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December 1, 2003PRESERVING MICHIGAN'S WATERSWetland losses, controversy persist with approach of law's 25th anniversaryBy JOHN FLESHERAssociated Press Writer WAWATAM TOWNSHIP, Mich. (AP) - To the untrained eye, Cecil Bay Marsh might seem a wasteland - a vast, silent field of bug-infested weeds and squishy soil on the edge of Lake Michigan. But picking her way through shoulder-high bulrushes and cattails a few miles southwest of the Mackinac Bridge, wetland ecologist Barbara Madsen sees a wondrous landscape teeming with life. Tiny frogs sit motionless in clear, shallow pools. Dragonflies and monarchs flit among swamp grasses. Madsen identifies a staggering variety of plants, from ash and poplar seedlings to St. Johns wort and tiny orchid flowers. "Wetlands like this are part of the balance of the ecosystem," the University of Michigan scientist says. "If we keep losing them, it's like taking bricks from a wall. Keep doing it and you reach a point where it all falls down." Wetlands play an indispensable role in controlling erosion and floods, filtering pollutants from water, restoring groundwater and providing habitat for aquatic plants and animals. But millions of acres in Michigan have disappeared since European settlers arrived more than two centuries ago, and losses continue nearly 25 years after the state enacted a law to protect them. People have drained, filled and otherwise degraded wetlands, a term that can refer to marshes, swamps, bogs and more than a dozen other ecosystems. They have been converted to farms, housing developments, shopping centers and highways from the Upper Peninsula to points south of Detroit. It's uncertain how much acreage has been lost. But state and federal studies estimate that one-quarter to one-half of the state's wetlands were destroyed between 1780 and 1980, as Michigan evolved from pre-settlement to the modern era. Since then, federal and state laws have slowed - but not stopped - the trend. The net loss nationwide was 58,500 acres in 1997, the latest figure available, said Craig Faanes of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, which conducts a wetland inventory every 10 years. Michigan doesn't catalogue annual wetland losses, but Steven Chester, director of the Department of Environmental Quality, said they have been "fairly substantial" in the past couple of decades. For now, the DEQ says about 5.5 million acres - 16 percent of the state's land base - are wetlands, which state law defines as land with enough water to support wetland vegetation or aquatic life. Some wetlands are easily identified because of features such as standing water, cattails or lily pads. But grassy meadows, shrubby fields and even mature forests can qualify. The Legislature approved the Wetland Protect Act in 1979. Five years later, Michigan received permission from the EPA to administer on the state level the section of the federal Clean Water Act affecting wetlands. Thirty-seven of the state's local governments have wetland ordinances. Yet today wetlands remain under siege, many scientists and environmental activists say, because too few people appreciate their importance and regulations are riddled with loopholes and are poorly enforced. "We're losing wetlands at a slower clip than in 1979 but we're still losing," said Dave Dempsey, policy specialist for the Michigan Environmental Council. "Pressure on wetlands is growing in many parts of the state, especially in heavily populated areas where the only lands that aren't built on are wetlands. In many cases we're seeing them destroyed." Chester said he gets more complaints about wetlands than any other DEQ regulatory issue, some accusing the agency of doing too little to protect them and others of going too far. "I have heard from many developers who are irate and consider the law an impediment to their right to develop their property," he said. Under state law, anyone wanting to develop a wetland must apply for a permit. DEQ field staffers consider whether the project would be in the public interest, weighing its benefits against the environmental downsides and suggesting ways to reduce damage. Field staffers occasionally attend workshops to examine case studies and discuss ways to keep rulings consistent around the state, said Peg Bostwick, a DEQ wetland policy specialist. The agency is required to approve or reject most applications within 90 days. In a typical year, 85 to 90 percent of permit applications are approved, Bostwick said. In a 1997 study, the Michigan United Conservation Clubs examined 368 applications from three different years and found 74.7 percent had been approved. Only 6.5 percent were denied. Others were withdrawn by the applicant or had files closed for lack of information. Despite such high approval rates, those who believe the law violates property rights insist the bar is too high. "Virtually anything you might do (to a wetland) is regarded as against the public interest, and it's almost impossible for a property owner to prove that property rights should trump the public interest," said Diane Katz of the Mackinac Center for Public Policy, a research and advocacy institute in Midland. Environmentalists contend the high approval rates show regulators aren't tough enough. Bostwick said