Digging Deeper: What really ended dredging on the Apalachicola?
(And why it’s important to remember now.)
The Corps of Engineers is once again working on a plan to manage the Apalachicola River for navigation. That has reopened an old debate — should dredging be allowed to resume after more than twenty years? Some say it should never happen again. Others remember when barges ran regularly and the river seemed healthier. The truth, as usual, is somewhere in between.
What most people can agree on is this: we all want what’s best for the river and for the communities that depend on it. To get there, we first have to understand how we got here — because for decades, well-intentioned efforts to “improve” the river ended up doing it more harm than good.
How It Started
The turning point came in 1954 with the construction of the Jim Woodruff Dam near Chattahoochee. It tamed the river’s flow and opened the door for a federally authorized navigation project that stretched all the way to the Gulf. Between 1957 and 2002, the Corps dredged almost 30 million cubic meters of sand from the channel to maintain a 9-foot-deep, 100-foot-wide path for barges.
For a while, it worked. But the methods used to keep that channel open left a mark that’s still visible today.
When “Improvement” Made Things Worse
In the early years, dredged sand was dumped right on the riverbanks and floodplain — what’s called on-bank disposal. It seemed simple enough: scoop the sand out, pile it on shore. The problems weren’t obvious at first, but over time those mounds acted like levees, cutting off sloughs that once carried water into the backwoods. The river’s natural floodplain — its nursery and its safety valve — was choking.
By the 1980s, the Corps=switched to within-bank disposal, placing sand on natural bars or in side channels so high water could carry it away. In theory, it was an improvement. In reality, the sand was never carried away. Sandbars got bigger, and began blocking flow and altering the river’s shape. In trying to fix one problem, the Corps created others.
Then Came the Droughts
Meanwhile, as dredging continued, water supplies upstream were shrinking. Atlanta and agricultural users along the Chattahoochee and Flint Rivers were pulling more water out of the system. Less flow meant less depth, and less depth meant more dredging — an expensive cycle that couldn’t be sustained. By the late 1990s, barge traffic had all but disappeared. In 2001, only four barges made the trip. The economics no longer made sense, and the environmental cost was obvious.
The easiest solution, of course, was for the Corps to take its dredge boats and go home — leaving behind a mess that it had promised in its permit applications to clean up.
Where That Leaves Us
When dredging ended, the Corps also stopped the regular water releases that kept the system flushed and connected. The river’s pulse slowed. Sand from years of spoil migration filled side channels, and many sloughs stayed blocked. We’re now left with a system that’s neither natural nor navigable most of the year — and that’s exactly why the next decision matters so much.
The Real Question
This shouldn’t be a fight between “pro-dredging” and “anti-dredging.” The real question is how we convince the Corps and policymakers to treat this as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity — not to return to the old ways, but to use this process to put the river on a path to recovery and strengthen our local economies.
That means:
Restoring flow connections between the channel and the floodplain by reopening sloughs and lowering old spoil mounds.
Using smarter, targeted sediment management that gets dredged sand all the way out of the floodplain (and puts it to use by and for the counties’ benefit).
Coordinating with upstream water managers so the river actually has enough water to stay alive.
And seeing navigation as a by-product of a healthy river, not the other way around.
Handled right, this plan could help revive commercial shipping, benefit the tupelo tress and oysters, and create new opportunities — all while healing the river that built our communities in the first place.
We can’t undo the mistakes of the past, but we can learn from them. If we work together — and if the Corps listens — this could be a turning point where navigation becomes a catalyst for restoration.