News - " Forest Service Fights Trash "
New Millennium
Forest Service Fights Trash
RACO, Mich. (AP) -- It's springtime in the woods of Michigan's Upper
Peninsula, and here's the view:
A couple of soggy, soiled mattresses are slumped against a dented
washing machine, their faded yellow stuffing showing through gaping
holes in the fabric.
Strewn nearby are a rusty set of bedsprings, two deep freezers, two
refrigerators, a water heater, battered easy chair, color television
with broken picture tube, and other castoffs partially buried under what
remains of the snow.
"What a mess," U.S. Forest Service ranger Joe Hart sighs, gazing at the
unsightly heap in a clearing near Raco, a former logging village a few
miles south of Lake Superior in Chippewa County.
It's soon to get worse as temperatures rise and the snowpack melts.
That's when people once again will sneak into the woods and deposit
loads of worn-out furniture, appliances, household garbage and other
rubbish.
"It's just repulsive," says Chris Orlando of Mount Pleasant, nearly 200
miles south of Raco. She and other members of a group of
four-wheel-drive vehicle owners regularly clean dump sites they find
while exploring the Au Sable State Forest.
"You come out there to save your sanity, go fishing, relax, enjoy the
outdoors any way you can and there that stuff sits."
The trashing of Michigan forests creates not just eyesores in the midst
of beauty, but also environmental hazards.
Toxic liquids such as paint thinner or refrigerator coolant seep into
groundwater. Wild animals get caught in wire step on broken glass or eat
harmful plastics.
When hazardous materials such as lead-based paint or asbestos are
discovered, a licensed contractor must remove them. That can cost the
government up to $2,000 each time, says Orlando Sutton of the Forest
Service office in Escanaba.
"It's money that could be used toward opening a campground or
maintaining a snowmobile trail," says Sue Alexander, a Hiawatha National
Forest spokeswoman in Rapid River.
The problem has been going on for as long as anyone can remember. But it
appeared to worsen after the state's Solid Waste Management Act was
enacted in 1989. The act's tough anti-pollution standards for landfills
put hundreds of substandard local dumps out of business.
Since then, state and federal officials have teamed with outdoor
enthusiasts in a campaign to halt the littering and clean up illegal
dumping sites. How successful they have been isn't entirely clear. No
one knows how much junk is out there, and statistics can be misleading.
Example: In 1991, volunteers picked up 1,204 cubic yards of trash in
Michigan woods; in 1995, the total was 3,000 cubic yards.
At first glance, that would suggest a dramatic increase in dumping. But
this five-year period also saw state and federal cleanup efforts shift
into high gear. With more people looking for illicit dumps and helping
clean them up, it's logical that more trash would be collected.
One hopeful sign is that much of the trash that volunteers are finding
appears to have been discarded many years ago, says Ada Takacs, project
manager for the Department of Environmental Quality's Adopt-a-Forest
program for the Lower Peninsula.
"The progress reports people turn in tend to talk about older trash,"
Ms. Takacs says. "So even though more gets picked up every year, it
doesn't necessarily mean there's lots more dumping."
In times past, dumping was largely the product of ignorance, according
to Ann Wilson, a spokeswoman for the state Department of Natural
Resources. says. People figured there was no harm in hauling an old
piece of furniture or a few tires to the woods, or leaving behind their
garbage from a weekend camping trip instead of lugging it home.
In some cases, the sites actually were recognized as the township or
county dump.
"All of those old `dumps' are legally closed, although we find that some
habits die hard," Ms. Wilson says. "Those who used to dump their trash
in a certain location every Saturday for years still want to go to the
same place for the same purpose."
Tougher landfill standards have made it less convenient to legally get
rid of bulky or toxic refuse. Still, there are 64 landfills in Michigan
that accept household waste and 39 that take construction and demolition
debris, which people often need to get rid of in springtime, when home
improvement projects get under way.
And there are 53 transfer stations, where people can take virtually any
kind of trash, which is shipped to the appropriate recycling or disposal
facility.
But some people will not take the time to haul trash to landfills and
pay their fees when it's so easy to sneak into the woods. That brings up
another reason dumping remains a problem, one that officials hate to
admit: Chances are you'll get away with it.
The state has abundant woodlands and a vast network of two-track rural
roads, many cut by loggers decades ago and seldom used today except by
snowmobiles and off-road vehicles.
"You look at these piles and think we'd be able to catch these folks,"
says Don Mikel, a Forest Service ranger in Sault Ste. Marie. "But with
nights, weekends, the huge territory, thin staff ... it's very hard to
do."
Hart, based at the Forest Service office in St. Ignace, is more blunt:
"It's like hitting the lottery."
While catching people in the act is rare, officers sometimes get
tipoffs. Or they might sift through a garbage bag, find a bill with
someone's name on it, confront the person and win a confession.
Fines for illegal dumping on federal land range from $250 to $5,000. On
the state level, a law enacted two years ago authorized fines ranging
from $100 to $5,000 plus additional civil penalties, such as impounding
of vehicles used for illegal dumping by repeat offenders.
The law is to expire next year, although the Legislature is considering
a bill to make it permanent.
In the long run, the answer is to educate people and change their
attitudes, Ms. Wilson says. That's the goal of the Michigan Coalition
for Clean Forests, which brings together state and federal agencies and
groups representing business, environmentalists, law enforcement and
others.
Formed three years ago, the coalition has developed a slide program,
brochures and other materials to get the word out. There also are two
"trash teams" that organize volunteer cleanups.
The "Adopt-a-Forest" program puts groups in charge of keeping specific
areas clean. They removed 60 tons of scrap metal and 200 freezers and
refrigerators, among other trash, from state land last year.
Tom and Billie Briggs of Royal Oak were put in charge of volunteer
cleanup in Mackinac County after complaining to the Forest Service about
trash near their hunting cabin north of St. Ignace. In the six years
since, most of the county's roughly 30 known sites have been cleaned.
"It's very offensive to me that some people have so little respect for
nature," Tom Briggs says. "I think it's a small minority of bums that
make it bad for everybody."