Watch full size video:
Every year the wall around Puget Sound keeps growing.
On beach after sands, barriers of concrete and boulders are erected to keep the Sound from washing away valuable real estate.
Stretched end to expiration, the barriers would already judgment greater degree than800 miles
The wall goes up in bits and pieces from one end of the Sound to the other, from million-dollar waterfront homes in continuance Bainbridge Island to vacation getaways in the San Juan Islands.
The wall keeps growing even though scientists say it hurts the Sound by degrading further of the richest near-shore natural locality, including spawning grounds of little fish critical to bigger predators like salmon. It grows even as millions of tax dollars are spent to tear down other walls.
For more than 30 years, we have been promising to change and passing laws to protect the Sound’s 2,500 miles of shoreline. As a result, it’s harder to breed permission to build a dividing wall, as these walls are known. And the new ones usually aren’t similar to destructive.
Yet the walls keep going up.
A Seattle Times analysis shows reinvigorated bulkheads today are being built just as fast as they were a decade ago. In the accomplished four years, the state Department of Fish and Wildlife has granted 456 permits in favor of newly come bulkheads on Puget Sound. That doesn’t include the old bulkheads people want to renew.
The number it has rejected: cipher.
Why? A thirst for grand views and big homes. And the impulse to stop Mother Nature’s erosion at what time it threatens a home, and when a half-acre of waterfront land can sell for $1 million.
It’s also because of legal loopholes and out-of-date rules, and because we haven’t ever enforced the ones we have.
“Let’s just be clear about this and honest,” said Jim Brennan, a biologist who used to retrace partition permits according to the state Fish and Wildlife Department.
“We’re not stopping it.”
Island’s loopholes
Bainbridge Island is typical. Over the years, as the island went affluent and modest cottages in the woods gave way to waterfront estates, beaches have been fortified to save every valuable inch of real effects.
The incorporated town government is known as one of the strictest when it comes to bulkheads. But the city is still giving out permits
At Agate Passage, adhering the isle’s western shore, a new home is perched above the water. A freshly piled wall of calm runs roughly 230 feet along the beach, a military architecture against the lapping water of Puget Sound.
It’s also an example of how steady get-tough regulations can be circumvented.
To impede the demand for new bulkheads, the island’s government requires everyone who builds a waterfront home to get an engineer to vouch that the home won’t need a bulkhead.
When the Agate Passage home was permitted in 1999, the incorporated town allowed it sole after getting that promise. But a few years later, the incorporated town received a permit application for a rock wall for that kindred and a neighboring one. This confinement an engineer strenuously recommended one.
“The cynical side of me says it’s a long-term strategy by the developer to get to behave something,” aforesaid Peter Best, commencement of the city’s shoreline-stewardship program, who said he has encountered several like cases.
But Garrett Larsen, the Bainbridge Island architect who owns the house, said that eating away had worsened since the house was built, and that he still had a right to protect his goods.
“We’d irreclaimable a lot of ground,” he said.
A haven among walls
On a clear morning last fall, a boatload of scientists motored along Bainbridge Island’s fortified border, headed to the newest front cover on the inside in the topical contention over shorelines.
They passed rows of concrete and rock walls. Groomed lawns extended from massive homes to the water’s edge.
Finally, they pulled up to a beach at the base of a steep slope overgrown with trees and bushes. It was a cool haven from the sun. Big alder trees grew down at the edge of the sand, branches extending over the water and shading the eggs of tiny fish.
The scene could be doomed. The five landowners who have houses near the top of the bluff above are suing to have existence allowed to build 420 feet of partition on this spot.
Even on Bainbridge Island, the incorporated town is still willing to give out bulkhead permits as it struggles to find a balance between protecting beaches and people’s homes. And when property owners are told nay by another agency, the result can be a blizzard of lawsuits.
The city beyond a doubt to let three of the five property owners shape bulkheads. The state Fish and Wildlife Department said OK to all five.
In most cases, that would be the end of the story. But because of a quirk in city rules, the project needed the endorsement of the state Department of Ecology. Ecology managers told the homeowners no.
The state officials argued that the bluffs are an important source of sand for the island’s beaches, and the homeowners hadn’t tried coarse plenty to detect a less-destructive way to foster the land.
Best, the Bainbridge Island official, doesn’t dispute Ecology’s decision. He said the incorporated town didn’t have the expertise to question claims made by means of the landowners’ engineer.
The participation owners are trying to design a less-massive bulkhead.
But they have also appealed the decision in court. They argue the city’s rules allow the partition, that it won’t hurt the environment and that their land is at serious risk. One bodily form’s house is just 15 feet from the edge of the bluff.
Leonel Stollar, one of the five landowners, fears erosion will claim his septic drain field, destroying his sewer system.
“That would serve my house almost valueless,” he declared.
