Problems with Lake Erie algae building for more than a decade ALGAE Scenario of contaminated tap water has long worried officials from A1

Lake Erie is ill -- as this glass of water, held by Collin O'Mara, president of the National Wildlife Federation, clearly demonstrates. It's time to treat the illness -- not just the symptoms. THE BLADE/DAVE ZAPOTOSKY

(Dave Zapotosky)

I was on my way to Lakeside, about 45 miles east of Toledo, when I heard the news on Saturday: More than half a million people in northwest Ohio were without safe drinking water after toxic algae in Lake Erie made its way into the water supply.

My first thought: I hope my parents, who get their water from nearby Port Clinton, have safe drinking water (they do).

My second: Maybe this is the crisis we need to finally deal with this problem.

The water ban was lifted Monday morning, but the underlying cause of the crisis isn't any closer to being resolved. This weekend's disaster in Toledo is the not-so-surprising result of our failure to deal with an issue we've known about for more than a decade.

And while there's been plenty of talk about solutions, the proof was on display in Toledo these past 48 hours: Our government's tempered, wait-and-see, more-research-is-needed response is clearly failing its citizens.

The 100-plus people in the Toledo area who showed up at regional hospitals over the weekend – with stomachaches, dizziness and vomiting – ought to provide motivation enough to our leaders to front burner the issue and not let up until long-term solutions are in place.

We know what's causing the problem: Primarily, phosphorus-choked run-off from western Ohio farms that flows into Lake Erie, particularly via the Maumee River, which promotes the bacteria's exponential growth. (Yes, overwhelmed sewage treatment plants also contribute to the problem, but not nearly to the extent that farm run-off does, according to most recent scientific studies.)

And we know how to fix it: Force farmers to change the way they do business, by both reducing the amount of fertilizer they use and altering the way it's applied.

The only question that remains: Will we?

We all have a huge stake riding on the answer.

As a travel writer, I get paid to think about issues related to the state's tourism industry. This problem unquestionably threatens Ohio's $11 billion tourism trade, which boosts commerce in seven lakeshore counties, from Lucas to Ashtabula.

In northwest Ohio this weekend, the water crisis shut down the popular Toledo Zoo, as well as restaurants and businesses across town. Meanwhile, the lovely Lake Erie beach at Maumee Bay State Park continues under a public health advisory warning -- issued 10 days before the drinking-water ban -- which cautions swimmers to stay out of the water because of high levels of algal toxins.

Left uncorrected, this problem could affect popular lakefront attractions from Cedar Point to Put-in-Bay to Geneva-on-the-Lake.

Who wants to go swimming or boating or even walking along a lake that is clogged with thick, poisonous algae?

The problem, though, is bigger even than the economic viability of one of the state's most important industries.

Anyone who gets their drinking water from Lake Erie – and there are 11 million of us, according to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency – should be concerned.

Yes, Cleveland's water is safe (for now). Yes, this is a problem that primarily affects the western basin of Lake Erie (for now).

But if we don't get a handle on this issue, this week's crisis in Toledo will become some other community's problem next week, next month or next year.

Last September, Ottawa County's Carroll Township had to shut down its water treatment plant for 12 days after dangerous levels of microcystis algae were detected in its water supply.

Which city will be next? Oak Harbor, Port Clinton, Sandusky -- Cleveland?

I had a hard time avoiding such thoughts as I tried to enjoy a couple of days in one of my all-time favorite spots, Lakeside, the 141-year-old lakefront community that offers educational and recreational programming during a 10-week summer season.

I walked the beautiful lakefront path, watched kids swim in the warming water off the 800-foot pier, and rehydrated straight from my parents' faucet after a tennis game with my daughter.

And all the while I worried -- about my friends in Toledo, about the apparent insecurity of our water supply, and, most of all, about the future of our fragile great lake.