Sandra Staples-Bortner, executive director of the Great
Peninsula Conservancy, will retire at the end of this month after
11 years on the job. Those involved in the regional land trust say
she will leave the organization much larger and stronger than
before her arrival.
Sandra Staples-Bortner
Photo: Kenna Cox
Great Peninsula Conservancy — which protects salmon streams,
forests and shorelines — was formed in 2000 by the merger of four
smaller land trusts: Kitsap, Hood Canal, Indianola and Peninsula
Heritage land trusts. See
Kitsap Sun, May 23, 2000.
The goal was to create an organization large enough to hire
full-time staff and manage a growing slate of properties, according
to Gary Cunningham, longtime board member who was instrumental in
the merger. The conservancy struggled financially in its early
years, he said, but Sandra helped turn things around.
“She has definitely done the things that the board knew had to
be done to make this a financially viable and stable organization
that can protect property in perpetuity,” Gary told me.
Preservation is cheaper than restoration. If you need proof, one
place to look is the Beard’s Cove estuary-restoration project on
Hood Canal, about a mile outside of Belfair.
The project, nearing completion, is re-establishing 7.3 acres of
saltwater wetlands by excavating and removing about 4,000 dumptruck
loads of old fill dirt from an area originally built as a private
park for the Beard’s Cove community.
Belfair and Lynch Cove as
depicted on a map created in 1884 by the U.S. Office of Coast
Survey. Colors were added, and the label “1973 fill area” shows the
site of the current restoration.
Image: Beard’s Cove restoration file
It is a rare restoration project, because essentially the same
dirt used to fill the wetlands in 1973 is being taken out and put
back where it came from — across North Shore Road from the
development. The cost is estimated at $1.1 million, as reported by
Arla Shephard in a story in the
Kitsap Sun.
Filling in the salt marsh was part of the development plan for
the Beard’s Cove plat, approved by the Mason County commissioners a
few years before construction began. The voter-approved Shoreline
Management Act and other environmental regulations were just coming
on the scene.
Hood Canal Environmental Council, a fledgling group at the time,
testified against the Beard’s Cove project. Phil Best, a young
lawyer who would later become Kitsap County commissioner, was a
founder of that organization.
“We were concerned that this project would set a precedent,”
Phil told me. “If you start filling in all these marsh areas, you
would be destroying a lot of salmon habitat throughout Hood
Canal.”
Although scientists today know much more about the value of
estuaries, Phil said there was plenty of evidence at the time about
the damage that would be caused by this kind of project. Much of
the scientific information was provided by researchers at the
University of Washington’s Big Beef Creek Research Station. That
facility, near Seabeck in Kitsap County, is still used for salmon
research.
In the end, the Beard’s Cove developer prevailed with the county
commissioners and the courts, and the fill was dumped into the
estuary to create a park. Today, of course, a project like this
would not even get off the drawing board.
Aerial photo from 1973 during
construction of the Beard’s Cove development, a portion of which
was built on fill going out into Hood Canal.
Image: Beard’s Cove restoration file.
“We’re finally getting to where things should be,” Phil said,
“but it is unfortunate that we have to spend millions of taxpayer
dollars, when the permit for this should have been denied in the
first place. There is a lesson to be learned here: It is better to
err on the side of caution when it comes to environmental
issues.”
For every restoration project we know about, someone could have
avoided the cost by not doing the damage in the first place. We
must recognize that we are paying for many mistakes made by our
forefathers.
At the same time, we must face the fact that — despite all we
have learned — we are still doing damage to the ecosystem. Some
damage is inevitable, as more development is needed to accommodate
a growing population. But we should be as careful as we can, so our
descendants don’t have to undo what we have done.
The alternative, of course, is far more dreadful. If we cannot
turn the tide on our ecological destruction and find a way to live
within the natural world, Puget Sound is doomed to ecological
collapse. Future generations might live on a large, sterile pond
and wonder what it once was like. They might as well live on the
moon.
The 540 or more families who live in the Beard’s Cove Community
today had nothing to do with the mistakes that were made. Who could
blame them for using the park and swimming pool developed for their
use? People who grew up in Beard’s Cove cherish the memories of
that park. I would suggest that it is of little value to blame
anyone for past mistakes, since society as a whole sanctioned all
sorts of activities that we would not allow today.
