The Lagoons : Developers Wage Tug of War With Guardians of Coastal Wetlands in North County

They called it Captain Nemo’s Secret Harbor, and Bill Dean remembers it well.

“The idea was to turn Batiquitos Lagoon into a massive water-theme amusement park,” said Dean, a Leucadia resident who lives about a mile south of the lagoon.

The plan, put forth by a Beverly Hills entrepreneur in 1975, envisioned turning the still, brackish bays of Batiquitos into a sort of aquatic Disneyland. In addition to a hotel, convention center, several restaurants and a sprawling residential community, plans included a roller coaster and a ride that featured submarines chugging around several miniature harbors.

“Needless to say, we were definitely not amused by the proposed amusement park,” said Dean, who today is president of the nonprofit Batiquitos Lagoon Foundation. After winning the informal endorsement of county planning officials, the project was overwhelmed by community protest.

Captain Nemo may be history, but the battle over North County’s lagoons rages on.

While the state Coastal Act and other laws prohibit the outright destruction of California’s wetlands, the six lagoons that lie like a strand of pearls along the coast from Oceanside to southern Del Mar remain threatened, caught in a seemingly endless tug of war between equally determined environmentalists and developers.

In the eyes of state resource management officials, North County represents the final battleground for coastal wetlands in Southern California. At one time, Mission Bay, Newport Bay, Marina del Rey and the harbors of Los Angeles and Long Beach were all wetlands. But development pressures have eaten away at those estuaries, eliminating them or vastly reducing their size.

So with six, relatively undisturbed coastal lagoons--sometimes described as “museum pieces”--in their backyard, North County residents have a chance to make a last stand for the wetlands, state officials say.

The effort will not be an easy one. Erosion from decades of upstream development has dumped tons of silt into the lagoons, smothering much of the plant and animal life that inhabit their briny waters and tidal mud flats while vastly accelerating their geological demise.

The billionaire Hunt brothers of Texas and numerous other property owners have ambitious plans for the shores of North County’s lagoons--hotels, universities, residential communities and other developments likely to take their toll on the fragile areas.

At the same time, state officials and local activists say the Coastal Act and other laws designed to protect the lagoons are vulnerable to developers seeking special interest legislation or politicians opposed to a statewide Coastal Commission.

“There’s no question that this is a very, very critical era for North County’s lagoons,” said Alyse Jacobson, manager of the state Coastal Conservancy’s Resource Enhancement Program. “There are a lot of major development proposals out there that could spell the doom of those lagoons. North County is really at a crossroads, and within five years, we’ll know whether it will become another Los Angeles or whether the residents have learned from their neighbors’ mistakes.”

Although their rather unmajestic vegetation, muddy shores and murky waters may not be a thing of beauty to the average beholder, lagoons and other wetlands are highly productive ecosystems overflowing with life, biologists say.

Their waters are a genetic reservoir, giving birth to the seeds of an intricate coastal food chain. Lagoons also serve as spawning grounds and nurseries for many commercially important species of fish--salmon, striped bass and halibut among them.

Millions of migratory birds rest and feed at California wetlands, including the North County lagoons, along their annual journey south from nesting grounds in Alaska and Canada.

Biologists say that wetlands are poorly understood pieces of a complex global ecological puzzle.

“Our knowledge of wetlands is growing by leaps and bounds each year,” said Eric Metz of the National Audubon Society, the former wetlands coordinator for the state Coastal Commission. “So at the very least it’s worth holding onto these things until we can get a better grasp on their importance on a grander scale.”

To some, North County’s lagoons have still another value--as precious windows of open space, lush pockets of nature that give a geographical identity to the north coast communities and provide visual relief along an increasingly populated freeway corridor.

“Drive up past Camp Pendleton and into Orange County and you’ll quickly see how valuable our lagoons are just as little breaths of fresh air along the hectic freeway,” Dean said. “They’re also an important part of our heritage--a sort of subtle reminder of what an area undisturbed by man was like.”

Wetlands have not always been so revered. Historically, in fact, they were regarded as troublesome obstacles to development. Those who settled this country viewed the once-abundant resource as a sort of intertidal no-man’s land--a smelly, mosquito-infested swamp that had to be drained, paved or dredged to be of any real use.

