Yesterday I took a two-hour of the Duwamish waterway, courtesy of the Port of Seattle, who each year offer a “Port 101” series to keep Seattleites informed on what being a port city means in the 21st century. (I can also recommend the Ship Canal tour.) We embarked from the Bell Harbor Marina, at Pier 66.
Argosy Cruises provided the boat. Joining us were representatives of the Environmental Protection Agency, Duwamish River Cleanup Coalition, Environmental Coalition of South Seattle, and Muckleshoot Tribe. Sitting next to me was a woman working in one of Boeing‘s environmental departments. Why all the enviro-brass? Because besides being scenic, the Lower Duwamish Waterway is a Superfund site.
Port Commissioner Gael Tarleton (right) welcomed us aboard our “floating classroom” as we set off to see the Duwamish industrial area.
Today, this area represents 80 percent of Seattle’s industrial land. The Port says the industries here provide more than 80,000 jobs, and each year the total payroll comes to about $2.5 billion.
Five and a half miles long, the Duwamish Waterway is a straightened–and straitened–version of the original, meandering Duwamish River. It’s been dredged to allow large ships passage, and its shores are lined by a sometimes uneasy collection of businesses, homeowners, tribal members, and wildlife.
The Port’s George Blomberg (right) held off a brief bout of seasickness as we crossed a choppy Elliott Bay to tell us about area’s original conditions, and the work the Port has been doing to restore habitats.
“Before,” the area was home to over a thousand acres of tidal marshes, and over a thousand acres of swamp, with hundreds of acres of tidal flats. If I heard Blomberg correctly, at low tide you could walk from West Seattle to South Seattle. After, came shipping. Blomberg said that the Muckleshoot Indians have told him that the Port is continuing the marine trade that was always there, just with bigger canoes.
But when you build–at the time–the world’s largest artificial island (350 acres), things change. Harbor Island was built in 1909. Todd Pacific Shipyards came soon after, in 1918, and is still out there, keeping the Washington State Ferry system in boats, for one thing. Below is one in drydock.
It’s hard to reconcile the natural beauty with what lies beneath. For decades, the effects of industrial pollution accumulated, visibly and invisibly. There was a time when people were not aware of the harmful effects of PCBs, for instance. And there was a time when it must have seemed that no one would know if a tank leaked a bit. Soil was contaminated with arsenic, dioxins, and multisyllabic constructions (e.g., polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons), and all of it washed (or was dumped) into the Duwamish, where it settled into sedimentary layers.
Right about this point in the tour, someone asked if it was safe to eat fish from the Duwamish. “From” is the key word, there. An EPA investigation determined that shellfish and “resident” fish are loaded with unsafe concentrations of pollutants. The hatchery salmon that return to the river are generally fine, since they spend little time in it. Still, there is a suggested intake of one salmon meal per week.
Currently the EPA, Department of Ecology, the Port, the City of Seattle, the City of Burien, King County, and Boeing are all involved in determining who’s going to pay for what in the clean up. For now, the plan is to tackle the “hottest” spots: Slip 4, Boeing Plant 2 (“The Boeing Company is currently investigating and cleaning up hazardous waste at Boeing Plant 2 under a Resource Conservation and Recovery Act Order”), Terminal 117.
It’s an enormously complex situation because of the logistical difficulty and expense, the fact that some former polluters don’t exist to sue, and the ongoing pollution that comes not just from industry, but from every inch of the 32 square miles that drains into the Duwamish. Stormwater runoff, it may surprise you to know, is now one of the biggest contributors to the Duwamish’s ill health.
On a sunny day, it’s hard to credit the saga of ecological damage you hear. But if so, go talk to the 1,200 residents of Georgetown or the 3,700 residents of South Park. The story is far from over. And the negotiations between industrial entities that have nowhere else to go and their neighbors, who object to living in Manufactured Landscapes, are bound to need updating.
The good news is that the area, after three decades or more of recovery, is no longer lethal to wildlife. A study of osprey nesting in the area found that while they were carrying a certain level of toxic burden, they were able to reproduce. Of course, osprey migrate, so they don’t live on the Duwamish full-time.
Down the banks of the Duwamish, more and more public access spots are cropping up. Bits of land that simply offered “access” are being developed into parks, beaches, and fishing piers.
There remains the larger question of access. The Duwamish is a not inconsequential body of water, and while it’s great to have more access to it, the failure to maintain, repair, and prepare for replacement of connecting infrastructure has had visible effects.
The loss of the South Park Bridge (below) leaves the community with less mobility.
The South Park Bridge’s spans, now removed, are a reminder of the consequences of neglect. Thankfully, there’s still another bridge left.
You may not spend much time thinking about it, but Seattle’s deep-water port is not going to be resigned to the pages of history any time soon. On a given day, you’ll see ships carrying goods for Hawaii and Alaska. The barge below is taking a cement truck up north. It’ll travel from town to town, dropping supplies off. A shallow bottom allows it to make its way down rivers of only a few feet in depth. Another ship, piled high with refrigerated containers, will return with salmon.
