Blues, haints and bayous: snippets from the Deep South: Shifting sinking sands

We are driving along the Gulf Coast and it feels as if we are in a different world, all of a sudden. Even a different country. It is all so wealthy. Everything is crisp, new, massive, expensive, clean, white, tidy. Whole. The sand is white. Blinding white. And it goes on forever, tufted occasionally with bits of struggling green marram grass, trying hopelessly to bind it all together. The houses are huge and they are nearly all white. And these, mostly, are second homes. Their frontages, like the sand, stretch on forever bedecked with Adirondacks and swings facing the water.

And, if that is not enough, across the road we are on, and over that fine pure white sand, these coastal dwellers have their own private jetties. Some of these stretch hundreds of feet out into the water, padlocked with a lock and key as there is usually an expensive boat on a hammock under its own little boat house at the end. Some of these jetties cost over a hundred thousand dollars we were told. Amazing. And that is after they buy the rights to put the jetty there which is another small fortune.

We saw this beach privatisation first in Cape Cod, we remember, Though it was slightly different there than here. We could never get on a beach there. Every access was private. House after house had built very ugly blockout fences along their fence lines, continuing these over the sand and down far into the water. So someone trying to walk along the beach could not. You literally had no access. Beaches there were not public spaces. They were owned by the people who owned the houses facing the water and trespassers would be prosecuted.

Here, the road is a public throughway, so that cannot happen. And the beach appears to be public. People are walking along some it. But the jetties opposite the houses jutting out into the bay must all be private.They are under lock and key. And there are hundreds upon hundreds of these all along this coast. Private jetties occupying what must be a public beach, though restricting access to much of it in many ways.

At the moment these jetties look picturesque, even beautiful. Many appear to be new, and, I imagine, they were all replaced after Cyclone Katrina in 2005, and Ivan in 2004, swept through these parts bringing flood surges and water breaches of anything from 6 to over 20 feet. On some waterfronts, hotels tumbled like tossed lego. But there are still some bollards occasionally sticking out of the water. Old jetties that once looked picturesque, but which now could slice the bottom of a boat like a butter knife. Who is responsible for cleaning those up? No one apparently, they seem to just remain. So, what happens if another cyclone hits and these beautiful ones go under? Who cleans their debris up? We have no idea.

The city owned facilities are even more stunning. Gulfport has a beach pavilion that is the size of a vast eastern temple and could hold a wedding for the masses. I am not sure what it is used for, though, as It is open on all sides. The weather breezes right on through the structure. And its marina is something out of a design magazine. At the end of each marina jetty is a gorgeous little tower. Architect designed. Exquisite. For smokers? We are not sure. But, one thing for sure, these little shelters did not come cheap.

On we go, eyes popping, and over fish for lunch — whole fried flounder — in a little seafood restaurant, a unique one we found, not a chain, where hurrah! a couple at another table, from Canada, invited us out to Dauphin Island to take a look out there. We had never heard of Dauphin Island, so off we trotted.

It is tiny. The bridge that takes us from the mainland across to the island is exactly 3 miles long. One bridge. It is an engineering and architectural masterpiece, and its white arched hump looks gorgeous on a sunny day against a blue sky. Ours is practically the only car crossing at this time. And there was only one other on our return journey. Not a heck of a lot of traffic. Ever.

It is like wanting a bridge from our mainland Redland shire across the waters to Coochiemudlo Island in Queensland, where currently there is a car and people ferry that offers a water crossing for folk who live there, or who may want to visit. As if a bridge would ever happen to Coochie. Not likely. Not ever. Who would pay for it? How would any lobbyist arguing for it, ever begin to justify it? Where would such money come from? From which bucket? And what needier groups would be missing out, if such monies for a bridge did get approved? These are just some of the questions that would arise if a proposal even made it to a preliminary stage in our state.

So, given the similarities in population and traffic we could not help but wonder how this bridge to Dauphin Island ever came to be built? How much did it cost? Who made the decision that an island of this size even needed such a bridge? These questions nagged at us until we sussed out some answers.

The island, we discovered, was owned by two men and their partners. Men with money, obviously. Though their own money was never needed to fund this development. They negotiated. They sold part of the island to the Chamber of Commerce for development. They kept 18 long waterfront miles of it for themselves and their children. The Chamber of Commerce came to the party and built the first bridge over to their island in the mid-1950s. The argument was it was needed for the ‘public good’. Huh!

The Chamber of Commerce also funded a resort to be built on the island. County funds were sought, found, and paid for all the roads to be built on the island at the same time. Clever. At that time, there were 250 people living there. No doubt 250 very happy people at the end of it all who now had a very long bridge they could do wheelies on, day and night, since no one else needed it.

Over the next thirty years the island failed to take off as a resort. Worse, the occasional traffic, and several devastating hurricanes caused tremendous erosion over that time. Erosion damage repairs were sourced. The repair work was eventually funded by bucketloads of money from federal and state governments coffers.

Hurricane Frederic wiped out the first bridge and again, federal and state government assistance was sought. And found to be available. State and Federal governments spent over $44.5 million just replacing the bridge and doing necessary repairs after Frederick in 1979.

They also allowed the Chamber of Commerce excellent tax breaks to further develop their failed resort. Plans were set in place by the Chamber to attempt to make money by selling off blocks of island land to folk who might want to build a house there. And some blocks sold. Today, some thirty-five years later, some three thousand folk have built ‘occasional homes’ on the island. They don't live here. Only about 1200 people do, last census. Essentially, they are just second homes for most of the folk who built them.

The houses are high on stilts. Out of the way of the many floods and surges. Occupying all of the waterfront land on both fronts of the island, on either side of the road that runs up the centre. These houses are rarely occupied. They are holiday homes at best. Or weekenders, for that rare weekend when an owner feels the need to soak his toes in his backyard full of fine grains of blowing sand. Many of the houses are even for lease or rental at ridiculously low prices as many owners do not even want to do this.

Some have jetties out into the water in front of their properties. Beachfront jetties. Making much of the beach front private. Little of the waterfront is even accessible to island visitors. We had to drive 4 miles down the flat spine of the island to a tiny west beach carpark to even find a spot to park our car, get out, and take one photo. Any beachfront elsewhere is simply not accessible.

Grass can’t grow. It can’t take hold. It was never meant to. This is an ecologically fragile island, changing all the time as nature dictates. Sand blows in bucketloads as you watch it. With each wind breath. Even on a fine sunny day. Someone with funds has to now come on a very regular basis just to blow the sand from the roads. Just so you can see where the roads are to drive on them. Even buying mountains of sand in will never keep up with this sort of naturally-occurring degradation. Who is funding that?

Development like this, here, is simply insanity. How was it ever allowed in the first place? More importantly, is anyone, anywhere, responsible enough to stop it.