Hitting the Beach

In 1986 the state developed a program called the Coastal Construction Control Line by which dwellings allowed within the impact area of 100-year storm events must be built “hurricane safe” and sited to protect the beach-dune system. Since then the state has presided over the building of all manner of allegedly “hurricane-safe” structures, many of them behind seawalls and tubes, but it has done little to enforce protection of the beach-dune system. The nonenforcement is a function of property values. A single lot—100 feet of beach frontage—in this part of Florida now sells for about $2 million; that's up from $100,000 just 10 years ago. Moreover, the lavish tax base funds schools, hospitals, police, and other services, addicting communities to unregulated coastal development.

When the allegedly hurricane-safe replacement for the ruined cottage goes in behind the tubes, it will set the new line for coastal construction, and state and federal taxpayers will again get to pay for flood insurance. “You've heard about all that swampland for sale in Florida?” Godfrey asked me. “Well, these ‘storm-proof' beaches are the new Florida swampland.”

These tubes are just one of countless quack cures with which beachfront residents and politicians are continually seduced. Another is the net groin—a four-foot-high porous fence, perpendicular to the beach, that extends 150 feet seaward from the mean high-water line and is anchored by steel posts driven into the sand. It's supposed to function like those rock jetties called “groins,” which build up the beach on one side and starve it on the other. Last July, a day before the Brevard County commissioners were to consider spending $592,595 to install net groins inside refuge boundaries and across from the Crystal Lakes subdivision, the newspaper Florida Today asked Godfrey to comment on the system's efficacy. “Let's forget about all the turtle impacts and pretend this thing works,” he told the reporter. “It's going to cause sand to build up on the north side and deplete sand on the south side. Is that success? We've all seen what that looks like at Sebastian Inlet. The people to the north are happy; the people to the south are furious and suing.” The next day no commissioner would second the motion to approve.

Turtles are adored by the public —so much so that Steven Spielberg's hugely successful ET, the extraterrestrial, was modeled after one. But whether or not Americans are willing to make the sacrifices necessary to save sea turtles from extinction is much in doubt. Still, I was heartened to see the way the locals had embraced sea turtles. Under special permits, citizens groups walk beaches nightly, identifying species, monitoring nesting activity, reporting strandings, documenting light-induced hatchling disorientation. There were sea turtle motifs everywhere I looked—on buildings, mailboxes, and signs. A tile mural of sea turtle hatchlings adorns the wall of the Publix supermarket in Melbourne. When my guides stopped there to buy red cellophane for our flashlight so the beam wouldn't spook the turtles, Appelson asked the girl at the counter if she had something smaller and less expensive than the big roll on the shelf. “No,” she answered, grabbing the roll and ripping it open. “See,” she said. “This one's damaged. You can have it. Go watch turtles.”

I was heartened to see the way the locals had embraced sea turtles. Under special permits, citizens groups walk beaches nightly, identifying species, monitoring nesting activity, reporting strandings, documenting light-induced hatchling disorientation.

The reason the beaches of the Archie Carr refuge are so dark is because people dim their lights so as not to drive away adult turtles or draw hatchlings from the ocean and into harm's way—not much of a sacrifice, especially considering the energy it saves. But many people in Florida aren't willing to do even that. Hotel magnate Charles Hilton of Panama City Beach (no connection with the Hilton hotels) has been fighting Bay County's turtle-safe lighting ordinance. Hilton and his family own a Holiday Inn SunSpree, a Day's Inn, and a Ramada Inn. Because of the intense lighting around these hotels, they're the dominant features on the beach, and Hilton wants to keep it that way. The turtle eggs should be taken out of his way, he explained to the Bay County commissioners in writing: “It seems apparent that a [turtle egg] relocation program will be more effective than passing an extensive turtle lighting ordinance, and certainly the cost-benefit ratio will be better.”

The trouble with digging up and relocating turtle eggs is that you don't know where they all are and that lots of the ones you relocate don't hatch, as a result of being disturbed. On August 3, 2004, the Fish and Wildlife Service issued Hilton the following warning: “The emergence from the nest and crawl to the sea is one of the most critical periods of a turtle's life. Hatchlings that do not quickly make it to the sea become food for ghost crabs and birds or become dehydrated. . . . The courts determined that beachfront lighting causes take of sea turtles, and that local governments and other parties can be liable for that take.” The service has even offered to share the cost of retrofitting Hilton's lights. He refused. “Total disorientation” of hatchlings has been documented under Hilton's lights.

“Has there been any progress with Mr. Hilton and his people since you issued your warning?” I asked the Fish and Wildlife Service's Lorna Patrick.

“No,” she replied. “I've been trying to get them to work with us, and they are unwilling to do so.” When I asked her if her agency was going to prosecute for an Endangered Species Act violation, she said: “I don't make that decision; our law-enforcement people do.”

When I walked the refuge with my CCC guides, the beach seemed darker, the Milky Way brighter. One house, however, was ignoring the lighting ordinance with front-yard floodlights. “See,” said Appelson, “that guy doesn't care.” But no sooner were the words out of his mouth than the lights died. The guy did care.