org

• Chesapeake Bay Foundation: www.cbf.org

• Coalition to Restore Coastal Louisiana: www.crcl.org

• Connecticut Fund for the Environment: www.ctenvironment.org

• Conservation Law Foundation: www.clf.org

• Galveston Bay Foundation: www.galvbay.org

• North Carolina Coastal Federation: www.nccoast.org

• People For Puget Sound: www.pugetsound.org

• Save The Bay – San Francisco: www.savesfbay.org

• Save The Bay – Narragansett Bay: www.savebay.org

• Tampa Bay Watch: www.tampabaywatch.org

Wetlands

• U.S. Geological Survey: www.npwrc.usgs.gov/resource/wetlands/wetloss/

• National Wetlands Inventory: www.fws.gov/wetlands/Data/index.html

Chiwaukee Prairie

• Chicago Wilderness Magazine: 

 chicagowildernessmag.org/issues/summer2002/IWchiwaukee.html

• Prairie Pages blog: prairiepages.blogspot.com

• Chiwaukee Prairie Preservation Fund: www.chiwaukee.org

• Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources: 

 www.dnr.state.wi.us/org/LAND/er/sna/sna54.htm

North River Farms Restoration

• N.C. Coastal Federation: www.nccoast.org/restoration-education/

• Restoration Systems: www.restorationsystems.com/news/index.asp?ID=16

• North Carolina Shellfi sh Sanitation and Recreational Water Quality Section:

 www.deh.enr.state.nc.us/shellfi sh/shellfi sh.htm

• North Carolina State University Biological and Agricultural Engineering 

 Department, Dr. Michael R. Burchell II:

 www.bae.ncsu.edu/people/faculty/mrburche/

• Duke University Marine Laboratory, Dr. Bill Kirby-Smith:

 fds.duke.edu/db/Nicholas/msc/faculty/wwks/research.html

• NOAA Community-based Restoration Center:

 www.nmfs.noaa.gov/habitat/restoration/projects_programs/crp/index.html

San Francisco Bay Salt Ponds

• South Bay Salt Pond Restoration Project: www.southbayrestoration.org

• Cargill Salt: www.cargill.com/static/sb/

Seagrasses

• Encyclopedia of the Earth: www.eoearth.org/article/Seagrass_meadows

• World Seagrass Association: wsa.seagrassonline.org

• Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences:

 www.pnas.org/search?fulltext=seagrasses&submit=yes&go.x=6&go.y=8

Narragansett Bay Restoration

• Save The Bay: www.savebay.org

• YouTube video: www.youtube.com/watch?v=xoeDHHfO9tg

Dam Removal

• American Rivers: www.amrivers.org

Penobscot River

• Penobscot River Restoration Trust: www.penobscotriver.org

STORMWATER AND SHELLFISH continued from page 15

In a natural coastal setting, the ground soaks up rain. It is taken up by plants, 

evaporates or slowly makes its way to underground aquifers. Very little of it 

overfl ows into waterways. In our cities, towns and neighborhoods, we cover the 

land with concrete and asphalt and have devised an elaborate system of pipes and 

ditches designed to get the rain off our property and streets as quickly as possible. 

We have become very good at it. 

The rain running off these hard surfaces mysteriously disappears down a drain 

and re-emerges untreated from a pipe at a river, creek or bay. It brings with it the 

fertilizers, pesticides, petroleum products, bacteria and other pollutants that it has 

picked up on its journey. If enough of this stormwater enters the water, the oysters 

and clams growing there will become unsafe to eat because of high bacteria levels, 

forcing state health offi cials to close the contaminated beds for harvest.

Found in the digestive tracts of all warm-blooded animals, these bacteria are 

everywhere, as Dr. Bill Kirby-Smith has learned during a career spent studying 

stormwater’s effects on coastal estuaries. People too often focus on the sources 

of bacteria, said Kirby-Smith, a professor and researcher at the Duke University 

Marine Lab near Beaufort, N.C. They are ubiquitous and mostly natural. Except 

from the occasional failing septic tank or malfunctioning sewer plant, the bacteria 

don’t normally pollute the water because on an undisturbed, natural landscape they 

usually don’t make it there.

“I focused on the sources when I fi rst started,” Kirby-Smith said. “It’s only after I 

started working on this that I learned that, yes, you can concentrate sources. These 

are sources that are present in an unaltered watershed but the bacteria just didn’t 

get transported to the water. The alteration of the landscape conveys the bacteria in 

some fashion.”

 Research done at the University of North Carolina-Wilmington, the College of 

Charleston (S.C.) and elsewhere shows that roads and other types of impervious 

surfaces are the kind of landscape alterations that can create runoff and move it 

quickly to the surrounding water. Pave over enough of a watershed and the water 

becomes so laden with bacteria, regardless of the sources, that the oysters and 

clams are unsafe to eat. Those studies show that bacteria concentrations in the water 

and shellfi sh closures increase with the amount of hard, or impervious, surfaces in 

a watershed. Water quality begins to deteriorate when as little as 10 percent of the 

watershed is paved and stormwater isn’t controlled. Bacteria levels get high enough 

to close shellfi sh beds at 12 percent to 15 percent impervious surface.

THE HEALING OF SAN FRANCISCO BAY BEGINS 

continued from page 12

Converting the salt ponds to tidal marsh will begin to restore the natural 

balance of San Francisco Bay, Lewis said, but 100,000 acres of marsh is 

needed to make the bay ecologically healthy again. Save Th e Bay’s report, 

Greening the Bay, gives a detailed look at what it would cost to restore the 

remaining acres. Th e report is available online at www.savesfbay.org.

Ritchie fi gures that the fi rst phase of the South Bay project will cost 

$38 million. It should be done by 2015, he said, and then the project 

will be evaluated to see what methods and types of restoration work 

best. It will probably take 30 years to fi nish, he said, and the cost will 

approach $1 billion.

“In a way we’re lucky that these lands were converted to salt ponds,” he 

said. “If they hadn’t been, the land would have been turned into residential 

or commercial developments, and we would now have nothing to save.”