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Some Links on the 20th Anniversary of the Oil Spill
Published March 24, 2009 Uncategorized Leave a Comment
This piece has been posted elsewhere, but since today is the twentieth anniversary of the oil spill in Prince William Sound, it seemed a good way to launch the new blog.
The trip arose in large part from those images on the television some fifteen years earlier, the moment when I changed from just enjoying the natural world to knowing that I would fight for it.
I was on the ferry ride to Valdez, the point of departure for what would be a five day kayak trip across Prince William Sound. This was to be the highlight of the Alaska trip, paddling during the day through what I hoped was still a natural wonderland, and at night sleeping on the sandy shores, falling alseep to the crash of calving glaciers and waking to the screeches of eagles feeding on the salmon.
But this was still just the preparatory ferry ride.
“On your right . . . ” The voice came over the ferry’s speakers as we crossed the Sound from Whittier to Valdez. “ . . . is Bligh Reef . . .”
I walked quickly to the starboard side of the boat and looked out. I had known this moment was coming. I had thought about it in planning this trip. I had studied the maps and had been waiting as we crossed the Sound. If the weather cooperated, I knew it was going to be viewable on this crossing, off in the distance. The skies, it turned out, were clear and the seas calm.
“A red light is flashing every four seconds to starboard.” –Lookout Maureen Jones to Third Mate Gregory Cousins, noticing a light that should have been on the port side, March 23, 1989.
It’s marked by tall pole sticking out of the water. I couldn’t find it in my binoculars at first and went to the national parks employee on board to ask for her help. Then I saw it: The exact spot where more than 10 million gallons of North Slope crude oil leaked into this magical world.
“We’ve fetched up, ah, hard aground, north of Goose Island, off Bligh Reef and, ah, evidently leaking some oil and we’re gonna be here for a while and, ah, if you want, ah, so you’re notified.” –Captain Hazlewood’s first radio call, March 23, 1989.
I can’t tell you why it was important for me to see it. I don’t know, really. It’s related somehow to that same compulsion that causes family members to travel so that they can stand on some shore, looking out over the waves in the direction where the plane went down.
“I referred to Prince William Sound as one of the two most beautiful places on earth. I leave it to each of you individually to decide what the other one is. We all have a special Shangri-La in our hearts and minds. Think of yours when you contemplate what has happened to us.” –Dan Moore, Cordova city manager, 1989.
I remember that day, some fifteen years before this trip, when I first saw the news reports. I felt like someone had hit me in the stomach. At some point I had to stop watching. The images of the harbor seals and sea otters, wrenching evidence of priorities terribly misplaced, were more than I could watch night after night. At the time I had no idea that I would ever see this place during my lifetime. It didn’t matter. It was as though these awful scenes were playing out in my own back yard.
On the second day of the kayaking trip we set up camp within sight of Bligh Reef. I didn’t really think then about the oil-coated otters or the pod of orcas known as “AB,” the one that disappeared completely. I didn’t think about the debate over the extent to which this ecosystem has recovered, or about the genetic ramifications of the spill that are at present unknown.
I sat there looking out at three sea lions putting on their synchronized ballet for me, with the Bligh Reef marker literally in the background of the scene. A few minutes after they disappeared into the waves, I saw a battle between a large sea lion bull and the eagle that tried to swoop down and steal its fish.
Sitting there, I thought about how we are profoundly changed by events that at the time seem to have no direct relationship to our lives. I thought about the connections, known and unknown, in this web of life.
And finally, I thought about this truth. I realized that neither corporate vice-presidents nor intoxicated captains were the real villains.
More clearly than I ever had before, I saw my own complicity in the events of that awful night.
(You can see pictures from the Alaksa trip, including the Prince William 5-day paddle, here.)
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