Ulysse BELLIER
Mon, 23 October 2023
Dredging vessels like this one operated by the US Army Corps of Engineers are working to keep the Mississippi River navigable (ANDREW CABALLERO-REYNOLDS)
In the middle of the shrunken Mississippi, a barge drags a giant metal-edged suction head along the riverbed to remove sediment from shipping lanes.
The crew of the dustpan dredge Hurley has been working around-the-clock for months to deepen the channels so boats and barges can pass through.
"We've worked almost nonstop since last fall, everywhere from New Orleans up to St. Louis" in Missouri, said the vessel's captain Adrian Pirani, standing on the bridge.
For the second straight year, water levels in North America's biggest river have dropped to record lows amid a lengthy drought. Locals say they've never seen it this bad.
From the Great Lakes in the north to Louisiana in the south, the majestic Mississippi is a shadow of its former self.
Plants have taken over newly exposed banks. Salt water is pushing in from the Gulf of Mexico. And farmers dependent on the river to ship their products have watched with frustration as traffic has seized up.
Authorities are doing what they can to ensure the river remains navigable, and that's where the Hurley, operated by the US Army Corps of Engineers, comes in.
The dredge is currently digging at the same spot near Memphis, Tennessee for the third time. The dredge scrapes and sucks up mud from the river bottom and spews it onto the bank.
Pirani said he works long hours, first of all, "to make sure that commerce does not stop."
But the job hits closer to home.
"I come from a farming family right here across the river. So it is kind of personal for me... I will do all I can do to keep the river going," he told AFP.
- Unusable docks -
For farmers in the vast US Midwest, the Mississippi is an indispensable part of their transportation network.
But drought has left the river narrower and shallower, limiting shipping capabilities.
The bottleneck is ill-timed: early autumn is when farmers are working flat out to harvest soybeans and corn. With river shipping limited, they scramble to deal with massive buildups of stocks.
On the river in Osceola, Arkansas, Jeff Worsham manages an agricultural port. But two of its three docks are unusable due to the low water.
A barge is tied up at the only accessible dock as soybeans are shot from a huge metal spout into its hold.
The vessel's capacity equals that of roughly 80 trucks -- but for now, it can only be filled to 50 or 60 percent capacity so the craft does not run the risk of getting stuck in the mud.
To ensure operations at all three docks next year, Worsham says, "we have made plans to do some dredging next year."
- 'Extreme weather' -
The overriding fear is that the water crisis will become the new normal.
Last year, a record that had stood since 1988 was broken. It was broken again this September, and yet again in October.
A drought that began last year in the Mississippi's vast watershed (covering 40 percent of the continental United States) "lingered into this year, and it's gotten worse," Anna Wolverton, a National Weather Service specialist, told AFP.
"It's not normal for us to see this in back-to-back years."
The river's flow has grown so weak that in southern Louisiana, salt water from the Gulf of Mexico has been encroaching, contaminating drinking water in some towns and forcing inhabitants to rely on bottled water.
Around Memphis, gauges that monitor the Mississippi's depth have been left high and dry by the receding waters, explained Sarah Girdner, a hydrologist with the Army Corps of Engineers.
"Over the past 10 to 15 years, we've seen extreme weather on both spectrums," she told AFP aboard the Hurley. "We've seen more historic floods, and we've seen more historic droughts."
When asked what explained the conditions, she said: "We don't necessarily use the term 'climate change,' because causality is attached to that, but we do know that weather patterns are changing."
- 'Frightening' -
In 50 years working around the Mississippi, Pete Ciaramitaro has seen the changes.
But what Ciaramitaro, director of river operations for the Southern Devall shipping company, has not seen is two consecutive autumns with so little water.
While droughts used to occur roughly once every 25 years, he said, "It looks like it's going to be an annual thing to me. And that's frightening."
Of the dozen professionals interviewed by AFP, Ciaramitaro was the only one to link the drought explicitly to climate change -- a politically sensitive term in the United States.
"If somebody else has got a better explanation for it, I'd love to hear it," he said. "But it's the only one I can come up with -- climate change."
ube/bbk/sst
Drought-hit farmers in US heartland hope Mississippi 'comes back'
Ulysse BELLIER
Mon, 23 October 2023
With the Mississippi River at historic lows, barge traffic has been upended -- and with it, the livelihoods of US farmers
Ulysse BELLIER
Mon, 23 October 2023
With the Mississippi River at historic lows, barge traffic has been upended -- and with it, the livelihoods of US farmers
(ANDREW CABALLERO-REYNOLDS)
Jonathan Driver, an Arkansas farmer with blackened hands and a thick southern drawl, doesn't have a minute to spare.
He's been working 16 or 17 hours a day to finish harvesting his crops and -- an added stress this year -- to find someplace to store tons of excess soybeans.
"Getting it out of that field is very crucial," Driver said as he stepped out of his white pick-up truck.
But for a second straight year, dangerously low water levels in the Mississippi River have drastically curtailed river transport, and that means added costs and complications for the farmers of the American heartland.
