Aila Webster

I recently had the opportunity to visit the creek at my favorite campsite. As a bit of context, I’ve been playing in, hiking around, and walking across this creek since I was five years old. I’d like to think I’ve explored every bit of the creek I can, but every time I come to it, I find something I’ve never seen before. When I was seven, it was the angry crawdads in the deep shadows of the creek. When I was eleven, the log that served as a makeshift teeter-totter. A few months ago, I found baby trout that had just hatched from the trout spawning. But this time, I wasn’t greeted by a new animal or spot to explore for the next few days; I was instead met with the smell of algae. 

I looked over at my friend as we approached the deep, green pools of gunk that I had never encountered before. Written on both our faces was a look of confusion, for at the beginning of the summer, the creeks had been clear and running. Spooked by my mom’s warning of “brain-eating amoeba” (I’ll believe it when I see it), we quickly exited the creek to the small bank. Yesterday, we explored the lower half of the creek, secluded from everyone but those equipped with waders and determination. There we had found the clear pools, running rapids that I knew so well, numerous trout spawn, and crawdads waiting under every rock. Yet here, at the upper half of the creek, human interaction with the ecosystem was apparent. 

I believe the root of the problem for these algae-rich ecological purgatory zones was an unassuming line of rocks. As a younger creek enthusiast, I too stacked rocks and built bridges across the creek, laughing at how the water changed directions and flowed over my small creations. But as more and more people came to the creek and did the same “harmless” activities as I did, the popular parts of the creek were overtaken by small dams. These dams accumulated water and silt, and over time, eradicated the fast-moving waters that the trout and crawdads flourished in. In the untouched parts of the creek, which were inaccessible due to their rugged terrain, the ecosystem flourished with a diverse array of flora and fauna. But in the areas of the creek that were trodden and dammed, the creek started to shift and change. 

Addressing this problem is not a linear process, and it begins with a need for public education on natural ecosystems. Increased support from park rangers to educate the public, along with signs that portray the effects of dams, could help mitigate the problem of creek depletion. The basis of environmental protection lies in the public, and how individuals work together for a common cause.