Lessons of the Dune

The story of the demise of Florida's Timucua people began and ended in the dunes near St. Augustine. They were the first thing Ponce de Leon saw when he arrived in 1513 and the last thing the natives saw as the last 89 Timucuans sailed away 250 years later. It was the perfect setting. The story of these dunes is, in many ways, a microcosm of the story of Florida itself. Most of this land was, at one time or another, covered by dunes. They represent Florida’s essence—raw and elemental.   

Anyone hoping to gain a true understanding of Florida and the people who live here should begin by studying the plants and animals that live in the dunes. Ponce de Leon would have done well to heed this advice. Imagine how differently things might have gone if he had spent his five "lost days" learning the lessons of the dunes and taken those lessons to heart. He wouldn’t have had to look hard to find them.

 

One of the first plants the explorer would have encountered would have been prickly pear cactus (Opuntia  humifusa)For thousands of years, Florida’s native people had not only learned to co-exist with these plants, they relied on them for food and medicine. At times, they even made short seasonal migrations to harvest the ripe, red “pears.” But for unschooled newcomers, prickly pears were probably little more than ever-present nuisances with long, pain-inducing spines.

Having ignored all warnings from the prickly pears, de Leon would have found even more species eager to teach him the perils of trespassing in places he wasn’t welcome. Of all the scenes I’ve imagined of Ponce’s first days, none is more satisfying than picturing him gyrating through a bed of sand spurs (Cenchrus spp.) doing the “Ow! Ow! Ow!” tippy-toe dance. You know the one; everyone who’s walked bare-footed through sand spurs knows this dance. While the Spaniard didn’t understand Timucuan, the language of sand spurs would have been clear. If he had taken this message to heart, de Leon might not have returned to South Florida a decade later and been fatally pierced by a different kind of “thorn,” a native arrow.

 

Most of the dunes lessons are not so painful. In fact, most require nothing more than mindfulness and a sense of curiosity. Take the lessons of the sea oats (Uniola paniculata). If de Leon had contemplated these important dune-stabalizing plants, he might have learned about adaptability. When sea oats are covered by sand in a storm, they simply sprout new roots from the buried stem and push up new growth from their growing tip.

If he had a microscope (okay, now I'm really stretching the imagination) he could have learned another of the sea oats valuable lessons—coexistence. These plants are colonized by beneficial fungi which increase the root's surface area and thereby enhance their ability to take in nutrients. The lives of both the oat and the fungi are bettered by their cooperative relationship.

Coexistence is a common theme in these dunes. Ambling among the soft, rolling swells of sugar-sand, de Leon would certainly have spotted gopher tortoise burrows. These burrows are used by at least 365 species of insects, mammals and reptiles of several species, all of which comfortably cohabitate in the dark passages.

 

This lesson might have been reinforced with a stroll on the beach (nobody can resist beach-combing). As he splashed along the frothy edge of wave-wash, Ponce might have found a Portuguese Man o’ War stranded onto the beach. As a seasoned sea farer, he would likely have known these animals as they are common throughout the Atlantic. He might have even felt a kinship with such an adventurous creature that goes through life on a private journey guided only by the prevailing winds (a jelly after my own heart!). But, familiar as he was, de Leon might not have known the animal’s greatest strength.  The Portuguese Man o’ War’s various body parts are actually different animals. This is not one animal but a colony of coexisteing, co-dependant species. None could live without all the others living together in this amazing animal/colony.

Our hero would also have done well to study the wrack. There, piled above the highest wash of the tide, he might have found affirmation of what the Timucuans were trying to tell him (and what a girl named Dorothy would learn centuries later), “there’s no place like home.” This could have been learned from any one of the many exotic seeds found among the seaweed and flotsam. If he had looked around, he would have found that none of the plant species represented by these seeds were growing in those dunes—none had successfully germinated here, not then and not now. Like all species, these exotic seeds evolved in specific conditions of climate and soil which means they have special requirements to germinate and thrive.

Wherever he went, be it vegetated dune swales or the nearby flatwoods, de Leon would have been surrounded by one of the elders of Florida’s plant communities—saw palmetto (Serenoa repens). Recent DNA studies suggest that some saw palmettos may approach 10,000 years of age. This would have been accomplished by the plants habit of regularly sprouting new, prostate stems and sinking new roots from them. Granddaddy saw palmettos could be the clonal descendants of plants whose fruits were eaten by Paleo-Indians (and paleo-critters). As we would expect of such an elder, the lessons of saw palmetto are both numerous and profound. For me, none is more important than the fact that they are hard to cultivate. When removed from an area, they have difficulty reestablishing. This lesson perfectly symbolizes the tragic loss of Florida’s native people just 250 years after de Leon.

