The road was blocked.
I had stayed on an extra day to catch my breath and re-visit a few favorite places, the first of which was to be the beach where Chewy and I had roamed seven years before. So after a morning spent sleeping in and reading, I headed south along Louisiana’s Route 1.
One thing about southern Louisiana is that it is slowly sinking into the Gulf of Mexico. There are many reasons for this, and I won’t go into them here, but it is, and as I drove I could see the effects. Once past the levee and floodgates (lock)* homes and shops gave way to oilfield contractors and the local fishery** and quickly, open marshland. The road had been raised and improved, wooden power lines had given way to well-designed catenaries, and a cherished family church (previously clinging to a small rise of earth) was gone. Just before Leeville, signs directed me to a toll booth and the new bridge, an eight-mile span that rose over the ship route (fortunately to a level I was comfortable with) before paralleling the old Route One to the cut-off for Port Fourchon***. I paid the three dollar toll and was on my way, my truck’s tires ka-thunking below me.
Port Fourchon is Louisiana’s southernmost port. It is located at the tip of a thin strip of land between two bays that empty into the Gulf, and is home to businesses that support the offshore oil and gas industry. At the end of the bridge I continued on past the well-tended homes of Pointe Fourchon and soon approached the port itself. Several ships rose between the rows of oil tanks: multi-purpose supply vessels, one complete with crane; an oil-spill response vessel; and even a mobile drilling unit. I continued on, past the Casino and public boat launch, and over the narrow bridge that crossed the last bit of water before the beach. But there, just past the strip of pavement that led to the Chevron dock, was a gate. It blocked the road and framed a sign that strongly discouraged continuing past that point.
I had come too far to abandon my quest so close to my destination, so I found a strip of sand, parked my vehicle, and proceeded on foot. Within a couple of minutes I could see open water and, after the road crested the dunes, the beach. And when I did, my heart fell.
I had forgotten Deepwater Horizon.
I remember the day of the breach clearly; I had been at my desk in Connecticut when word filtered in that there was a fire on a rig in the Macando Prospect. When queried, our field service reps advised several of our helicopters were involved in rescues, including evacuations and medical flights. It was only later, as we watched the attempts to cap the line during the months that followed, that we learned the severity of the event. Living in the North, I had the luxury of letting it slip from my mind.
The place Chewy and I had hiked was now something like a beach… but not quite. A concrete and steel-cable fence had been built halfway between the dunes and water, and it was piled high with rocks, gravel and debris. In the space between, what I remembered as beige sand was now grey slurry, evidence of the spill still evident after all these years. Just offshore were a series of breakwaters, also new since my last visit, and the water between them and the beach was flat and drab. As I looked around I realized the fauna had changed as well, less green, more yellow and brown. I sucked in my breath and the wind buffeted my face and whipped my hair. The place Chewy had frolicked was gone.
After a few more moments taking it all in I turned and, the wind now out of my sails, hiked back to my truck.
*South LaFourche Levee District: http://slld.org/aboutus.html
**A really interesting fisherman’s collective http://louisianadirectseafood.com/about-us/
***The state of Louisiana some spiffy photos and video from construction here: http://www8.dotd.la.gov/la1project/news.aspx
Vessels berthed at Port Fourchon: http://www.chouest.com/vessels.html Video (includes a crane ship): https://vimeo.com/135402632