Trying to Thwart the Fruit Fly

By Claudia Wallis

Fearing a farm disaster, California begins aerial spraying

In Northern California the biological clock was ticking away. As helicopters began spraying the insecticide Malathion on infested areas just south of San Francisco, they were racing against the marvelous reproductive capacities of the tiny Mediterranean fruit fly: a mature female can produce 1,000 eggs over its two-month life span. Last week alone, the targeted area expanded from 120 to 140 to 180 sq. mi. and fears mounted that the fly was about to break out of the Bay Area and move into the lush farm lands of the San Joaquin Valley. The long-range worry: a federal quarantine, which would cripple the state's $14 billion farm industry and send produce prices soaring all over the U.S. Five states--Texas, Alabama, Florida, Mississippi and South Carolina --have already announced bans on most California fruit, unless it has been fumigated.

Despite the urgency, the spraying effort literally had trouble getting off the ground. State officials had to compete with farmers to get their hands on enough aircraft to do the job. When they finally did get helicopters, repeated mechanical failures led some Californians to joke that the choppers were leftovers from the ill-fated hostage rescue mission in Iran. Pilots and ground crews were unaccustomed to the spraying procedures and slow to adapt to the use of the viscous pesticide solution, which tended to clog pumping equipment. It was not until the end of the week that more than two helicopters were aloft at the same time. Observed a U.S. Department of Agriculture official: "I think Murphy's Law has taken over, because everything that could go wrong has."

The state was already waging an extensive land war. Seven hundred members of the California Conservation Corps helped strip fruit from the trees in infested backyards.

More than 500 National Guardsmen carted the fruit away, burying an estimated 750 tons in Santa Clara landfill dumps. Roadblocks had been set up at three points and produce was confiscated from 12,661 of the 286,240 cars and trucks checked. But aerial support was vital, and many Californians, especially farmers, were angry that spraying did not start sooner. At first Governor Jerry Brown had resisted, evidently concerned that he would alienate his strong environmentalist constituency. He changed his mind when U.S. Agriculture Secretary John Block began planning a quarantine. Complained California Senator S.I. Hayakawa: "Brown should have done this eight months ago. Now we are in a position of playing catch-up." Then, with customary chutzpah, the Governor requested that President Reagan declare the three infested counties--San Mateo, Santa Clara and Alameda--a disaster area. That way the Federal Government could share the financial burdens inflicted by the Medfly.

After a period of apocalyptic rhetoric, Californians generally took the spraying in stride. Residents of the infested areas were bombarded with information on the safety of the chemical, which according to state lexicologists is only one twenty-fifth as toxic as the pesticide used in flea collars. Brown's fears notwithstanding, state officials said it was safer to spray from the air than the ground. Reason: the Malathion is mixed with molasses, sugar and yeast and falls in coffee-graint-size droplets that cannot be easily inhaled. B.T. Collins, 40, director of the California Conservation Corps, gave the most dramatic demonstration of its safety: he drank a glassful of Malathion diluted with water to the concentration used in the spray.

Few sought refuge at four Red Cross shelters set up outside the sprayed area; one facility was closed down when not a soul showed up. For the most part, Californians simply followed the precautions recommended by state officials. They closed their windows, brought children's playthings inside and covered their cars with sheets or tarpaulins to prevent chemical damage to the paint. They also showed a sense of humor. The Medfly Project Headquarters in Los Gatos dubbed itself "Home of Old Blue Eyes," and a market blossomed for FLY WARS T shirts and MEDFLY SWAT TEAM buttons.

The spraying was all but imperceptible, a fact that frustrated would-be demonstrators. Two protesters keeping a vigil in Palo Alto heard a helicopter overhead but could find no trace of Malathion. "I don't see how it will work," admitted Patrick Long, 29, who held a black umbrella over his head for symbolic effect. "I don't see how the flies can find it."

There will be havoc, however, if the Malathion does not find the flies. The 200 farm products that the flies infest account for about $4 billion each year. Expensive fumigation and cold-storage treatment could save some crops, but there is no way to salvage dates, figs, olives or almonds. California need only look across the Pacific for an example of the fly's destructive power. Hawaii has been infested since 1910. The only fruit it exports in large quantities is the thick-skinned pineapple, which is immune to the bug. Says Dr. Leroy Williamson, a DOA scientist in Honolulu: "Prior to the fruit flies, we had an abundance of fruit. Now we compete with these insects for our food."

A few Californians thought the battle was already lost. Said Terrance Allen, an entomologist who worked in the state's Medfly eradication program last year: "The infestation is so large that we just don't have the manpower and resources to stop it." But Medfly Project Director Jerry Scribner was more sanguine.

He noted that the helicopters had become more efficient by week's end, raising hopes that spraying can be completed on schedule. (The original plan called for six applications spread out over a minimum of six weeks.) If this happens, Scribner and his technical advisers feel there is a 98% chance of wiping out the bedeviling bug.

--By Claudia Wallis. Reported by Eileen Shields and Dick Thompson/San Francisco

With reporting by Eileen Shields, Dick Thompson

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