Florida Forever - Seven Runs Creek

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This past spring, I was asked to make a photo for the 2010 Florida Forever calendar which is produced by LINC - Legacy Institute for Nature and Culture - each year. The calendar features photographs made by "12 celebrated conservation photographers" of vulnerable properties in the queue for purchase by the Florida Forever Program. Having acquired and protected over 2 million acres over the past 20 years, in 2009 -- for the first time since its inception -- the Florida legislature approved NO funding for this program!
So, as part of the effort to get this program back on track, I was honored to accept this assignment. Seven Runs Creek in Walton County is a 15,000 acre parcel adjoining already-protected Nokuse Plantation to the south. I made 3 trips to the property in the spring and marveled at new wonders on each visit.


In February, John Moran and I explored the lowest section of the creek - as it loses its creekiness and turns into a braided cypress swamp that flows into the Choctawhatchee River. We started at a small roadside park (Hwy 81) where the shallow sand-bottom creek flows honey-colored through a lovely forest....misleading... Soon we felt like Hansel and Gretel, trying to figure out which branch to take and gawking at twisted gnarly cypress knees. As darkness approached, we wondered if we'd miscalculated. This was no place to spend the night: huge cypress trees in a deep swamp, owls calling... were we even following the right course? We paddled faster and faster. Finally arriving at Dead Lake Road, our aptly-named takeout, the sky had turned a deep purple. The familiar silhouette of a big split cypress stump standing near shore was a relief... and beckoned to be photographed (with a little light-painting). John took off on his bicycle in the dark to ride back for the truck while I waited with the boats. We were really bushed when our heads hit the pillows that night.





In March, I returned, this time in the company of 'Turtle Bob' Walker who is one of the biologists managing the Nokuse Plantation, AND the Seven Runs property as well. Bob hadn't seen much of the actual creek that winds through the acreage, but was game for a thorough exploration. By now, the mountain laurel and wild azaleas were in full bloom in the bottom lands. We took a tour of the property, stopping to visit with a large diamondback rattlesnake who was friendly enough, and many of the resident gopher tortoises, who weren't so friendly... mostly we caught glimpses of their tail-ends as they dived into their burrows. We stopped on the creek at Bad Bridge (burnt to ruins) and waded upstream. I got caught up in making a photo of the creek with the mountain laurel as two hours floated by. When I noticed, dark was upon us. I was grateful for Bob's patience - he is the model of patience - and for this beautiful setting in which I thought I had made a calendar shot (opening image in blog), and for Bob's knowledge of the property and how to get back to his cabin in the dark.
The next day, we arranged to drop a truck at Bad Bridge and some fellow workers drove us to a field in the middle of the property. We were sort of following a map. As we ran out of dirt road, we had to be careful to avoid the small longleaf pines dotted across the field by plantation workers in the past year. This was formerly agricultural land, now being restored to longleaf forest. But the creek ravine and its steephead runs had never been very accessible or useful and weaved through this land relatively untouched for many decades. We could see the dark lush creek woods across the field and got as close as we could. As we watched our ride rumble off in a dustcloud, it felt strange standing in an open field with paddles, kayaks and camera gear.
We hiked down into the woods and we came upon as lovely a spot on the creek as I could imagine. The early morning sunlight was bursting through the canopy. I was psyched. We had the whole day ahead to explore a creek that perhaps had never been paddled before. The water level had been bolstered by recent rains and appeared to be perfect. Bob was in his element. He knows most every creature and plant in this part of Florida, has a delightful sense of wonder and enthusiasm, and loves adventure. So, in spite of all the logjams, rafts of debris, and snakes, we had a blast. In fact, because of those things we had a blast. Bob taught me to smell the snakes before we saw them. However, I was still a bit blown away when this cottonmouth fell from its perch and landed with a soft cool thud on my hand. Even before it visually registered, my gut said "NOT GOOD!". It slid down onto my kayak and then into the water (as opposed to my lap). Bob got a good laugh and was disappointed I got off so easy. He challenged me to catch the next one in my boat. I did hop out of my boat anyway, to try to get a photo. The water moccasin was cooperative enough, but the water was flowing so fast and there was so much underbrush and debris, I couldn't get in position for a good shot. We saw and smelled many snakes that day... and took in many other wonderful sights. Bob was thrilled when he found a healthy cluster of a rare plant called Primrose Butterwort (not pictured), and again when we turned up an Eastern Dobsonfly larva. We both were sorry to see old Bad Bridge, but made a pact on the spot to paddle the one remaining section of the creek in the near future.






