POINTE-AU-CHIAN, La. (AP) — Cheri Matherne looks out over Bayou Pointe au Chien, wide enough for several boats to pass. In the distance, a stand of dead trees where salt water comes and goes during storm-driven floods.
It wasn’t always this way. The bay was once shallow and wide enough for a small boat to pass through. The land once roamed by cattle is now flooded, and the elders tell stories of the tree canopy, so funny they almost stop for days.
The fragile lattice of Louisiana’s coastline has been retreating steadily for generations. As it does, the Pointe-au-Chian Indian Tribe and other indigenous tribes are fighting to preserve what’s left and adapt to their changing environment. This includes painstaking efforts to build temporary reefs that slow erosion and build stronger homes and buildings to better withstand storm surges.
“We want to be able to make it so people can stay here as long as possible, as long as they want to stay,” said Mathern, who helped coordinate its response to erosion threats as the tribe’s director of day-to-day operations.
They hope to avoid the fate of the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation, a nearby tribe that three years ago was forced to move 40 miles (64 km) north of the encroaching Gulf of Mexico. Isle de Jean Charles – their island home southwest of New Orleans – lost 98% of its land.
What’s Eating on the Louisiana Coastline
Louisiana’s coast is steadily retreating for a number of reasons.
Levees along the Mississippi River have broken the natural flow of sand, clay, and silt that created the land, the sediment wetlands need for their survival. Canals have allowed saltwater to flow into wetlands, killing the freshwater vegetation that holds them together and accelerating erosion. Groundwater pumping is sinking land, and planet-warming emissions from burning coal, oil and gas are fueling storms and accelerating sea-level rise.
Since the 1930s, Louisiana has lost about 2,000 square miles (5,180 square kilometers) of land—sometimes faster, sometimes slower. A U.S. Geological Survey analysis found that when erosion was at its worst, a football field’s worth of coastal wetlands was being lost every 34 minutes.
Sam Bentley, a professor of geology at Louisiana State University, said it’s difficult to solve the problem of not being able to count on the Mississippi River to periodically release sediment to maintain the land.
“It’s going to displace ecosystems, it’s going to displace communities, it’s going to displace coastal infrastructure,” Bentley said. “And there will be many changes that are very difficult to cope with.”
Indigenous burial and cultural sites are at risk of destruction, and traditional ways of life – shrimp farming, fishing and subsistence farming – are under pressure. Without action, researchers estimate the state could lose 3,000 square miles (7,770 square kilometers) — an area larger than Delaware — over the next 50 years.
Slow corrosion with recycled oyster shells
Reefs made from oyster shells are an attempt to prevent erosion.
Oysters are collected from restaurants, stuffed into bags and stacked along the shore to form reefs. The program, launched in 2014 by the Coastal Louisiana Restoration Coalition, has recycled more than 16 million pounds (7.3 million kilograms) of shells in that time. That’s enough to protect about 1.5 miles (about 2.4 kilometers) of coastline.
Since the Pointe-au-chien tribe built a 400-foot (123-meter) cliff to protect the historic mound in 2019, the coalition has measured a 50% reduction in the rate of land loss where the cliffs were built, said coalition spokesman James Karst.
But there are limits to what reclaimed oyster shells can do. There aren’t enough shells for Louisiana’s estimated 7,721 miles (12,426 kilometers) of coastline, Karst said, and moving them is expensive, so they must be strategic. Many of the rocks they built protect sites of cultural importance. They are also limited to areas where the water is salty enough for oyster shells to last.
Their work may seem like a small drop in the bucket, “but when you’re losing ground on your rate,” Karst said, “you need every drop in the bucket.”
Some of the alliance’s most recent work came about 30 miles southwest of the land at Pointe-au-Chien, in a project with the Grand Kylo/Dulac Band of the Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw Tribe that wrapped up in November. It was built at the University of Louisiana Marine Consortium, where it’s easy for the public to see and learn about oyster reefs, said Chief Devon Perfet.
Fortifying buildings from powerful storms
In 2021, Hurricane Ida made landfall in the region with sustained winds of 150 mph (241 km/h).
Many houses in and around Pointe-au-chien were damaged or destroyed. Some families moved inland or left the area altogether, but most returned. With the help of groups like the Lowlander Center, a nonprofit organization that works with tribal and coastal communities facing risks like climate threats and land loss, the tribe is rebuilding in a robust way.
Homes are raised off the ground and have storm straps, heavy-duty windows and doors that can trap wind and water. Electrical equipment is built high to stay above the storm. They have rebuilt or renovated 13 homes; There are plans to build about five new homes and they are raising money to strengthen the remaining dozen or so.
“We know that building just one home in a community doesn’t make a community safer. It’s only safer if the entire community is involved in raising that level of safety,” said Christina Peterson, director and co-founder of the Lowlander Center.
Future plans and challenges
But challenges remain. Tribes that have been recognized by the state have struggled to get federal recognition and otherwise find it difficult to get grants and other assistance from the federal government. Instead, they rely on partnerships with organizations and institutions.
The Trump administration’s funding cuts are making it harder for tribes to meet their goals.
The Grand Kylo/Dulac Band of Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw applied for a federal grant to build a community center stocked with food, water and renewable energy in case of emergencies, designed to hold during storms. When the cuts were made, their applications were tabulated.
Similarly, Pointe-au-Chian applied for money to install solar panels on every home, but they are not optimistic that their application will be approved.
A changed landscape
Theresa Darder, a Pointe-au-Chien elder, said a lot has changed in the five decades she’s lived there. The pond behind her house has grown larger, and she could once recognize Lakes Chien and Felicity. Now it’s just a big body of water. Once upon a time people hunted deer and roamed through forested areas.
What hasn’t changed is the quiet and intimate relationship. Everyone knows everyone. And people still fish like generations before them.
“This is where our ancestors were, and we feel like we’re abandoning them” to leave, Darder said. “We have sacred sites that we still visit.”
By reducing erosion and building more homes, the tribe hopes to attract young families to Pointe-au-Chine. They also know that keeping their land from being submerged will protect the areas further inland.
As Darder said: “We are the buffer.”
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