POINTE-AU-CHIEN, La. (AP) — Cherie Matherne looked out into Bayou Pointe au Chien, wide enough for several boats to pass. In the distance, a stand of dead trees marked where saltwater comes and goes during storm surge flooding.
It wasn’t always like that. The bayou was once shallower and wide enough for a small boat to pass. The land where cattle once roamed is now submerged, and the elders tell of trees once so lush that they hardly see day.
The delicate web of Louisiana’s coastline has been steadily retreating for generations. As he does, the Pointe-au-Chien Indian tribe and other indigenous people struggle to protect what’s left and adapt to their changing environment. This includes a painstaking effort to build makeshift reefs that slow erosion and sturdier homes and buildings to better withstand storms.
“We want to be able to make it so that people can stay here as long as possible, as long as they want to stay,” said Matherne, who, as the tribe’s director of daily operations, has helped coordinate its response to the threat of erosion.
They hope to avoid the fate of the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation, a nearby tribe that was forced to relocate three years ago about 40 miles (64 kilometers) north of the encroaching Gulf of Mexico. Jean Charles Island – their island home southwest of New Orleans – lost 98% of its land.
What they eat on the Louisiana coast
The Louisiana coast has steadily retreated for a number of reasons.
Levees along the Mississippi River have cut off the natural flow of sand, silt and clay that generates land, starving wetlands of the sediment they need to survive. The canals allowed saltwater to flow into the wetlands, killing the freshwater vegetation that holds them together and accelerating erosion. Groundwater pumping causes the land to sink, and planet-warming emissions from burning coal, oil and gas fuel hurricanes and accelerate sea level rise.
Since the 1930s, Louisiana has lost about 2,000 square miles (5,180 square kilometers) of land—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. A US Geological Survey analysis found that when erosion was at its worst, a football field’s worth of coastal wetlands disappeared every 34 minutes.
It’s a difficult problem to solve without being able to count on the Mississippi River to periodically dump sediment to maintain the land, said Sam Bentley, a professor of geology at Louisiana State University.
“That’s going to displace ecosystems, it’s going to displace communities, it’s going to isolate the infrastructure that’s along the coast,” Bentley said. “And there will be a lot of changes that are very difficult to manage.”
Indigenous burial and cultural sites are at risk of erosion, and traditional ways of life – shrimping, fishing and subsistence farming – are under pressure. Without action, researchers estimate the state could lose up to 3,000 square miles (7,770 square kilometers) — an area larger than Delaware — over the next 50 years.
Slowing erosion with recycled oyster shells
Reefs built from oyster shells are an attempt to stop erosion.
Oysters are collected from restaurants, stuffed into bags and stacked just offshore to form the reefs. The program, launched in 2014 by the Louisiana Coastal Restoration Coalition, has recycled more than 16 million pounds (7.3 million kilograms) of clams in that time. That’s enough to protect about 1.5 miles (about 2.4 kilometers) of shoreline.
Since the Pointe-au-Chien tribe built a 400-foot (123-meter) reef in 2019 to protect a historic mound, the coalition has measured a 50 percent reduction in the rate of land loss where the reefs were built, said coalition spokesman James Karst.
But there are limits to what reclaimed oyster shells can do. There simply aren’t enough shells for Louisiana’s estimated 7,721 miles (12,426 kilometers) of coastline, Karst said, and moving them is expensive, so they have to be strategic. Many reefs they have built protect sites of cultural importance. They are also limited to areas where the water is salty enough for oyster shells to survive.
Their work might seem like a drop in the bucket, “but when you’re losing ground at the rate you’re going,” Karst said, “you need every drop in the bucket you can get.”
Some of the coalition’s most recent work took place about 30 miles southwest of the Pointe-au-Chien site in a project with the Grand Caillou/Dulac Band of the Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw Tribe that ended in November. It was built at the Louisiana Universities Marine Consortium, a location where the public can easily see and learn about oyster reefs, Chief Devon Parfait said.
Fortification of buildings against strong storms
When Hurricane Ida struck in 2021, it made landfall in the region with maximum sustained winds of 150 mph (241 kph).
Dozens of homes in and around Pointe-au-Chien were damaged or destroyed. Some families moved inland or left the area entirely, but most have returned. With the help of groups like the Lowlander Center, a nonprofit that works with indigenous and coastal communities facing risks like climate threats and land loss, the tribe is rebuilding itself in a stronger way.
The houses are higher off the ground and fortified with hurricane straps, heavy windows and doors that can withstand strong winds and waters. Electrical equipment is elevated to stay above the storm surge. They rebuilt or repaired 13 houses; About five new houses are planned and they are raising money to fortify the remaining dozen or so.
“We know that making one home in a community doesn’t make the community safe. It’s only safe if the entire community is included in increasing that level of safety,” said Kristina Peterson, director and co-founder of the Lowlander Center.
Future plans and challenges
But challenges remain. State-recognized tribes have struggled to get federal recognition, they said, and without it, it’s hard to get grants and other help from the federal government. Instead, it relies on partnerships with organizations and institutions.
The Trump administration’s funding cuts also make it harder for tribes to meet their goals.
The Grand Caillou/Dulac Band of Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw has applied for a federal grant to build a community center stocked with emergency food, water and renewable energy that is designed to withstand hurricanes. When reductions occurred, their application was submitted.
Similarly, Pointe-au-Chien has requested money to install solar panels on every home, but is not hopeful that their request will be approved.
A changed landscape
Pointe-au-Chien elder Theresa Dardar said a lot has changed in the five decades she has lived there. The pond behind her house grew larger and she could once identify Chien and Felicity lakes. Now it’s just a big body of water. People once hunted deer and walked through forested areas.
What hasn’t changed is the quietness and close ties. Everyone knows everyone. And people still fish as generations before them did.
“This is where our ancestors were, and we feel like we’re abandoning them” to leave, Dardar said. “We have sacred places that we still visit.”
By slowing erosion and building more homes, the tribe hopes younger families will move to Pointe-au-Chien. They also know that protecting their lands from underwater penetration will protect regions further inland.
As Dardar said, “We are the buffer.”
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