Preserving the gopher tortoise, a primary mission at Nokuse Plantation and the Seven Runs Creek tract is another whole story of its own, but I'll just say, I couldn't have been with a better tortoise guide than Turtle Bob. We had scoped out some burrows the day before and I had a great opportunity to photograph one of the endangered gopher tortoises in the evening after our adventure on Seven Runs Creek. (Here's a link to the Nokuse story).


Following through on our pact, we explored the final segment of the Creek in April. This time our wives, Crystal and Leslie joined us... after hearing about all the snakes and stuff, they just couldn't resist. So this time we put in at Good Bridge. (You knew there had to be a Good Bridge if there was a Bad Bridge... such creative names too!) And yes, Good Bridge is still functional, although it has a locked cable across it. We left a vehicle in the same field of mini longleaf pines for our takeout. The creek was beautiful as ever, snaking through these bottom-lands with tributaries (the seven runs) pouring in from left or right along the way. This trip a snake did fall into my lap. I saw it moments too late hanging on a branch above a logjam. My kayak rammed the debris as I caught hold of an overhanging limb and I was locked in by the strong current. There was the snake, fortunately this time, a big brown water snake, inches from my face, right over my lap. I couldn't get my boat out of the way so the inevitable happened. Having a close encounter with a human face no doubt startled the snake. Only one escape route: fall into the water. Only the water wasn't there anymore. Knowing that he was non-venemous didn't diminish the experience of having a flipped-out snake writhing frantically on my lap, and with both hands holding branches to keep me from capsizing, I couldn't even snatch the snake into the creek. By the time I got the boat out of there with Crystal's help and got out, the snake was under my seat and not willing to come out. Ultimately, ol' Turtle Bob arrived and with glee, didn't hesitate to reach into the dark crack under my kayak seat -- trusting me when I said "I think it's just a watersnake, Bob". He gently pulled the scared snake out and after showing it around and pointing out how unagressive it was, released it back to the creek. We all got pretty good at smelling out the snakes before crashing into them after that. The cottonmouths outnumbered the water snakes from what we saw.
Crystal and I headed for home after that exciting day and had one last snaky moment just as we were leaving Nokuse... a coiled up snake in the road. I thought it was a copperhead as we roared by, but it was just a very scared and angry red rat snake. Once we got him out of the center of the busy Hwy 20, I still had enough light in the day to make a few photos. He looked nothing like the typical docile corn snake that he was... all puffed out, jowly, and coiled for a fight. What a wild place this neck of North Florida is. Here's to Florida Forever!

Bog Blogging

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At a recent SNAPP meeting (our local nature photo club) Bill and Marcia Boothe announced that they'd be leading a group to the Apalachicola National Forest on Saturday to look for carnivorous plants, rare plants, and accompanying wildlife. We were invited to join in. Having a rare free Saturday, and knowing Billy and Marcia's reputation and knowledge of the Forest (http://natureinfocus.com/), how could I pass up such an opportunity?


Gathering behind the school in Blountstown, the group then caravan'd down Hwy 65 to the Forest around Sumatra. First stop was "Billy's Bog" where we were rewarded with a wide variety of meat-eating plants - - pitcher plants, sundews, butterworts, and more. We found rare orchids, insects, and a pond. A real bonanza. Tom helped me with one photo by holding back brush and positioning some pitchers. It was challenging to make panoramic shots without photographers in the landscape, so photographers like Amy became subject matter as well.










We visited two other sites, each with special features or unique rare plants. Other than a lunch stop, we were at it all day - learning and getting to know one another. Marcia was quick with the books for keying out questionable plants. Bill pulled out his black velvet to demonstrate field-studio work. The rest of us were wow'd by it all. I drove home happy with muddy shoes, a cameraful of fresh subjects, and a re-newed appreciation for the diversity and beauty of the Forest.

Coastal Cleanup

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Coastal Cleanup is a big event each year down at St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. Last time I joined with the St. Marks Photo Club to cover an assigned stretch of road. I took along a camera with a wide angle fisheye lens with the idea to make a photo like this one of George. He was my partner that day. But I hadn't anticipated what a great photo opportunity this would be. Along with the litter that marred the roadside, there were lovely clusters of flowers adorning it... and even better, insects accompanying the flora. There were the pollinators - bees and butterflies. And the predators - spiders hiding in wait for a meal to fly in. But the prize for me was a hummingbird moth that came buzzing along tasting each thistle flower. Normally a wide angle lens would be useless for such a fast shy flying insect, but today I would be lucky. I moved in very slowly, and was able to get within just a few inches of this moth... not a great photo, but a first for me, and not bad for my self-imposed limited gear.
We hauled many bags of litter back to the central collection area. There was a mountain of trash brought in that day... hundreds of workers scouring the landscape, just like the insects we had been observing. And our reward: a shiny clean St. Marks, there for all the wildlife and visitors to enjoy.