For decades, that perception fueled the abuse of lagoons and neighboring lowlands as convenient dumping grounds for sewage, trash and other pollutants. Until the environmental movement gained popularity in the mid-1960s, few protested their destruction or conversion into marinas and waterfront residential communities.

The statistics are staggering. Nationally, more than half of the 215 million acres of wetlands that existed at the time of this country’s settlement have been destroyed. Between the mid-1950s and the mid-1970s, 9 million acres of wetlands--or an area about four times the size of San Diego County--were either drained for crop production or paved and modified for urban development.

In California, the rate of loss has been even more alarming. More than 90% of the state’s coastal and inland wetland areas--estimated at 3 million to 5 million acres--has been destroyed, according to a 1984 report prepared for an Assembly subcommittee on natural resources. Along the state’s 1,100-mile coast, only one-fourth of the 300,000 acres of wetlands that once existed remain.

The greatest losses have occurred in Los Angeles and Orange counties, where seven major coastal wetlands once totaled 17,300 acres. Marina del Rey, Newport Bay and most of what now are the harbors of Long Beach and Los Angeles were once wetlands. In all, 3,000 acres remain, and those that were spared bear deep scars of adjacent development.

“Back in the ‘30s, ‘40s and ‘50s, when growth in Los Angeles was booming, nobody stopped to wonder if there was anything valuable about wetlands, which were referred to as ugly wastelands that would make lovely marinas,” Jacobson said. “The only reason there’s anything left at all in L.A. and Orange County is because some of these estuaries were used for oil drilling and consequently left unfilled.”

Examples of man’s eagerness to tame the wetlands abound in San Diego County as well. An extensive salt marsh at the mouth of the San Luis Rey River was wiped out to make room for Oceanside Harbor 20 years ago, while Mission Bay--which once contained as many as 4,500 acres of wetlands--was dredged and converted into the aquatic playground it is today.

The 25-acre Famosa Slough, a site near the Sports Arena that is the object of an ongoing battle between developers who hope to build on the property and environmentalists who want it preserved as a park, and a few smaller marshy areas are all that remain of the historic tidelands of Mission Bay.

The county’s largest wetland, San Diego Bay, has been steadily reduced to a tenth of its original acreage, primarily by construction of port and harbor facilities beginning in the early 1900s. Indeed, aside from North County’s six lagoons and several healthy marshes on the Camp Pendleton Marine base, only the Tijuana Estuary--a state ecological reserve that spans 1,182 acres--has survived relatively undisturbed, despite efforts by Imperial Beach to turn the area into a marina.

“The bulldozers haven’t left much behind,” said Joan Jackson, a local Sierra Club leader and chairwoman of the Los Penasquitos Lagoon Foundation.

While the Coastal Act and other legislative shields have halted the dramatic losses of California’s wetlands, North County’s lagoons and others that have escaped development are not safe yet. Wetlands no longer are in danger of being converted into parking lots, but they remain vulnerable to an equally lethal foe: siltation from development upstream.

Although lagoons are geologically destined to fill up with silt and become meadowlands during their life span, that natural process has been drastically accelerated by man. Development in North County’s highly erosive watersheds--some of which extend as many as 60 miles inland--has substantially increased the load of sediment swept downstream and dumped in the lagoons.

Under natural conditions, the tide purges a lagoon of the silt. But construction of the railroad, the coast highway and Interstate 5 has effectively strangled North County’s lagoons--blocking or narrowing their mouths and eliminating or reducing their exchange with the ocean.

Siltation is regarded as such a critical threat to the health of the wetlands that the Buena Vista Lagoon Foundation operates an “erosion-control hot line.”

“The idea is, any time someone sees mud sliding down the street, they call the hot line and we get on the back of whoever’s responsible,” said Regg Antle, a founder and past president of the 380-member Buena Vista Lagoon organization. “You’d be amazed how much silt moves through our streets. The hot line is only a stopgap measure, but it helps a little and raises people’s awareness of the problem.”

