Water Well Road is a gravelly, bumpy lane 20 miles east of Springfield. It descends from the main road connecting I-72 to Mt. Auburn, then curves behind heavy woods. Small huts mark the numerous wells that line the lane and provide the area with drinking water. Residents keep a close eye on the road because it’s a favorite spot for fly dumping.
In early June, one neighbor found a long hose on the roadside. Someone had used the hose to send a cream-colored mixture into the woods, creating a gooey marshland that smelled like moldy sourdough bread. The neighbor was concerned the mysterious substance would contaminate the wells and called the Illinois Environmental Protection Agency.
Ralph Foster, a chemist with IEPA’s emergency operations division, was among the first to arrive at the scene. He’s on one of the agency’s three crisis units; Foster’s team, based in Springfield, covers the central part of the state.
Last year IEPA’s crisis units responded to 1,826 chemical accidents. Fifteen of them resulted in the evacuations of 328 people. Six people died in six separate incidents, usually involving highway collisions with tankers. There were 30 explosions, 144 gas leaks or vapor clouds, and 1,601 liquid spills. Seepage from underground storage tanks accounted for 675 emergencies. Foster and his team now spend a third of their time preparing for an act of terrorism.
By the time Foster reached Water Well Road, the concoction had flowed like lava a hundred feet away from the end of the hose. Over his 18 years at IEPA, Foster has learned how to estimate the size of a spill. He figured that 500 to 1,000 gallons of the muck had been released. Officials from IEPA’s water and land divisions were called in to determine whether the substance posed a threat to the well water. They concluded the wells were too deep–40 to 60 feet down–to be in harm’s way. Foster concluded the stuff wasn’t hazardous: his tests didn’t show it to be toxic, corrosive, or flammable. IEPA decided to let the spill dry, but as of last Thursday a puddle sat about 30 feet off the road–its stench was stronger than ever.
In the case of tanker spills or factory accidents, Foster and his unit know what they’re dealing with. But sometimes all they know is that someone left a mess. Last year they responded to 61 messes.
IEPA uses its own labs to test unknown substances, and it also sends samples to the chemistry department at the University of Illinois at Springfield. Neither place has yet been able to identify conclusively the spill near Water Well Road; some chemicals have been identified that are often associated with products made from yeast. Foster says it is most likely a byproduct of a distillery or food processing plant.
“Foodstuff is a nightmare to identify,” he says “We can test whether something is an acid or is flammable. But with foodstuff, the lab tests don’t reveal much.”
Foster followed the clues, namely the odor and the hose, which was “food grade.” After inspecting tubing sold at Big R in Springfield, he learned such hoses are often employed at food processing plants. A biologist in his unit mentioned that distillery waste is often used as fertilizer and this stuff could’ve been left over–there’s a lot of farmland nearby. Foster’s unit made other observations: Whoever was responsible for the mess most likely knew of Water Well Road–it’d be difficult to find by accident. Whoever did it probably lives close by. They probably own or have access to a large tanker, which is likely missing a hose now. The mere size of the discharge is also a hint.
“If we find a drum, it could have come from anywhere,” Foster says. “But 500 to 1,000 gallons of material–you can narrow that down a lot easier.” Foster suspects the culprit either left in a hurry, leaving the hose behind, or planned to return for more dumping.
Foster does the initial inspection of a scene and some lab work, but leaves the legal and criminal aspects to others. The spill near Water Well Road will probably become a case for the sheriff. Many cases require additional sleuthing. Last summer Foster helped solve a mystery at a Decatur creek that had been stumping him and his team for nearly eight years.
“Every three to four months we’d get a call about a petroleum sheen that appeared on the surface of the creek,” says Tod Rowe, Foster’s supervisor and a professional geologist. “We kept sending someone over and never could figure it out.” Last year the sheen covered an unusually large area. Foster’s unit traced it to a storm drain. With some legwork they discovered a sewage line that connected to the drain. It wasn’t on any map and Decatur officials didn’t even know it existed. The manhole to this sewage line was located next to a private gas pump for large trucks. Every now and again a trucker left the pump running, spilling gas into the sewage line and out into the creek.
Foster and his team helped solve a similar puzzle in Springfield a few years ago. A woman living in a small house in the southeastern part of town complained she kept smelling gasoline in her bathroom. “Hers was the only house on the block with the problem,” says Rowe. And it was getting worse, added Foster.
IEPA tracked sewer pipes several blocks north, across Stevenson Drive. There were about a dozen different underground gasoline tanks in the vicinity, but due to the way the sewage flowed they began concentrating on the Qik-N-EZ gas station on Stevenson. A couple of houses once sat on top of a spot occupied by the gas station’s underground tanks. The houses had plumbing connected to an old sewage line leading to the woman’s backyard, which was at the lowest point in the neighborhood. Fumes from gasoline pooling in the sewer rose right up through this woman’s toilet. Qik-N-EZ had to relocate its tanks.
Then there are the false alarms. A large pile of bright yellow powder was found sitting by the side of a highway about ten years ago in Vermillion County. It turned out to be corn gluten from Archer Daniels Midland. “A trucker’s cargo was probably overweight,” says Foster. “He probably emptied it to lighten the load.” Since then, a half dozen times each summer, Foster has come across similar piles.
Once someone reported that gallons of red paint had been poured into a creek in west central Illinois. It turned out to be algae bloom.
“You use logic and observation,” Foster says. “Most of the time it’s obvious.
There are exceptions.”
This article appears in Jul 3-9, 2003.
