The oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico off the Louisiana coast has gotten personal, but in no way do I identify with those who are now suffering from this tragedy. I don’t have to bravely try to make a living from fishing grounds that were once reliable and that had sustained families in various walks of life for generations. The only thing I’ve lost is the excitement I usually feel when I’m about to spend a couple of weeks at the beach.
I tried to stay calm about the whole thing and at one point even defended BP when it was accused of delaying in response to this disaster. After 56 days, the massive leak is still partially plugged and thousands of gallons of oil are drifting with the Gulf Stream.
When the first drops of oil hit the Louisiana coast, everyone, with the possible exception of the CEO of British Petroleum, knew it was a disaster of monumental proportions. While this was bad for people in that state, for my self-centered way of thinking, it was their problem.
Then recently, the first small clumps of smelly red and brown oil appeared off the shores of Dauphin Island, Alabama, a barrier island located south of Mobile Bay. By coincidence, the television cameras were installed just feet from where I captured the biggest and sweetest tasting Pompano to ever land. I was watching the waters of one of my favorite fishing spots throw little balls of oil onto the beach.
The beach is open, but few are swimming on Dauphin Island. Fishermen cannot fish in the gulf where they have made a living for years! The federal government has closed fishing in the area due to oil in the water. Thousands of people are affected by this monstrous oil leak; not just me and my leisure activities.
As of the first ten days of June, there have only been a few traces of oil on the beach. Send skimmer boats further and closer to the Gulf of Mexico; so far they have succeeded in removing oil stains from the surface of the water. This keeps oil off the beaches, but no one seems to know exactly how deep the oil sinks below the surface.
An old friend of mine, a charter boat captain, who lives in Orange Beach, between Gulf Shores, Alabama, and Perdido Key, Florida, reported that a few drops of oil and tar balls were seen on the beaches earlier in the week. Cleaning crews rushed to contain them. All city and state officials proclaimed that its beaches were still pristine and had a sugary appearance. Then the weekend came!
Slabs of oil are now rolling towards Orange Beach with every wave. The stench of the smell of oil is repugnant to many who have had the courage to venture down to the sand. Some tourists on the beach say the smell is not bad, but others vehemently disagree.
You can almost feel the fear in the voices of the interviewees who have been cornered by the media. In trying to appear calm, there is an underlying concern from those who see how their livelihoods are being abandoned by this gigantic oil leak.
The ocean has always had a charm for me and for millions of people who visit it from time to time and marvel at its mysteries and enjoy its benefits. We do not depend on the ocean and the beaches for any kind of sustenance, but as far as I am concerned, I am afraid of what the future of this little paradise will be.
For me and everyone who has ever walked the beach, swam in the waves, ate a bite from an unidentified denizen of the deep, or ate wild Gulf Coast shrimp, this oil crisis is getting personal.