Unlike the Timucuans, who have been silenced forever, the dunes remain; still here to teach their lessons to anyone who will listen. To learn one of their most vital and urgent lessons, we must return to the old master, the prickly pear cactus. Look again at those long spines. As I mentioned before, they help the plant defend itself. What I didn't mention was that they guard the plant's most precious possession—water. The thick, succulent pads are spongy reservoirs of water—a vital necessity that desirous, thirsty animals try hard to access. We modern Floridians would do well to learn from old man cactus.

This weeks tours: Silver River (Sat) & Ocklawaha (Sun)

 

If I were to plan an itinerary that best showcased Ocklawaha River--its archaeology, history, geology and wild inhabitants--it would look exactly like this weekend's lineup. On Saturday's (5/30) Silver River trip, we launch into the river's birth place (not just Silver's but also, to a large extent, Ocklawaha's), the aptly named, Mammoth Spring. This spring is the source of nearly a third of Silver River's flow. The remainder comes primarily from the 29 additional vents feeding the river in its first mile with a fraction coming from surface runoff from rainfall and seepage from the adjacent swamps. The river's human story begins here as well. Artifacts uncovered from the limestone rimming the spring pool and along the river speak to nearly 14,000 years of continuous use of the spring and river, beginning with the first humans who arrived in North Florida at the end of the last Ice Age.

More of the story will be revealed on Sunday's (5/31) paddle of a lower section of Ocklawaha River. An Archaic Period burial mound, steamboat landing and an ill-conceived dam offer visible, palpable connections to that part of the story that has included humans. In the big picture, that has been just a sliver of time. Decaying stumps of ancient giants and limestone ossuaries packed with the remains of land animals and aquatic species--some marine, some fresh water--dating back tens of millions of years, help keep it all in perspective. Our time here has been a footnote in this volume. 

But this river's story is not just a memoir written in past tense. It is a living, breathing place whose story is still unfolding.The Ocklawaha river-forest wakes anew every morning. It will be as fresh and vibrant on Sunday as it was 5,000 years ago. While it's a different forest from that of the Timucua--some species are gone, others have arrived and the sizes of some trees are certainly different--it still pulses with life. As with all rivers, the Ocklawaha's story is being written in real time; a new chapter every day. How that story will go from here is up to us. 

 

So, what was I saying? Oh yeah, I'm going paddling this weekend--wanna go!?

Here are the details:



- Saturday, May 30:   SILVER RIVER
 

This river is about 1 hour south of Gainesville. We'll be meeting there at 10:00 A.M. The cost is $39 for "wanna go" members ($50 for non-members). With your own boat it's $25 for members ($35 for non-members). NOTE - There is also an additional $10 in park & launch fees.

 

 

Description

 

 On this downstream-only paddle, we will launch near the river's large head-spring. We be on the water about 2.5 hours. Since we'll be done by about 1:00 we won't stop for any kind of food/eating break. 

 

As we make our way down stream in the 30 - 40 ft wide channel, we are treated to an unbroken panorama of cypress, ash, gum, red maple and an assortment of other trees and plants associated with the Ocklawaha river basin, of which this is an important part. There are always plenty of water birds, especially near the head spring. Turtles, gators and and other reptiles always keep things interesting, as do my personal favorites, the river otters. The quiet paddler with a searching eye will usually spot one of these stealthy hunters on about 3/4 of our trips.

 

The most popular animals on Silver River are the Rhesus monkeys  (actually macaques - see below). Even though exotic species are never welcome in natural habitats, its hard not to enjoy watching these interesting, amusing Asian/African primates. It's not their fault they wound up in the forests of central Florida. But be very careful and never approach them. They can be aggressive and have a wicked bite.   

 

Tropical green meets icy blue

Our launch site will be near the river's water source, the Silver Springs group. The main vent--Mammoth Spring--is one of the largest springs (in average flow rate) in the world. This area is within Silver Springs State Park. The main river channel within the park is a public waterway, with free access to all. Please be very respectful to other boats by staying off to the side when they pass. We want all visitors--paddlers and tour boat passengers alike--to have a positive experience when they explore Florida's beautiful waterways. It looks bad for everyone when there is friction between boat operators.

 

Perhaps the main thing that sets Silver River apart from other waterways is it's water. Crystal clear and relatively deep (averaging about 6 - 8 feet, with a few much deeper holes), few waterways rival this one for sheer beauty of its water.

 

Likewise, few waterways can match the diversity and numbers of species that you find on Silver. Put down your paddle and float with the current  (save this for the downstream part of the trip!) and you'll soon find crowds of small fish (mostly of the sunfish clan) drifting along in the shade of your boat. Feel free to bring swim-wear and snorkeling gear if you think you might be inclined to jump in and meet the river inhabitants face to mask.

 

  



All eyes...and ears!

Highlights

The most popular animals on this trip, and the most unusual for any of our trips, are the monkeys. Earlier in this century a number of Rhesus monkeys escaped into the wild from Silver Springs Park. The most prevalent story is that they escaped from sets of the old Tarzan movies which were filmed near the springs. But, in reality, their presence can be credited to (blamed on?) Col. Tooey, a concessionaire at Silver Springs park in the 1930's. To add some tropical flavor to his "jungle cruise," he released some of the monkeys on a small island in the middle of the river. He didn't realize they could swim. Today, they are well established in the bottomland forest along the Silver and a bit of the Ocklawaha Rivers.   

