Court refuses to halt judge's order requiring Florida agency to protect manatees in Indian River Lagoon
A divided federal appeals court Tuesday refused to halt a district judge's order that requires the Florida Department of Environmental Protection to take steps to protect manatees in the northern Indian River Lagoon, including temporarily preventing new septic tanks in the area.
A panel of the 11th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, in a 2-1 decision, rejected the department's request for a stay of an order issued last month by U.S. District Judge Carlos Mendoza. The stay, if granted, would have put Mendoza's order on hold while an underlying appeal plays out.
Mendoza in April ruled the department violated the federal Endangered Species Act in the northern Indian River Lagoon, which is primarily in Brevard County.
Getty Images
Mendoza in April ruled the department violated the federal Endangered Species Act in the northern Indian River Lagoon, which is primarily in Brevard County. He followed with the May order, an injunction that included a moratorium on constructing and installing septic systems in a northern Indian River Lagoon watershed and requiring establishment of biomedical-assessment and supplemental-feeding programs for manatees in the area.
The environmental group Bear Warriors United in 2022 filed the lawsuit against the department, arguing, in part, that wastewater discharges into the lagoon led to the demise of seagrass, a key food source for manatees, and resulted in deaths and other harm to the animals.
The appeals-court panel decision Tuesday cited what are known as manatee "takings" because of water-quality problems.
"The district court found that FDEP's (the department's) current wastewater regulations prolong manatee takings: it found a clear, definitive causal link between the FDEP's current wastewater regulations, the water pollution that is killing manatees' primary food source and is creating harmful algae blooms, and the length of time over which manatees will continue to be harmed. … We see no likely clear error in that finding," said the decision, shared by Judges Robin Rosenbaum and Jill Pryor.
But Judge Britt Grant dissented, writing that Mendoza's injunction "is infirm in several respects and raises many serious questions about the scope of federal judicial power."
"The district court below ordered the Florida Department of Environmental Protection to stop issuing sewage and disposal system permits near Florida's North Indian River Lagoon, and to establish from whole cloth (and in a matter of days) a program for assessing, feeding, and monitoring manatees and their habitat — a task that agency has neither the expertise nor the authority to complete," Grant wrote.
A key part of Mendoza's injunction calls for the state to seek what is known as an "incidental take" permit from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. That process would include the state developing a conservation plan, which could provide "permanent protection and management of habitat for the species," according to information about such permits on the federal agency's website.
While the incidental-take permit request is pending, Mendoza ordered the department to not issue permits for constructing and installing septic systems in the area and required the other steps about a biomedical assessment and supplemental feeding. The septic-tank moratorium is slated to start July 17, while Mendoza ordered the assessment and feeding requirements to take effect Tuesday.
FILE - A group of manatees are pictured in a canal where discharge from a nearby Florida Power & Light plant warms the water in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., on Dec. 28, 2010. Manatee deaths dropped in 2022 from a record high the year before, but Florida wildlife officials said Wednesday, Jan. 11, 2023, that chronic starvation caused by water pollution remains a major concern.
Lynne Sladky / AP
Bear Warriors United filed the lawsuit after Florida had a record 1,100 manatee deaths in 2021, with the largest number, 358, in Brevard County. Many deaths were linked to starvation.
The state had 800 manatee deaths in 2022, before the number dropped to 555 in 2023 and 565 in 2024, according to Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission data. As of Friday, 414 manatees deaths had been reported this year, including 85 in Brevard County, the most in any county.
Manatees are classified by the federal government as a threatened species.
In seeking the stay of Mendoza's injunction, the department raised a series of issues, including targeting the septic-tank moratorium. Septic tanks discharge nitrogen that can cause harmful algae blooms in waterways.
"The indefinite moratorium on the construction of new septic systems further threatens to impede commercial and residential development in the state," the department's motion for a stay said. "Florida law specifically authorizes construction using 'nutrient-reducing onsite sewage treatment and disposal systems' or similar nitrogen-reducing 'wastewater treatment systems.' And the third-party property owners and developers affected by the court's decree have no ready means to challenge this moratorium, as they are not parties to this action (the lawsuit)."
But Mendoza wrote in his April ruling that under the department's regulations, it would take at least a decade for conditions in the northern Indian River Lagoon, which also goes into Volusia County, to start to recover.
"This is due to the previously and currently permitted discharge of legacy pollutants via wastewater into the north IRL (Indian River Lagoon)," Mendoza wrote. "These legacy pollutants caused the death of seagrasses — the manatee's natural forage — and the proliferation of harmful macroalgae. Legacy pollutants, as their name suggests, persist in the environment and cause harmful effects long after they have entered the system."
