For a spit of land sandwiched between Barataria Bay and the Gulf of Mexico, one that in the past eight years has endured five hurricanes and the worst oil disaster in United States history, Grand Isle bears few obvious scars. Recreational fishers crowd piers and bridges to cast their lines. New vacation homes, or "camps,'' are under construction, some...
For a spit of land sandwiched between Barataria Bay and the Gulf of Mexico, one that in the past eight years has endured five hurricanes and the worst oil disaster in United States history, Grand Isle bears few obvious scars. Recreational fishers crowd piers and bridges to cast their lines. New vacation homes, or "camps,'' are under construction, some priced between $500,000 and $1 million. Restaurants such as the Starfish serve up piles of piping hot shrimp and fish to hungry tourists, between their visits to the marinas, the beach and the grocery store.
But as they prepare for Thursday's start of the International Tarpon Rodeo, the annual blow-out that brings 15,000 or so visitors to the town inhabited by just 1,300, Grand Isle's residents are confronting profound changes. The year-round population has fallen 16 percent, flood insurance premiums are skyrocketing, home sales are sluggish and the only people who seem to be buying them are wealthy newcomers.
"Grand Isle is back. Tourists are back,'' said Buggie Vegas, co-owner of the Bridge Side Marina. "We're doing real well, but everything is getting expensive. Everything is going up.''
Irrepressible residents who regularly stare down environmental adversity cling to their roots while watching the influx of transient and affluent outsiders move in. The stark reality for those whose families date back generations is that the insular enclave at the end of Louisiana 1 could soon bear little resemblance to the community of their childhood.
"We've got people down here that ain't never left Grand Isle in three generations," seafood wholesaler Dean Blanchard said. "Now they are having to leave Grand Isle to make a living.''
Their angst is further heightened as their elected representatives battle federal officials over revised flood maps and a provision in federal legislation that could impose astounding premiums on some.
"It's hard living here with the cost of insurance. That's what's killing people,'' said real estate agent Beverly Curole. "People won't be able to afford the insurance, taxes and the price of the homes because of the sales. More people are coming in and spending a half-million for a camp. To live here, it's not affordable.''
Grand Isle matters to more than its residents. Jefferson Parish officials say it is critical to fighting coastal erosion in Barataria Bay and ultimately protecting the New Orleans area.
"Often times people who don't understand the full picture ask, 'Why do you guys give so much attention to Grand Isle?''' Parish Council Chairman Chris Roberts said. "They're our first speed hump during a hurricane. You look at where the Gulf comes up and Jefferson Parish -- that's our front door.
"If we retreat and lose Grand Isle, at some point the possibility exists that what's built out there right now to protect us may not be sufficient.''
Leaving home
Ask anyone around town whether they know of a resident who has left, and most likely the answer will be yes. In the 10-year period after the 2000 census, the island's population fell from 1,541 to 1,296.
Katrina in 2005 might have played a role in the exodus, as the island's recovery was delayed for weeks. Storm surge battered the only bridge into town, the 32-mile pipeline that supplies Grand Isle with drinking water was broken and residents who returned had to rough it without water, electricity and gas.
But the BP oil calamity might have struck the lowest blow. When the Deepwater Horizon rig exploded in the Gulf of Mexico in 2010, killing 11 men, oil gushed for 87 days, shutting down the seafood industry, the tourism season and the Tarpon Rodeo for the first time in its 83-year history.
Blanchard, accustomed to processing 9 million pounds of shrimp in a bad year, said longtime fishers have yet to recover. "I could take 100 hurricanes (over) one oil spill,'' he said. "With the hurricane, you know the natural resources didn't get destroyed. All you got to do is rebuild your building. It's something we're used to doing.''
Grand Isle had been ground zero for shrimpers seeking the big catch, Blanchard said. But conditions are so poor now that many fishers are trawling elsewhere to survive, he said.
"Everybody from every state -- Texas, Alabama, Florida to Louisiana -- would congregate on Grand Isle,'' Blanchard said. "Now our people from Grand Isle are having to go to other places. It never happened in my lifetime.''