 

If you do see any (I'd say about 4 out of 5 paddlers will spot at least one), be sure to keep a safe distance - and DON'T FEED them. They are fun to watch, but they can be aggressive and will bite if you get too close.

 

Difficulty

  

This is now an easy one-way, downstream-only paddle of about 2.5 (3 hours if you do a lot of poking around and taking in the natural wonders--large and small--that line every inch of this run .) (Note: we encourage poking around and taking in the natural wonders--large and small--that line every inch of this run.).

 

 

 

- Sunday, May 31:  OCKLAWAHA RIVER #3 (Below the dam)

 

This one is about 1 hour southeast of Gainesville. We'll be meeting at 10:00 A.M. The fee for this trip is $39 for "wanna go" members and $50 for non-members. It's $29 with your own boat ($40 for non-members).

 



 Lunch stop

Description

 

The Ocklawaha is wider here than above the reservoir and much more braided. Many side streams and confusing forks make this an interesting area to explore, but can turn a leisurely paddle into an extreme workout if you make a wrong turn. You won't want to get to far ahead of the guide on this trip.

 

Sydney Lanier, a well-known writer of the 1800's, called the Ocklawaha the "sweetest water-lane in the world, a lane which runs more than a hundred and fifty miles of pure delight betwixt hedgerows of oaks and cypresses and palms and bays and magnolias and mosses and manifold vine-growths..." Unlike so many early descriptions of wild Florida, which are merely frustrating glimpses into long lost worlds, this passage could have been written today. And, aside from the fact that he was sitting on the deck of an Ocklawaha steamboat, Lanier's instructions on assuming the "attitude of perfect rest" could just as easily be followed by the kicked-back, modern day kayaker. He suggested you hike your left leg onto the boats railing, "then tip your chair in a slight diagonal position back to the side of the cabin, so that your head will rest thereagainst, your right arm will hang over the chair back, and your left arm will repose 

Baby night herons!

on the railing. I give no specific instruction for your right leg, because I am disposed to be liberal in this matter and to leave some gracious scope for personal idiosyncrasies,...dispose your right leg, therefore, as your heart may suggest. Having secured this attitude, open wide the eyes of your body and your soul; repulse with a heavenly suavity the conversational advances..." of others, "then sail, sail, sail through the cypresses, through the vines, through the May day...and so shall your heart forever afterwards interpret Ocklawaha to mean repose." I can't count the times I've rounded a bend of the Ocklawaha, and found someone in our group laid back in their kayaks, in the "attitude of perfect rest." It's the perfect river for "repose".

This is the Ocklawaha that Pulitzer Prize winning author Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings knew and loved. And it's the Ocklawaha to which some of Florida's most celebrated musical troubadours, including the late, great Will Mclean and Don Grooms, retreated when the press of civilization became unbearable.

 

The wide open channel on this part of the river offers an excellent panorama of river forests and swamps that in places, stretch a half mile back from the main channel. Here, we find the usual menagerie of wildlife that love such places. Cormorants and anhingas swim in the tannin stained brown water, catching small fish, while several species of wading birds tiptoe slowly through spatterdock, pickerelweed, water hyacinth and cardinal flowers at the rivers edge, stalking small fish, reptiles, amphibians and small crustaceans.

 



 otters love this river too

Other animals we frequently see are alligators, turtles and snakes, usually basking contently on a sunny log. Otters live here too, and while they're very shy, the observant paddler will often spot one diving for fish along the rivers edge. The forest floor of these heavily shaded woodlands are low and damp, making them prone to flood in heavy rain events (including hurricanes!) - great for wildlife, not so great for human habitation. Except for a couple of isolated homes, perched at a distance from the river, we see very little sign of civilization on this trip.

 

Occasionally, the winding channel carries us close to the high piney bluff which borders much of the river basin. This steep bluff, formed by an uplift fault during an earthquake millions of years ago, marks the northern edge of Florida's famous sand pine forest - the 'scrub.'

 

 

Highlights

 

This trip will appeal to people with a variety of interests. As history buffs dream of Acuera warriors and the steamboats which once once plied these waters, birders and animal lovers will be getting a lot of use out of their binoculars and cameras. And if you, like myself, are a fan of Marjorie Rawlings, this trip will give you a chance to explore a remote section of Florida that remains much as it did when she stayed nearby at the Fiddia homestead. In addition to it's scenic beauty, this stretch of the Ocklawaha also serves as an excellent 'living museum' of man's 12,000 year relationship with nature in Florida. As we make our way downstream, we work back in time - starting with our launch at the George Kirkpatrick Dam, where we see man's most recent (and most destructive) attempt to 'tame' the river, we paddle past a couple of old steamboat landings before stopping for lunch at a large Indian burial mound.

