Tag: sustainability

Ancient Ways

“We’re out here looking for old, ancient Indian reefs. Indians lived in them woods, come out here with pirogues. It’s how they fed their families. You’ll find pottery here, mixed in with this stuff, when you get in on these little oyster reefs. You’ll find all kinds of old Indian pottery. And if you want to go fishing, this is the place.”  

 That’s Michael Williams talking — or better yet, evangelizing — in his characteristically sandpaper rasp. He’s a local oysterman and shrimper of more than thirty years who, along with his wife Kerry Mitchell, make up Salty Pirates Seafood. The pair also spearhead the Alabama Commercial Fishermen Association and have long been advocates for seafood sustainability and reef restoration.

It’s a mild day in the middle of April, and we’re on Heron Bay in Michael’s motorized flatboat, navigating through the marshes and tidal creeks, which today are brimming with shrimp and redfish. Michael proudly calls this his “backyard,” as you can see his house on the Bay from where we sit. Heron Bay lies just west of the Dauphin Island causeway, near Cedar Point, right before you hit the bridge that takes you to the island. The area is a pristine stretch of coastal marsh and maritime forest that runs just shy of 500 acres. On a tranquil morning like this, one imagines it doesn’t look too different from the prehistoric days when indigenous tribes populated the waters and drew their sustenance from it. Or like it did centuries later, when Union troops bivouacked along the Bay in the summer of 1864 and feasted on the seemingly endless beds of oysters while mosquitos — Rebel bugs love Yankee blood — feasted on them. And yet still, even today, Heron Bay feels like a sanctuary from the threats that plague so much of the watershed, and one can’t help but think that more of our waters should look like this, if only the effort was made. “This is what the rest of our waters could look like if we took care of it,” Michael says.  

 Today’s mission involves depositing hundreds of pounds of shell as part of a large-scale initiative to build new reefs. The shell that’s being deposited on existing reefs will serve as the foundation to develop more substrate, upon which Baykeeper will add more shell to allow baby oysters — or larvae — to form and flourish. This is known as recruitment, or attracting “spat on shell.”  

 It’s just one day in the life of Mobile Baykeeper’s Holistic Oyster Restoration project, run by Baykeeper’s own Dr. Kayla Boyd — her “dream job,” she says — who is frequently out in the field with project partners and oystermen like Michael. A Wisconsin native, Kayla earned her PhD from Auburn University in Fisheries, Aquaculture, and Aquatic Sciences, studying how the environment impacted oyster health in the Gulf of Mexico through lab and field work. Boyd says it was the resiliency of oysters that drew her to the bivalves in the first place. “They’re a complicated animal,” she says. “They are simultaneously very tolerant to environmental changes, but also sensitive to certain stress combinations at the same time.” 

That resiliency is a good metaphor for the Oyster Restoration Project itself. 

“I’ve come to understand that perseverance in the face of adversity is what is needed to see a massive project like this move forward.” Boyd explains. “I don’t mean just myself, but, much like the resiliency of the oyster, the tenacity of the oyster community is something I’ve always respected, and to see it enacted through this project, and through the Alabama Commercial Fishermen Association’s work, has been awe-inspiring and encourages me to reach for grander goals.” 

For 2026, Baykeeper plans to plant 500,000 oysters for restoration, as well as permit 50 oyster restoration plots across coastal Alabama. The goal is to accrue additional larvae to support the growth and rebound of the public reef.    

“Today was the first day we put shell out here to build the foundations for new oyster reefs up in Heron Bay,” Boyd says. “The shell we put out here will serve as the foundation that we can continue to put baby oysters on top of, so they won’t sink.”   

 Since the 1950s, it is estimated that Mobile Bay has lost roughly 85 percent of its oyster population — a staggering decline brought on by predation by drills (small predatory marine snails), historically unsustainable harvesting practices, shell-dredging for construction materials, and ship channel dredging.   

 Yet this spring saw progress in restoring the Bay’s oyster population, as part of Baykeeper’s collaboration with the Alabama Commercial Fishermen Association, Fish Tec, and other groups. Together, the collective has built 13 oyster reefs out of its planned 28 for the year. Locations for planting were prioritized based on several factors, including natural shoreline, salinity regimes, proximity to publicly harvested reefs, historic oyster presence, land ownership, and public interest. Other than Heron Bay, locations include nearby Portersville Bay, Bayou la Batre, Mon Luis Island, and Dauphin Island, among others.  

