Fish Kills, Fishermen and Pfiesteria
on North Carolina’s Neuse River
By Rick Dove

From the time I was nine years old the only thing I ever really wanted to do was to work on the water, fly a seaplane, be a tugboat captain, fisherman, whatever. But my folks talked me out of that; “you gotta feed your family, get an education.” One thing led to another and I went to law school and then volunteered for military service to avoid the draft. I liked it so much I stayed for 25 years. But through it all, even in Vietnam when the rockets where raining in, I never turned loose of that childhood dream to work on the water.

So when I retired from the Marine Corps in 1987, that’s exactly what I did. I took off my uniform, put on a bunch of old cloths, bought 800 crab pots and fishing nets, got in my boat and launched my career as a commercial fisherman on the Neuse River.

Prior to 1989, the Neuse was a fisherman’s paradise. The fish were healthy and the waters were clean. I remember a lot of people saying to me, “Why in the world with a law degree would you become a fisherman?” I would always say, “It’s like hunting treasure and it’s in my blood.” But my parents were right; you still need to be able to feed your family. That’s where the rub comes in. I can remember when the Neuse River started to turn ugly, just before the big kill in 1991. Many fishermen could already see that the fish were in trouble and that our river was quickly becoming a “paradise lost.”

Paradise Lost
In 1991, the Neuse River suffered one the largest fish kills of any river in America. In a matter of days during September 1991, we lost over one billion fish. The fishermen looked at what was happening in disbelief — millions upon millions of fish covered in open, bleeding sores. Some had holes completely through their bodies. No one had a clue as to the cause. Oxygen levels were normal and nothing previously known could explain what was happening. Before it was over, the river and its beaches would be covered with dead and dying fish of all types, but the Menhaden were hit the hardest. The stench from these rotting fish filled the hot summer air with a putrid smell so foul that only the bravest ventured outside. On the north shore of the river a bulldozer worked late into the night burying as many of the now bony creatures as possible.

State officials came down to look at the state of the river. I’ll never forget it. They stood there in silence shaking their heads. They didn’t have a clue what was going on. And it wasn’t just the fish. I had sores on my body, the same as the fish and my son was sick too. I was suffering memory loss and I didn’t know why. I turned myself into the hospital thinking I had a brain tumor because I couldn’t remember things anymore. It was really bad. Other fishermen were complaining about similar problems but no one was linking it to the water.

Then a University of North Carolina scientist, Dr. JoAnn Burkholder, figured out that nutrient pollution was causing the spread of a one-cell animal — a creature so tiny you can put 100,000 of them on the head of a pin. This creature was producing a neurotoxin in the water that was also getting into the air. In the water the toxin paralyzes fish so that the creature can get to blood cells and suck out the contents. Pfiesteria is, simply, a microscopic killer vampire. When the news hit, people got frightened.

The state shut down the river. The fish market crashed. The news of Pfiesteria and what it does to people — the memory loss and respiratory problems — spread. The tourism industry stalled and real estate values dropped. Properties along the river couldn’t even be sold. The pain and suffering that reverberated through the community was unbelievable. It was one of the most terrible events I’ve ever witnessed in my life.

By that time I had become the Neuse Riverkeeper — I started in 1993. And if there’s anything that was satisfying to me at the time it was that I would have my chance to get even. We knew where the problems were coming from. We had the ability to fix them.

Listening to the River
Another thing happened that is critical to this story. There was a public meeting scheduled for July 1995 to address water quality problems in the Neuse River, not related to fish kills but to algae. There was so much vegetation growing in the river in the summer of 1995 that people couldn’t get up some of the major tributaries to the Neuse in their boats. It would clog their propellers and their engines would burn out. They complained so much that the Mayor of New Bern and state officials set up a public meeting to discuss the problem. But they had to postpone the meeting because Hurricane Felix came through. They rescheduled the meeting for September 4, 1995. I truly believe that the river made that hurricane happen. Because the very day of the rescheduled meeting was the day the nightmare of 1991 was repeated.

Fish kills on the Neuse had been building in intensity since early August. Once again, on September 4, 1995, fishermen watched as dead and dying fish covered the shores of the Neuse — 200 million dead was one estimate. In 1991 every Menhaden in the river had died, and a total of a billion fish were killed. This 1995 fish kill wouldn’t be as big — but only because now the fishery had not yet recovered from 1991. Would things be different this time? This time the Neuse had someone to champion her cause, a Riverkeeper and a corps of more than 200 active volunteers patrolling and advocating for the river. This time things would be different — and they were.
On the evening of September 4, 1995, the Town Hall meeting room in New Bern was filled with about 1,000 people. At no time in the history of North Carolina had that many people attended this type of meeting. When Jonathan Howes, Secretary for Health and Environment, and his staff walked in, you could see the concern on their faces. People were unruly, they were angry and this time it wasn’t just the fishermen. It was the business owners, tourism officials, local elected officials and others from nearly every walk of life. They wanted answers.

