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The Delta Re-hab Jigsaw
In the western foothills of the Sierra Nevada, there is a ghost forest. Where trees once stood, mounds of striated earth rise, denuded pyramids of unnatural provenance. A crater more than a mile wide marks the earth, footprint of a creature too large for the imagination.
This is the badlands.
Although Malakoff Diggins is a state park, it memorializes not the crystalline intricacies of natural erosion, but the residue of hydraulic gold mining, the first great pulse of human activity in California. The mine at Malakoff was the largest in the world in 1884 when it was all but shut down by court order. Water sluicing out of its tunnels had made the Delta's Carquinez Strait unnavigable and flooded the town of Marysville. Today soil scientists taking cores from the bottom of San Francisco Bay describe a giant wave of sediment that forever changed the peat moss composition of the Bay bottom. The wave was followed by other sediments that read like a history of the region's economic development: farming, ranching, industry.
Today, only a few miles from here, the poet Gary Snyder lives. He produces essays and poems, describing the experience of reinhabiting land that he admits is "barely good" from an economic standpoint. Still, he writes in The Practice of the Wild, "It is the place on earth we work with, and where we stick out the summers and winters. It has shown us a little of its beauty."
It may seem appropriate that the most eloquent interpreter of the ethic of bioregionalism - living in accordance with the ecology of place - should reside alongside the first and perhaps the most dramatic of the many human forces that changed Northern California's landscape. But Snyder is not alone.
There are others in the Delta - where the region's biological connections are clustered - who are trying to help nature reinhabit land humans have made "barely good."
Their success, in part, has come down to how surefooted they are in the maze of natural, political, economic and historical forces at play in the Delta, a maze as labyrinthine as the region itself. It has also come down to the genesis of a certain critical mass of public and private will around their projects. Whatever their method or motive, all have found their own way toward the beginnings of a regional ecology.
Here and inside are the stories of six Delta restoration and research projects.
Delta Wetlands Project
In 1985, a State Department of Water Resources engineer came up with the idea of using Delta islands for water storage. The idea fell by the wayside until a real estate developer named Peter Bedford and his associate, John Winther, found out about it a year or so later.
Winther originally planned to use four islands as reservoirs. Eventually, the plan was changed to include a substantial mitigation component. Under the current plan, two of the four islands, Bacon and Webb, at approximately 5,500 acres each, would be used as reservoirs for 240,000 acre feet of water. The other two, Bouldin and Holland, at 6,000 and 3,000 acres respectively, would be restored to wetland habitat.
Winther's two major investors are the Kemper and Lumberman's insurance companies. He refused to reveal the amount of capital required, but contends that his water will cost 30% less than water from other proposed projects, such as the Auburn Dam or Los Banos Grandes, and be produced in a far less environmentally destructive manner.
The Delta Wetlands project would operate only on what Winther calls "surplus flows." The reservoirs would be filled mostly during spring floods. Winther expects to sell the water - or someday perhaps the project itself - to the state or federal government.
Although Winther has received qualified support from environmentalists like David Fullerton of the Sierra Club, the project has some critics. The Bay Institute's Gary Bobker disagrees with Winther's characterization of spring flows in wet years as "surplus."
"This project relies on the assumption that in wet years there's 'extra' water," says Bobker, who filed a protest of Winther's water rights application last fall. "Before Anglos came in, you had dry years and wet years, and it all balanced out. And, basically, the wetter it is, the better the fish like it. Now only in very wet years do you have the wet year benefits. We know these benefits exist; we don't know if we'll lose them if we divert this amount of water."
Bobker says that Winther and the other backers of the Delta Wetlands project have tried to be environmentally sensitive. But he questions the wisdom of moving forward with a water project when the regulatory atmosphere in the Delta is in flux. He says Winther has in effect agreed to meet environmental regulations without knowing what they will be.
The project will face its biggest hurdle in proving that it won't adversely affect endangered or threatened fish when it takes in water. Included in the group is the San Joaquin fall-run Chinook salmon, which is not officially listed as endangered but is facing hard times.
Cal Fish & Game has a team of six biologists studying the project, including Frank Wernette. Wernette calls Delta Wetlands, "a very clean project from the standpoint of wildlife, but not the salvation of the Delta." He says it should be viewed primarily as water development; there are other ways of re-shaping Delta islands that would provide more habitat. However, the project could have an interesting side benefit, according to Wernette. If newly developed water were released during the spawning period, it could help mimic the Delta's original outflows.