Driver, who sports a light beard and a gray baseball cap, also grows rice, which he stores in three squat corrugated-steel silos.
But the soybean harvest isn't done, and the barges that in normal years would take his product downriver are in terribly short supply, slowing grain shipments to the Gulf of Mexico and points beyond, eventually to feed livestock around the world.
So Driver plans to sell his rice as quickly as possible -- even if it's not for "the price I want" -- to make room for soybeans.
The need is pressing. For in his soybean fields, little yellow pods are already popping open and hitting the ground -- crops that will be lost.
It's a race against the clock.
- Low world prices -
"Every day you see pods popping, you're losing $3,000 a day," Driver said, before glumly adding, "I don't have $3,000 left to lose."
In the barn behind him, two men are busy repairing a massive combine harvester.
Driver's father was in the fields operating another harvester, and his wife was out working as well.
With storage in desperately short supply, the Drivers are employing grain bags -- enormous, long, tube-shaped plastic bags that, in proper conditions, can keep cereals good for some time, hopefully until traffic picks up again on the Mississippi.
"There is a possible scenario that you got to go into long-term storage" using the bags, Driver said, even "into sometime next year."
But this alternative storage method is a risky one, and not just because of possible bad weather.
After record global harvests this year, soybean and corn prices are depressed, and the buildup of grain reserves on US farms due to the problems on the Mississippi could keep prices low for some time.
- 'Going to come back up' -
There are alternatives to river transport -- mainly rail and truck -- but they cost more and emit more carbon dioxide.
Plus, local farmers feel a real attachment to the Mississippi.
Jimmy Moody works on riverfront land inherited from his grandfather in Tennessee, across the river from Driver's land in northern Arkansas.
For as long as he remembers, he said, grain "all gets shipped on a river to the Gulf. You know, if we can't unload on the river, then we've got to go east."
"So we're very dependent on the river," he adds.
The volume of grain shipped on the Mississippi has dropped by half from the average of the past three years, according to the US Department of Agriculture.
Like Driver, Moody is storing excess soybeans in the huge sausage-shaped bags, despite the inherent risks. He is hoping to get better prices for his crops once the Mississippi is again easily navigable.
"I don't have any worry about it," he said. "You know, the river's going to come back up."
At 71, Moody has seen hard times come and go.
"We'll still be shipping grain to the Gulf long after I'm gone," he said.
ube/bbk/sst
In Louisiana, salt water in the Mississippi... and faucets
Andrew CABALLERO-REYNOLDS
Mon, 23 October 2023
Byron Marinovich, owner of the Black Velvet Oyster Bar & Grill, checks on his restaurant's supply of bottled water in Buras, Louisiana -- he needs it to cook anything
Jonathan Driver, an Arkansas farmer with blackened hands and a thick southern drawl, doesn't have a minute to spare.
He's been working 16 or 17 hours a day to finish harvesting his crops and -- an added stress this year -- to find someplace to store tons of excess soybeans.
"Getting it out of that field is very crucial," Driver said as he stepped out of his white pick-up truck.
But for a second straight year, dangerously low water levels in the Mississippi River have drastically curtailed river transport, and that means added costs and complications for the farmers of the American heartland.
Driver, who sports a light beard and a gray baseball cap, also grows rice, which he stores in three squat corrugated-steel silos.
But the soybean harvest isn't done, and the barges that in normal years would take his product downriver are in terribly short supply, slowing grain shipments to the Gulf of Mexico and points beyond, eventually to feed livestock around the world.
So Driver plans to sell his rice as quickly as possible -- even if it's not for "the price I want" -- to make room for soybeans.
The need is pressing. For in his soybean fields, little yellow pods are already popping open and hitting the ground -- crops that will be lost.
It's a race against the clock.
- Low world prices -
"Every day you see pods popping, you're losing $3,000 a day," Driver said, before glumly adding, "I don't have $3,000 left to lose."
In the barn behind him, two men are busy repairing a massive combine harvester.
Driver's father was in the fields operating another harvester, and his wife was out working as well.
With storage in desperately short supply, the Drivers are employing grain bags -- enormous, long, tube-shaped plastic bags that, in proper conditions, can keep cereals good for some time, hopefully until traffic picks up again on the Mississippi.
"There is a possible scenario that you got to go into long-term storage" using the bags, Driver said, even "into sometime next year."
But this alternative storage method is a risky one, and not just because of possible bad weather.
After record global harvests this year, soybean and corn prices are depressed, and the buildup of grain reserves on US farms due to the problems on the Mississippi could keep prices low for some time.
- 'Going to come back up' -
There are alternatives to river transport -- mainly rail and truck -- but they cost more and emit more carbon dioxide.
Plus, local farmers feel a real attachment to the Mississippi.
Jimmy Moody works on riverfront land inherited from his grandfather in Tennessee, across the river from Driver's land in northern Arkansas.
For as long as he remembers, he said, grain "all gets shipped on a river to the Gulf. You know, if we can't unload on the river, then we've got to go east."
"So we're very dependent on the river," he adds.