 

 

Difficulty

 

This is an easy paddle on slow, tannin-stained waters. There is plenty of water here so you won't have to pull over any shoals or shallows. There are a few tricky forks so you won't want to get too far away from the guide.

 

For more description, go to: http://www.adventureoutpost.net  and click on "river trips" and then "Ocklawaha River"

 

 

 ** FOR ALL TRIPS **

 

 

RESERVATIONS REQUIRED for all trips! You can make a reservation any time before 5 PM the afternoon before the trip. HOWEVER, there's no guarantee that - a.) you will be able to contact us, b.) that there will still be spaces available, c.) we have not already left the store with the boats. The earlier you call, the more likely you are to secure a spot.

 

- All reservations must be secured with prepayment, using cash, check or credit card (by phone is OK). -

 

CANCELLATIONS: You can cancel up to 24 hours before the trip and get a full refund. After that, your payment is forfeited.

 

 

Wanna Go?

 

- If so, please Call us at Adventure Outpost (386) 454-0611 and we'll get your payment information and give you trip specifics.

 

- If you're not sure, write or call with any questions and we'll be glad to answer them.

 

- If not, do nothing. By not responding we'll know you want to pass on this trip. You won't hear from us again until your next trip notice.

 

 

Thanks,

 

Lars Andersen

 

Adventure Outpost  LLC

30 NW 1st Ave

High Springs, FL 32643

 

(386) 454-0611

 

http://www.adventureoutpost.net

http://riverguidesjournal.blogspot.com/

riverguide2000@yahoo.com

 

 

* No trees were destroyed in the sending of this contaminant free message, though a significant number of electrons may have been inconvenienced.

Coming of Age in the Wild Kingdom

Some of my earliest introductions to the wildlife beyond Florida was Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom TV show, hosted by Marlin Perkins. In fact, it was probably while watching Marlin send his trusted side-kick, Stan (or was it Jim?) to wrangle exotic man-eaters of every persuasion, that the seeds of a future river guide were planted.

One of the program's more memorable scenes showed how deserts are reborn when the rains come after a prolonged drought. The scene opened with Marlin firmly wedged in some desert shrubbery with only the snout of his binoculars protruding from the foliage. Whispering enthusiastically, Marlin would describe the animals gathered at the watering hole and the life-and-death struggles they endured. Then, after pinting out some particularly deadly creature and elaborating on incredibly dangerous they were and implying that only a fool would go near one, he'd send Jim (or was it Stan) in to annoy it. The segment would then conclude with Uncle Marlin giving some finely-crafted segue into the wisdom of having insurance - "as Jim scrambles across the savanna, with the angry lion close on his heels, he's probably wishing he had more protection. Speaking of protection, here at Mutual of Omaha..."

All-in-all, I have to give the Wild Kingdom show credit for giving me some valuable life lessons. For instance, I now know that wildlife loves when the rains come, so I often go to recently dried-out areas after it rains to see what's stirring. I also learned that insurance people are truly awesome creatures, who can wrestle lions and run like gazelles when things don't work out as planned. I avoid them altogether.

Darwin Misses a Link (to Florida)

February 12 was the anniversary of Charles Darwin’s birthday--Happy 206th, Chuck!!. Around the world, scientists raised their glasses and toasted the man who, among other achievements, developed the theory of evolution by natural selection. He based this concept largely on observations he made during a five year voyage of the South Seas aboard the HMS Beagle.

When he first proposed the theory in his 1859 book, On the Origin of Species, people were aghast. The thought that all animal species (including humans) evolved from a common ancestor was more than most people were able or willing to accept. Today, however, scientists, theologians and most of the educated world have come to accept evolution as fact (Oh, hi Kansas; didn’t see you there. How’s the corn and all? No, we’re not talking about you. Gotta go!) 

The concept of evolution has broad appeal, being relevant to a wide range of interests including, animal behavior, anatomy, human sociology, psychology, and all other sciences. It helps that it is more easily understood and observable, and yes, maybe even a bit more exciting than most other sciences (Oh, hi chemistry, when did you get here? How’s the old pH doing? Wow, look at the time! See ya!)

In recent years, especially since the lead-up and celebration of Darwin’s 200th birthday in 2009, so-called “Darwin tours,” have become increasingly popular. If I know the most highly evolved species on the planet (and I think I do), I'm guessing the anniversary inspires herds (flocks?) of Orvis-shod evo-tourists to descend upon Darwin sites throughout the South Seas. At this moment, they're probably scrambling over the rocky, Galapagos landscape after giant land tortoises, while, on St. Jago they are gazing up at the cliffs where Darwin pondered exposed marine fossils; they’re scratching the ground in Patagonia for fossils of Megatherium (a giant, ice-age ground sloth); stalking foxes on the Falklands; and traipsing the wilds of Chile in search of mockingbirds. And, everywhere, they’re marveling at Darwin's genius and the wonders of evolution.