Starved beaches
Bulkheads can hurt beaches and shallow-water environments, which are some of the richest pockets of life in the Sound.
The walls starve beaches of gravel coming from a thin to a dense state from hillsides that would replenish sand washed away by waves. That results in shrunken, eroded beaches with smaller room for important shoreline life, of the like kind as sand lance and breaking waves fuse, little seek by indirection that lea their eggs in the gravel.
Those fish are important cheer for bigger fish, such as salmon, that in turn eat orcas and other animals.
When shoreline trees and bushes are mowed down for lawns and waterfront views, that takes away a source of insects that fall in the water and feed young salmon and of shade that cools fish eggs. Far fewer surf-smelt eggs survive on unshaded beaches, studies have place.
“We’ve lost an gigantic amount of this area of distribution,” reported Hugh Shipman, a coastal geologist with the state Department of Ecology.
Hard, not impossible
The mob of Washington decided nearly 40 years ago that shorelines should have being protected.
In 1972, voters approved by the agency of referendum the Shoreline Management Act. It was meant to halt the damage that a century of unregulated shoreline construction had wrought. It declared that “shorelines of the represent fully are among the most valuable and fragile of its natural resources.”
As a result of that law, it is harder to build bulkheads.
But not impossible.
“If you’ve got enough money and you’ve got the horsepower, you can lull state in a bulkhead,” said Russell Trask. “But it will take you a year or two.”
He should know. Trask boasts that immersing the decades, his collection, Bainbridge Marine Services, built more than 1,000 bulkheads along Puget Sound. For Trask, the 1960s were the good old days, when he could fortify a beach with virtually no pesky bureaucrats getting in the road.
Trask finally shut into disrepute his company a few years gone, shortly after he was acquitted on criminal charges of building bulkheads without fit permits.
The bulkheads built today usually aren’t as destructive as a generation ago, at the time that they were put farther extinguished into the water, claiming more habitat.
The number of Puget Sound bulkhead permits issued by the agency of the state Department of Fish and Wildlife dropped almost in half between the late 1980s and mid-1990s, from more than 200 a year to slightly in addition than 100, according to a Seattle Times analysis.
But since the mid-1990s, there’s been little modify in for what reason many permits are given away, despite some unaccustomed rules governing shoreline development and the 1999 listing of Puget Sound chinook under the Endangered Species Act. The walls stationary get built in faction because the explain shoreline law gives homeowners specifical management; there are fewer restrictions on big commercial or commonwealth landowners’ ability to build bulkheads in van of houses.
Bulkheads were barely a concern when the Shoreline Management Act passed, said Joan Thomas, any environmental activist who helped lead the campaign according to it.
“They were everywhere,” she said of the bulkheads. “I don’t deliberate that the science of habitat was as well-understood.”
On top of that, how strict the rules are depends partly on which county or city you’re in.
The state shoreline act foliage most decisions in various places bulkheads to local government. Some of those governments direction be in action aggressively to determine whether a partition is needed. But others are else relaxed near it, Shipman says.
In many communities, the rules shelter’t been updated since the 1970s. The state Legislature not long ago has mandated revisions, but in many cases that won’t happen until 2011 or 2012.
Even the new rules are only as strong as local bureaucrats make them, warned Doug Myers, science guide for the environmental group People for Puget Sound, and previously a lead scientist with the state’s Puget Sound Action Team.
“You can look at the wrangling, and a lot of times the words are considerable. But then there’s all these requests for variance and stuff,” he said. “It’s still up to the locals to do the day-to-day management to make certain that it happens.”
Agency hamstrung
The state Department of Fish and Wildlife is also supposed to have a say over bulkheads, issuing a disjoined permit from the one local governments accord.. But the course of life’s own leaders admit they aren’t doing enough.
In part, the Legislature has whittled away the agency’s power, at the urging of landowners and businesses.
In 1991, a group of bulkhead builders, including Trask, successfully lobbied the Legislature to forbid the department from rejecting any bulkhead permits for single-family homes. The department can still place conditions on permits to try to have existence reduced the damage.
Then in 2002, the Legislature ordered a task force to look at the way the department handles bulkhead applications. One of the main goals was to get the department to approve them faster.
Such character impressed to speed things up, combined by staff shortages, leaves little time to review projects to make sure nay actual environmental harm would have being done, complains Greg Hueckel, Fish and Wildlife’s assistant director overseeing the permit program.
“I liken it to a statesmanship that issues building permits without building inspectors,” Hueckel said.
In 2006, the department did its first audit to see how well the permits were protecting the environment. The results weren’t encouraging.
Despite a state law requiring new bulkheads to be designed so they won’t hurt try to catch fish natural locality, damage continues.
“In other words,” Tim Quinn, Fish and Wildlife’s most eminent habitat scientist, told state lawmakers at a hearing in conclusion November, “we’re not doing a very good job.”