Bill
Mitsch '69, a professor of natural resources and environmental
science at Ohio State University, hit a political nerve when he
spoke up about how heavy human hands on the Mississippi River
had exacerbated the problems in New Orleans.
"It makes no sense to spend any money rebuilding the city without
addressing the long-overdue issue of restoring the natural features
that once protected New Orleans from storms," Mitsch told the
Columbus Dispatch. He called the extent of the damage
to the river and related wetlands "criminal."
Swamps, bogs, marshes, fens, quagmires -- whatever you call
them, Mitsch says wetlands are the salvation of the world. We
need more of these engines of ecological integrity, and he knows
how to build them. "They've really got to let that river go, left
and right," he says. "We get in trouble when we're arrogant enough
to think that we are in total control."
As a young man with a degree in mechanical engineering, Mitsch
was fascinated with power plants and thermodynamics. He wound
up at Commonwealth Edison, which lights up Chicagoland. He eagerly
watched the environmental movement take root in the political
ferment of the day then realized uncomfortably that he was working
for a major polluter. After a stint in the company's new office
of environmental affairs, he left for graduate school at the University
of Florida.
Among his mentors at Florida was H.T. Odum, one of the premier
ecologists of the last century. A big thinker and master showman,
Odum would astonish companions when, donned in street clothes,
he would stride into the water without interrupting his conversation.
Odum needed a graduate student for a unique experiment: What
happens when you pumped processed sewage into a parched cypress
swamp? Could the water revive the swamp, and would the swamp then
finish cleaning the water? While scouting the experimental site,
Odum tapped Mitsch for his fellowship of mud. "It was mucky and
muddy and messy," recalls Mitsch. "[Odum's] just having a ball,
and he turns to me and says 'You want to do this stuff?' And I
said 'Hell yes.'"
In the South, Mitsch says, "You see how powerful ecology is."
When the experiment worked, the possibilities set his mind ablaze.
"It all clicked: all the cylinders of my life, from understanding
thermodynamics to learning about ecology," he says.
Since Europeans had arrived in North America, wetlands had been
seen as wastelands: something to drain, fill, cultivate or excavate.
From 1780 to 1980 the lower 48 lost on average an acre of wetland
every minute. But wetlands also were emerging as a flash-point
where ecology and economics collided. Scientists argued that wetlands
provided real economic benefits: They filter pollutants from water,
buffer us from floods, and nurture a bounty of fish and wildlife.
Wetland policy became one of the most contested arenas of environmental
policy. Businesses and communities often found themselves regulatory
hostages to an inconveniently located stretch of damp ground.
One possible solution was creating or restoring wetlands to compensate
for those destroyed through development. But debate raged: Are
wetlands created by people as good as natural wetlands?
Answering this question has been Mitsch's passion. At Ohio State,
under-used fields near the Olentangy River were secured. Restoring
old wetlands is usually easier than cutting them from whole cloth,
but these had never been wetlands. Mitsch appreciates the exquisite
and complex beauty of natural wetlands tended by Mother Nature
over eons but argues that wetland function is mostly a matter
of plumbing. "If you get the hydrology right, you can have wetlands
on the moon."
He and his students designed two kidney-shaped catchments, and
in 1994 they were filled with water siphoned from the Olentangy.
One basin was planted with a half-dozen local wetland species;
the other was allowed to follow nature's course. Within three
years the two had converged and were nearly identical in terms
of plant species and water filtration. Such ecological benefits
as water purification and nutrient sequestration are similar in
both wetlands.
Because we can create a wetland, says Mitsch, "We need to do
stuff on a much bigger scale if we really expect wetlands to make
a difference." Among his more radical proposals is to tackle the
dead zone in the Gulf of Mexico with a minimum of 24 million acres
of new and restored wetlands in the Mississippi River basin.
He has some practice with wetland work on a big scale. In Iraq,
Saddam Hussein attempted to strangle resistance by draining massive
wetlands in the south; Mitsch has twice traveled to the region
to teach restoration techniques.
Using natural systems on this grand stage is an emerging field
called ecological engineering, and Mitsch, with Danish colleague
Sven Erik Jorgensen, wrote a pioneering text. In 2004 their collective
works netted the authors the coveted Stockholm Water Prize, which
comes with a $150,000 cash award. "The 21st century will be the
century of repairing the planet," says Mitsch. "There needs to
be a profession that knows how to do it right."
* * *
Erik Ness writes about science and the environment from his
home in Madison, Wisconsin.
(April 2006)