Unfortunately, most of us won’t be able to visit the famous Darwin sites (survival of the fattest wallet). But, don’t worry, if you want to marvel at the workings of evolution, we have some striking examples right here in North Florida. In fact, if Darwin had directed his explorations to our humble neck-of-the-woods, he could easily have seen similar animals and made some of the same observations he made in the South Seas. He could have found Megatherium fossils in the Ichetucknee limestone and marine fossils in the rocky bluffs flanking the Suwannee. And, yes, he might have even seen a mockingbird or two.

One thing Darwin would not have found here are marine iguanas. The closest thing we have are alligators. That could have been a problem. At one point, Darwin decided to see how long an iguana could stay under water without breathing. So, following normal protocol of good scientific inquiry, he tied a rock to an iguana and chucked it into the sea. When he pulled it up an hour later it was still alive. He was very relieved… as was Darwin. On another occasion he grabbed an iguana by the tail and tossed it (sans rock, this time) into the water to see how well it could swim. If he had tried such experiments on our own big “lizards,” it might not have gone so well. He might have been eligible to be the first recipient of the Darwin Awards. Although if that had happened, he never would have written his book, and there would be no such award and therefore…. (How’s that for a paradox!)

In the grand scheme of things, Ichetucknee’s biggest disappointment for Darwin would have been the absence of those now-famous finches. After all, without them and their diverse island-based variations, he might never have had the idea of divergent evolution (where separated populations of a single species evolve differently, developing traits best suited to their new environment). Or would he? If he’d come to North Florida and spent some time at the springs (is there any doubt!?) he could easily have made similar observations of a very different species—river snails.

Among the most prevalent (though not always noticeable) creatures in North Florida’s spring-fed rivers, river snails mill about in quiet, barely-moving crowds across gently waving meadows of Vallisneria and Sagittaria. They trek across open sand and scale miniature cliffs. They leave invisible trails across riverscapes of logs, rocks and sunken debris. The abundance of these peanut-sized snails is attributable to two traits common to all Florida spring’s—plenty of calcium (ideal for making strong shells) and an abundance of microscopic algae on which to feed.

River snails are found in all of our springs. And, while they are all superficially similar to the layman’s eye, there are subtle differences from one spring to the next. In fact, many species of river snails are only found in one or two spring runs. It’s divergent evolution at its best. Who needs finches!?

But snails and fossils weren't the only things Darwin would have liked about Ichetucknee. Like many modern-day visitors, Darwin would have enjoyed a cup of “morning Joe.” During his five year exploration around South America, he developed a strong affinity for maté, the caffeine-ladened beverage made from the steeped leaves of Ilex paraguariensis . Here again, we could have accommodated Darwin nicely. Yaupon holly (Ilex vomitoria), a close cousin of maté, is common in the Ichetucknee Forest.  Best of all, it is loaded with caffeine. Like natives for thousands of years, Darwin could have started his day on Ichetucknee enjoying a warm cup of morning “Yo.”
 

Return of the Ospreys

Ospreys have returned from their South American wintering grounds. While some spent the winter in Florida, joined by a number of northern migrants, many of our summer ospreys headed to South America. On some of our local waterways, the returning birds have boosted the population considerably. Birders and nature lovers are thrilled with the arrivals; others have more tepid feelings.

For as long as humans have fished Homosassa, from the first Paleo-fishermen who cast bone fish-hooks and nets into the river 14,000 years ago, to modern anglers with computerized fish finders, one thing that hasn’t changed is the dumbfounded look on their face when an osprey casually snatches a lunker from the water nearby.

Early fishermen were convinced that ospreys had supernatural abilities. In The Battle of Alcazar, 16th century playwright, George Peele said fish “turn their glistering (sic) bellies up” for the “princely osprai.” Some people believed the birds fishing prowess came from substances in their feathers. This carried feathers as charms to ensure good fishing. In 1794, missionary/explorer George Henry Loskiel wrote that osprey flesh had oil that could be smeared on bait to make it irresistible to fish.

With time, people realized there was no magic involved--it was simply physical adaptations that gave osprey’s their uncanny fishing skills. But, even the world's finest minds didn’t always get it right. In 1760, Albertus Magnus asserted that ospreys had one webbed foot for swimming and the other had talons. It took the curiosity and marksmanship of Carl Linnaeus to get an osprey “in the hand” and see there were no webs. Instead he found a pair of highly specialized fish-grabbers with long, strongly curved talons and spiny toe pads to help grasp the fish. He also realized that one of the front toes could twist backward, giving extra grip with two talons facing forward and two facing backward.

Of course this doesn't mean people had never seen an osprey up close. They had. In fact, during the age of chivalry, ospreys were raised by falconers in hopes of training them to hunt. It was a short-lived experiment, however, because the ospreys had their own idea of how the game was played. While they were happy to go catch a fish, they wouldn't bring it back to their handler. Instead they would find a perch and eat it before returning to their "master." (I wonder if they did their trademark fly-over, just to annoy their handler.)

