Darting Past Extinction: Endangered Fish in Birmingham

Robert Green (left), spokesperson for Faith Apostolic Church, and Charles Scribner (right), executive director for the Black Warrior Riverkeeper, stand outside Seven Springs, a refuge for watercress darters. Photo: Benjamin Trost

It’s a hot September morning; chirping insects and an enthusiastic warbler sing with Robert Green’s voice. We stand by Seven Springs behind Faith Apostolic church in Birmingham, Alabama, home to the watercress darter (Etheostoma nuchale), a federally listed endangered species found in only four locations around the city. Green, a long-term member and spokesperson for Faith Apostolic, told us how the story of the church and the darters became intertwined. Bishop Heron Johnson, then pastor of Faith Apostolic, believed he had a God-given duty to protect the fish. Green said that, too often, people think science and religion “shouldn’t be in the same room.” Instead, the leaders at Faith Apostolic found common ground with the scientists tasked to conserve the fish around three common principles: “biodiversity is a fact,” “we need to protect it [biodiversity],” and “extinction is forever.” The church came together with the surrounding community and federal government to protect the darters and their habitat. Now, where we stood and looked over Seven Springs, the property is deeded as a conservation easement with the Freshwater Land Trust. The area surrounding the spring has been converted into a meditation garden where onlookers can wonder, pray, and reflect as I did myself watching ruby-throated hummingbirds dart between thickets of fiery jewelweed where watercress darters sheltered in the spring beneath.

Green’s talk at Seven Springs was just one of six stops on an Endangered Species Tour of the Greater Birmingham Area run by the Freshwater Land Trust. The area surrounding Birmingham has three fish species the US Fish and Wildlife Service lists as endangered: the watercress darter, vermillion darter (Etheostoma chermocki), and rush darter (Etheostoma phytophilum). Darters are small fish that to an untrained eye might look just like a minnow. That is until mating time when the males of many darter species erupt in brightly colored reds, oranges, and blues to attract mates.

A 1977 protest in Monroe County, TN against the implementation of the Endangered Species Act to preserve snail darters. One sign reads “Dam the Darter.” Source: Knoxville-Sentinel News Archives

Darters are recurring characters in the history of American environmentalism. Soon after the Endangered Species Act was passed in 1973, the conservation of the snail darter (Percina tanasi) tested the power of the legislation. The Tennessee Valley Authority had proposed to dam the Tellico River for hydropower, but scientists worried this would decimate the only population of snail darters known at that time. For some, the snail darter became a rallying symbol for biodiversity conservation in America. Others demonized the fish as a sign of government over-regulation and prioritizing the environment over societal needs. Today, there are over 200 described species of darters in North America, with many species restricted to a geographic range as small as a single stream making them vulnerable to extinction from human development.

Biologists from the US Fish and Wildlife seine for rush darters alongside a highway. Photo: Benjamin Trost

After our first stop at Faith Apostolic church, we visited five other darter populations tucked into Birmingham’s busy cityscape, where small pools and streams were these fish’s last reserve. At each location, we heard stories from the people who worked to keep the darters from going extinct. On one occasion, we parked on the side of a highway. I expected we would have to walk a distance down into the woods, but instead, our group gathered around a roadside drainage ditch. The passing 18-wheelers made it hard to hear our speaker talk about the endangered rush darters who made their home here. Brushing aside a clump of goldenrod stalks, a group of biologists from the US Fish and Wildlife Service climbed from the culvert. They passed a handheld fish tank with three darters lined up for us to view. I wondered at the little fish and found myself thinking about what would happen if one of the 18-wheelers crashed through here. Or more likely, if pesticides and other harsh chemicals found their way inside the water. Knowing that these fish are on the knife’s edge of extinction made holding them feel like a privilege, almost like the fish were holy.

A spring at Watercress Darter National Wildlife Refuge outside Birmingham. Photo: Benjamin Trost

Melissa Kent watches watercress darters through a handheld fish tank at Seven Springs. Photo: Benjamin Trost

Going into an endangered species tour of Birmingham, I had prepared myself for a day of doom and gloom. Instead, I found people who had dedicated their lives to saving the humble darter— a fish that grows to be just a couple of inches, is brown most of the time, and lives in the ditches and puddles of a large, polluted American city. We heard stories from the Black Warrior Riverkeeper which has won significant lawsuits against polluters in the area. Words from the Jefferson County Greenways Coalition trying to redesign Birmingham, a city with a history of intense mineral extraction and iron production, with parks and trails to connect more people with nature. The US Fish and Wildlife Service is raising awareness for the city’s unique endangered fish species through the Urban Darter Project. We even heard from a biologist representing Alabama Power, the state’s largest utility company responsible for most of our hydroelectric dams, as he talked about the importance of rush darter conservation.

It was inspiring to see so many people come together to share their love for these little fish, especially in a state known for having abysmal environmental regulations. The darters gathered church leaders, conservation scientists, utility companies, federal employees, and concerned citizens. The experience made me think of a letter famous biologist and Alabama native E.O. Wilson wrote to a Southern Baptist minister. He said, “As a boy, I too answered the altar call; I went under the water.” That day, searching for fish in Birmingham’s streams and springs, we too answered a call to go “under the water.” When we came back up, we had found faith in the darter.

RCC National Environment Leadership Fellow – Benjamin Trost – University of Alabama

Benjamin is a senior 2024 Udall Scholar studying freshwater science and environmental humanities at the University of Alabama. He combines data science, ecology, and sociopolitical approaches to examine issues of environmental injustice in his home state of Alabama. His passion for research has led him to collaborate with the Black Warrior Riverkeeper on water quality advocacy and publish on the politics of plant conservation.