Atlanta Is Flexing
Muscles in Its War
On a Little Bivalve

ATLANTA -- They are unassuming little creatures that spend their lives burrowing into sandy beds of Florida's Apalachicola River, filtering water and ingesting detritus. They are too tough for people to eat, but they make tasty snacks for blue herons. They are members of an endangered species, Amblema neislerii, more commonly known as the fat threeridge mussel.

Until this summer, few people in Georgia had heard of the humble bivalves. But a prolonged drought has changed all that. The protected mussels depend for sustenance on the same river system that provides drinking water for millions of people in metro Atlanta. That's causing an intensifying struggle for the same resource that Georgia state officials consider an epic battle of Man versus Mussel. At stake is a looming water shortage in Georgia, as well as the survival of a species considered a bellwether for the health of the coastal ecosystem along Florida's Panhandle.

Metro Atlanta's main source of drinking water is 39,000-acre Lake Lanier, a 50-year-old reservoir built and controlled by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Under a 2006 deal with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, which co-administers the Endangered Species Act, the Corps has to send enough water from Lanier and other reservoirs into the Chattahoochee River and connecting rivers downstream, including Florida's Apalachicola River, to sustain the endangered mussels. But because of the drought Georgia wants the Corps to reduce the amount of water it is letting through.

The flow also cools two power plants -- one in Alabama and one in Florida -- located between Atlanta and the mouth of the Apalachicola in the Florida Panhandle 350 miles away. The river's delivery of fresh water also feeds the Gulf Coast spawning grounds of the threatened Gulf sturgeon.

As months with little rain steadily lowered the level of Lake Lanier, which provides drinking water for roughly three million people, marooning boat docks and exposing vast flats of red mud, the Corps has continued to open the Lake Lanier dam enough to maintain a steady stream of the millions of gallons of water believed necessary to keep the mussels in Florida alive.

State officials in Georgia estimate that if severe drought conditions persist, the reservoir could be nearly dry by the end of January. "If this water isn't conserved now, it's going to be lost for everyone," says Atlanta attorney Bruce Brown, who heads the state's legal efforts in the water crisis.

Last weekend, with a shriveled Lake Lanier as a backdrop, Georgia Gov. Sonny Perdue lashed out, blaming "silly federal bureaucratic rules" for the state's dilemma. An onlooker displayed a placard asking, "Where in the U.S. Constitution does it say, 'protect the mussels?'" And U.S. Rep. John Linder, a Republican, said the Corps is behaving "as though mussels are more important than our children and grandchildren."

Georgia filed suit against the Corps last week, demanding it hold back more Lake Lanier water. A court hearing is scheduled for Nov. 19. Gov. Perdue also fired a separate volley Saturday, beseeching President Bush to declare a major disaster in Georgia -- a step the state's lawyers say would exempt the Corps from compliance with the Endangered Species Act. Governors of both Florida and Alabama countered by asking President Bush not to.

The Federal Emergency Management Agency, which is weighing the disaster request, says it's not necessarily that simple. The last drought-related federal disaster decree was three decades ago, a FEMA spokesman says. The White House Council on Environmental Quality, which coordinates environmental policy, says it's studying the situation. "I can't emphasize how complicated this is," says the FEMA spokesman, Aaron Walker.

Alabama's governor opposes a reduction in water flow partly because it could force the shutdown of a nuclear plant near his state's border with Georgia. South of the state line in Florida, state officials and wildlife advocates say Georgia's behavior is unneighborly, and putting at risk not only mussels and sturgeon but the oyster and seafood industry in Apalachicola Bay.

The bay produces 90% of Florida's oysters, which depend on a balance of freshwater and saltwater to thrive. Reducing the river flow makes the bay saltier and lets predator fish swim closer in to eat the oysters. Some fishermen say their oyster catches are already suffering from the reduced freshwater flows caused by the lack of rain.

"You're talking about killing off this bay," says Tommy Ward, an oyster dealer near Apalachicola.

Florida officials say they would be more sympathetic if metro Atlanta did a better job of reducing its water use. For years, as unbridled development consumed millions of acres of real estate around Atlanta, water conservation was rarely a consideration. During a severe drought earlier this decade, the region began imposing summer water-use restrictions, but took few steps toward long-term water management policies once the rains returned, environmentalists say.

After a summer of gradually escalating water limits, the state last month banned most outdoor watering in northern Georgia. Residents in some areas are eagerly ratting out neighbors with suspiciously green lawns; one county even relies on reports from its fleet of school-bus drivers to root out illegal sprinkling.

But golf courses can still legally water their greens, and commercial car washes continue to operate. On Tuesday, Gov. Perdue ordered utilities throughout North Georgia to cut their water use by 10%, and urged residents to treat drying lawns and dirty cars as a "badge of honor." Tougher steps may be in the offing.

The Corps agrees the outlook is "serious," but not as dire as the state is portraying it. Lake Lanier has roughly nine months of water, if water below normal "usable" levels in the reservoir are used, according to the Corps. A Corps spokesman said the agency is consulting with the Fish and Wildlife Service on ways to reduce the flow of water without running afoul of the Endangered Species Act.

If the Corps must curb water releases, one possibility to protect the mussels might be to lower levels incrementally, hopefully giving the creatures time to migrate toward water in the center of the stream. Federal biologist Jerry Ziewitz says the mussels can survive short periods of drought. "They literally clam up," he said, by tightly closing their shells and holding their breath. But ultimately, they need water flowing over their gills to breathe.

Allies of the mussels are skeptical. If the mussels dwindle further, says Dan Tonsmeire, head of environmental group Apalachicola Riverkeeper, it means the entire river and its estuaries are suffering too: "They're the canaries in the coal mine."