the numbers don't include cases where people decided against degrading a wetland because the DEQ warned they probably wouldn't get a permit. Also, she said, many permits are granted only after the DEQ helps landowners redesign projects to limit damage. For instance, last year the agency approved permits disturbing a combined 326 acres instead of the 450 acres originally requested. Many permits are for seawalls, driveways, residences or other projects that affect wetlands only incidentally, Bostwick said. But they add up, said Scott McEwen, former program director with the Tip of the Mitt Watershed Council, a Petoskey-based advocacy group. "It doesn't seem like a big impact. But it's this nibbling effect, the cumulative effect of thousands of different individual decisions, that is harming our water resources." Because of legal loopholes, many wetlands lack even the limited security of a permit, McEwen said. Under federal and state law, some farming, ranching and logging activities in wetlands require no permit. In a report last year, the EPA said Michigan exempts too many wetlands from regulation. Among them: wetlands smaller than five acres and "isolated" - having no direct link to a waterway such as a lake or river. Also exempt are isolated wetlands of any size in counties with fewer than 100,000 residents. In a Nov. 7 letter to the EPA, Chester said Michigan would begin regulating them when it finishes a statewide wetland inventory required under the 1979 law. But most smaller wetlands will remain outside DEQ jurisdiction. The state has been compiling information for the inventory for years but only recently began producing county-by-county wetland maps, attributing the delay to money, staff and technology shortages. Twenty-six of Michigan's 83 counties have been mapped, and the statewide inventory is scheduled for completion by Dec. 31, 2006. The complicated process involves blending data taken from a national wetlands index, federal records on soil types, and state land-use information, said DEQ analyst Amy Lounds. Aside from permitted and unregulated disturbances, wetlands are harmed when scofflaws develop them illegally or ignore permit stipulations. Environmentalists say the DEQ has done poorly at enforcing wetland law - particularly under former Gov. John Engler and his DEQ director, Russell Harding, who they say emphasized issuing permits instead of nabbing violators. "Enforcement was weak to non-existent," Dempsey said. "The law was often overlooked or waived during the last administration to allow development." Harding said he pushed staffers to take quicker action on permits for a variety of programs - including wetlands - because huge backlogs were drawing complaints from businesses and legislators. But that didn't mean allowing projects that violated the law, he said. "If someone wants to say I stressed getting permits out, I plead guilty - but not bad-quality permits," said Harding, now a consultant and lobbyist in Lansing. Chester, appointed by Democratic Gov. Jennifer Granholm, said he wants to toughen sanctions for lawbreakers and beef up enforcement. But there's little money to hire more staffers, he said. "Quite honestly, the budget is a huge constraint on what we can or cannot do," Chester said. Less costly, he said, would be an education campaign to boost public support for wetlands - which agencies and environmental groups are planning around the state law's silver anniversary next year. For their part, many business groups in Michigan say they can live with wetland protection laws but want more clarity. Developers "will get started on projects thinking there are no wetlands on the property, and they get halfway through and someone comes up and says, 'Hey, you have a wetland,"' said Doug Roberts Jr., director of environmental and regulatory affairs for the Michigan Chamber of Commerce. That can cause lengthy delays and boost costs as projects are redesigned, he said. "It's a great frustration." Landowners are responsible for determining whether their property has regulated wetlands. The DEQ provides background information and will provide on-site assessments for a fee, or the owner can hire a private consultant. Environmentalists believe there will be fewer misunderstandings as people learn to value wetlands, which many still consider worthless. They've long been feared as dark, dangerous places - settings for scary folk tales and monster movies. Cecil Bay Marsh is anything but frightening on a sunny afternoon as Madsen, the University of Michigan ecologist, catalogues its diverse plant life. For more than 30 years, scientists from the university's biological station near Pellston have tracked how changing water levels affect vegetation in the marsh, wedged between a rural road and the Lake Michigan waterfront. With the lake at its lowest ebb in decades, an 800-foot stretch of wetland is exposed - and the number of identifiable plant species has soared. "When the water comes back, the vegetation will act as a buffer to protect the shoreline from erosion," Madsen said. "It provides habitat for insects, crayfish, birds, a spawning area for fish. "It's all part of the cycle of nature, been going on for thousands of years. We just need to learn to appreciate it." |
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