Through Wednesday, Blanchard had bought only 4.9 million pounds of shrimp from local fishers this year. That's 2½ million pounds less than in 2009, which he remembers as "one of the worst years we ever had.''
Where he once employed 100 workers, he's now down to about 25. And some of them could soon be without jobs, said Blanchard, adding that he, too, is following the shrimp up the road to Dulac, where he is opening a plant.
"We ain't got no choice. We've been losing customers,'' he said.
The gushing oil chased off others, as well. Betty Doud, who lived on the island for 17 years, said her grandchildren, ages 4 and 7, developed asthma and had to depend on a "breathing machine'' as many as three times a day. She said she suffers respiratory problems, rashes and memory loss.
In 2011, she gave up, concerned for the children's health, and put her three properties on the market. The next year, she moved to Slidell.
While her house painting business, such as it is, remains on the island, she said she'll relocate it once her property sells.
"I want to stay, but I can't,'' Doud said. "I'm more worried about the kids and the future.''
Blanchard said he tried to persuade his wife, who also suffers from asthma and other respiratory illnesses, to move. "She didn't want to move. We've been down here so long,'' he said.
Insurance debate
Talk of the upcoming Tarpon Rodeo dominates the conversation around town. But not far behind is talk of rising insurance premiums.
Town Councilman Stephen "Scooter'' Resweber said he thought a $2,000 increase in his homeowner's policy was a mistake. Hurricane Isaac passed over the island last year but largely spared Grand Isle of major damage.
"That's what's scaring people the most: the cost of the rising flood and wind insurance,'' he said.
The prospect of insurance costing as much as a new car each year has forced residents and those in real estate to change their way of doing business, Curole said. Agents and residents employ wind mitigators, who survey homes looking for features -- from hip roof styles, straps and wind shutters -- to slash premiums. The cost of the service, usually $500 or $600 for an analysis, could end up saving as much as $1,800 in homeowner insurance premiums, Curole said.
"Before, people would write up an offer and then call and check on insurance. Not anymore,'' she said.
The extra work is lengthening the closing process from an average of 30 days to 45 days or longer, Curole said. In addition, prices are coming down as residents seek to sell their property rather than face higher insurance premiums, she said.
If the issue of higher flood insurance premiums isn't resolved, Roberts predicted homeowners will be forced to sell at a loss or walk away, which ultimately will affect government services.
"If it becomes difficult to sell a property because of flood insurance and it deflates the value of the properties, at some point it essentially deflates the value of the tax rolls and ultimately collections decrease,'' he said.
Grand Isle has enjoyed higher property values. The total value topped out at $40 million in 2007, when the town coffers benefited from $455,000 in real estate taxes, but fell the next year after Hurricane Gustav. The 2012 assessment tallied more than $39 million, which brought in $470,000 for the town budget.
Property values and a building boom had taken when the town opened the valve on its 32-mile waterline in 2000. The result: more upscale homes built to higher standards.
"Many of the older structures were blown away or torn down,'' Roberts said. "The difference is you've lost some of the people because it's become unaffordable for them to live there.''
For most camp owners these days, flood insurance premiums could jump $10,000 without intervention and cause more folks to leave, he said. And further population loss will make it difficult to justify federal aid to rebuild after another disaster.
"If we don't make Grand Isle sustainable and we don't make it a long-term community, then we're losing part of hurricane protection,'' he said.
Cultural conflict
The saving grace could be the tourists and visitors, who are buying property in spite of the risk. While real estate closings halted after the oil spill, Curole said, the rental market thrived. In 2010, some owners collected $12,000 to $24,000 a month to house cleanup workers and scientists. The next year, sales rebounded and she said she had her best year ever, moving 60 properties.
Natives reluctantly recognize the town's fortunes rise and fall with tourism and visitors, some of whom decide to put down stakes, Resweber said.
Almost 80 percent of the town's housing stock is unoccupied for most of the year. But those owners pay property tax.
"There's always going to be some animosity here,'' Resweber said. "Locals have relatives who work in the tourism trade, cutting grass at camps, in housekeeping, souvenirs shops. People are learning to accept tourism keeps us afloat.''