The Potomac River has long been a source of tranquil counterprogramming for residents of Washington, a bucolic escape from the continuous high-stakes policy debates and over-the-top political theater.
Then came the poop.
More than six weeks have passed since the collapse of a major sewer line sent 243 million gallons of raw human waste flowing into the Potomac, in what experts say could be the largest-ever single spill in the country. (Cue the swamp jokes.)
After weeks of monitoring bacteria levels, health authorities in the District announced this week that it was safe to get back on the water.
Even with the prospect of warmer climes in the coming days, there are lingering concerns about contamination, putting a damper on the city’s flourishing river culture, as well as threatening the livelihoods of oyster and shellfish farmers farther downstream.
Laura Kruse, a member of the Potomac Boat Club in Georgetown, said that after a long winter of training on rowing machines, she couldn’t wait to get back on the river. But she is taking extra precautions: Immediately after practice, she and many teammates will hose down in the shower.
No one wants to “grow a third eye,” she said.
The stench has been contained to the immediate area around the rupture, which occurred in Montgomery County, Md., about 10 miles upstream of the White House. That is welcome news for visitors trekking to see the cherry blossoms.
The concern now is mostly about exposure to E. coli and other bacteria. Kayaking, rowing and fishing could pose risks, even as the drinking water is fine. (In Washington, river swimming has long been banned.) Rivergoers should monitor bacteria levels, cover open wounds and maybe their eyes and mouths, said Betsy Nicholas, president of Potomac Riverkeeper Network.
Conservationists conducting independent tests say that bacteria levels are declining in the most affected parts of the river, but occasional spikes are higher than normal. Virginia and Maryland have yet to lift their recreational advisories.
Many river enthusiasts are obsessively monitoring test results before venturing out.
Ernest Robinson is known around town as Ernie the Hog Snatcher for hooking giant fish, or “hogs.” But he is wary about casting his line at one of his favorite spots, just behind the Lincoln Memorial. He plans to spend more time farther downstream near Alexandria, Va., where there is more open water.
“I think I’ll be OK,” he said.
Some people are just steering clear.
“I need to see more data from independent sources,” said Richard Farino, owner of District Angling, a fly-fishing shop in Arlington, Va. He is hopeful that the river will improve for the annual shad run later this spring — a rite of spring for local fishers.
He still remembers getting sick from the Potomac after a rainstorm, when bacteria levels can be higher because of sewer overflows. He did not even eat any fish — the culprit was just exposure to the water.
“I learned my lesson,” he said.
River conservationists worry that the size of the spill — and the finger-pointing that followed — could set back public confidence after decades of clean up work.
Sewage and algae blooms were once so stomach-churning that President Lyndon B. Johnson called the Potomac a “national disgrace.” That began to change in the 1970s after the federal government funded new sewage treatment plants and imposed stricter regulations on wastewater treatment.
Over the years, fish and wildlife, including bald eagles, rebounded, while developers turned one-time industrial sites in neighborhoods like Georgetown, the Wharf and Navy Yard into popular waterfront destinations. Last year, the Potomac Conservancy gave the river a B for water quality.
Conservationists are calling on the local authorities to continue monitoring bacteria levels.
“It’s going to take a while to rebuild trust,” said Ms. Nicholas, of the Riverkeeper Network.
Far downstream, the water was not significantly affected, according to tests. Maryland environmental officials said they expect to lift shellfish harvesting restrictions next week.
But the stigma has already dealt a blow to oyster and shellfish farmers working there.
Mike Lightfoot, a waterman near Coles Point, Va., said that sales of Potomac oysters were slow before the sewer pipe collapsed.
Now, he said, demand has plummeted, and he has struggled to sell his remaining harvest.
“It’s the upper Potomac that got polluted, not 80 miles downriver,” Mr. Lightfoot said. “You could dump a tractor-trailer-load of red dye up there and we would never see that down here.”
For people living near the rupture site, it’s been more of a stinky mess. On a drizzly day this week, open pipes let loose a waterfall of malodorous brown-gray sewage, dumping it into a canal temporarily rerouting wastewater until there is a fix.
“It’s definitely musky,” said Scott Lewis, who lives in Cabin John, Md., a suburban community close to the spill site.
The stench grew as Mr. Lewis walked closer to the pipes. Not unbearable, but certainly unpleasant.
Cabin John’s wooded setting and the Potomac originally drew him to the neighborhood. So what was a little odor?
He said, “You kind of just power through it.”
Amy Qin writes about Asian American communities for The Times.
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