The volume of grain shipped on the Mississippi has dropped by half from the average of the past three years, according to the US Department of Agriculture.
Like Driver, Moody is storing excess soybeans in the huge sausage-shaped bags, despite the inherent risks. He is hoping to get better prices for his crops once the Mississippi is again easily navigable.
"I don't have any worry about it," he said. "You know, the river's going to come back up."
At 71, Moody has seen hard times come and go.
"We'll still be shipping grain to the Gulf long after I'm gone," he said.
ube/bbk/sst
In Louisiana, salt water in the Mississippi... and faucets
Andrew CABALLERO-REYNOLDS
Mon, 23 October 2023
Byron Marinovich, owner of the Black Velvet Oyster Bar & Grill, checks on his restaurant's supply of bottled water in Buras, Louisiana -- he needs it to cook anything
(ANDREW CABALLERO-REYNOLDS)
In southern Louisiana, where most things are surrounded by water, residents are being forced to buy bottled water to drink, bathe and even give to their pets.
Salt water is creeping up the drought-hit Mississippi River from the Gulf of Mexico, and residents of the delta basin are feeling forgotten.
"Our water started having a very funny taste" in May, explains 68-year-old Cathy Vodopija.
"When you wash your clothes, it’s like bleached whatever you were washing -- without putting bleach in it."
For the second straight year, water levels in the mighty river that cuts the United States in two have hit new lows -- and the fresh water cannot prevent the salt water from flowing into the river.
Byron Marinovich, who owns the Black Velvet Oyster Bar and Grill in Buras, had to disable the restaurant's ice machine. The salt was making the cubes white, "which is very pretty" -- but unappetizing for customers.
At home, after taking a shower in the salty water, Marinovich finishes the daily ritual with bottled water.
"You pour it on your head and you rinse all off with it; if not, you're going to be sticky all day," he warns.
For Vodopija, authorities "didn't care about what was going on with us" until the problem was detected farther upriver.
On September 20, a special barrier built on the river to limit the influx of salt water was overtopped, heightening fears for the safety of drinking water in the greater New Orleans area, which is home to 1.2 million people.
The US Army Corps of Engineers, which is tasked with ensuring navigation on the waterway, decided to erect the underwater sill, while also infusing drinking water supplies with fresh water in the southern part of the river delta basin.
Desalinization units have been set up.
After those efforts, Marinovich says, "the water is getting better," but he still couldn't use it at the restaurant to prepare anything -- his chefs are making gumbo, the local specialty, with bottled water.
Some residents say they have little faith in the water tests done by authorities.
That distrust was evident last week at a spirited public meeting with local officials about the situation, at which it was announced that restrictions on drinking water would be lifted.
"It got really ugly for a while," Marinovich said.
Gaynel Bayham, a pastor and teacher who has organized bottled water distribution at her church for months, said she was frustrated.
"We get left behind," she said. "We have to fight for everything to be able to ... survive down here with certain basic needs."
acr-ube/sst/tjj
In southern Louisiana, where most things are surrounded by water, residents are being forced to buy bottled water to drink, bathe and even give to their pets.
Salt water is creeping up the drought-hit Mississippi River from the Gulf of Mexico, and residents of the delta basin are feeling forgotten.
"Our water started having a very funny taste" in May, explains 68-year-old Cathy Vodopija.
"When you wash your clothes, it’s like bleached whatever you were washing -- without putting bleach in it."
For the second straight year, water levels in the mighty river that cuts the United States in two have hit new lows -- and the fresh water cannot prevent the salt water from flowing into the river.
Byron Marinovich, who owns the Black Velvet Oyster Bar and Grill in Buras, had to disable the restaurant's ice machine. The salt was making the cubes white, "which is very pretty" -- but unappetizing for customers.
At home, after taking a shower in the salty water, Marinovich finishes the daily ritual with bottled water.
"You pour it on your head and you rinse all off with it; if not, you're going to be sticky all day," he warns.
For Vodopija, authorities "didn't care about what was going on with us" until the problem was detected farther upriver.
On September 20, a special barrier built on the river to limit the influx of salt water was overtopped, heightening fears for the safety of drinking water in the greater New Orleans area, which is home to 1.2 million people.
The US Army Corps of Engineers, which is tasked with ensuring navigation on the waterway, decided to erect the underwater sill, while also infusing drinking water supplies with fresh water in the southern part of the river delta basin.
Desalinization units have been set up.
After those efforts, Marinovich says, "the water is getting better," but he still couldn't use it at the restaurant to prepare anything -- his chefs are making gumbo, the local specialty, with bottled water.
Some residents say they have little faith in the water tests done by authorities.
That distrust was evident last week at a spirited public meeting with local officials about the situation, at which it was announced that restrictions on drinking water would be lifted.
"It got really ugly for a while," Marinovich said.
Gaynel Bayham, a pastor and teacher who has organized bottled water distribution at her church for months, said she was frustrated.
"We get left behind," she said. "We have to fight for everything to be able to ... survive down here with certain basic needs."
acr-ube/sst/tjj
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