On the trail of the Old Florida

Over the holidays, I journeyed east to visit family and to drum-up some grant writing business in the land of the sun - Florida. My family lives in Pensacola on one of the world's most beautiful beaches. Even after the onslaught of Ivan over a year ago, the beach is coming back. Not the buildings (yeahhhh) but the dunes and wildlife are making a come back. This area at the far western reach of the Florida Panhandle is all I have ever known of the State.

After a wonderful Christmas week, and a short pop-up journey to Nashville, Tennessee to spend New Year's with my son and his beautiful wife, I headed east along the panhandle, then turned south to Gainesville, nestled in the heart of pine country. This small city is home to the University of Florida and a vibrant town some call the "other Florida" because of its residents' more liberal orientation compared to the rose-red Florida interior. Anyway....

On the spur of the moment, I decided to leave Gainesville, Florida a day early and travel the coastline from Cedar Keys to Pensacola. As the saying goes "Go out on a limb...that's where the fruit is." I discovered places still untouched by development - the Florida of old days.

Taking Hwy 24, a two lane highway stretching southwest of Gainesville, I drove along pine tree corridors, unbroken for mile after mile. As I neared the coastal waterway, a sea of grass appeared, cut only by winding blue estuaries. A snowy egret or great blue heron stood watch over each quiet cove or bayou far from human frenzy. My blood pressure dropped incrementily for every mile I drove south. I was surprised there were no beaches like Pensacola. It's in the middle of marshland, so Cedar Keys is great for bird watching, fishing, boating, and reading!

Cedar Key is a tiny fishing village replete with restaurants, a few hotels and gift shops, and boat rentals nestled on the upper west peninsula of Florida. Rooms in the B&B's were surprisingly low for their elegance: $55 a night! [Learn more at www.cedarkey.org ] It was about 3:30 and several couples were checking in for a night of great sea food and lapping waters. Not all the restaurants were open, but enough of the good ones were serving-up fresh grouper and shrimp. Nearby the 3,000 acre Scrub State Park hosts 12 miles of hiking trails through salt marsh and sand pine scrub. I elected to push on west to stay overnight near Manatee Springs.

Taking Hwy 347 I ambled north west toward the Swannee River in search of the Shell Mound Archaeological Site - a 28 foot high shell midden that stretches for five acres. Crunching under my feet were the remains of countless meals of oysters, clams, fish and other foods from peoples who lived here for over 3500 years. As the sun began to set, I walked into a large spider web at the top of the trail and literally panicked - Crocodile Dundee images coming to mind. There was something foreboding about being on the site alone in the dusk. I decided it was time to go, and headed for Chieftown, a burger at the Sonic, and a quiet room at the nearby Holiday Inn Express motel.

Rising early I headed over to Manatee Springs hopeful I might get a glimpse of my first water goddess. The two rangers at the park entrance - about a quarter mile west from town - directed me to a small interpretive trail in the park. I am sooo glad I took it because I got the short course on local ecology. First I learned that magnolia trees are one of the oldest species of trees in this area of Florida, hailing as far back as dinosaurs! I found pignut walnuts and learned how hardwood forests supported wildlife and human communities for thousands of years before modern settlements.

Preservation ferns coated many hardwoods like fluffly moss. Then I came to a distinct boundary change as hardwoods (hammock communty) gave way to shallow rooted pines (sand hill community) and fields of palmettos. Beyond them salt marshes blended outward toward open ocean. The parks have built wooden walkways and bridges that take the visitor out over the marshes and inlets. It's wonderful, silent, and teaming with of birds and fish.

At Manatee Springs a few hundred yards down the camp road, I found unbroken shores of towering bare cypress trees, their gray branches draped with pale green moss. I learned that all those "baby cypress trees" growing up out of the water are not new trees but "knees" that make oxygen for the tree. Manatee Springs pours 64,000 gallons a day of fresh water into the Swannee River which spills into the Gulf about 30 miles from there.

The main spring is a beautiful azure blue with chocolate-colored reflections of the cypress forest that lines its edges. Large black birds of prey swooped down along its swift moving waters, landing from tree to tree to join a colony of fellow vultures. They dominated the community of birds that morning, but were joined by king fishers, a great blue heron, and a snowy egrets.

Taking the wooden walk way out over the spring I watched turtles paddling along the bottom or surfacing for a bite of air. The waters were broken frequently with a whish and a loud slap as large mullet jumped high over the water and landed on their flanks, a strategy thought to remove parasites from their skin.

Alas, there were no manatees that day. It was the right season when these ancient relatives of elephants come to the warm springs from cooler Gulf waters. With this season's higher temps, the Gulf remained very warm so the manatees stayed in open waters.