The Beard’s Cove community should be congratulated for breaking
with the past and allowing the restoration to take place. It may be
true that the decision was easier after the park fell into
disrepair. Someone apparently destroyed the old swimming pool by
draining it during an extreme high tide, causing it to “float” up
out of the ground — or so the story goes, says Louena “Louie”
Yelverton, president of the Beard’s Cove Community
Organization.
Louie says the community supports the restoration of the marsh
and looks forward to seeing a more natural shoreline.
“it is nice to be part of a restoration project, realizing that
this is a small part of a 700-acre project that is going to help
salmon,” she said. “As a society, we are starting to learn that we
need to give forethought to the future. It might not affect us, but
it will be there for our grandkids and future generations. I am
glad to be part of this.”
Louie credits Kate Kuhlman of Great Peninsula Conservancy for
helping to generate goodwill in the community. Her concerns for the
people as well as the steadfast promotion of the science helped get
the project to construction. GPC coordinated the grants to get the
work done with some land left for community use.
“She has been a trooper through everything,” Louie said. “Now we
are going to have a park, and the shoreline is going to be good for
salmon. I am super-excited that we are toward the end of this and
will get to see what all the hard work has accomplished.”
Wetlands along the North Shore of Hood Canal have been
undergoing protection and restoration for 30 years. This is where I
chose to write the opening chapter of the book
“Hood Canal: Splendor at Risk.”
The Beard’s Cove project, including a permanent conservation
easement, fills in the final gap in a full 1.7 miles of unbroken
estuarine habitat to be preserved in perpetuity, thanks to GPC and
its North Mason predecessor, Hood Canal Land Trust, along with
Pacific Northwest Salmon Center, Washington Department of Fish and
Wildlife and the North Mason School District.
The project includes the construction of 2,530 feet of newly
formed tide channels, 1,200 feet of graveled beach and large woody
debris habitat structures.
Marsh areas like this are among the most productive places on
the planet, supporting a rich food web that includes salmon species
such as Puget Sound chinook, Puget Sound steelhead and Hood Canal
summer chum, all listed as “threatened” on the Endangered Species
List.
After leaving the staff of the Kitsap Sun, I was profoundly
thrilled and honored this year to have my environmental reporting
career recognized by two organizations that I greatly respect.
The two awards got me to thinking about the role that
environmental reporters can play in bridging the gap between
scientists studying the Puget Sound ecosystem and residents wishing
to protect this beloved place.
Great Peninsula
Conservancy, which plays a central role in acquiring and
protecting vital ecosystems on the Kitsap Peninsula, chose to honor
me with its Conservationist of the Year Award. The award is
especially humbling, because I see myself as a storyteller, not a
conservationist. But I was reminded that stories can help bring
people together to accomplish great things. One major project that
involves GPC and its many partners is the Kitsap Forest and Bay
Project, a major land-acquisition effort in North Kitsap.
When I attended GPC’s annual fund-raising dinner in April, it
felt like some sort of reunion. People I had known for years from
all sorts of organizations and agencies came up to shake my hand.
Some I knew very well. For nearly everyone, I could look back over
more than 35 years of reporting and recall their connection to one
or more environmental stories. It was a bit overwhelming.
The second award, from the SeaDoc Society, was equally
satisfying, since it recognized my work across the Puget Sound
region. The Octopus Award acknowledges groups and individuals
outside SeaDoc who have advanced the organization’s goal of
protecting the health of marine wildlife.
SeaDoc’s director and chief scientist, Dr. Joe Gaydos, a
veterinarian, has a rare ability. He not only conducts research
with a precision required to advance science, but he also
communicates general scientific knowledge in ways we can all
understand. I cannot count the times I’ve asked Joe to help me put
some ecological issue into perspective.
Joe teamed up recently with author Audrey DeLella Benedict to
write an informative and entertaining book about the inland
waterway that extends from Olympia, Wash., to Campbell River, B.C.,
including Puget Sound and the Strait of Georgia. The title is
“The Salish Sea: Jewel of the Pacific Northwest.”
Unlike my experience at the GPC dinner, I knew only a handful of
people at SeaDoc’s annual fund-raising auction on Orcas Island two
weeks ago. I was able to become acquainted with many wonderful
people who seemed interested in all aspects of the Puget Sound
ecosystem. I was SeaDoc’s guest for the entire weekend, which
turned into a much-needed mini-vacation. It was the first time I’ve
been able to get away this year.