One Homosassa resident that has certainly taken note of the returning ospreys is the bald eagle. For countless millennia, bald eagles have routinely mugged osprey to steal their fish. It’s a familiar sight on our tours; an osprey flies overhead carrying a fat bass when suddenly an eagle swoops down and, in a flurry of feathers and talons, causes the osprey to drop its catch. The eagle then swoops down and snatches the falling fish from mid-air.

This predator-thug relationship has gone a long way toward staining the bald eagles noble reputation. In William Bartram’s notes about ospreys, his praise of the so-called “fish hawk” is matched only by his disdain for the eagle. In Travels, he states “This princely bird subsists entirely on fish which he takes himself, scorning to live and grow fat on the dear earned labours of another; he also contributes liberally to the support of the bald eagle.”

But of all the quotes I can cram into this brief missive, the timeliest comes from Audubon, who noted that in late February, “the fish hawk had only eggs …when the young of the eagle were large and fully able to fly.” This accurately describes the current state of affairs on Homosassa and other local waterways. While winter-nesting bald eagles are now teaching their youngsters how to fly and hunt, the returning ospreys are just getting started:, courting, nest-building and even a bit of fishing, ever-willing to take a moment to give us a fly-by to proudly show us their catch.

Born to the Purple

Spring is here and, once again, the forests and streams of North Florida are being “born to the purple.” In the days of the Byzantine Empire, when Empresses gave birth in a room called the Purple Chamber, the phrase “born to the purple” had a literal context. Emperors born in these royal birthing chambers were said to have been “born to the purple,” meaning they were born into royalty rather taking it by force or guile. These days, however, with birthing chambers (purple or otherwise) as rare as cucking stools, the quaint old saying is rarely used. But every spring, usually around mid-February, I find myself standing on a shaded path in the Ichetucknee hardwoods surrounded by purple Florida violets and wondering if it might be time to revive the old phrase.

Spotting the year's first violets is a welcome and reliable harbinger of spring. In the weeks that follow, every tour I lead will have a secondary (usually unspoken) purpose--searching for purple.  Outwardly, my quest is based by the fact that spring is purple's season in North Florida. Inwardly,  however, part of me wonders if Alice Walker might have gotten it right when she warned, in The Color Purple, that, “If you pass by the color purple in a field and don't notice it, God gets real pissed off." 

By the end of the week, my field notes recording what plants are blooming read like the log of a scavenger hunt:  Redbuds (Cercis canadensis) nested among the hardwoods on the rock bluffs of Ichetucknee, check; blue-eyed grass (Sisyrinchium atlanticum) among the low herbs on Ocklawaha’s damp riverbank, check;  pickerelweed (Pontederia cordata) in emergent, freshwater marshes everywhere, check; false indigo (Amorpha fruticosa) on low, dry ground edging Ocklawaha and Waccasassa Rivers, check; vervain (Verbena brasiliensis), moss verbena (Glandularia pulchella), lyre-leaved sage (Salvia lyrata) and blue toadflax (Linaria canadensis) in the sunny meadows, check;  bay lobelia (Lobelia feayana) and butterwort (Pinguicula caerulea & P. pumila) in damp sundew meadows of the Waccasassa Basin, check; blue flag iris (Iris versicolor) on low, sunny banks of Silver and Chassahowitzka, check and check.

I spot most of these blooms while leading tours.  But some require a dedicated hike or paddle. If I want to see Trillium (Trillium maculatum), for instance, with its short bloom period and tiny range in our area, I have to quickly plan a hike out to the quiet corner of the Ichetucknee hardwoods where they are found. A few days and a two mile hike later, I will be crouched low on the ground and nosing my camera into a patch of half a dozen trillium blooms. If anyone ever walks up on me at such a moment they'll probably think I'm  genuflecting to some very important plant. They’ll be right. With their three-pointed, velvet crown perched high on their heads, these regal plants really are born to the purple . Check!

On a recent hike in the Ichetucknee Forest, I stopped by Blue Hole Spring where a plein air painter was performing her magic on a large canvas. She allowed me to watch as she delicately dabbed her brush into small blob of intense cobalt blue paste and then carefully swiped it onto the canvas. Being the season, my eye was drawn to the corner of her palette where she had smeared a small dollop of red pigment. Next to it was a dollop of blue. Carefully and with a sureness that spoke of an act done hundreds of times, she took a blunt, metal knife and sliced off a grape-sized piece of the blue paste and a similar sized portion of the red and swirled them together. She eyed the mix and then added a tiny bit more red, creating the exact hue she wanted. “That’s how purple is made,” she explained. “There is no true color purple. It does not have its own wavelength like true spectral colors, so you won’t find it in the rainbow or in that catchy acronym, ROY G. BIV, which scientists use for remembering the primary colors –red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.”  I’m envious that she can create it. No hiking required.

