Under Redevelopment Site, the Specter of a Toxic Past

There’s just one hitch in Chula Vista’s plans for its Otay Valley Road redevelopment area, a softly sloping stretch of tomato fields and scrub that make up the last expanse of undeveloped industrial land in this swelling city.

There are millions of gallons of toxic wastes buried in the ground.

Yet the city is forging ahead anyway, transforming the land into a gleaming new light-industrial park. Lots are changing hands and plans are being OKd at a startling clip--especially startling in light of the ominous history of the land.

City officials have no difficulty justifying their haste: They say there is no evidence at present that the two toxic dumps threaten public health. But they also point to escalating development pressures in the South Bay and property owners’ fears of being undercut.

“There are concerns the landowners have about their competition with Otay Mesa,” said community development official Fred Kassman, referring to the vast empty empire just beyond the Chula Vista border and teetering on the cusp of massive development.

“They feel, in their terms, that the window is open this year--or next year, or maybe for a third year. Then 3,000 acres (on Otay Mesa) become available at what they feel will be lower costs.”

The case of Otay Valley Road offers a striking example of the powerful development pressure that prevails in San Diego County’s South Bay. The case is emblematic of the strange environmental compromises and gambles that are emerging under the impulse to grow.

These days, South Bay is hopping with environmental controversy, springing out of the convergence of people and open spaces. Once-abundant birds and plants are being backed into small corners, while developers are being pressed to accommodate them in their plans.

Along San Diego Bay, Chula Vista is embroiled in a debate over how much to trim its ambitions to accommodate the California least tern. Four miles inland, the city is developing a rare canyon around snake cholla and San Diego barrel cactus.

Out on Otay Mesa, botanists fear for the future of Loma Alta mesa mint, a rare plant species that grows only here. Also in jeopardy because of development plans is the Baja California rose, an unusual desert flower discovered only last year.

There is talk, once again, of a second ocean entrance--a channel through the Silver Strand to stimulate economic and recreational growth in South Bay. Wildlife officials fear that it would destroy the last of the fertile marshland that once ringed the bay.

Meanwhile, aspirations for clean residential and industrial development are coming up hard against the area’s heritage as the county’s industrial breadbasket. As land grows scarce, new development shoulders up against old industry, and the detritus that industry left behind.

In each case, the controversies end in compromise, like the gamble being taken in the development of Otay Valley Road. There, new residents living on high ground near the site wonder if it is wise for the city to press ahead before seeing the results of a health study it has commissioned.

“You’re asking a fairly complex question,” said James Hartley of the environmental consulting firm hired by the city. “It’s a question that involves economic, social, political and technical questions.”

The technical questions center on the degree of health risk, Hartley said, noting that scientists have a lot to learn about assessing health risks. The economic questions involve the costs of minimizing risks--say, by choosing not to build in the area.

“The political and social questions are tied together and get down to what is acceptable,” Hartley said. “I won’t try to define political, but the social questions could be many things--the perception of an area, effects on property value, peace of mind.”

The Otay Valley Road redevelopment area is a thin, 1 1/2-square-mile stretch of land along both sides of the road between Interstate 805 and the eastern Chula Vista city boundary.

In many ways, the land is ideal for industry: adjacent to an interstate highway, three miles from the Otay Mesa border crossing, and two miles from Brown Field airport. Kassman estimates land costs at $5 to $6 a square foot--well below prices in North County.

So the city has set its sights high, hoping to attract clean industries like warehousing and light manufacturing. Redevelopment officials predict 3,000 new jobs and relief from the city’s historic dependence on its largest employer, Rohr Industries.

“We think that, to be a healthy city, we have to have a balanced economy and balanced employment,” said Paul Desrochers, community development director. “ . . . We want to build a base of light industrial to complement the residential.”

So far the plan is working. New tenants already preparing to move in include San Diego Gas & Electric and several Fortune 500 firms. A medical products research firm is moving in, and an old tenant is planning a 60,000-square-foot expansion.

But the land they are moving onto has a unique history: It is the site of the only two toxic-waste landfills ever licensed in San Diego County. It also includes a county garbage dump, and borders on an illegal toxic dump that is on the federal Superfund cleanup list.

One of the toxic landfills was operated by the county between 1960 and 1980, and officials estimate that 20 million gallons of waste went into its open pits. The wastes included everything from spent sulfuric acid and brake fluid to sewage and asbestos scrap.

In 1980, the county shut down the dump under community pressure and the pinch of new environmental regulations. Its formal closure plan includes covering the dump with 30 feet of domestic trash and an earth cover two to three feet deep.