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Associated Press
11 hours ago
- Associated Press
Investigation into Florida condo collapse is expected to finish in 2026
More than four years after a Florida condominium collapse killed 98 people, federal investigators have yet to make a final determination of the cause — but they do have some leading theories. The National Institute of Standards and Technology, the agency handling the probe, said this week it hopes to conclude the investigation in 2026. 'We intend for our investigation of this failure to have a lasting impact, save future lives and ensure this never happens again,' NIST investigator Judith Mitrani-Reiser said in the agency's latest report. Most residents were asleep in the 12-story Champlain Towers South when the beachfront condo building in Surfside, Florida, collapsed into a huge pile of rubble at 1:22 a.m. on June 24, 2021. As the investigation continued, a Miami judge approved a more than $1 billion settlement for personal injury and wrongful death claims from the disaster. Meanwhile, a new luxury condominium is going up at the Champlain Towers site, a few miles north of Miami. What caused the collapse? NIST has zeroed in on what it calls three 'higher-likelihood' scenarios, all related to construction flaws that date to the beginning of the 40-year-old structure. 'These conditions existed from the time construction was complete, 40 years before the partial collapse,' said Glen Bell, co-lead investigator on NIST's National Construction Safety Team. One possibility is the failure of a connection between a building column and the pool deck slab that never met building code standards. Another is that steel reinforcement 'was not placed where it should have been,' which meant the column and pool deck were far too weak. And a third theory is that work done later around the pool — when heavy planters, sand and pavers were added — increased the weight load on a deck 'that was already functionally and structurally inadequate.' The NIST report also notes that support columns in the building's basement parking garage had been exposed to frequent flooding, which causes corrosion in steel reinforcements and concrete deterioration. Are there other theories? Investigators did not find evidence of voids in the ground under the building, known as 'karst.' Using satellite data, the NIST team found there was no sinking or settling underneath Champlain Towers, which would indicate existence of karst. In addition, investigators found the limestone upon which the condo was built was 'sufficient to carry the building loads' and that testing of the concrete supporting Champlain Towers had 'adequate material strength.' One challenge for investigators was the lack of any available records from the original building construction and not many from its earlier years. How are other condo buildings handling new rules? After Surfside, state legislators enacted a law in 2022 requiring condo associations to have sufficient reserves to cover major repairs. Some residents were caught off guard by hefty fees imposed to cover years of deferred maintenance expenses required to bring their buildings into compliance with the law's standards. Gov. Ron DeSantis this week signed new legislation allowing some condo associations to fund their reserves through a loan or line of credit. It also gives residents more flexibility to pause payments into reserve funds while they prioritize needed repairs. It extends the deadline for condo associations to complete structural integrity studies and exempts some smaller buildings from those studies. 'Now it's time to make the change,' state Sen. Ed Hooper said. 'Elderly people are losing their condos because they could not afford to make the increase in their monthly HOA fees. That's just wrong.' What is being built on the site? It's a luxury condo building, dubbed the Delmore, with 37 'mansions in the sky' and a starting price of $15 million. The site was purchased at auction by Dubai-based DAMAC International for $120 million. According to the company, there will be amenities such as a see-through swimming pool, an indoor pool, an outdoor kitchen, a fitness center and a meditation garden. The new condo is expected to be completed by 2029. Will there be a memorial to the victims? A design for a memorial to the 98 victims and that honors their families was approved earlier this year by Surfside officials and a family committee. But the city's planning and zoning board objected to its appearance and recommended that alternatives be considered. The existing proposal envisions a tall 'wall of water' and exhibition of materials from the collapsed building. Surfside officials say they want to keep the project on track but will consider additional input, especially from the family committee. 'I understand the urgency. But this memorial is going to be here long beyond anyone in this room,' said planning board chair Lindsay Lecour at an April city commission meeting.