Secretary Howes and his staff were on the stage along with a few other scientists. Most of them didn’t have a clue as to what was happening in the river. As the Neuse Riverkeeper, I was able to relay to our visitors how the river was suffering. Everyone else there already knew. The only one who provided any real answers was Dr. Burkholder, who again confirmed that the fish kill was caused by Pfiesteria. After the presentations the panel entertained questions from the audience. The line of people was very long. Everyone had questions and no one wanted to leave before they got some answers. It was getting late and there was no way all the questions were going to be answered. People began to raise their fists; they began to shout—and the language wasn’t pretty. It was all that Mayor Tom Bayliss of New Bern could do to maintain order in the auditorium. I don’t think anybody but Mayor Bayliss could have pulled that off.

Secretary Howes and his staff just made excuses. They denied any connection between what was going on with the river and health problems. Fortunately for us, Secretary Howes had agreed to go for a boat ride the next day.

I remember the next morning just as plain as day. On the way down to the dock Secretary Howes leaned over to me and said, “Rick, what’s that smell?” I answered, “You’re gonna see for yourself.”

It was rainy and misty; you could hardly see. The skipper navigated the Riverkeeper boat to the middle of the river by compass and depth finder. The secretary stepped over to the rail and looked down at the water. The fish were all around the boat doing death spirals — spinning out of control in the water as the neurotoxin took effect. Chunks of their bodies were missing, a hopelessly sad scene. No one said a word. It was the river’s turn to speak. Secretary Howes sat silently for about ten minutes, then said, “Take me to shore, I’ve seen enough.” When we got back he went directly into the Neuse River Foundation office and called the governor. He said he told the governor that the Neuse River was broken and needed to be fixed.

The Long Walk
The governor shut down a major section of the river. The fish markets crashed. The news of Pfiesteria and what it does to people — the memory loss and respiratory problems — spread like a potent virus. The tourism industry stalled and real estate values went belly-up. The pain and suffering that reverberated through the community was unbelievable. It was one of the most terrible events I’ve ever witnessed in my life.

But state officials still did not take full responsibility for protecting the public and addressing the problem. As state marine patrols were out there chasing people off the river, politicians were holding fish cookouts on the shore in New Bern to try and convince people the fish were safe to eat.

All of us at the Neuse River Foundation were out there, putting our health on the line, and we made a promise that those poor fish were going to count for something. We didn’t hold back. Our community was in danger. Fishermen were getting hurt. That was very painful for me because I am still one of them. For these fishermen there would be no treasure hunt — there would be no paycheck.

Later, Governor Hunt came to New Bern. I was there as Riverkeeper along with the President of the Neuse River Foundation and a few others to meet with him. He wanted to talk privately with us but there were so many people around that we had to ask him to walk out on the dock. There were things we wanted to say and we wanted it to be private. We told the media to stay back and walked out onto the pier. To this day the event is remembered as “the long walk on the short dock.”

Government InAction
We told him, “Governor, this is your fault. You’re responsible for this and so are the members of the General Assembly. Now you have this horrific problem on your hands. The river’s dying and you let it happen. No more excuses. It has to be fixed!”

At that point the politicians took over. At first, instead of talking about reducing pollution, all they talked about were quick solutions. Members of the General Assembly came in and formed a Fish Kill Committee, referred to by some as the “‘Kill More Fish Committee.” They were talking about doing really stupid things like blowing holes in the Outer Banks where the Neuse waters empty into the ocean so the river could flush itself.

Ultimately the federal government stepped in with about $200 million to help the river. The state came up with a bunch of programs aimed at reducing nutrient pollution. Eleven wastewater discharge pipes were pulled out of the river. A lot of things did happen between 1995 and 2000 to fix the river. Fish kills did decline. The Neuse River Foundation and the Neuse Riverkeeper made good on our promise to those fish — we made those deaths count for something.

The real problem now is that time has passed and apathy has set in. As soon as the headlines died down and the tourism industry stopped screaming, things started to go back to the way they were. Many of the programs that the state implemented ten years ago are no longer being enforced. The Neuse is endangered once again.

