SAN DIEGO -- At what is supposed to be a nature preserve, used condoms and hypodermic needles litter the riverside. Just down the way, homeless people camp.
 |
||
 |
GILBERT W. ARIAS / P-I | |
| David Hogan of the Center for Biological Diversity, based in San Diego, walks through one of many dump sites on Otay Mesa, part of the city's habitat conservation plan. | ||
Another preserve, a glorified median strip alongside Interstate 8, is being invaded by non-native iceplant. At a neighboring construction site, a jackhammer punctuates the roar of traffic.
Near the Mexican border, dirt bike tracks crisscross a dried-up vernal pool -- evidence that a toll is being taken on extremely rare plants and the eggs of the endangered San Diego fairy shrimp.
All three spots are earmarked for permanent protection under a federally approved habitat conservation plan. But eight years into the 50-year plan, the promised financing source has never materialized and officials are struggling to maintain the preserves.
With the sprawl of Tijuana as his backdrop, environmentalist David Hogan crouches at the edge of the vernal pool, now hidden in the dust of summer. Every year, after winter rains, it becomes a luxuriant oasis, full of life.
"It's magical," Hogan said. "When there's fairy shrimp swimming in a vernal pool, you take children there and see their eyes light up."
But all around is litter: cartons from 12-packs of Bud Light, empty cans of paint, motor oil and Super Fix-A-Fat, discarded tires, trashed cabinets. Hogan cringes.
"It's so depressing coming out here."
On the map local officials submitted to the federal government to win approval for the city's 320-square-mile habitat plan, this place is shaded dark green -- a preserve called Otay Mesa.
Development permitted under the plan is rolling along, but Otay Mesa hasn't been protected. Still partly private, it cannot be fenced off.
Touted as a model by politicians, San Diego's plan instead became a symbol of the government's practice of approving habitat plans without ensuring that there would be enough money to acquire and protect crucial lands.
 |
||
|
GILBERT W. ARIAS / P-I | |
| Rainwater floods a vernal pool of the sort that once was home to the endangered San Diego fairy shrimp. The crush of development has destroyed 97 percent of the area's vernal pools, and protection of what remains is in doubt. | ||
Ninety-seven percent of the area's vernal pools already have been paved over. The plan calls for protecting the rest, but the city -- facing a billion-dollar shortfall in its pension accounts and related investigations by federal prosecutors and securities regulators -- has failed to deliver a regionwide funding source.
Hogan, who works for the national Center for Biological Diversity and who is challenging the plan in court, said he is hard-pressed to find a worse example of poor conservation planning than here in his home county.
Otay Mesa is some of the nation's most biologically rich acreage. Its fairy shrimp are thought to be survivors of millions of years of massive change.
Scientists think that when the oceans retreated, the shrimp adapted -- going from birth to egg-laying in just two weeks. Eggs lie in wait for the next spring's rains. But how long will the eons-old cycle go on?
"Here's one of the single most important vernal pools in the county, and yet it's in limbo," Hogan said. "At one point, this was a functioning ecosystem. Now we're just doing triage and trying to prevent extinction."
'Bare bones' budget
San Diego's conservation plan sought to keep the Endangered Species Act from crippling construction. That part of the plan worked.
"There was so much emphasis on just getting the deal done, so much pressure from development," said Judith Layzer, a researcher at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
 |
||
The plan called for preserving 52,000 acres out of 206,000. That sounds like a lot -- but 71 percent of that "protected" land already was owned by the city, in parks, water-reservoir buffers, roadside strips and other lands that would never be developed.
Developers agreed to preserve 9,300 acres. The remainder was the responsibility of the federal, state, county and city governments.
The city pledged to buy 2,400 acres, but later realized that the original plan neglected key sensitive sites. So the goal was boosted to 5,000 acres, said Keith Greer, the city's deputy planning director. About half of that has been acquired to date, he said.
"It's really ambitious considering the context" -- a city that encourages development, Layzer said. "But I'd be stunned if it's enough to preserve viable ecosystems." Two crucial failings, she said, are the plan's lack of criteria to determine whether it is working and inadequate monitoring efforts.
The city promised to join San Diego County and neighboring towns to create the needed regional funding source.
Even though that still hasn't happened, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service says everything is going fine.
"If they never come up with a regional funding source, they're still required to fund their plan fully," said agency biologist Susan Wynn. "It's a matter of whose pot of money it's out of, not whether they have to pay."
How long does the city have to finish buying the land? As long as the permit lasts -- a half-century, Wynn said.
And why isn't the city required in the meantime to protect future preserves from dirt bikes and homeless camps?
"Unfortunately, it's just one of those ongoing things," said Kathleen Brubaker, Wynn's supervisor. "It's almost like you need a constant person out there with a badge and a gun."
Voters in the region recently did approve -- barely -- a road-building tax that will provide, quite incidentally, stopgap funding for the habitat program.
"Every year, it will be a challenge until an established, secure regional funding source is in place," said the city's Greer, who describes his budget as "bare bones."
San Diego promised to adopt the regional funding source in 1998, when the plan was approved. When it still wasn't done in 2000, the city said it would spend $25.1 million over three years. It fell short by about $4.5 million, city budgets indicate.
Greer disputes the notion that the city hasn't lived up to its obligations. He said the city deserves more credit for land exchanges that brought in some protected acreage. He also is optimistic that the economy will bounce back, boosting tax collections.
Past and future juxtaposed
In north San Diego, Hogan approaches a dried-out pond bed wedged between a strip mall and condominiums. Little disturbances in the sand show where rodents take dust baths.
The vernal pool -- the lone survivor of 67 on the site -- is littered with cigarette butts, a tennis ball and lollipop sticks. A few steps away, Hogan pauses at the entrance to the condos.
"My favorite part," he says, "is the name."
The development is called The Legacy.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
NOTE: In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. section 107, any copyrighted
material herein is distributed without profit or payment to those who have
expressed a prior interest in receiving this information for
non-profit
research and educational purposes only. For more information go to:
http://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/17/107.shtml
Source: http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/specials/licensetokill/222390_sandiego04.html