So, what is it about purple? What is it that prompts an otherwise normal river guide to embark on an annual pilgrimage and has inspired humans since the misty beginnings of civilization? Spectral or not, people have been using purple to color their world since the Neolithic period, when they used manganese and hematite to give purple to their cave drawings of animals and things they deemed wall-worthy. No spear head or pot sherd moves me more powerfully or strips away the 16,000 year gap that separates us more completely than the image of her own hand which some inspired cave dweller drew on her wall.

But if any species in this forest is going to claim a long and meaningful relationship with purple, I’m afraid we humans will have to yield to the snails. If there’s one tribe of creatures that has thrived gloriously in the Ichetucknee realm, it is the snails. Between the apple snails (largest freshwater snails in North America), silt snails (including species found in practically every square yard of the river bottom and vegetation and the Ichetucknee silt snail with a total range of about 500 square feet) and manatee snails that leave their snotty trails on damp, shaded tree trunks throughout the hardwoods, there are few places in this area we won’t find some kind of snail. So, what’s their connection to purple?

It turns out that some of their kin—mostly marine species—contain in their bodies, substances that yield some of the most beautiful shades of purple ever discovered in nature. In the 15^th century BC, Phonecians learned how to extract a beautiful and long-lasting purple dye from the mucus of the spiney dye murex snails. This was the source of a famous dye called Tyrian Purple, used for a couple of thousand years by Emperors, noblemen and religious leaders. Creating usable dye required many snails (one researcher found it took 12,000 snails to make 1.4 ounces of dye). Descriptions of the large mounds of these shells generated by dye collectors (known, at the time as Purple Men), remind me of our local shell middens.

The Mayans and Aztecs of Central America and Mexico also discovered beautiful purples in the bodies of their local marine snails which they used in art and to dye fabrics. As in Europe and the Middle East, this rich purple quickly became the color of royalty. Also like that of its Eastern relative, the dye was worth big money—the kind of money that prompted villagers to hold large stones to their chest and jump into the water, where the stone would send them plummeting to the bottom where they would gather snails.

I hear this and I’m grateful modern cave divers have more to work with than strong lungs and big rocks. If not for their work, we would know little of the cobalt blue world of the Floridan Aquifer beneath us. Through the photographic images they bring up of vast blue chambers, it becomes increasingly clear that Florida is “born to the blue.” The challenge now is getting our legislators to value the blue color of springs as much as people of all eras have valued purple.

  

Don’t Swim With Winter Manatees

It's been nearly 15 years since Adventure Outpost decided to stop allowing our customers to swim with manatees in cold winter months when the animals seek life-saving refuge in warm water sources like springs. That decision has cost us some business over the years, but we remain as committed as ever to giving priority to the winter manatees needs over our own desire to swim with them. The reasons for our decision have not changed. What does seem to be changing, however, is public opinion about this practice. Finally, people are accepting the reality. For many years, a steady chorus of swim-tour advocates, propped up by beautiful photos and videos of humans and manatees frolicking together in crystalline water, have muted the voices of those who put the manatees interests first. But a groundswell of people--people who are willing to set aside their own desire for a thrill when making important decisions on behalf of the manatees--are seeing through the smoke screen. There's still a long way to go, but the time seems right for me to state my case once again. So, here is a copy (with a few edits) of the original op/ed piece I wrote many years ago announcing Adventure Outpost's decision to stop swimming with manatees on our tours:

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To my fellow manatee tour operators,

It's time for us to get out of the water! All of our talk about concern for manatees is starting to ring hollow as we continue to ship scores of "manatee lovers" up Crystal River every day and unload them into the manatee's living room. As the front line between the animal-loving public and endangered manatees we have a huge responsibility. We must remind ourselves that the manatees come here every winter to survive, not to visit with us. They need for us to leave them alone. The number of injuries and deaths caused by motor boats, dams, locks and other machinery of mankind is well known. But there is another threat—us! We’re loving them to death.

The same tour operators whose walls are crowded with information about the plight of these amazing mammals are the same ones who carry boatloads of people every day to swim with them; out to the manatee’s winter sanctuary where they are working hard to get all of the food and rest they need to survive the cold. We are intruders on their world.

It’s important to realize that, while some manatees tolerate our presence, many others don't. When people jump in the water, they unknowingly chase some manatees away. Paddling upstream toward the spring, I can usually tell if there are crowds of swimmers in the spring long before I get there by the number of manatees passing under my boat, heading downstream. Even if there is disagreement about whether some manatees enjoy human interaction, nobody questions the fact that some manatees definitely don’t. So why is it okay to chase some manatees away from where they want to be, where their instincts tell them they need to be? If we’re sincerely concerned about the welfare of some manatees, shouldn’t we be concerned about all of them.

Manatees and tour operators share a common purpose. They both come to Crystal River to survive the winter—tour operator to earn money, manatees for the life-saving springs. What’s dramatically different, however, is that tour operators have other options. Manatees don’t.  Humans have the luxury of choosing a strategy for survival. We have many kinds of jobs from which to choose; many ways to make money and keep ourselves fed and happy, including running manatee tours. For the manatees, there is no choice. They have only one way to survive the winter. They must come to warm water sources. They don’t come to enjoy the company of dozens of humans poking, grabbing and chasing them. They come to survive the winter. Most of them aren't enjoying us so much as tolerating us!