Travels with Marley

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When school let out last month, my daughter, Marley, started heading for her summer volunteer project in South America. She visited her way down to Florida from Washington DC. And then, she and I made a Florida roadtrip from Crawfordville to Miami. The plan was to be somewhat loose, visit family along the way, but also have some adventures. We brought a couple kayaks along.




The Silver River in the Ocala National Forest was our first stop. We paddled out from the roadside park along Hwy 40 and turned upstream into the fast-flowing water. The river was beautiful as always, but quite different from previous visits... high water and tannic brown - not Silver at all - a testament to the unusual amounts of rain we've been having this spring. There were flowers, birds, and turtles galore.










Of the dozens of turtles basking on logs, we found this one turtle with these unusual markings on its belly. Is it a Florida Redbelly?
























We didn't see the wild monkey troupe that lives in the forest and flood plain this visit. (Read about them in an earlier blog, September 25, 2006 (http://davidmoynahan.blogspot.com/2006_09_24_archive.html). Here's one photo from back then.

To add to the drama of the day, just as we were about to get back to the park, the heavens let loose with lightening, thunder, and buckets of rain (making yet another contribution to the high water level). We got drenched and exhilarated.













That evening, another storm rolled over us as we arrived in Cocoa Beach. After family visits, we headed for new territory, well, new to us: Blue Cypress Lake. West of Vero Beach in orange grove country, this enormous lake has only one road reaching its shore, at the very end of which is a sweet old-time-Florida fishcamp called Middleton's. As we paddled out through the marsh, we were greeted by limpkins and ibis... that was nice. But then, moving into the lake, we found this spot's unique treasures - - the osprey and cypress. The trees were like African baobabs standing in water... their huge twisted trunks capped by tight often flat-topped crowns and, more often than not, bedecked with a huge twiggy osprey nest. The birds circled and cried, carrying nesting material or fish. Or they stared from their porches as we passed beneath. Many of the trees were very short, so we felt intimately engaged with the birds, trees, and lake. It was a remarkable scene.













In Coconut Grove, mixed in with family visits, Marley and I walked the waterfront, one of my favorite spots in South Florida. The sailboat harbor is always picturesque, but I always try to get by the shrimp boats early enough to watch the numerous wading birds cleaning out the remnants of the by-catch.

As we walked, Marley bubbled with excitement and anticipation as she talked about her upcoming trip to an ecological research station in the mountains of Ecuador. As the day I would drop her off at Miami International Airport at 5 AM grew near, I shared her excitement, but also the unavoidable parental angst of sending a child (yet again) into the big wide world. Times like these - just the two of us travelling easily together - are precious and held dear in my memory.

Foxy

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"A family of foxes in the heart of Tallahassee", that's what my friend, Ann told me... and exactly where I could find them.
I've seen foxes occasionally and tried to photograph them, but they tend to be more active after dark, and are hard to predict. My best successes to date were sleepy-eyed gray foxes in the oaks at the Tallahassee Museum.

I was psyched. I arrived at the woodsy neighborhood well before dawn and located the den. There was a perfect shrub not far away where I could set up my camera low to the ground on a tripod and sit without being too invasive.

In a few minutes, I spied the rough-and-tumble kits wrestling and chasing each other. Then Mama arrived and made a futile effort to bathe her rambunctious babes who wouldn't think to hold still. By the time the light had improved, I was an acceptable part of the landscape.

There were five handsome young red foxes who were old enough to have expanded their territory to 3 or 4 lushly-landscaped yards along this quiet street. One seemed more fearless than the others and soon came over to check me out. She got so close - a few feet away - that my telephoto lens couldn't focus, so I just sat quietly. She looked back at her awed siblings, (and I imagine might have stuck her tongue out at them) then sat down next to me to scratch at a few fleas. In a minute she bounded off on another game of chase.


Mama was gone and the kits were wild and mischevious, racing through yards, up on front stoops, diving into the den whenever a car or bike came by, and re-emerging a moment later. After awhile, Mama returned with a freshly killed squirrel. The kits were scattered, but bee-lined to Mama. From a tumbling ball of snarls, tails, teeth, and yelps, one kit shot out, squirrel in mouth, hightailing it, with 4 red-furred flashes at his heels. More yelps and cries from the bushes, and another emerged with the trophy. This game went on for awhile as chasers gave up one by one. I never saw the victor or trophy again, but enjoyed the other exhausted kits as they came back to nap, scratch, and laze around the entrance of their den. At this point, Mama had better success licking them clean. This family seems to be well adapted to life in the suburbs.

Since sending out one of my photos a few days ago, I have heard recent tales of three fox families in other neighborhoods around Tallahassee. We would welcome foxes to our yard - the squirrel population is exploding and the entertainment they'd bring is magnificent.