Now when fish die in the Neuse River the state sends out their Rapid Response Team — locals refer to them as the ‘Rabid Response Team.’ When they go out to investigate fish kills they come in and report that the fish were hit by lightning. They actually say that. I don’t know how lightning puts sores on fish. They say the sores on the fish are from rough water that raked the fish against the sediments on the bottom. Some of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard in your life are the excuses that the state is now giving for fish that die on the Neuse. It’s all about covering it up, keeping the public satisfied that the river is all right. It’s a policy of deceit. The same policy that led to the major fish kills in the first place. We have come full circle.

The state has not followed through on the nutrient reduction programs because of all the pressure from some of the very same people who were complaining back in 1995, the tourism and development guys. All the people who suffered the economic pain and helped us get the state to set up pollution control programs now want to put pollution pipes discharging partially treated sewage back into the river. They want more sewer capacity and the easiest way to get it is to put the pipes back into the river.

But we will not allow greed and short memories to prevail.

Fishable Future
Through advocacy and leadership we’ve made a lot of progress restoring the Neuse. We’ve used litigation to upgrade failing wastewater treatment plants; we’ve removed 11 major wastewater dischargers and forced the state to set enforceable limits for nutrient pollution. Today, there are new buffer rules and sedimentation regulations set up to protect the river. We have also brought the construction of new industrial hog factories to a screeching halt — proving that animal factories can’t compete with family farms unless they are allowed to break the law.

But the Neuse’s restoration is far from complete. Today, the Neuse is faced with numerous challenges both old and new. Untreated fecal waste from the basin’s swine produce the equivalent waste of 20 million people, routinely discharged untreated to the river. Developers are demanding construction of new wastewater treatment plants that will dump more nutrients into the river and regulations to enforce existing environmental laws go unenforced.
But the Neuse is in the hands of two Riverkeepers fully equipped to handle the job. Together, these two river advocates bring more than 600 pounds of muscle, 13 feet of height and the kind of grit that would put the likes of John Wayne in awe.

Today’s Neuse Riverkeepers, Larry and Dean, work on the water in classic bulldog Riverkeeper style. They have taken over the decades-old battle to keep the Neuse open and safe for fishing. She’s in good hands — of that I am certain.

When Fish Die
Advocates face a dilemma when fish die. The initial response of any advocate is to go public, raise hell and make every dead fish count in the fight for restoration. To be sure, protecting public health demands such action. But there are consequences. As bad news and river closings shut down their markets, fishermen are victimized along with the fish. Property values decline and tourist dollars dry up.

The better approach is to get in front of the problem — prevent fish kills from happening in the first place. To be sure, this is far more difficult. The solution is to get state and federal officials to act before crisis hits. The solution is making sure that advocacy is unwavering and effective so no one forgets the risks that pollution presents to the waterway and surrounding communities. The solution is ensuring that no one believes that polluted water, sick fishermen, wrecked businesses or dying fish are acceptable. Solving the problem is what Waterkeepers on the Neuse, Chesapeake Bay and around the world do on a daily basis.

Pocomoke Stocks Close Down
Fish kills and Pfiesteria are a reoccurring national problem. The Chesapeake Bay and Pocomoke River are home to one of the nation’s most productive fisheries: fat, salty, succulent oysters, blue crabs and species of fish too numerous to mention. It’s a centuries-old tradition and a vital economic engine, generating about $750 million each year.

In early August 1997, watermen on the Pocomoke River began to observe fish swimming erratically, their bodies covered with bleeding sores. Between August 4 and 9 between 10,000 and 30,000 fish perished. Maryland Governor Glendening immediately ordered a team of health experts to the river. Fishermen, residents and even the researchers suffered skin lesions and rashes, nausea, burning eyes, headaches, respiratory problems and memory loss. Researchers confirmed the cause of the fish kill and health problems as Pfiesteria.

The governor closed the Pocomoke and the already embattled bay fisheries crashed. Restaurants and seafood houses were stuck with a product that wouldn’t sell. Many dealers and restaurants, unbelievably, had signs in their windows proclaiming their seafood was safe to eat — it was from North Carolina.

Today, the Chesapeake Bay and Pocomoke River are still plagued by nutrient pollution, most of which comes from industrial poultry producers. Waterkeeper Alliance and our 15 Waterkeepers in the Chesapeake Bay watershed are taking on industrial meat factories and any other polluter that stands in the way of a health bay.