A seawall shields the development at Nova Scotia's Crescent Beach from an Atlantic Ocean that increasingly threatens the Maritimes with floods and storms, made worse by human-caused climate change.
At the far end of Crescent Beach, on Nova Scotia’s southern shore, a developer has erected an oceanfront seawall the height of a full-size pickup truck. Oceanfront cottages are to be constructed behind it; they will enjoy a spectacular vista of the Atlantic Ocean.
It’s the sort of development that often raises eyebrows – and sometimes hostility – in Lunenburg County.
Along the surrounding coastline, and far inland, signs adorn many lawns calling for immediate enactment of the Coastal Protection Act, legislation that was passed five years ago but never implemented. (There’s even one such sign on this property, right next to another that says “no trespassing.”)
The Coastal Protection Act of 2019, passed under a Liberal government, was abandoned by the current Conservatives, but it still has supporters in Lunenburg County.
Had the government finally brought regulations into effect in 2023 as expected, building restrictions would’ve made this development – and others like it – much harder to execute. But that never happened. And in February, Environment Minister Tim Halman abandoned that approach in favour of a new one which downloads responsibility to homeowners and municipalities. In a nutshell, the province furnished them with information about coastal hazards (most significantly, detailed flood maps) and let them decide what to build, reasoning that they are better positioned than provincial bureaucrats to know what’s best.
With that power comes significant responsibilities: Those same homeowners and municipalities might have to bear greater consequences should they choose to build in harm’s way. The province’s Disaster Financial Assistance program covers uninsured losses after major disasters, such as 2022’s Hurricane Fiona, with payouts topping out at $200,000.
But the government is considering lowering payments “to discourage rebuilding repeatedly in at-risk areas,” said Heather Fairbairn, a spokesperson for the Department of Municipal Affairs and Housing. Deliberations are continuing, she said, and any changes would come into effect in April.
This is what Crescent Beach looks like at high tide today, but planning for the water lines of decades to come is a daunting task for municipalities who have to plan where their infrastructure goes.
When it comes to preparing for the consequences of climate change, downloading responsibility for land-use planning to property owners and municipalities could prove less taxing on the province’s finances than more interventionalist approaches such as buying at-risk properties or granting money for large-scale adaptation efforts.
Whether future politicians will be comfortable telling some voters they’re on their own after natural disasters is an open question. But owners and prospective buyers of coastal properties in Nova Scotia should heed this change in political winds nonetheless, and act accordingly.
Nova Scotia is particularly exposed to coastal hazards owing to historical settlement patterns. Early communities were established at the water’s edge, along with the industries that supported them: fishing, coal, steel, shipbuilding and shipping. This is to say nothing of the many seaside roads, parks and other public infrastructure.
According to government estimates, roughly 60,000 properties meet Nova Scotia’s shoreline, which is estimated at more than 13,000 kilometres long. Many of them are vulnerable to coastal flooding and erosion, both of which are now being exacerbated by rising sea levels. A 2022 analysis by the Canadian Institute for Climate Choices found that in a high-emissions scenario, more than 16,000 homes in the province will be at risk of coastal flooding by the end of this century.
In places like Lunenburg County, seawalls and dikes are an expensive and increasingly less reliable defence against flooding, so many researchers advocate for coastal setback zones instead.
The saving grace, if there is one, is that little of Nova Scotia’s coastline is heavily urbanized in comparison with many other parts of the world, such as the U.S. eastern seaboard or coastal lowlands across much of Europe. South Carolina’s Office of Resilience, for instance, estimated that nearly 69,000 properties in that state are candidates for buyouts. (Many, but not all, are coastal.)
Hard engineering, like the seawall recently erected on Crescent Beach, has long been the go-to method for protecting properties. But that’s becoming increasingly expensive and less effective. Once erected, seawalls and dikes must be continuously maintained and upgraded until the land they protect is finally abandoned. Crescent Beach itself is backed by heavily eroded dunes and the remains of failed rock seawalls and wood barriers, which pay silent testament to the limits of these approaches.
Many coastal researchers have long advocated for coastal setback zones, reasoning that the sooner people stop building in high-risk areas, the better. “Restricting new development in potentially exposed coastal regions could help to lower future flood risk upfront,” wrote researchers from the Coastal Risks and Sea-Level Rise Research Group, at Germany’s Christian-Albrechts University, in a paper published last year in the journal Nature.
The Coastal Protection Act echoed that thinking. Passed in 2019, it was intended to prevent the repeating of past mistakes. It sought to establish vertical and horizontal setbacks from the coast that could block construction of new buildings in areas vulnerable to flooding and erosion, and restrict construction of seawalls and other protective structures.
It wasn’t intended to stifle all coastal development. But any building permits issued within the zone would require confirmation from an independent professional that the project complied with the Act. That might prove a considerable obstacle for someone who wanted to build a luxury residence just metres from the shoreline, or convert an old coastal cottage into a year-round home.
