DEL.ICIO.USScientists fish for the truth about endangered species
Summer spent searching 40 miles of Toccoa River for four species
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Friday, August 15, 2008
Suches – Brett Albanese has spent the last few months pretty much on his knees. He has wallowed in mud, swallowed water where salamanders play and has been bit, banged and battered. He has had a good time.
A senior aquatic zoologist with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources, Albanese and his assistants snorkeled nearly the length of the Toccoa River, a silver thing that stretches 40 miles through orchards and national forest land. They sought four little fish to determine if they are thriving or declining in an environment that is facing increased development pressure in the Georgia mountains.
HYOSUB SHIN / hshin@ajc.com
DNR scientists are wrapping up a hands-on survey in which they literally stick their heads in the cold depths of the Toccoa River, looking for rare fish. They’re snorkeling, and have spent the summer surveying nearly 40 miles of clear, fast-moving water. Here. Katie Owers, an intern, surveys by snorkeling in the Toccoa River.
Last Friday, Albanese and three others conducted a final survey on a sun-dappled stretch of water no longer than a football field, no wider than a basketball court. Rather than stun fish with electricity, a traditional method of counting fish, they donned snorkeling gear and plunged in.
“Blotched chubs!” Albanese raised his head from 24 inches of water and bellowed his finding to Rebecca Bourquin, a DNR intern standing on the pebbled bank of the Toccoa where it bends through a Union County farm. Bourquin noted the discovery.
Intern Katie Owers surfaced, blowing water. “I’ve got a bunch of huge suckers over here!” Bourquin scribbled.
Nearby, creeping in the shallows, intern Will Pruitt shook his head, the snorkel tip bobbing like the mast on a sinking ship. He said nothing.
And so they moved along a 50-foot area of the Toccoa that they’d marked off. Weighted with diving belts, grabbing at slippery rocks with bare hands, the researchers strained to glimpse tiny quarry: the wounded darter, olive darter, tangerine darter and blotched chub. The species, none longer than 6 inches, are considered a benchmark on the impact development has on mountain rivers: as the fish thrive or decline, so do rivers. Albanese and his assistants started stalking the little swimmers, on a state list of endangered species, in late May.
The survey’s findings haven’t been compiled; DNR officials say it will take months for them to glean results from the expedition, in which the researchers also occasionally stunned or netted fishes at about 30 sites. They’ll use the findings as a “baseline” to determine how well the species — and the river — are faring.
That morning, clad in black wet suits to fight off the river’s 66-degree chill, the researchers worked in a steady current where fallen leaves zipped by as if caught in a wind. The three gathered in the shallows to compare their findings.
Truitt saw two trouts — a brown and a rainbow. Suckers darted out of the shadows in all directions. A bass flitted past. Yes, the chubs, one of the target species, showed up, too.
Albanese, who estimates he and his charges spent 240 hours on the river this summer, looked surprised – pleased, too. “A lot of fish here, ” said Albanese, 37. “We did pretty well.”
River flows north from Suches
The Toccoa is one of those rare rivers that flows north. It begins at Suches, in Union County, and tumbles northwest, entering and exiting Blue Ridge Lake. In Tennessee, it becomes the Ocoee River, site of whitewater competitions during the 1996 Summer Olympic Games.
The Toccoa, Albanese thinks, is “on the edge.” It is still a clean river, with abundant wildlife — and a growing population of people who want to live on its banks. “People put cottages on this river, because they love it,” said Albanese, who worries about runoff and the loss of vegetation along its banks. “I think we need to develop a little more carefully.”
Other area rivers are more crowded with homes than the Toccoa, said Kirby Bowron, who heads Union County’s building and development permit department. The banks of the Toccoa, he said, are dotted with vacant lots, waiting for the economy to improve and building crews to return.
The county does not track permits by geography — officials don’t have separate categories for permits issued for the Nottely River as opposed to the Toccoa, for example. Yet figures show the county underwent steady growth earlier this decade, issuing more than 500 permits annually for residential construction from 2002 through 2005. In 2007, as the economy cooled, the office issued fewer than 300 residential permits.
What’s happening in the mountains is happening to watersheds across Georgia, said April Ingle, executive director of the Georgia River Network. A nonprofit agency, the network works to preserved waterways in the state’s 14 major river basins.
“These are the kind of issues we’re seeing all over the state,” she said. “With growth and development, we face new threats to our rivers.”
Albanese, who has tromped all over the stream, offered a more succinct assessment. “This,” he said, “is a beautiful river.”
The researchers also came across landowners who were curious about their probe. Albanese said he’d like to hold a workshop with some of them when his survey is done, sharing his findings and some development tips. He cannot stop people from living on the river, said Albanese, but he can show them how to do so intelligently.
That means leaving trees in place so they can shade the river; darters, chubs, trouts and other species of mountain fish like cold water. The falling leaves also decompose, creating bacteria on which insects feed. The insects feed fish.
“The trees,” said Albanese, “are as important to fishes as they are to birds.”
The three marked off another spot just south of the site of the morning’s first probe. The water was less than 10 inches, moving fast. Owers, 22 and a UGA biology graduate, grunted and hit the water. Albanese followed. Pruitt, 23 and studying at the University of Tennessee, slid like an otter into the shallows on the far side.
A waterbug zipped past, its shadow faint on the pebbled riverbed. Minnows stuck close to rocks, where they were safer from hungry passersby. A catbird shrieked in a nearby hardwood.
Fifteen minutes later, the snorkelers were done. The day’s tally? Sixteen species – bass, trout, chubs, and three species out of the four they sought. The olive darter, sighted only once this summer, remained elusive.
Back at the truck, a state-owned, dark-green Ford F-150, the crew jumped out of their wet suits and water shoes. Donning shorts and T-shirts, they looked like people who were ready for a day of tubing.
A breeze gusted from the north, tickling a far-off windchime. Closer by, the river gurgled. The researchers stood in the light of early afternoon, looking pleased: mission accomplished.
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