Vox
a day ago
- Vox
Cancel the grizzly bear
is a freelance journalist who covers science, the environment, wildlife, and the outdoors. She is based in Laramie, Wyoming. In the early 1900s, long before smartphones and selfie sticks, tourists flocked to Yellowstone National Park — not for the geysers or scenery, but for a grotesque show: A nightly spectacle of grizzly bears raiding cafeteria scraps from open-pit landfills like desperate, starving pirates. The bears were in dangerous proximity to humans: Hungry bears tore at open car windows. Tourists posed a little too close with their film cameras. Yellowstone park rangers logged dozens of injuries each year — nearly 50 on average. Eventually, the Park Service ended the nightly landfill shows: feeding wild animals human food wasn't just dangerous, it was unnatural. Bears, ecologists argued, should eat berries, nuts, elk — not leftover Twinkies. In 1970, the park finally shut down the landfills for good. By then, though, grizzlies were in deep trouble. As few as 700 remained in the lower 48 states, down from the estimated 50,000 that once roamed the 18 Western states. Decades of trapping, shooting, and poisoning had brought them to the brink. The ones that clung to survival in Yellowstone National Park learned to take what scraps they could get and when they were forced to forage elsewhere, it didn't go so well. More bears died. Their already fragile population in the Yellowstone region dipped to fewer than 250, though one publication says the number could have been as low as 136, according to Frank van Manen, who spent 14 years leading the US Geological Survey's grizzly bear study team and now serves as an emeritus ecologist. The Yellowstone bears had been trained to rely on us. And when we cut them off, their population tanked. In 1957, Yellowstone tourists often got a little too close for comfort — like this driver, who leans out the window to snap a photo of a mother bear and her cubs. Today, this kind of wildlife encounter would be a big no-no for safety reasons. Corbis via Getty Images And so in 1975, the US Fish and Wildlife Service placed grizzly bears on the endangered species list, the country's most powerful legal mechanism to stave off extinction. The grizzly's place on the list afforded them some important protections under the Endangered Species Act (ESA). Hunting was off limits, as was trapping or poisoning, and the listing included rigorous habitat protections. Grizzlies slowly came back. Today, more than 1,000 grizzly bears live in and around Yellowstone alone, and tourists who visit the park by the millions every year can observe the bears — no longer desperately feeding on trash but lumbering in and out of meadows with their trailing cubs, or sitting on their haunches feasting on elk carcasses. The recovery effort was a major success, but it's brought a whole new slate of issues. In recent years, grizzlies have spilled out of their stronghold in the Greater Yellowstone ecosystem — a broad swath of Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming — and into human territory, where coexistence gets messy. In 2024 alone, more than 60 grizzlies were killed in Wyoming, most of them lethally removed by wildlife officials after killing cattle, breaking into cabins and trash cans, or lingering in residential neighborhoods. It's the classic species recovery paradox: the more bears succeed and their populations expand, the more trouble they get into with humans. And now, a controversial debate rages over whether or not to delist the grizzly bear. No species is meant to be a permanent resident on the Endangered Species List. The whole point of the ESA is to help species recover to the point where they're no longer endangered. A delisting would underscore that the grizzlies didn't just scrape by in the Yellowstone area — they exceeded every population requirement in becoming a thriving, self-sustaining population of at least 500 bears. But to remove federal protection would mean grizzly bears would face increasing threats to their survival at a time when some biologists argue the species' recovery is shaky at best. The stakes here are bigger than just the grizzly bear alone — what happens next is about proving that the ESA works, and that sustained recovery is possible, and that ESA protection leads to progress. Because if a species like the grizzly, which has met every biological benchmark, still can't graduate from the list, then what is the list for? 'The [ESA] is literally one of the strictest wildlife protection laws in the world…but in order for people to buy into it, they have to have respect for it,' says Kelly Heber Dunning, a University of Wyoming professor who studies wildlife conflict. 'If it starts to be seen as…part of the culture war, that buy-in will go away.' What's the Endangered Species Act for anyway? Since President Donald Trump has taken office, the Republican Party's assault on the Endangered Species Act hasn't been subtle. But ironically, to prevent a full unraveling of one of the world's most powerful protections for wildlife and wild places, conservationists need to grapple with the mission creep of the ESA. Interior Secretary Doug Burgum, left, and Energy Secretary Chris Wright deliver remarks outside the White House on March 19, 2025, in Washington, Republican President Richard Nixon signed the Endangered Species Act in 1973, the country's wildlife had been in a century-long nosedive. After decades of habitat destruction, unregulated hunting and industrial expansion, federal officials had already flagged more than 70 species at risk of extinction — with many more lining up behind them. In the decades that followed, the ESA proved to be one of the most powerful conservation tools in the world. More than 50 species, including the Canada goose and bald eagle, thrived with their newfound federal protections and were later delisted; another 56 species were downgraded from endangered to threatened. But others, like the black-footed ferret, Houston toad and the red wolf, for example, remain endangered — even after almost 60 years of federal attention. Today the act protects more than 2,300 plant and animal species in the US and abroad. And still more wait in line, as overworked federal biologists triage petitions amid dwindling resources, aggressive layoffs and budget cuts. But when it comes to the grizzly bear, the debate has become bigger than just biology — it's become a referendum on what the Endangered Species Act is for, says David Willms, a National Wildlife Federation associate vice president and adjunct faculty at the University of Wyoming. 