Not long after the BP oil spill nearly devastated livelihoods on Grand Isle, I ventured there for the first time ever, during a violent, stormy night. Such a storm, that all residents had been evacuated from the Island.
Driving completely alone along a bridge that crept and crawled endlessly into some mysterious place – over pounding waves channeled by thick marsh – en-tranced by the sounds of the storm and seeing through the darkness the island’s many shadowed outlines: rigs, ships, camps, unknown structures and vessels, as far as I could see, through blurry lights streaking across my windshield between the back-and-forth of the wiper blades, the span was leading me into another endless span. “This could be how I die, slipping into the depth of a storm and disappearing — dropping off.” Strangely, I had no fear. It was desolate and haunting and wherever it was taking me I was not going to turn back.
And then there I was, handed safely over by the hands of God, toll-free, to this hauntingly beautiful place in the deep of the night.
The storm did pass, leaving behind very little damage and a beautiful weekend. I’ll never forget that first visit. It was surreal and magical and will always be special to me.
After I left Grand Isle that weekend in 2010, I would follow the depressing stories about the struggles of Grand Isle’s wildlife. The dead waters saddened me for so many reasons. For a long time it seemed there was no life to be found — no fish, no crustecians, no birds. The brown pelicans were quickly becoming endangered.
Last weekend, 4 years after my first visit, I got in my car and drove 7 hours to revisit Grand Isle, on the gracious invitation of dear friends. Wondering if I would find it to be the mystical place I remembered and at the same time, preparing to be disappointed by my dreamy memory.
On Friday, October 3, 2014, I drove over that long bridge under the brightest time of day and landed on La 1. As I continued along familiar roads, I became almost giddy with excitement to see her as mystical and beautiful as I remembered, just in a new light.
On one of our morning walks down the beach, Rebecca and Chuck Shaver happily pointed the brown pelicans out to me. I honestly probably would not have noticed they were pelicans for a while, even though there seemed to be a 100 of them! After snapping a few photos, we took in some more sights on the beach and went back to their camp to enjoy the glorious afternoon on the deck, checking in on our favorite football games.
Maybe I wanted to get away from the football game, Bama lost – it happens – or, maybe all the talk about the pelicans recently being on the endangered species list sent me out with my camera to chase them down the beach.
I am not a fast runner and clearly wasn’t going to catch them, especially after a couple of mimosas, but that didn’t seem to hamper my spirits. And they weren’t waiting on me. The longer I ran, the farther from me they flew.
Almost giving up on my quest, I stopped to watch a lady gathering her shrimp from the wetlands as well. Occasionally, you serendipitously meet someone who makes you feel fortunate to be in their company, like getting a personal introduction from God. Helen Tabor is one of those people. A beautiful, retired school teacher, with blue eyes, a loving spirit and an enviable amount of energy; she also knows how to throw a net, cast a line and when and where to do it. It seems she was in tuned with the winged shrimpers and located the perfect spot to pull in her own treasure of shrimp!
Helen offered and I accepted a ride in her truck to chase the pelicans. We toted Helen’s gear and her bucket of shrimp for a short walk up a sandy path outlined by tall brilliant yellow and orange flowers, to her lovely manicured lot, loaded her truck and headed down the road chasing pelicans.
The pod had thinned considerably by the time I trotted over the sandy hill and down toward the rocks. Some, filled on their feast, rested comfortably on the rocks. It was a beautiful scene to take in, witnessing perhaps one of the most recent largest pods of Louisiana’s bird re-emerging – well on their way to flourishing again.
On the final day of our weekend, the Shavers, Mike, their dog and I bumped into Helen. She was back casting her net, in the company of a friend, Toby Hubbell, who told us how Helen taught him and many of his friends how to fish. In fact, I think he said she is one of the most knowledgeable fishermen (fisherwomen) around. And that made me wonder, “Is it Helen who was in tuned with the pelicans, or the pelicans in tuned with Helen?”
Between the sunrises, the sunsets, seeing a shooting star graze the 3:30 a.m. sky, the good fortune of great friends, Chuck and Rebecca Shaver, Kimberly Churchman Davis and Zachary Achord, making new friends and witnessing the awe — the inspirational beauty of life and nature in many forms, with a hope that these gifts continue to multiply for Grand Isle – I attest that Grand Isle will always be a mystical place to me and the bearer of some of life’s most precious gifts.
For information on how you can contribute to wetland restoration and enhancement, visit www.habitat.noaa.gov.
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