The Act enjoyed widespread support and received royal assent that year after limited debate. (According to Hansard transcriptions of the debates, nobody rose in opposition.) And at first it seemed that the Conservative government elected in 2021 would continue the work of implementing it by enacting regulations. But then, earlier this year, the government abandoned it.
When Nova Scotia's legislature passed the Coastal Protection Act, it set out standards for builders seeking permits for coastal projects and a process for vetting their plans with an independent professional.Andrew Vaughan/The Canadian Press
Joanna Eyquem, managing director of climate-resilient infrastructure for the Intact Centre on Climate Change Adaptation, said Nova Scotia’s new approach contrasts strikingly with those of neighbours including Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick, which have introduced provincial restrictions to coastal development. “They’ve just taken a big step backwards, basically,” she said. “I don’t really see what the province has to gain by allowing people to increase risk and continue to make bad decisions.”
One uncertainty is whether future government officials will withhold relief payments from owners of newly built properties when hurricanes or other disasters strike. As far back as the 1970s, disaster-relief programs in Canada introduced measures intended to discourage development in high-risk areas, but these were not enforced. After major disasters, politicians have typically arrived with reassurances for stricken residents, rather than rebuking them for making unwise choices and denying support. Such habits may prove politically difficult to abandon.
It’s also unclear how many municipalities will be willing to restrict coastal development, thus foregoing additional property tax and other benefits that might otherwise accrue to them.
The Nova Scotia Federation of Municipalities, which represents the province’s 49 local governments, strongly preferred that the province enact regulations rather than delegate responsibility to them.
Its president, Carolyn Bolivar-Getson, said some municipalities lack the planning staff, money or other resources necessary to regulate coastal development. And they’re also preoccupied with more immediate concerns, such as coping with rapid housing development and the burden it places on water, waste water and other municipal infrastructure. “It was a shock to municipalities,” she said. “It would have been much better for the province to roll out one set of regulations.”
The coastal town of Lockeport, N.S., was among those municipalities; in a letter to Housing Minister John Lohr, Mayor Cory Nickerson expressed the municipality’s “distress” and warned that the Act’s abandonment “will encourage unregulated and disjointed decision making with neighbouring Municipal Units following various municipal mandates.”
U.S. President Joe Biden takes a helicopter tour of hurricane Helene's recent devastation in South Carolina, whose recent years of bad weather have led them to explore new risk-reduction measures.Mandel Ngan/AFP via Getty Images
Recent actions in South Carolina illustrate a more interventionalist approach. Last year the state government released a statewide risk-reduction plan from a new Office of Resilience, established after a series of three natural disasters in less than four years. Among its far-ranging recommendations were new rules forcing structures in flood-prone areas to be designed to withstand a once-a-century flood throughout its design life.
The plan also argued that the state should establish a program to buy vulnerable homes. Bought-out properties could have building restrictions attached to the deeds so that, if they were later sold, future owners couldn’t build new structures in harm’s way. The idea was to “allow the state to be proactive rather than reactive to reduce the risk of future losses,” the report said.
In Nova Scotia, meanwhile, some municipalities are already adapting to that government’s more laissez-faire approach.
The Municipality of the District of Lunenburg, for which Ms. Bolivar-Getson also serves as mayor, is among the leaders: It previously set its own rules regulating coastal development in certain communities within its boundaries. In June, it introduced a bylaw setting rules for the entire municipality.
Halifax, meanwhile, is currently reviewing its regional plan and may introduce new coastal protection measures. Whereas the current plan provides for a minimum horizontal buffer of 20 metres for shoreline development, proposed bylaw changes would push that back to 30 metres.
The Halifax region is weighing its current plans for sea-level rise and whether bylaws need to create a bigger distance between buildings and the shore.
Other municipalities following suit can expect some support. The Nova Scotia Federation of Municipalities is now considering drafting a model bylaw they could adapt for their own purposes – and has hired a co-ordinator to help municipalities adapt to coastal flood risks. It hired another professional to assist with coastal land-use planning. Both positions are funded wholly by the provincial government.
“I do believe that municipalities will have to address this issue sooner rather than later,” Ms. Bolivar-Getson said.
“But in five years’ time, I cannot say that all 49 municipalities will have a coastal-protection bylaw in place.”
Homeowners are also responding to the new regime.
The Ecology Action Centre, an environmental charity, long advocated in favour of the Act. Marla MacLeod, its director of programs, said the province’s regulatory waffling led to an acceleration of new coastal development as various parties sought to build new buildings and seawalls before the regulations were enacted – something that continued apace once the Act was abandoned.
“It seems like every week somebody’s sending me photos of something inappropriate being built,” she said. “They tend to be large houses being built very close to the coast.”
