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Mercury Madness

Amid a barren, polluted landscape of eroded yellow rock, a 20-acre pit of toxic waste water lies unattended and uncontained less than 100 yards from the southern end of Clear Lake, Calif., ancestral home to a Pomo Indian tribe. The faint scent of sulfur, like rotten eggs, lingers in the air. Only a small rise of land and a recently built dam of boulders keeps the toxic pond from flowing directly into California's largest freshwater lake.

Long before white immigrants exploded West from New England, the Pomo Indians of California's Lake County had for generations lived off the bounty of this once ecologically rich region. With settlements alongside Clear Lake, North America's oldest body of water, they thrived off the abundance of fish, tule reed and freshwater clams.

But westward expansion, rapid development and relentless mining by non-Indians has left a legacy of pollution that has turned this corner of Clear Lake into a degenerated wasteland of deadly fish, toxic playgrounds and poisoned inhabitants.

This toxic "hot spot," which made it onto the Environmental Protection Agency's (EPA) Superfund list in 1988, is the result of years of quicksilver extraction by Bradley Mining Company, who abandoned the site, Sulfur Bank Mine, in 1957. The piles of mercury-tainted rubble, or "tailings," that litter the shoreline were gouged from the earth in pursuit of mineral wealth. During the 1940s, when the mine was operating at its peak, much of the waste rock was pushed into the lake, filling in the natural hot springs and mineral baths that the native people had enjoyed for 10,000 years.

But there is a deeper concern. Not more than a stone's throw from this geographic open sore, the Elem colony of Pomo Indians has, until now, lived off the lake's largess. South of Mount Konocti, well isolated from the lake's tourist region, members of this colony are now suffering an insidious form of methyl mercury poisoning that the EPA and state health officials have traced to the high levels of mercury found in the fish, the exposed tailings and the soil on the Pomos' largely reduced, 50-acre rancheria.

"In the 1970s, the Bureau of Indian Affairs bought leftover tailings from [mine-owner] Bradley," says Jim Brown, an Elem Pomo spiritual leader and former tribal council member. "They used it as a fill when they built our first houses in 1971. We don't know yet what the long-term effects of living on these tailings will be."

"At the time, we didn't know the tailings were contaminated," says Harold Bradford, BIA director for central California.

For decades, this mercury has been finding its way across the breezes, through the soil and up the food chain into their bodies. Frederick Bradley, a practicing San Francisco lawyer and the president of Bradley Mining Company, believes naturally-occurring levels of mercury in the lake bed are poisoning the fish, not his mine.

"Who's to say the fish haven't always had mercury in them," Bradley says. "Nature put it there, not me."

Lake County's director of environmental health, Martin Winston, agrees that some of the mercury contamination is natural, but points to the mine as a significant factor.

"As long as the tailings exist, mercury-laden dust is blown into the lake where it is converted into methyl mercury and easily assimilated into the food chain," he says. Some Elem Pomos believe the deaths of their elders, many of whom worked for years at the mine, were the result of mercury poisoning. Adults who played on the tailings as children say they suffer many of the symptoms associated with contamination.

Severe mercury poisoning can result in kidney failure, nerve damage and death. Symptoms include memory loss, blurred vision, slurred speech, tremors, lassitude and extreme emotional instability-the latter which can lead to irrational behavior and violence (Text attribution to come).

"My father, who was a war veteran and spiritual leader for our people, died young at age 59," Brown says. "For years he worked in that mine, and he had all of the symptoms. I believe he died because of the mercury, but in our tradition we do not perform autopsies, so we can't know for sure."

Bonnie Maranda, an Elem who works with the colony's children, says she remembers as a child her mother warning her away from the toxic pit, well before it was "discovered" by officials.

"She told me that the pond was full of acid and that if I put my foot into it, it would burn right off," Maranda says. "I used to have to walk around it every day to catch the bus for school."

After mercury-tainted fish were discovered in 1976, the California Health Department issued a formal, some say little-publicized, public statement warning pregnant women, women planning to become pregnant and children under 6 not to eat Clear Lake fish.

A state health advisory lists that "safe" fish consumption levels should not exceed up to six large or 22 small fish per year. For all members of the Elem colony, fish were-until now-a part of their daily diet. Because they are urged not to use the polluted soil for gardening, the Pomos are forced to go outside the reservation to find a meal. With limited and often non-existent incomes for many members, this puts them in a dire situation.