To stem the river of sediment flowing into lagoons, cities must enact strict anti-erosion ordinances that force developers in the watershed to construct and maintain siltation basins and prohibit grading during the rainy season, state resource management officials say.

Because siltation and other human actions have so thoroughly upset the natural processes at North County’s lagoons, restoration and long-term management are imperative if the lagoons are to survive as healthy ecosystems capable of supporting bird and marine life, biologists say.

Restoration, however, is a new and delicate science, and biologists involved in the efforts admit they are feeling their way along--learning more about what works and what doesn’t with every project they complete.

“In a lot of ways, it’s purely guesswork at this point,” said Ted Winfield, a biological consultant who has worked on an enhancement plan for Los Penasquitos Lagoon and is one of several scientists developing regional management proposals for San Diego County wetlands. “Aside from armoring the mouths to keep them constantly open to the ocean, we don’t have any firm conclusions about what techniques work best.”

Complicating restoration, Winfield said, are the distinctive conditions found at each lagoon; the proper approach will vary according to the mix of species, hydrological peculiarities and geography of each.

More difficult still is reaching agreement on restoration objectives for the lagoons. Property owners who dream of building hotels or residential projects on their shores, for example, usually seek to enhance a lagoon’s aesthetic qualities and therefore offer to finance various “improvement” programs that might not necessarily improve a lagoon at all.

Bird watchers, meanwhile, may advocate a restoration project that would enhance a lagoon’s appeal to migratory ducks. And marine biologists eager to increase a lagoon’s usefulness to the ocean’s fisheries often have yet another goal in mind.

“A developer who wants to create a reflecting pool probably isn’t going to appreciate an enhancement project that focuses on the overall health of the marsh,” said Scott Englehorn, president of the San Elijo Alliance, a citizens’ group that looks out for that lagoon. “Sorting out the competing interests, finding common ground and deciding just what habitat you want to create is not an easy task.”

Lagoon restoration, often an ambitious endeavor requiring complex engineering, dredging, construction of water-control structures and sometimes the replanting of an entire battered marsh, is also costly.

A 1983 dredging project that removed more than 180,000 cubic yards of silt from Buena Vista Lagoon cost $1 million. The same year, nearly $2 million was spent on the largest restoration effort in California--at San Dieguito Lagoon, which was purchased by the state Department of Fish and Game and reopened to the sea.

Financing for such projects is usually a collective effort between the state and local jurisdictions, although at Los Penasquitos Lagoon restoration is being paid for through fees that developers of North City West are required to contribute to a fund administered by the state Coastal Conservancy.

While local lagoon activists struggle to protect lagoons from the effects of development and lobby for wetland restoration projects, others are trying to dismantle those coastal resource protections that already exist. They have had some success.

Exceptions to the Coastal Act are frequently permitted, with the level of enforcement of the act in constant flux depending on the political whim of the Coastal Commission. Last year, for example, coastal commissioners approved the Chula Vista Bayfront Plan against the recommendation of their staff planners, a decision cited by local activists as an example of the unpredictable environmental standards the coastal panel has required cities and developers to meet. The plan, rejected on environmental grounds by two past coastal commissions, includes construction of a 400-room hotel on the edge of a marsh used as a nesting ground by two endangered birds.

Further, there are numerous and persistent legislative attempts to weaken the Coastal Act and other laws, and Gov. George Deukmejian has stated publicly that he sees no need for a permanent Coastal Commission.

“There has already been a tremendous erosion of environmental protection throughout the state, and every year we face any number of bills seeking to weaken or displace the Coastal Act,” said Coastal Commission Deputy Director Peter Douglas. “Unfortunately, you cannot save the coast in one action. It’s an ongoing process that requires constant vigilance on the part of the citizens.”

Despite the pressures, North County’s lagoons can and do benefit from the minimum standard of environmental protection that the Coastal Act provides--a shield denied most of Southern California’s wetlands when they were coming of age. The lagoons also have dedicated guardians--local residents who have formed well-organized lobbying groups and vowed to preserve at least a hint of wilderness amid the steadily expanding urban sprawl of North County.