To kick off the initial planting, Isle Dauphine Oyster Company donated hundreds of pounds of shell (the program also uses shell from Alabama Coastal Foundation’s recycling program), while Fairhope Roasting Company donated the burlap sacks that volunteers tirelessly filled. And special thanks goes to the Alabama Department of Conservation and Natural Resources, who green-lighted the project and made it all possible. “This project shows what can happen when the community comes together to take responsibility for the health of our waters,” Boyd says.  

Oyster restoration in coastal Alabama will not be easy; its current obstacles include a lack of permitted oyster restoration locations, a lack of industry involvement in the restoration process, and a lack of commercially available spat-on-shell to be used for restoration.  

“There are many bottlenecks, including a lack of a long-term vision for oyster restoration outcomes,” Boyd says. “There have been many unforeseen roadblocks when it comes to permitting, which has been the biggest challenge. When I run up against a wall that prevents an initiative from moving forward, it can delay oysters going in the water for months. However, as I’m working on this project with different agencies, navigating these processes is getting easier. I thank the Alabama Department of Conservation and Natural Resources and the Alabama Department of Public Health for helping this project clear those obstacles to move forward.” 

Challenges aside, today is a fun day to be out on the water — the kind of life-affirming spring day we often get before the tropical heat arrives. Michael’s boat sprung a leak earlier in the morning, but he’s assured us he patched it. It’s an old boat that he’s had for five years, and he says it’s the first time he’s had any trouble with it.   

“I work it a lot, and with a wooden boat, when you work it a lot, it’s gonna leak,” he says. “It’s a pirogue, man. I told you I’m like an Indian. How long since the Indians was in here? 200 years?”  

— from Mobile Baykeeper’s CURRENTS, summer 2026 (Read rest of story here.)

A Covenant Older than Clocks

Mobile is one of the nation’s oldest cities, and its allergy to modern sheen accounts for a lot of its charm. The rich architectural fabric in neighborhoods like Oakleigh and DeTonti Square leaves visitors agape, and the city’s arboreal character — most notably on display in the live oaks that canopy Government Street like great triumphant arches — eclipses even the Garden District of New Orleans.  

But even for such a deeply historical city, much has been lost. The erection of Interstate 10 through downtown Mobile in the early ’70s, and the opening of the George Wallace Tunnel, squashed remnants of the rich Creole culture that took root in the late 1800s in the Down the Bay community, an area that was previously home to Native Americans as far back as 2,000 years. And while Mobile’s Black history is well documented and celebrated at the Africatown Heritage House and Historic Avenue Cultural Center, it is a history that is often sidelined when, in fact, it should be standing front and center.  

This issue’s cover story looks at Baykeeper’s holistic oyster restoration project and our effort to revive the reefs that once flourished in our watershed. This is a story of history as much as ecology. Much of the restoration work is happening in Heron Bay near Dauphin Island, a pristine body of water that was once home to indigenous populations that sustainably harvested oysters for centuries. 

Our ecological history is a living thing. It is not taught in history classes, but its lessons are essential.  

Recent research suggests Native American tribes along the southern coasts had highly complex management practices when it came to oyster harvesting. These tribes harvested oysters at great levels and still the reefs thrived. And yet since 1950, we’ve managed to destroy an estimated eighty-five percent of the reefs in the Mobile Bay watershed — a sad and alarming metric brought on by stressors like predation by drills (small predatory marine snails), unsustainable harvesting practices, shell-dredging for construction materials, and ship-channel dredging.  

The scientific literature indicates Native Americans had hierarchical systems in place about best management practices for oysters, and even pooled resources. Clearly, they worked together for the greater good to protect what was vital, even as there were competing interests — something the modern era has often failed to achieve. 

Baykeeper’s reef restoration is hoping to turn the tide and bring the community together for a common goal. “One of the encouraging aspects of the Oyster Restoration Project is that it is community-driven and led by a variety of stakeholders,” says Baykeeper’s Dr. Kayla Boyd, who heads the initiative. “This project is not only restoring ecosystem functionality, but it also provides support for the commercial oyster fishery.”  

That communal understanding comes with an appreciation of the sacredness of the natural world, and how critical its protection is to our own survival. It’s an unspoken bond that goes back to a time before there were even words for it. 

This issue closes with Susan Rouillier’s poem, “Purple Martins Return to Bahia del Espiritu Santo.” In the poem, she writes, “February twenty-eighth, precise and unannounced/ a covenant older than clocks, truer than our forecasts.” 

These are the covenants we are bound to and have a duty to protect. 

— from Mobile Baykeeper’s CURRENTS, summer 2026