[*Note: the concession manager told me that manatees are being harmed by companies taking tourists out to swim with them. He explained that human body oil can cause fungal growth on the manatees' skin, and that by learning to associate with humans, young manatees do not stay away from boats and harmful propellers. Unfortunately, these companies masquerade as ecological tourism with an educational mission. Don't be tempted to swim with manatees if you want to help preserve these important animals. For more information go to www.floridastateparks.org/manateesprings ]

I left Manatee Springs with the intent of driving to Apalachicola. But like the Sirens of Greek mythology, Wakulla Springs called me and I went there to witness one of the largest springs on the continent. Taking Hwy 319 I drove into the 6,000 acre park. The entrance road meanders past tall beech trees, chestnut oaks, spruce pine, basswood, and magnolias down to a Mediterraen style lodge on the spring. It was built by Edward Ball in 1937. He bought Wakulla Springs and the surrounding area, constructed the lodge and grounds buildings including a warf for swimming and diving over the 150 foot deep bowl of the spring. There are docks for glass bottomed boats that run all day for the public. Ball wanted the springs preserved in perpetuity for the public, and he protected it fiercely from development encroachments. The State of Florida bought it in 1986.

I stayed at the magnificent lodge with its cathedral ceilings, large roaring fire, and fine dining restuarant. The rooms (cheaper than the Holiday Inn) are just like your grandmother's: quiet elegance, a claw-foot tub with very hot water, and no distractions like CNN.(Just so visitors don't go into withdrawal, the main dining room has a large screen TV where you can watch the The Good Morning show on CBS after breakfast.) The dinner and breakfast were both superb. Try their french toast; it's to die for. [This is the time to go to the lodge; it's guest capacity is only 27. To see the lodge and make reservations go to www.wakullacounty.com/wakulla-24.htm ]

By luck, I was late pulling into Wakulla Springs, so I caught the last boat out for the day, about 4:30. Do this on purpose when you go, because the gators are out by the dozen beginning their nocturnal feast on birds, turtles - or anything that crosses their path. In one hour I saw more species of birds than my whole life. The park is home to large populations of Ibis, Egrets, Herons, ducks of all kinds including Merganzers.

Wakulla Spring is an Ice Age sink hole with a massive cave system that reaches well beyond the park. Divers explore its fourteen miles of caverns. Prehistoric animal skeletons have been found as deep as 1200 feet. The spring waters were too dark for the glass bottomed boats the afternoon I was there, unfortunately; heavy nitrate and phosphorus runoff from people's yards, farming, and other industrial processes add nitrates to the water system that make their way through the aquifer to the springs. These cause algae and other plants to bloom out of control. [http://www.floridasprings.org/]

Another assault on the beauty of the springs is from hydrilla, an invasive weed introduced from by the aquarium trade for our home aquaria. Jeffrey Johnson, our boat captain, told us they have to literally scrape it off the top of the spring several times a year to keep it from choking off all the life below.

As we quietly made our way along the ancient spring with all its life towering above us, swimming below us, and swooping over its surface, I realized anew how important it is to preserve all we can of our land's natural beauty for children to understand the magnificent land on which the First Americans once lived, and to work on their behalf now to preserve and restore all we can.

That night at the lodge I sat at a small desk with a crystal lamp set for visitors to peruse a scrapbook of old newspaper clippings starting in 1935. This beautiful lodge hosted movie stars who came to make films on the springs (Creature of the Black Lagoon and others). Politicians and corporate giants as well as tourists like me have all lounged in front of the fire with a good glass of wine.

Reading about Ed Ball is an Americana story. He left home at age 13 to pan for gold in California and was working in a department store selling shoes when his sister's new husband, Alfred Dupont asked him to move to Florida with them to manage Dupont's business operations. Ball took over and grew the Dupont fortune and his own. He is said to have been a gifted and tough-skined business man. The fact that Northern Florida is less developed than the rest of the state is purportedly due to the fact that Ball owned much of it at one time.

As a grant writer in the non-profit world, and an environmental educator, I am deeply grateful to Ball for his vision and generosity. On this trip I feel like I finally had a chance to see what old Florida is really like...festooned with feathers, she is a wild, sometimes dangerous beauty with mysterious crystal blue eyes, wrapped in a moss colored shawl, bare-foot and glistening!

Stay tuned for my report on Horsehoe Beach a priceless old fishing village, population 200! Looks like something from the 1920's. And Apalachicola, a working warf, home of Riverkeepers, Tamara's Cafe whose key lime pie you won't forget, and Wind Catcher, a 40-foot sloop that will take you to Dog Island, Litte St. George Island, and Cape San Blas.

Wild about Florida,
Susan