By Rocky Kistner, Bridge the Gulf


The memory of the dolphin pushing her lifeless calf toward him is still seared in his brain a month later. "I've seen a lot things after this oil spill, but this was the worst," he says (see dramatic footage of a similar event recorded by researchers off the Texas coast in 2008).


Dolphins are perhaps the Gulf coast's most sacred marine life, a symbol of the vitality of the region and an icon of the unique people who make it their home. One of those is Eric Tiser (in photo), a fisherman from Louisiana's Plaquemines Parish that was devastated by the oil spill. Eric calls himself a pirate of the sea, a scrapping self-proclaimed "coon-ass" whose nose was partly bitten off in a bar fight many years ago. Eric's as a wild as the thousands of acres of marshland that spread out from the end-of-the road fishing port of Venice 100 miles south of New Orleans.

When Eric sees a dolphin, his eyes light up and a smile broader than the mighty Mississippi spreads across his face. I witnessed that smile exactly a year ago when I took a ride with Eric to see if the oil was still washing in after BP's well from hell had been plugged. Along with Eric's 12-year old son, we motored along through the Katrina-battered bayous of Barataria Bay, where the oil was still thick in the mud and stuck to your feet like molasses.



But that's not how Eric sees it. He and others say tar balls and oil continue to roll in, and they say their job is far from done. What's worse, Eric says he and many fishermen haven't been paid the compensation BP promised to make up for tens of thousands of dollars in lost fishing income. Eric's used the money he made from the cleanup to buy a new truck and a boat, which he says has now been vandalized and sunk by people he won't name. "Someone's hating on me" is all he will say.

But even if Eric could get back on the water, he says it's not worth fishing anymore. The shrimp catches are as low as ever, and the market price for Gulf seafood has plummeted. With gas as high as it is, it's not worth the trip anymore. "We can't make any money," he complains. "All of our fishing grounds are empty right now. They're starving us to death."




But these are not the images or the stories people hear about across the country. For Eric and others, the nation's on-going silence about this continuing tragedy is perhaps the most painful part of all.

(Photo of Eric Tiser by Rocky Kistner/NRDC.)