By Timothy B. Wheeler -
Sun Staff -
Originally
published March 5, 2003
Aquaculture: A St. Mary's County man insists floating
the shellfish can defeat disease and clean up the
Chesapeake Bay.
RIDGE - Some folks are ready to write
off the Chesapeake Bay's once-fabled oyster, but not
Richard Pelz.
At his Circle C Oyster Ranch on a postcard-pretty cove
in St. Mary's County, the stout, bearded one-time
farmer from Ohio has tens of thousands of the bay's
beleaguered shellfish corralled in white floating
rafts tethered to his dock. A hand-lettered sign
offers them for $6 a dozen.
Fighting through a thicket of regulatory red tape,
Pelz says, he has figured out how to beat the diseases
that have nearly wiped out the bay's wild oysters,
revive Maryland's moribund oyster industry and clean
up the bay in the process - if only the government
will let him.
"If they turned us loose, I think we could clean up
the bay in 10 years," he asserts.
Many experts think he's wildly optimistic, but they
acknowledge that Pelz is doing what nature no longer
can.
His oysters grow faster than those left on the bottom,
reaching raw-bar size in as little as nine months -
before the slow-acting diseases can take their toll.
"Moving oysters off the bottom allows them to grow
faster," says Donald Webster, an extension agent with
the Maryland Sea Grant program who has worked with
aquaculturists. Up in the water, he explains,
shellfish can find more of the algae that nourish
them.
There's no secret to Pelz's success. Oyster farms like
his are common in Asia and Europe and on the West
Coast of this country. But aquaculture is alien here
in Maryland, where for centuries watermen foraged
freely for what God provides.
Not so long ago, they harvested millions of bushels a
year. But the Chesapeake's bounty has been crippled by
overharvesting and the recent appearance of parasitic
diseases dermo and MSX, which kill oysters before
they're large enough to eat.
Now, with Maryland expecting a record-low harvest of
only 50,000 bushels this year - and Virginia less than
half that - watermen and seafood interests in both
states want to introduce an Asian oyster that seems
capable of fighting off the diseases in the wild.
Last week, Virginia officials approved a trial
cultivation of 1 million hatchery-produced imports,
although the oysters are supposed to be neutered to
prevent them from reproducing and spreading.
But Pelz thinks his "floating oyster reefs" should get
their chance before everyone gives up on the Eastern
oyster and releases the replacement from China, with
unknown ecological consequences.
"We could out-produce the wild catch in the bay easily
if we were allowed to do it," he argues.
Started young
Pelz, 53, says he has been fascinated
with oysters since his youth in Ohio, when he read an
article about aquaculture's potential for feeding the
world.
After studying marine biology at several colleges and
making a stab at land-based farming, he moved to
Maryland 15 years ago. He found land for his dream on
St. Jerome Creek, in sight of the Point No Point
lighthouse, where the water is usually too fresh for
MSX to threaten the harvest.
But Pelz says his dream has been hampered by
regulators he has sparred with for nearly a decade to
get the 26 licenses, permits and approvals he needs to
raise oysters in floating rafts and sell them.
His application for a 10-acre stretch of creek along
his property was slashed by two-thirds, he says. Most
of the water he was left with is virtually unusable
because it's whipped by wind and currents.
More recently, when he and a few associates got
permits to grow oysters in nearby creeks and coves,
the state Department of the Environment stepped in
after the floats were in place, declared the waters
polluted and prohibited shellfish harvesting.
"Nobody's really given aquaculture a fair shake in the
state," complains Paul Flynn, one of Pelz's two
employees, who started as an intern at Circle C seven
years ago while he was a biology student at nearby St.
Mary's College.
State and federal officials acknowledge that Pelz has
had to run a regulatory gantlet but say some of it was
unavoidable. Raising oysters commercially on floats is
still rare in Maryland, they note, and shellfish
present particular health
questions. Oysters
and clams have been known to pick up disease-causing
bacteria from waters tainted with human waste.
"We know that oysters aren't a risk-free food," says
Kathy Brohawn, who monitors water quality in
shellfishing areas for the state environmental
agency. "That's why all these regulations are in
place, to minimize that risk so they're safe to
eat."
Watermen worry
Watermen also tend to resist
aquaculture, fearing it will deprive them of spots
where they can still catch wild oysters. And
neighbors object to the floats, which interfere with
boating and spoil their scenic views.
"I've had neighbors complain that ... 'I bought
waterfront and want to look at the water,'" says
Richard Bohn, aquaculture specialist for the state
Department of Natural Resources.
Pelz, who is not afraid of expressing his opinion,
also acknowledges that he might have contributed to
delays by challenging regulators.
"I've been told that I'm my own worst enemy," he
says, adding later, "I get pretty intense about
oysters."
But Pelz has persisted. He says he sells $40,000
worth of oysters annually from his 200-foot dock and
supplies about a dozen restaurants in St. Mary's
County and in the Washington area.
Last year, he got a friendly legislator to push a
bill through the General Assembly that provides a
$500 tax credit for homeowners who buy equipment to
raise oysters. That boosted sales of his trademark
oyster floats, he says.
Now he is backing another bill (HB 735) to let
waterfront landowners in St. Mary's and Calvert
counties raise oysters within 15 feet of their docks
without permits. A hearing on the bill is scheduled
today.
He also hopes to cash in on the oyster's ecological
value as a natural filter. Scientists note that the
Chesapeake was much cleaner when oysters were
abundant and removed far more of the sediment and
nutrients that foul the water today.
Pelz has patented his oyster floats - made of white
PVC plumbing pipe - as "biological nutrient control"
systems. He hopes to sell the idea to farmers or
others interested in finding a relatively cheap way
to cure the bay's water-quality woes.
Many scientists doubt that Pelz or anyone can put
enough oysters in floats to clean up North America's
largest estuary.
"It just doesn't seem to me to be feasible, given
the depleted nature of the habitat, that you're
going to make a dent in the whole bay," says Donald
Boesch, president of the University of Maryland
Center for Environmental Science.
Oysters could clean up some tidal creeks and
tributaries, Boesch says, but a bigger question is
whether Pelz or anyone can make a living raising
them under current conditions.
"Previous efforts at off-bottom aquaculture have
generally not been financially successful," he
notes.
The plastic mesh bags that hold the oysters become
coated with barnacles and other slimy bay growth,
cutting off the flow of water and food. The cost of
cleaning them by hand has sunk other efforts.
Pelz acknowledges that his wife's job as a
psychologist has supported the couple to date. But
he says his floats aren't that much trouble to tend,
and he expects oyster growing to blossom under Gov.
Robert L. Ehrlich Jr., who has pledged to help the
state's farmers.
"I'm a farmer," he says. "I just farm a different
area of the state."
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