For whatever success I’ve had in my career, I owe a debt to all
the scientists willing to give their time to help me understand
their research. Science is a journey of discovery, and I’ve been
privileged to hitchhike with all sorts of researchers on their way
to understanding how the world works.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the teaching of science
and the need to encourage future researchers. Although I have a
degree in biochemistry, I’ve never worked as a scientist — unless
you count the year I toiled as a lab assistant growing tomato
plants. It was a research project designed to figure out how the
plants protect themselves from damaging insects.
I grew up believing that science was a particular set of facts
that explained the workings of nature. For the longest time, I
failed to see that the most important thing about science was
formulating the right questions about things we don’t know. Science
teachers should, of course, convey what is known, but I believe
they should also lead their students to the edge of the unknown,
revealing some of the questions that scientists are attempting to
answer right now.
That is what much of my reporting on Puget Sound has been about.
We’ve known for years that the health of the waterway is in
decline. It has been rewarding to help people understand why things
have been going wrong and what can be done to reverse the downward
trends. While there is much work to do, we’re at a point where we
can expect Puget Sound residents to limit their damage to the
ecosystem and become part of the restoration effort.
Finally, I have some advice for science reporters and scientists
alike. I feel like I’ve been lucky to be able to connect well with
researchers, though I’ve heard it said that the relationship
between reporters and scientists can be rough at times.
I’ve known reporters who are more interested in getting a scoop
than in learning, more interested in getting to some perceived
conclusion than in understanding the whys and hows. I’ve also known
scientists who are convinced that their research is too complex for
reporters to grasp, not to mention write about accurately.
For myself, it has always worked to follow my curiosity wherever
it takes me. Gathering far more information than I need for today’s
story, I find that this wandering gives me a better understanding
of the big picture while identifying future stories. Thanks to
those who have tolerated my detailed questioning.
Scientists also can take steps to make sure they are well
understood. Spell out key points for reporters, go over the
essential elements more than once, and even put information in
writing if a reporter seems to need some extra help.
When this kind of collaboration is successful, the result is a
story that captures the imagination, provides accurate information
and sometimes even changes the way people see the world.
The Kitsap Sun’s
“North Mason Life” reporter, Rodika Tollefson, put her own spin
on the Klingel Wetlands story. She was able to interview Gary
Parrot, who returned from an out-of-town trip, and was able to talk
about the history of the wetlands.
—–
Last week, I had a rare opportunity to take a mental trip back
in time. It happened twice, as I stood in two different Hood Canal
wetlands and recalled the past while pondering the future.
The first place was the Klingel Wetlands outside Belfair on the
North Shore Road. See
Kitsap Sun, Oct. 7.
Sandra Staples-Bortner,
executive director of the Great Peninsula Conservancy, considers
changes coming to the Klingel Wetlands as she stands on an old farm
dike destined for removal.
Kitsap Sun photo by Larry Steagall
This place is special to me because I spent time here in June of
1990, preparing to write the introduction for a yearlong newspaper
series that would become the book “Hood Canal
Splendor at Risk.” Here are the opening lines of the book,
which described the Klingel wetlands at that time:
“A great blue heron, its broad wings spread to the wind, dips
out of an overcast sky and glides into the marsh. Extending its
legs, the large bird lands gracefully among tall reeds near the
water. The tweet-tweet-tweetering of songbirds creates an agreeable
chorus, though each bird sings its own distinct song.
“Untold numbers of wild birds share this place on Hood Canal,
just outside of Belfair on the North Shore. River otter slink along
the shore at sunset. Mink, beaver and muskrat mind their own ways,
thanks to what remains of this ancient swamp. Human visitors may
find themselves refreshed by the wildness here, as in other natural
environs. Some people describe a warm feeling of enthrallment, a
kind of mild hypnotic state.”
Gary and Celia Parrot, who have kept watch over the property all
these years, appreciated the need to connect people to nature. They
helped me express a concept that I’m afraid is largely lost on our
urban-based society.
As Celia explained to me, the human heart yearns for a more
primitive experience, away from the cluttered pattern of modern
life:
“The reason I go out two or three times a day is not just to
walk the dogs,” she said. “It’s like a refueling. I go out to get
another dose of that intimate feeling.”