Defenders of the swim-tours point out that some manatees seem to enjoy human company. Even if that were true, would that make it acceptable? Haven't we learned time and again that it's not good for humans to befriend wild animals to the point that it alters their behavior? Is it good for manatees to associate the sound of boat motors with friendly swimmers when we all know that boats are the single greatest cause of manatee deaths and injury?

I realize it's a two-edged sword. Much of the attention now focused on the manatee's plight comes from people who developed their affection for manatees by swimming with them. There’s no question it’s a wonderful experience and probably even fires the passions of many budding manatee advocates. However, I would point out that most passionate whale advocates, for instance, have never touched or swam with a whale.  The same could be said for many devoted, passionate wildlife advocates working with many species. And if we’re going to tout swimming with manatees as an educational experience, isn’t it also important to teach ethical behavior when dealing with wild species? If the experiences we provide truly inspire young nature lovers to be animal advocates, don’t we want to give them a solid foundation of good ethics and sound understanding of how to interact (or not) with wild animals?

During the winter, scenes at places like Three Sisters springs have all the educational feel of a petting zoo with closely-penned goats. When seen through the eyes of someone whose judgment is not clouded by profit or thrill-seeking, these scenes are nothing short of grotesque.

We need to take a close look at all those pretty posters on our walls and read the information on them--really read it!. We have a responsibility to know what the manatee's need--especially in winter. And then we must let that knowledge guide us. We know , for instance, that manatees need to eat over a hundred pounds of vegetation every day to survive the winter. We know that making a manatee (or any animal) move around more than necessary burns up much needed energy reserves. We know they need sleep and that they get their sleep by taking long "naps" day and night. We know the sound of SCUBA gear scares them. We know frequent trips between cold and warm water, which often happens when swimmers chase or crowd them out of the springs, makes manatees more susceptible to sickness. We know that by interfering with any of these necessities, we are endangering them.

Of the 60+ waterways on which Adventure Outpost leads tours, our most popular are our manatee tours. These take place on several rivers, including Crystal River. To show our sincere commitment to the welfare of manatees, we will no longer allow our clients to swim with them in winter months. Up until now, our manatee tours have always been canoe & kayak trips with an option to swim. But, from now on, we'll enjoy them from our boats, allowing the manatees to come to the surface and visit with us on their own terms. It's not unusual for manatees to befriend canoeists and kayakers, often remaining alongside of the boat, going about their business.  It's a wonderful experience, made all the better by knowing the encounter is totally the animal’s choice and that we are doing what's right for its health.

I’d like to call upon all manatee tour operators—in Crystal River and elsewhere—to join me in helping the manatees. Let's protect these fantastic animals which we have had the honor to show to thousands of people. I'm aware that this suggestion appears to run contrary to the main concern of any "for-profit" company (i.e., profit)  but I truly believe this won't hurt you're wallets much at all. How much do you pay for advertising? Think of the free press you would get by doing something so bold and so right. I honestly believe you won't lose much business, if any. In fact, your credibility and sincere concern for manatees will attract people to your business. People don't know that swimming with manatees is harmful because they haven't been told. They want to know what manatees need. And, in my experience, people want to do whatever is best for the animals—even if it means staying in their boat. If you tell your clients they can't swim with manatees because it is harmful to them, they will respect your concern. You will also be showing them, by your example, how to act responsibly in the outdoors. And they'll still want you to take them out to see manatees.


So, I'd like to offer some suggestions:

-  Take your clients out to see the manatees, but make them stay in their boats. They'll be impressed with your sincerity and commitment. The people who are coming to see these animals are exactly the kind of people who will appreciate your "sacrifice". But, the best part is that it won't be a sacrifice. People will still come. If swimming isn't an option, they'll be content with seeing manatees from a pontoon boat, canoe or kayak.

- And, now that you're not spending so much time gearing up to swim, you will have more time to explore the fantastic natural wonder that is King's Bay. Take your clients for a nice putter or paddle around the bay. Show them some of the amazing abundance of springs (at least 30) which are scattered around the area. Take them downstream for a look at the incredible Indian village and temple mounds, site of the longest continuous human occupation in Florida (nearly 1600 years!) at the Crystal River Archaeological Site. Show them that this isn't just a place where manatees come. Show them that Crystal River itself is a truly amazing area, loaded with natural and archaeological treasures.


Let's not wait for government to have to step in and prohibit swimming with manatees (I think we all know that day is fast approaching). Let's take the first step. The manatees don't have time to wait for our bureaucracy and, frankly, neither do I. Send a message to Florida and the world that Crystal River really is a first-class act, where people are willing to make sacrifices, not because the law makes them, but because they care about manatees.