Posts Tagged ‘Oil Spill’

A couple posts ago I highlighted a lovely Winter Walk on the beach.

It is only fair to come “clean” with the dirty truth of my beach, as it exists, thanks to the unknown and ongoing effects of the Deepwater Horizon tanker explosion. Thirty-four months later. Long after the contracted cleanup dudes have “done their part” to make a good-faith show that they cared about a place they weren’t from.


Granted, I have no shots of pelicans covered in oil. The major gunk is under control, so we are told.

They supposedly scooped up all the tarballs that washed up, back in 2011:


But here is how my winter walk wound up, for real:

Nice, clear tidepool. But can you spot the the tarball, now in 2013?


No cleanup crews around, and we noticed in the parking lot that the hazmat bin that was there since the explosion was notably absent this time.

More parking spaces.

But no place to deposit the new tarballs.

Pardon my unpainted piggies. I give them a rest Nov-Jan. But BP gave them a new coat.

Shall we call it “Radioactive Red?” or perhaps “Precancerous Pink?” “Petroleum Piggies?”

Or….“Glamorous Gunk?”


Feet are fairly gross to begin with. And, as the commentaries followed the last post about jelly fish, two peas in a pod here:



What I notice, however, is how the petroleum clung to my feet and the jellyfish appeared immune to the effects. My body was prone to the Klingon effect, the jelly fish was by default unable to absorb the intruding chemicals.

I am perplexed how many of the local research entities are split between the effects of the oil spill: some of the most nature-friendly groups have sided with BP, and some of the most “nah, no-big-deal” groups have unearthed some disastrous effects. Some are out-of-state, some are local, some are international. It’s mind-boggling to sort out who has what financial hooks in which group. I got tired of trying to keep track.

It is what it is….

Nevertheless, a fractured scallop shell makes for the most efficient means of scraping errant petroleum off one’s sole:


Am I gonna die?

When will my beach get right?

Is there any place free of the threat of peril?

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