The EIR for the Delta Wetlands project should be out in January 1995.
Staten Island
Two hundred years ago, the whole Delta was a tule swamp through which tides streamed in and out. A few trees may have grown in the center of the marshes, where sediments collected. But it was only after the Gold Rush that islands were formed by farmers who wanted to cash in on the Delta's fertile soil.
Agricultural dikes were first built in 1853 by workers using wheelbarrows and shovels. Staten Island, which is now a model for environmental restoration, was created this way, leaving the rich peat moss of the Delta bottom to dry out. But as the peat oxidized, it began to erode. Like the Delta's other 50-odd islands, Staten Island now lies below sea level and must depend on levees to keep river water at bay.
A few years ago, Jim Shanks, who has managed the M & T Staten Ranch on the island since 1952, realized that the waterside soil berms that once surrounded his property had washed away. (In Delta parlance berm is the slope on either side of a levee, either natural or constructed.) Sally Hearne, the ranch's environmental coordinator, began planning to reconstruct two 750-foot long and 15-30-foot wide sections of berm at the margins of the 9,200-acre island.
It took almost a year to get the necessary approvals. The approach Hearne planned - using vegetated low-level berms instead of barren riprap to protect levees - is still in the experimental stage. Hearne had to prove her project would not affect winter-run Chinook salmon, a federally listed endangered species, or threatened and rare species such as the Delta smelt, Sacramento splittail, Western pond turtle, Delta mudwort or California hibiscus.
Altogether, eight agencies had a say in Hearne's project. The red tape involved made her feel like "the only place I could put this project was in my swimming pool," she says.
But Hearne persevered. In 1992 and 1993, the ranch built up berms and protected existing ones, planting willow, alder, elderberry, cottonwood and other vegetation to provide shade and habitat. With the approval of the State Lands Commission, Hearne also fortified two lagoons in the river channel to protect them from boat wake. Restored at the ranch's expense, the habitat attracts otter, beaver, coyote, night heron, mockingbirds and California quail.
In 1994, the project's third year, the ranch received $565,363 through SB34 levee protection funds and restored 1.5 miles of shoreline along five narrow channel islands by installing riprap on one side. One of the islands is the home of a night heron rookery. Hearne hired the California Conservation Corps to assemble fish habitat fences, install filter fabric and plant vegetation. The Bureau of Land Management supplied logs to build the rookery fence.
Ed Littrell, an environmental specialist for Cal Fish & Game, says that Hearne's pioneering effort will make it easier for others to navigate the bureaucracy.
Hearne isn't so sure. Rules made for developers shouldn't necessarily be applied the same way to people trying to restore the environment, she believes. "I'll never do it again," she says. "The government can go to hell."
Prospect Island
As Sally Hearne pointed out, virtually every project in the Delta involves a plethora of government agencies. Often their agendas overlap; occasionally they don't. In the case of Prospect Island, officials are trying to head off potential problems before they occur.
From the 1960s, Prospect Island was owned by a farming family named Sakata. As the brothers who were partners in the farm grew older, they decided to sell out. In 1992 they contacted Nancy Schaefer of the Trust for Public Land.
Schaefer knew the Army Corps of Engineers had done a study in the late 1980s on breaching one of the levees along Ship Channel. The channel lies on the island's west side, and its levee was proving difficult and costly to maintain. U.S. Fish & Wildlife officials had expressed interest in the plan, which would have included restoring Prospect Island for wildlife habitat. But it failed to make headway because the Corps did not have authority to buy property.
Given the opportunity to sign an option to buy Prospect Island, Schaefer went for it. It was a gutsy move, because she didn't know who would eventually ante up the purchase price.
"We knew the Corps was supportive," Schaefer says. "They were dangling the carrot of 'we can restore the island if someone could buy it.' It was a significant carrot, with a $2-5 million estimate for restoration."
By the spring of 1993, Congressman Vic Fazio had secured $1.5 million in Central Valley Project Improvement Act restoration money so that BurRec could purchase the island. The following year, Fazio was able to get an additional $1.3 million from general funds. In the meantime, the appraisal for the land had come in $200,000 lower than the Sakata brothers had expected. It wasn't until September that the Sakatas agreed to the new purchase price.
But that was only the beginning of the Prospect Island negotiations. The hard bargaining will be going on in the next year or two, as Fish & Wildlife officials talk to Corps engineers about the eventual shape of the island. Fish & Wildlife wants the design chosen to provide optimum protection for fish - particularly Delta smelt, which are classified as threatened under both federal and state law.