'The ESA is a science-based act,' he says. 'You have a species that is struggling, and you need to recover it and make it not struggle anymore. And based on the best available science at the end of the day, you're supposed to delist a species if it met those objectives.' The trouble begins when species linger on the list indefinitely, not because they haven't recovered but because of what might happen next, out of fears of possible future threats. But the ESA was only meant to safeguard against 'reasonably foreseeable future threats,' Willms argues. Congress has the ability to protect species indefinitely — like it did for wild horses under the 1971 Wild and Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act or for numerous species of birds under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. But those were specific, deliberate laws. 'If there are other reasons why somebody or groups of people think grizzly bears should be protected forever, then that is a different conversation than the Endangered Species Act,' he says. But this power works in the opposite direction, too. If grizzly bears stay on the list for too long, Congress may well decide to delist the species, as lawmakers did in 2011 when they removed gray wolves from the endangered species list in Montana and Idaho. Those kinds of decisions happen when people living alongside recovered species, especially the toothy, livestock-loving kind, spend enough time lobbying their state's lawmakers, says Dunning, the wildlife conflict researcher. When Congress steps in, science tends to step out. A political delisting doesn't just sideline biologists, it sets a precedent, one that opens the potential for lawmakers to start cherry-picking species they see as obstacles to grazing, logging, drilling, or building. The flamboyant lesser prairie chicken has already made the list of legislative targets. 'Right now, the idea of scientific research has lost its magic quality,' she says. 'We get there by excluding people and not listening to their voices and them feeling like they're not part of the process.' And when people feel excluded for too long, she says, the danger isn't just that support for grizzly bears will erode. It's that the public will to protect any endangered species might start to collapse. The case for delisting the grizzly For Dan Thompson, Wyoming's large carnivore supervisor, the question of delisting grizzlies is pretty simple: 'Is the population recovered with all the regulatory mechanisms in place and data to support that it will remain recovered?' he says. 'If the answer is yes, then the answer to delisting is yes.' That's why Thompson believes it's time to delist the grizzly. And he's not alone. The Greater Yellowstone ecosystem population is 'doing very well,' says van Manen. In fact, grizzlies met their recovery goals about 20 years ago. Getting there wasn't easy. After the landfills closed and the bear population plummeted, it took a massive, decades-long effort from states, tribes, federal biologists, and nonprofits to bring the grizzlies back. The various entities funded bear-proof trash systems for people living in towns near the national parks and strung electric fences around tempting fruit orchards. They developed safety workshops for people living in or visiting bear country, and tracked down poachers. And little by little, it worked. Bear numbers swelled, and by the mid-2000s, more than 600 bears roamed the Yellowstone area. 'Grizzly bears are incredibly opportunistic and use their omnivorous traits to shift to other food sources,' says van Manen. So losing one food — even a high-calorie one — did little to change the population. The move to delist them paused as the federal government addressed the federal court's concerns, including researching the grizzly bear's diet. And bear numbers kept climbing. In 2016, the Fish and Wildlife Service — under President Barack Obama — updated delisting requirements including more expansive habitat protections, stricter conflict prevention, and enhanced monitoring. The agency then proposed a delisting. The following year — under Trump — it delisted the grizzly bear. This time the Crow Indian Tribe sued and — determining in part that delisting grizzlies in the Yellowstone region threatened the recovery of other populations of grizzlies — a federal judge overturned the government's decision to delist the bears and placed them back on the list. In 2022, Wyoming petitioned the Fish and Wildlife Service to delist bears in the Yellowstone region. The service took a few years to analyze the issue, and then this January, days before the Biden administration ended, it issued a response to that petition: Grizzly bears would stay on the Endangered Species List. All of these years of back and forth reflected the change in how the federal government viewed the grizzly population, largely a result of the bear's own success. The Yellowstone region's bears, they argued, are no longer distinct from bear populations in northern Montana, Idaho, and Washington. And because northern populations haven't met the recovery benchmarks yet (with the exception of a population in and around Glacier National Park), the species as a whole is not yet recovered. But the goalposts for delisting grizzlies keep moving, Thompson told Vox. Grizzly bears would still be managed even after a delisting. States would be responsible for them, and — miracle of miracles — state and federal agencies actually agreed on how to manage grizzlies after ESA protections end. Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana are committed to maintaining between 800 and 950 grizzly bears if the creature ever leaves the endangered species list. And states like Wyoming know how to manage grizzly bears because for years, under the supervision of the feds, they've been doing the gritty, ground-level work. Wyoming's wildlife agency, for example, traps and relocates conflict bears (or kills problem bears if allowed by the Fish and Wildlife Service), knocks on doors to calm nervous landowners, hands out bear spray, and reminds campers not to cook chili in their tents. Despite all that, 'nobody trusts us,' Thompson, with Wyoming's state wildlife agency, said. 'There's always going to be a way to find a reason for [grizzlies] not to be delisted.' A grizzly bear cub forages for food on a hillside near the Lake Butte overlook in Yellowstone National Park, now might be the right decision. It would still be a gamble Even though grizzly bears may be thriving in numbers, they're not ready to go it alone, says Matt Cuzzocreo, interim wildlife program manager for the Greater Yellowstone Coalition Grizzlies. The Greater Yellowstone Coalition has spent millions of dollars over the past few decades helping bears and humans more successfully coexist. But whatever comes next needs to build on the past 50 years of working with locals. As bears expand into new territory, they're crossing into areas where residents aren't used to securing garbage and wouldn't know how to respond to 600-pound predators ambling down back roads or into neighborhoods. Simply removing bears from the list and handing management to the states, which is the default after a species delisting, isn't enough, says Chris Servheen — not when so much is still in flux. Servheen, who led the Fish and Wildlife Service's recovery program for 35 years, helped write the previous two recovery plans. He says a delisting could leave them dangerously exposed. 'Politicians are making decisions on the fate of animals like grizzly bears and taking decisions out of the hands of biologists,' Servheen says. Montana and Idaho, Servheen points out, already allow neck-snaring and wolf trapping just outside Yellowstone's borders — traps that also pose a lethal threat to grizzlies. And now, the Trump administration has slashed funding for the very biologists and forest managers tasked with protecting wildlife. Once states take over, many are expected to push for grizzly hunting seasons, and some, like Wyoming, have already set grizzly bear hunting regulations for when the creatures are no longer protected. Layer that on top of existing threats — roadkill, livestock conflicts, illegal kills — and it's easy to imagine a swift population slide.
New York Times
a day ago
- New York Times
For the Future of Water Conservation, Look to … Los Angeles?
Los Angeles was built in a desert. And it takes a colossal infrastructure to transport water to the city. But large-scale construction isn't the only way the city has quenched its thirst. Critic's Notebook Supported by You've probably come across more stories about water woes in California than you can recall, so you may feel you've had enough for a while. I understand. There's no easy or permanent fix. The protagonists don't divide neatly into good and evil. Water in the state often isn't where the people are — or, as with the recent fires, isn't there at all. After looking into the subject for years, I still can't wrap my head around the endless ins and outs. But there is one indisputable fact that keeps surfacing in the conversations I have about California water that feels like something of a beacon. The first time I heard it, it came as quite a surprise. Over the last half century or so, millions more people have moved to greater Los Angeles, settling in increasingly far-flung reaches of the desert and in the mountains, requiring more faucets, toilets and shower heads, producing more garbage and more gridlock on the 405 freeway, reinforcing all the clichés about excess and sprawl. And during this same time, Angelenos have been consuming less water. I don't just mean per person, though that figure, according to state authorities, is down by a whopping 43 percent since 1990. I mean, residents and businesses in the Los Angeles area now consume less water in total. The population has grown, yet the city consumes less water. How Los Angeles Gets Its Water CALIFORNIA Sacramento River Sacramento/ San Joaquin River Delta Mono Lake Owens River Owens Lake CALIFORNIA AQUEDUCT LOS ANGELES AQUEDUCT COLORADO RIVER AQUEDUCT Pacific Ocean Los Angeles Colorado River 100 miles CALIFORNIA Sacramento River Sacramento/ San Joaquin River Delta Mono Lake Owens River Owens Lake CALIFORNIA AQUEDUCT LOS ANGELES AQUEDUCT Pacific Ocean Los Angeles Colorado R. COLORADO RIVER AQUEDUCT 100 miles By Barbara Berasi The L.A. Aqueduct starts at Mono Lake … … and taps into the snaking Owens River… … diverting water from Owens Lake, now a toxic moonscape. The aqueduct crosses deserts … … and flows into reservoirs … … and spills down into the city delivering water to millions. How do you think about water in your community? You just read our story about water in Los Angeles, but we're curious: How do you think about water where you live? Whether you're dealing with drought, trying to conserve, facing rising costs, trying to use less or just trying to understand it, we want to hear from you. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
