by Anna Clark

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It wasn’t about playing God. Rather, it was a better way to feed the world.

That’s how a biotech company called AquaBounty described its AquAdvantage salmon, the first genetically modified animal approved by the federal government for human consumption. By adding a gene from Chinook salmon to Atlantic salmon and using DNA sequences from eel-like ocean pout as a “growth promoter,” the company said its salmon could grow twice as fast.

The silvery superfish is indistinguishable from other Atlantic salmon, the company said, but, with freshwater tanks and less feed, it can reach market size sooner than its conventional cousins. No ocean required.

But it was all easier said than done. After decades of backlash, boycotts and persistent financial losses, on top of the regulatory slog, AquaBounty hooked its hopes for the future on a village in Ohio with an enterprising name — Pioneer — and an accommodating mayor, Ed Kidston.

Eventually, it fell apart. And the village that hoped for a transformative industry is carrying the cost.

Pioneer, population 1,410, is just south of the Michigan border, in a county where fields of corn are cut by spear-straight country roads. AquaBounty promised 112 jobs, plus resources for schools and infrastructure.

And it promised something different from the metal stamping plant or Menards distribution center that opened in the area in past years. Researchers and advocates have long suggested that the Rust Belt use its water wealth to build a “blue economy.” AquaBounty seemed like a forward-looking prospect.

Although the company never made a profit in its 30-some years of existence, public officials rolled out the red carpet.

AquaBounty got a state permit to withdraw up to 5.25 million gallons of groundwater per day to operate the fish farm. JobsOhio, the state’s private economic development arm, executed an agreement to grant it $1 million. The Toledo-Lucas County Port Authority authorized up to $425 million in revenue bonds.

An enterprise zone relieved AquaBounty of 15 years of property taxes. With the help of state dollars, Pioneer extended a road, a project estimated at $1.7 million.

Pioneer, which operates its own electric system, borrowed $3.95 million on the municipal debt market — later upped to $5 million — for a new substation project. The substation would provide a boost to AquaBounty’s energy needs.

And before AquaBounty’s plans were public knowledge, a company owned by Kidston purchased land for $600,000. He later flipped it to AquaBounty for nearly $2.1 million.

The mayor did well. Pioneer and the state did not.

Nearly three years after AquaBounty broke ground, there are no fancy fish tanks. No designer fish. No new jobs. Even with so much public assistance, it’s not clear if AquaBounty will ever finish building the farm. This month, it auctioned off “new” and “unused” equipment from the site.

Neither Kidston, who has said that he was merely trying to help the town, nor AquaBounty responded to questions for this story.

Locals are left to grapple with a partially developed site, a short-circuited growth strategy and questions about whether the project was ever viable.

The saga “could potentially send a message that it’s difficult to develop in Williams County,” said Ashley Epling, who took the helm of the county’s economic development organization after AquaBounty arrived in town.

Todd Roth, who oversees the Williams County engineering department, said the promise of development can require tradeoffs that compel public officials to make difficult decisions.

“How far do we go on hope?” he asked.

In the highlands of Panama, tucked behind padlocked gates and barbed wire, AquaBounty wanted to prove what was possible. There, in 2008, it opened a demonstration facility — a venture that “no one would ever think that anyone in their right mind would do,” said Ron Stotish, former president and chief executive officer.

“We built a small farm basically by hand, with local labor and this local trout farmer,” Stotish said. A visiting reporter told television viewers that it had “shades of Jurassic Park.”

Without precedent for AquAdvantage salmon, the Food and Drug Administration reviewed it as a new animal drug. Inspectors visited AquaBounty’s Panama facility and its hatchery on Canada’s Prince Edward Island. They assessed environmental risks, like transgenic fish escaping and interfering with salmon in the wild. The company said it designed AquAdvantage salmon as sterile females so they won’t reproduce.

Journalists and activists scrutinized AquaBounty too, reporting on a mishap in Panama that cost the company its first batch of commercial-sized fish and supermarkets pledging that they wouldn’t sell bioengineered salmon.

With the fish not even for sale yet, AquaBounty patched together financing to stay afloat, including from a former Soviet oligarch.

Federal approval came in 2015 — for the Panamanian and Canadian sites only. New facilities needed individual approval. Meanwhile, a coalition of environmental and industry groups, including the Center for Food Safety, filed a lawsuit challenging the FDA’s review. In a case that would take years to resolve, they argued that the agency failed to fully assess the risk of AquAdvantage salmon escaping into the wild.

And genetically modified salmon had an........

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