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Proponents of environmentally friendly hydroelectric projects are finding it's not easy being green.

In the last two years, the stream of applications to the B.C. government for private-sector small-hydro projects has turned from a trickle to a flood, prompting widespread concerns that the province lacks the resources to deal with the situation.

Land and Water British Columbia Inc. is currently holding 328 applications for streamside electricity generation -- almost a four-fold increase in the number of applications on file just 18 months ago.

The applications come from dozens of established companies and lone entrepreneurs seeking to grab a piece of the action that's supposed to occur as the province moves into a new era of small-hydro electrical generation.

For successful proponents, a streamside hydro generator supplementing B.C. Hydro's grid means a steady, secure, long-term flow of revenue from a project that can cost $100 million to build.

However, even proponents say that many applications will fail because they cannot hope to satisfy environmental and social concerns.

Federal regulators are worried that the province's screening process isn't sufficient to weed out unacceptable applications before their proponents have begun spending money to develop them.

In addition, the surging volume of proposals is sparking concern about threats to fragile stream environments, with fisheries groups and aboriginals urging the government to cool off the process until the impacts of small hydro on fish and wildlife can be fully evaluated.

Rob Bell-Irving, a community advisor for the federal fisheries department, thinks small hydro is a positive development in a province that has traditionally relied on sprawling dams and reservoirs.

But with 150 applications in his south coast jurisdiction alone, he's worried that the province may have opened a Pandora's box.

"If it's a way to avoid large dam mega-projects, that's a positive. I would also say that if these things can be kept on relatively low-natural-value streams, in low-natural-value watersheds, then I'm open-minded to looking at it favourably.

"But I'm concerned about the sheer volume of applications, and I'm concerned that the cumulative effects of having a whole bunch of projects on one river system have not been addressed."

B.C.'s favourable combination of steady rainfall, steep mountain valleys and salmon is unique in North America, so there's no other jurisdiction that can be used for guidance.

Likewise, there's great uncertainty about how many of the applications will actually mature into electricity-producing businesses.

One proponent says many of the new applications were doomed before they were written.

That suggestion is borne out by the government's own numbers -- of 22 proposals already decided in the current fiscal year, 10 were approved, two were refused and 10 abandoned.

"The 10 that abandoned are probably some of the more poorly organized ones, or when they came and talked to us they realized that it wasn't going to get approved," said Jim Mattison, director of the B.C water management branch.

"Sometimes they pick a great site, but if it happens to be a primo coho salmon migration site, it's not going to happen."

Some are abandoned on the labyrinthine path of environmental concerns, government regulations, public interests and aboriginal rights that each successful project must navigate.

Even those who succeed find they have to spend years -- and as much as $2 million -- cataloguing fish, wildlife and plans, or making peace with aboriginals, regulators, ski-hill operators or even whitewater kayaking enthusiasts.

Mattison says a new batch of 30 applications now under review is more promising, with proponents showing evidence that they've considered the pitfalls before making submissions.

But Ledcor Power Inc. development manager Derek Hutchinson says he expects many of the recent applications will fall by the wayside in the months ahead.

Hutchinson speculates that some were submitted merely to head off competing claims for a potentially productive stream -- without consideration of the viability of the project.

He said putting in large numbers of applications -- Ledcor has more than two dozen -- was seen as risk management by many companies that participated in the recent rush.

"That was certainly the case. Any one of these variables can mean that the project is not economic," Hutchinson said. "You've got to say, 'Well if I start with 50, how many are going to be successful, five?'

"There is this huge volume, but how many of them are actually going to be successful and actually get built? I'd think that number is relatively small."

At Ledcor's Fitzsimmons Creek project in Whistler, Hutchinson had to satisfy federal, provincial, regional and municipal government regulators -- with the Squamish-Lillooet regional district seizing the opportunity to award itself royalties from the project, apparently in frustration over its relationship with the province.

He also had to satisfy Blackcomb ski-hill operators who use the same water for snowmaking that Ledcor will tap into for its hydro energy, and nearby condo owners worried about the hum from the powerhouse that will be located about 300 metres away.

Fitzsimmons Creek is one of 16 small hydro projects approved by B.C. Hydro's green energy section.

Proponents of the Rutherford Creek project near Pemberton, also on Hydro's project list, are still reeling from all the work it took to win an approval.

The $70-million project now under construction sees about 70 per cent of Rutherford's water diverted into an underground pipe and carried nine kilometres downhill to a powerhouse before being returned to the creek.

"It has been an extremely challenging ride," says proponent David Andrews, who says the company stumbled over numerous regulatory snags -- "every one you can possibly think of and probably half a dozen you can't."

Like other projects that tend to gain approval, Rutherford takes advantage of a stream that has no appreciable fisheries values.

But Andrews still had to deal with the federal fisheries department, because its coast guard section is responsible for navigable waters and Rutherford Creek attracts whitewater kayaking enthusiasts.

"We could not get approval under that act unless we came to an agreement with the kayakers, which took a lot of doing," he recalls. "In the end, we agreed to provide them with a park, a kayaking park, at the end of Rutherford Creek."

Andrews pegs the cost of satisfying concerns at $2 million.

"I hate to tell you how many hours of helicopter time we paid for, looking for harlequin ducks. Then we had all sorts of special studies done for tailed frogs. That means you've got to get people flown up to walk up and down little creek beds looking for flora and fauna of every type."

He agrees that a better government process is needed.

"The big problem has often been finding the response time out of the government departments to be adequate. They've been cut back a fair bit and so you can't often get the level of service you'd like."

But Andrews has no regrets. He's already developing two other projects, one at the top of Harrison Lake and the other at the north end of Lillooet Lake.

The company's amicable dealings with aboriginals gave its reputation a boost as well.

"We took quite a bit of care in our dealings with First Nations, and we have been invited by the Nisga'a to look at a few of their potential projects."