"We want to make sure it's good fish habitat, not wimpy in-between habitat," says Fish & Wildlife's Mike Thabault. "I would prefer not to see gates and weirs and culverts. They create fish entrapment areas."
The bigger problem faced by planners is that Prospect Island is only about five miles from North Bay Aqueduct pumps at the end of Barker Slough. Solano County Irrigation District officials fear that if Delta smelt start spawning at Prospect, the pumps will have to cut back operations.
Officials from Fish & Wildlife and State Water Resources have been meeting with Solano County representatives to allay their fears. If Delta smelt abundance at the North Bay pumps appears to increase as a result of the restoration project, Fish & Wildlife may agree to increase take limits. It's not quite a Faustian bargain, but officials do seem willing to sacrifice at least some fish.
"There would still be a net gain, that's the plan," says Thabault. "We don't want to go out there and promote this great project for fish, then come in with a biological opinion and severely limit operations."
Of course, nobody knows whether the smelt will spawn on Prospect Island or merely use it as a way station, in which case it might not cause any problems at the pumps. Most of those involved agree that the benefits of restoring Prospect Island outweigh potential pumping hassles. Not only will it provide a haven for smelt and other fish, who congregate in nearby Cache Slough, but it will also provide excellent waterfowl habitat.
"I think we should move ahead of the science in this case and just do the project to learn more in the field," says Leo Winternitz of Water Resources. "It won't hurt the smelt, and it may make them better."
Yolo Basin
A similar situation was faced by agencies involved in restoring a 3,400-acre tract near Sacramento called the Yolo Basin Bypass. In this case, the Davis-based Yolo Basin Foundation acted not as a financial middleman, but actually played a role in negotiations. The nonprofit brokered an agreement signed in January by the Reclamation Board, Water Resources and Cal Fish & Game that paves the way for the creation of a new wildlife area.
The effort to turn the Yolo Bypass, part of the Sacramento River Flood Control Project, into a wildlife area, was facing possible extinction unless flood control agencies could feel confident that they would be able to manage for flood protection as well as wildlife habitat.
Two memoranda of understanding were signed that ensured - as far as any such document would be able to do - that flood control would remain the top priority in the bypass. The language - and the negotiations - were delicate, since no agency can override federal law. Essentially, the memoranda acknowledged the primacy of the Endangered Species Act, but cemented a sense of cooperation between agencies with sometimes disparate missions.
"There was some criticism of our group that we were too willing to compromise," says Renee Fitzsimons of the Yolo Basin Foundation. "But look how much we've accomplished."
This fall, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers began restoring the bypass to seasonal wetlands.
Completing the Puzzle
Are there lessons to be drawn from these examples? Maybe, maybe not. Anecdotal evidence might suggest that restoration efforts are smoother when an environmental group with sensitivity to different points of view - and the patience for red tape - acts as an intermediary between private citizens and regulatory agencies or even between agencies with conflicting missions.
But anyone can encounter the bureaucratic barriers that Sally Hearne complained about. In terms of the Delta, the biggest roadblock appears to be the overlapping jurisdiction of local, regional, state and federal authorities. Margit Aramburu of the Delta Protection Commission, which is charged with determining land use on a regional basis, points out that there is no master plan for habitat enhancement in the Delta. "What we have is a lot of entities exercising their smaller area of authority on smaller projects," says Aramburu. "Instead, there should be an overlapping habitat plan coordinated with the commission's master plan."
This sort of regional approach would not only clarify whether innovative projects like Delta Wetlands are a good fit with the larger ecosystem, but also might streamline efforts by people like Sally Hearne to bring back a thriving Delta.
The thing to avoid would be the addition of yet another layer of bureaucracy in an already creaky and cumbersome process. For instance, at Malakoff Diggins, a hundred years of civilization seems to have hampered rather than enhanced the government's ability to deal with environmental problems. In the late 1980s, a trio of agencies tried to stop water from the old pit at Malakoff from entering the Yuba River drainage. Despite evidence that turbidity was affecting fisheries, the attempt failed. State water authorities, it seems, couldn't buck regulations prohibiting change at historic sites.
Contacts: John Winthers (510)283-4216; Sally Hearne (916)776-1531; Mike Thabault (916)978-4866; Renee Fitzsimons (916)756-7248; Margit Aramburu (916)776-2290
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