These coalitions constitute what state resource management officials describe as an invaluable chorus of voices insisting that local leaders uphold environmental standards and place a high priority on protecting the lagoons.

“These people are not only our local eyes but they form an environmental constituency essential to guarantee that safeguards protecting the wetlands are upheld,” said Laurie Marcus of the state Coastal Conservancy, who is coordinating restoration work at Buena Vista and San Dieguito lagoons. “The laws may be on the books, but unfortunately it’s largely up to the citizens to make sure they’re enforced.”

Although their tactics and motivations vary, the lagoon’s allies generally deliver the same message.

“What we’re trying to say is, ‘Look, there’s a ton of land where you can put up those tacky houses, so why ruin these few precious areas?’ ” said Anne Omsted, a founder of the Batiquitos Lagoon Foundation and executive director of the Los Penasquitos Lagoon Foundation. “These lagoons are priceless, central to the whole ambiance and serenity of North County. To lose them would be a monumental tragedy.”

In addition to having loyal friends, North County’s lagoons undoubtedly will benefit from the blossoming interest in wetlands around the world, an interest that has increased pressure to preserve and study the few marshes and estuaries that remain.

“Wetlands are not just something for the local scientists at SDSU to study, but contain the basic protein reserves for entire nations,” said Scott McCreary, a doctoral candidate at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and a consultant on coastal issues for the United Nations and the Agency for International Development. “Within the last decade, many developing nations, which often have capital cities built right on top of a huge estuary, have become aware of the value of wetlands and have begun to grapple with the competing forces in their coastal zones.”

Ecuador, Australia, Sri Lanka, Thailand, the Republic of Seychelles and Indonesia are among nations wrestling with conflicts over wetlands, McCreary said, adding that California’s coastal management program is quickly becoming a model not only for the United States but for other countries as well.

North County’s lagoons also have benefited from some good luck. Because the area is one of the last in Southern California to experience the development boom, its resources can benefit from today’s higher environmental standards and from knowledge gained through mistakes made in the past.

“North County’s wetlands, and those who care about them, are extremely fortunate simply because growth down here has lagged several decades behind L.A. and Orange County,” said Chuck Damm ), assistant district director of the Coastal Commission in San Diego. “By the time it started skyrocketing here, the environmental movement was in full swing and the lagoons had defenders. If it had happened after World War II, like in L.A., it’s questionable how much would remain.”

Further, state officials and local activists say they are convinced that the general public will continue to support the preservation of coastal wetlands. As evidence they cite the passage last June of Proposition 19, also known as the Wetlands Bond Act, by 64% of California’s voters. The act was an $85-million general obligation bond for acquisition and restoration of inland and coastal fish and wildlife habitats.

“It was a very important signal to us that maybe we’re doing something right, that people appreciate us and don’t just regard us as these eco-freaks,” said Jacobson of the Coastal Conservancy.

Finally, local environmental leaders also herald the defeat of the proposed San Diego to Los Angeles Bullet Train--scrapped largely because of protest over its impact on the environment--as a sign that county residents will tolerate no major meddling with the lagoons.

Although the Hunt brothers and other developers likely will succeed in building large developments on the shores of North County’s lagoons, those fighting to protect the wetlands say that, overall, they are optimistic about the future.

Ten years ago, these activists say, some local leaders were still talking about converting the lagoons into marinas--and even considered allowing Captain Nemo to set up shop. But today, largely because of refugees from Los Angeles and other congested regions of Southern California, North County is home to people highly sensitive to the threat unchecked development poses to their quality of life.

The lagoons can benefit from that sensitivity, the environmentalists say, because although many residents may take lagoons for granted or mispronounce their names, the specter of a landscape without them is something few like to envision.

Regg Antle of the Buena Vista Lagoon Foundation said, “When people ask me why we should be fighting to preserve these things, I respond like this: ‘Fifteen years from now when North County is all built out and there’s nothing but a sea of houses all the way from the coast to Interstate 15, wouldn’t it be nice to have a few places--like these lagoons--left to enjoy?’ ”

Monday: North County residents have formed lobbying groups dedicated to saving the lagoons.