Woes of life with eelgrass

You can’t see it. You can’t hear it. But it’s there -- just below the

surface, lurking, waiting, watching. The Creature from the Black

Lagoon? No. The Blob? Nope. The Body Snatchers? Negative. I’ll just

tell you. Eelgrass. Sorry ... what? “Eelgrass,” as in, “eel,”

followed by “grass.” I had no idea what it was either, until just a

few days ago that is, when this very paper ripped the lid off the

eelgrass crisis. But you if live on the Great Bay of Newport and you

have your own pier, I suspect you have seen the enemy, and it’s name

is eelgrass.

In case the name escapes you, eelgrass is an underwater plant that

produces long, slender leaves 3 feet long or more. I assume the sight

of those long, flowing tendrils undulating in the water is what put

the “eel” in eelgrass. If you were a trained marine biologist like

myself, you’d know that its Latin name is “Vallisneria Americana,”

although it’s sometimes referred to by its nickname -- “Valerie.”

Apparently, until recently, the eelgrass kept to itself, and the

people above it did the same. But not long ago, the regulators showed

up. They came from Sacramento and Washington. They looked at the

eelgrass and said, “You need protecting.” “We do?” said the

eelgrasses. “Yes,” said the regulators. “But this isn’t just about

you. It’s about the little sea creatures that live among those long,

slender leaves of yours, 3 feet long or more.” “Really?” said the

eelgrass. “But we like it here, under the pier, under the pier, as in

... right here. Couldn’t you just leave us here, under the pier,

alone right here?” “No,” said the regulators. “We’re here to help.”

And so, the eelgrass became a protected species. Not endangered mind

you, but protected which, as it turns out, also means an expensive

species.

It all has to do with dredging -- from the verb, “to dredge.” You

know -- scooping up the gunky stuff on the bottom so boats can move

around without a care in the world, or the water. If you don’t dredge

now and then, boats start scraping on the bottom, running aground,

all of which saddens the owners of the boats. Each of us has our

duties to in life, and for people who own a boat slip, part of life’s

drudgery is dredgery. Like cleaning out rain gutters, changing

filters and recalling governors, it’s something you just have to do

now and then. In the past, when you needed dredging, you called a

dredger (see Yellow Pages under “Dredgers”) and said, “Hello? I need

to be dredged.” The dredger would come out with his little dredger

and dredge you, which could cost up to two grand, which is not

peanuts. But now, with the highly protected eelgrass floating into

the picture, two thousand dollars is a fond memory. What cost about

$2,000 not long ago can now top out at $40,000. Gulp. You can buy a

lot of eels for $40,000, assuming you ever buy eels, which I suspect

you do not.

Here’s where the 40 grand goes (other than up in smoke), prior to

being dredged, you need to have someone relocate your eelgrass,

unharmed, to a temporary home. (See Yellow Pages -- “Eelgrass

Relocation Specialists.”) After you’ve been dredged, the eelgrass

needs to be replanted exactly where it was. Needless to say, that’s a

lot of moving, dredging, shucking and jiving -- all of which costs

money. But wait. That’s just the beginning. The waterside dweller

then has to foot the bill for monitoring the eelgrass beneath his or

her slip for five to seven years. If the eelgrass passes on to that

great grass bed in the sky before then, the pier owner gets to pony

up even more drachmas for new eelgrass.

Some of you might, or might not, ask, “Are we short on eelgrass?”

Good question, but no one knows. In classically governmental fashion,

the laws are silent as to how much grass is enough eelgrass if a

woodchuck could chuck wood. No wait, that’s something else. In

reality, there are some 30 to 35 acres of eelgrass on the bottom of

Newport Harbor. That’s a lot of grass, even for eels. And in some

spots, the eelgrass is spreading so fast that it’s clogging up the

whole system.

“We don’t dispute that eelgrass is good for the fish and the bay,”

says Mayor Steve Bromberg. “What we dispute is the fact that even

though we have so much of it, people are still in this situation.”

Even as we speak (I know we’re not. It’s just an expression) Mayor

Bromberg is trying to arrange an eelgrass summit with all the

agencies involved, and Rep. Chris Cox, to come up with ways to

protect eelgrass that might actually work on this planet.

According to Newport Beach Assistant City Manager Dave Kiff, “A

lot of people around the harbor think that the city is willingly and

aggressively enforcing this eelgrass policy, but we didn’t want this

provision in there. We want a sensible eelgrass policy and we don’t

think what’s in place is all that sensible.” At 40 grand per eelgrass

transplant, I would say that’s true.

The Newport Beach Harbor Commission has come up with a good

suggestion if you ask me, which nobody would. The city could set up

underwater eelgrass nurseries, to which people who have to be dredged

pay a reasonable fee to make up for any eelgrass lost in the process.

I like it. And that is the story, more or less, of the boats and the

piers and the sea creatures and the Vallisneria Americana. By the

way, Valerie has a cousin, called Valisneria Spiralis, which is

native to southern Europe and North Africa. Why does that matter?

Beats me. I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached by e-mail at [email protected].