"We have never been so socially, ecologically or economically bad off," says Brown, who works part-time at the County Juvenile Detention Center. "Our whole way of life is being compromised."

In 1994, the Department of Health Services did a study of urine and blood mercury levels of the Elem Pomos. Urine levels, which determine the amount of mercury contamination from soil and dust, were considered low. The blood tests, which determine levels of methyl mercury-the type "broken down" by bacteria in the lake sediment and carried up the food chain-were at 15 micrograms of mercury per liter of blood (15 ug/L), remarkably higher than the national average of 2 ug/L. Noting that blood levels were much higher than the urine levels, they attributed the mercury problems at Elem to fish consumption rather than the mine.

Nevertheless, the department found the tailings dangerous enough to issue an advisory stating: "We recommend that you not walk or play on the Sulfur Bank Mine. The levels of mercury and other chemicals on this site and in the ponds are hazardous, and are much higher than any levels in soil and dust at your home...."

If this is the case, Brown and other Pomos ask, then why isn't anything being done to mitigate the problem?

In 1992, the EPA spent $2.2 million to move some of the waste away from the shore to reduce erosion into the lake. But later studies showed elevated levels of mercury in the fish. Critics argue the remedy was merely cosmetic, and didn't eradicate the problem.

The mining company, owned by a family of lawyers, has threatened to declare bankruptcy if forced to pay any clean-up costs. Although the mining company lost a suit in court against the EPA, it still claims no responsibility for the deadly levels of mercury.

County officials now point to the open pit as the real culprit. This has prompted the EPA to redress the problem. U.C. Davis is doing a study on core samples taken from the pit, and their findings will help determine the best mitigation measure.

According to EPA project manager Carolyn D'Almeida, the cost of draining the pond, filling it with the surrounding, contaminated waste rock, and sealing it off, would cost more than $15 million, 10 percent of which the state has agreed to pay.

But because of a rash of intertribal violence and long-standing suspicions and distrust between the Pomos and government officials, mitigating the mercury problem at the rancheria has proven difficult, D'Almeida says. Brown talks sadly about the violence and strange behavior plaguing members of the colony.

Bullet-riddled cars, burned-out houses, smashed windows and piles of refuse greet visitors entering the colony.

State and county enforcement agencies believe gunshots that rang throughout the reservation last fall were the result of a long-standing family feud over the management of a casino. All county services to the rancheria, such as garbage pick-up and school bus service, have been denied.

Brown says that although there's been a cultural conflict between the "traditional" Pomos and the "acculturated," the extreme behavior is uncharacteristic of the Elem. He believes the disintegration in character is due to years of mercury poisoning.

Brown is concerned because this incident gives state and county officials that much more control over their affairs and strengthens their contention that "changes need to be made out there."

"The sovereignty of the tribe is at stake," Brown says.

It's this conflict that D'Almeida says is keeping mitigation measures from moving forward on the rancheria. "We don't want to get in the middle of a tribal conflict," she says. She also says EPA engineers were kicked off the rancheria when they attempted to address the problem and she was waiting to be "asked back."

"Now the problem is that because so much time has passed," says D'Almeida. "The money that was allocated for clean-up has been shifted to another project." She points to the slashes in the EPA budget as another limiting factor to cleaning up the rancheria.

The tenuous relationship between Elem and government agencies isn't new. In fact, there is a strong history fostering such sentiment.

"We used to have 27,000 acres here," Brown says. "But the Bradley's came in and laid claims on the mine. Through collaborations with BIA agents, they got the land. A treaty was signed, which left us 250 acres. Later, in 1949, another treaty was drawn up, formalizing our trust land as the 50-acre rancheria we have today."

In the last treaty, Brown says, they lost a sacred part of their land, Rattlesnake Island, to a family in San Francisco.

Maranda, looking at the island, talks wistfully of her childhood. "I remember going there on boats, we would fish there," she says. "We went to court and demanded to see the deed, but they never did show it to us."

Although the EPA has ordered the BIA to cover over and seal the tailings with topsoil, this has yet to be done. There is an ongoing argument over who should pay for it-Bradley Mining Company, EPA or the BIA. Currently, no one has taken responsibility.

"If we had access to good legal representation," Brown says, "we would sue the mining company."

D'Almeida says she believes the Pomos would have a case. Brown knows they do.

"Something has to be done," says Brown. "The mercury, it's everywhere. I mean, something is seriously wrong if we're told to wear masks while we work in the yard."

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