On the sun-bleached shores of Vellapallam, rhythm of tides is no longer the only clock the fishermen watch. Instead, they wait for the rumble of a tractor engine.
In a peculiar geological phenomenon, the coastlines of Vellapallam, Pushpavanam, and Vanavan Mahadevi are being swallowed by a treacherous "silky clay" that makes the simple act of launching a boat a daily struggle.
For the 1,270 families residing across these three hamlets, the sea is their lifeline, but the shore has become a quagmire. Unlike the firm, sandy beaches of the Coromandel coast, the soil here is categorised as 'silky clay loose soil.'
"We are small fishers; fibre boats are our only assets," says M. Ilayarani, a fisherwoman from Vellapallam, her eyes scanning the horizon where the breakwater should have been. "But now, the shore drains our energy and earnings. We have to pay ₹200 every time a tractor pushes our boat into the water and pulls it back. On days when the catch is low, we return home in debt to the tractor owner."
A Geological Oddity
The problem, according to senior officials in the Fisheries Engineering Department, is unique to this specific stretch of the deltaic coast. Experts point to the Vennar Basin to be the reason. As the river discharges sediment into the sea, the shallow gradient of the shelf -- where one must travel nearly 1 km into the sea to reach a depth of even 3 metres -- prevents the silt from being washed away.
Between June and September, the littoral drift moves this soil from south to north, depositing a thick layer of fine clay that lacks the structural integrity to support weight. "It is a peculiar phenomenon not seen any where on the delta coast," a senior official said. "We tried to build a breakwater at Vellapallam, but the earth simply swallowed it," he recalled.
For the women who manage the logistics on the shore, the delay is devastating. T. Jeyaeswari of Vanavan Mahadevi and Vijayakumari S. of Pushpavanam point out that lack of a functional landing centre forces them to carry heavy loads across the sinking clay, often resulting in physical injuries.
Drain on resources
The scale of the crisis is best reflected in the ₹132-crore project at Vellapallam. Despite nearly ₹100 crore being spent and 80% of the work completed, the project is in jeopardy. Roughly 70% of the massive breakwater stones -- some weighing several tonnes -- have simply sunk to the seabed.
A revised estimate for an additional ₹100 crore has been submitted to the government, but as the bureaucracy deliberates, the sea continues to swallow the huge stones. In Pushpavanam, a ₹25-crore small fishing harbour remains a proposal on paper. In Vanavan Mahadevi, where 450 families await a fish landing centre, a foundation stone was laid with much fanfare, but not a single brick has been laid.
Policy shift
"The government thinks building a harbour is the only solution," says Jones T. Spartegus, a prominent researcher and coastal activist. "But they are ignoring the ecological reality. Since 2014, our policies have shifted heavily towards "culture fishing" (aquaculture) over "capture fishing" (traditional sea fishing). We have stopped the basic maintenance that kept these villages alive."
Mr. Spartegus said in previous decades, bar-mouth dredging was done periodically. The silky soil would be dredged and deposited on the opposite side of the shore to maintain a natural balance.
A senior Fisheries Department official said that if the revised estimate is sanctioned, sand movement can be arrested by constructing a more effective breakwater.