All around it lies the county’s sprawling Otay domestic trash dump--designated as “open space,” not for development, in Chula Vista’s plan. A private toxic waste disposal firm now operates a transfer station on the grounds of the old toxic dump. It also built a waste-neutralization facility there, which is dormant.

A short distance to the east, a company called Omar Rendering operated another licensed toxic dump between 1959 and 1978. It, too, took in 20 million gallons of waste, including acids, alkaline solutions and carbide lime wastes, which went into a small constellation of pits not far from Otay Valley Road.

Rumor has it that the remains of the original Shamu are in there, too.

Omar formally closed the site in the early 1980s, after new state requirements were enacted, and under state scrutiny. It removed all remaining liquid wastes from the pits and trucked them out of the county for disposal. Then it dug up the contaminated soil and buried it in a clay-lined pit capped with clay and 8 to 10 feet of soil.

Now the site of the original pits, which have been filled in, can be used for development under Chula Vista’s plan. The mound covering the contaminated soil pit will not be developed, Kassman said, but it could be covered with asphalt and perhaps used as a parking lot.

The last toxic site--traced to a salvage firm called Apache Services--lies on the lip of the Otay River and just outside the redevelopment area. There, the owner had stored a hodgepodge of solvents, paints, inks and chemical wastes, most of them purchased as surplus from the Navy. He told officials he was taking them to Mexico for sale.

In 1981, the Regional Water Quality Control Board issued a cease and desist order against Apache, and county and state officials persuaded the Navy to remove the materials. Now, county environmental officials say the site is relatively clean, except for a lot of sandblast grit contaminated with heavy metals.

On the whole, officials insist, the dumps appear to pose no threat to human health.

First, they note that the dumps were built over a layer of clay soil several hundred feet deep--the kind of soil believed until recently to be almost impermeable. The water beneath the dumps is not used for drinking, though in some cases it may be used for agriculture.

They also note that state and county monitoring has turned up no evidence that contaminants have spread into the water or air. Air tests done at the county landfill in 1984 turned up pollution no different than in urban areas of the county.

But the air monitoring was very limited: It occurred on only one day and only over the county landfill. As for the water monitoring, the system of wells used to test for water contamination under the county landfill was designed in the early 1970s and is outdated.

State water quality officials are digging new wells, in part out of concern that the existing wells may not have picked up contamination. Meanwhile, others have questioned the premise of the impermeability of the clay, in light of leaking clay-lined landfills elsewhere.

“The information so far doesn’t show anything,” said David Barker of the Regional Water Quality Control Board. “But that just means that nothing has showed up in those wells. It doesn’t mean that nothing is migrating from the site.”

“They’re still relying on the lining to make sure it doesn’t migrate into the water table,” said Diane Takvorian of the Environmental Health Coalition, who is also a member of the city’s Otay Valley environmental health committee. “Every other hazardous waste landfill in the state leaks, so I don’t know why this one would be any different.”

Because of those questions and others, mostly raised by homeowners who have moved into new residential developments springing up on the bluff above the dumps, city officials have agreed to look into whether the dumps pose a risk to public health.

But even the leader of the study, which has yet to begin, said the effort is unlikely to provide definitive information. He characterized the technique as “shoe-leather epidemiology”--a careful stroll through what is already known about the site.

The survey is costing $10,000 in state money and should take about three months, said Dr. John B. Conway of the graduate school of public health at San Diego State University. It is to include an examination of existing data, interviews, and a study of birth and death records.

Diseases like cancer, however, cannot be studied since most of the nearby population moved in relatively recently, over the last 10 years. Anyway, the air-, water-, and soil-monitoring data would be insufficient to justify linking any health conditions to the dump.

“There could be absolutely no cause and effect drawn between the two,” said Hartley, manager of the hazardous waste group of Woodward Clyde Consultants. “There could be some data on effects, but not enough data on causes, to understand the migration pathways.”

For that reason, some residents wonder whether the study will be of any use.

Christine Olguin and her family moved into the Bon Vivant town houses 10 years ago, eager to own a home and attracted by its “park-like atmosphere.” Since then, other developments have sprung up, with names like Robinhood Point and Playmor.

The first Olguin or her neighbors heard of the dump was a flyer dropped in her mailbox by two other homeowners a couple years back. Later came slide shows at a local elementary school, meetings and a task force.

Now the city has appointed Olguin and other residents to serve on an environmental health committee. The committee, which met for the second time last week, is overseeing the community health study and exploring other community concerns.

Even so, Olguin feels that the city and county aren’t doing enough.

“To tell you the truth, I think they’re trying to spend as little money as possible,” she said. “ . . . I think they’re trying to do as little as possible to appease the homeowners. If they really wanted to do something, they would be spending a lot of money and really getting at it.”