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.

Heart of Cypress

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The Choctawhatchee River is in Ron and Kathryn’s backyard and an integral part of their lives. Most evenings they’re adrift in their boat sipping wine and watching the sun set over one of Kathryn’s favorite cypresses. Ron knows every bend and shoal along the river’s course, and has explored most of the tributaries and bayous over the years. So it is that Ron and Kathryn knew of a particularly giant cypress downstream, hidden back in the swamp off the main river. Some months ago, while visiting this tree with friends, there was speculation about the tree being hollow, and friend Nancy, looking for evidence, noticed a burl on the side of the tree’s base that was loose – and in fact, came off in her hands when she gave it a gentle tug, leaving a hole the size of a basketball. They peered into a dimly lit cavern inside the big tree.

It was to this hollow giant that Ron wanted to take us when John and I sat across from him at the Bruce Café in early March. Within a couple hours we were skimming down the mighty Choctawhatchee in Ron’s Carolina Skiff. And there it was – the grand tree dwarfing the surrounding swamp. After marveling at its size, we squinted into the hole Nancy had made. Looking up, I could see light at the top of the chimney-of-a-tree, its top having blown off in a former century. And looking down, the cavity floor was filled with cypress knees rising from the water. I knew I had to try to climb inside. This was not easy and took a few attempts before finding the right contortion to get in… and then I found myself, the first human - gingerly balanced atop the knees - in the sacred heart of this cypress.

Later, Ron measured the distance around the base of the tree: 42 feet! We spent the remainder of the day-into-dusk photographing and exploring the Big Tree, as Ron and Kathryn call it.

The next day, Ron snaked his boat through a creek a few inches wider than its beam into a small pond with another beautiful tree. This one was younger, but it gracefully leaned over the water, dripping with Spanish Moss, and crying out to be photographed. That evening, with a party (literally) of six, we re-visited the Leaner. Nancy brought the hors-d’oeuvres and wine, and John the 3 million candlepower Q-beam spot light. We had scouted an accessible spot at the far end of the pond from which we could see the Leaner. Ron dropped us ashore there just after sunset where a curious red-shouldered hawk flew in and landed a few feet away.

Ron and company returned to the middle of the pond near the tree. From there, he painted the Leaner with amber light while we shot a series of 30 second exposures. Ron’s local knowledge of the river and her treasures proved valuable again as we raced home in the dark to a feast prepared by Kathryn and a fire at riverside. The Choctaw doesn’t get any better than this.

Florida Black Bears

For years, Crystal and I always wished we'd see a wild bear in Florida. Then, a few years ago, we did. It was a young long-legged bear crossing the road in front of us pretty far away - but it was the first! 2008 was our Bear Year. We saw a couple in St. Marks early in the year, and then came the bumper crop of acorns in the fall.

I was visiting my friend Ted in Eastpoint. He lives on the edge of the national forest and talked of the bears coming into his (sparse) neighborhood for the big oaks. The next day, as we were headed to St. George Island for the evening light, Ted said it's time we see some bears... and as I was replying that my camera was packed in its case in the back of the truck, we spied a mama and cub standing beside the low branch of a sweeping live oak gobbling acorns in golden light at close range - beautiful sight to see! They saw us too. By the time I got my camera, all I got was the two of them looking back from the edge of the distant woods. (Click on these thumbnail photos to see the full image, then use your Back button for the rest of the story). We went on to St. George psyched by the bear encounter and shot goldenrod in thebacklit muhley grass...
and later found a pelican-lined sunset.



So, when Ted called me early one morning the next week to say there was a bear in his oaks, I rushed down there to see if I might have better photo luck. It was pre-dawn and I had an hour's drive. I did take the time to put my camera and telephoto lens on the tripod and guess at the likely settings for shooting a black bear in early morning light before heading out.

As I approached Ted's house on his long gravel driveway, I thought I saw a large animal moving through the woods behind his house. When I got out (camera-ready), Ted said the bear was scared off by the noise of my vehicle, but "he would be back." He never came back, BUT, in just a moment the cub I'd seen the previous week ran out from the woods into a clearing, paused for a few seconds to look back at me, then hightailed it into the woods. Those few seconds were enough.



Predictably, Mama was nearby. Moments later, she came in from the same woods, paused in nearly the same spot, then followed her young'un, both gone for the rest of the day. Being camera-ready paid off again. While it's not the intimate moment at the oak in golden light, I was very pleased to have captured images of these wild shy creatures of our forests. Thanks, Ted!

Adventures with John

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My friend and mentor, John Moran, was in my neck of the Florida woods recently and we had some great shooting days.

First stop was to be a stretch of the Florida trail off Wakulla Beach Road, but I ended up driving past the trail to the coast to see the 'big sky' and marsh in the nice morning light. The beach was crawling with fiddler crabs... way more than usual. So we spent a few hours photographing them. One particularly patient fellow was conscripted to be our model for some creative lighting shots. He clung to an oyster-covered rock, while we flashed flashes and zoomed in. John is determined to make me a better flash-user (I'm quite the novice)... this session really fired me up to learn more.

We got to the trail head in time for a quick late lunch, where we also fed the myriad mosquitoes with our blood. Tropical storm Fay left flood waters and the worst mosquito outbreak in years as her legacy. A little DEET helped. We biked the first mile. Then hiked the rest of the way to Shepard Spring. The trail was muddy and often had standing water. A finger of marsh across the trail stopped us for another couple hours while we photographed the swamp mallow flowers, and sundry bugs and frogs of the wetland. By the time we were passing through the Cathedral of Palms, we were exhausted and thirsty, so upon arrival at the spring, all we could do was peel off the sweat and DEET-soaked clothes and take a rejuvenating dip.

Sunset was approaching as we arrived back at the car, so what else could we do but zip down to the big-sky-beach again. We witnessed the beautiful light over the Gulf and marsh, made a few more images, and headed for home and a late dinner.

Very early the next morning, I took John to my old home on Lake Bradford (Leon County). For over 20 years I explored by canoe and kayak the chain of lakes that drains into the big lake, watching it cycle through fall and spring... floods and droughts. I had my favorite secret ponds in the middle of the cypress swamps and hold dear many memories of adventures with my children growing up there.

As we paddled back into the Apalachicola National Forest lands, I was initially disappointed to find an overgrowth of dog fennel choking the formerly beautiful cypress passages. But soon we passed into the clear swamps and ponds of tannic water and majestic cypress trees. Fay had refilled this system to perfect levels for access by canoe and kayak. The trees stood as sentries, reflecting their buttressed trunks across the dark waters. We found a patch of lilypads and one water lily in one little clearing. Nearby, John found a garden spider - a plain name for a jewel of an insect- strung between two not-so-close cypress. We marvelled at the making of such a web and John gave me more lessons on off-camera flash and composition. Another magnificent day.

As we parted ways that afternoon, my head buzzed with excitement from our adventures (or was it the drone of mosquitoes?). Hope you can get a feel for these wilds of North Florida from my photos. And thanks for coming along via my blog! dm

The Confluence

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Irwin came up with the idea: paddle down the Wacissa River from a popular launch site at Goose Pasture... but this is the put-in for the Slave Canal paddling trail?!


After the Slave Canal branches off to the right, the Wacissa-River-proper divides multiple times and fades into 'the braided swamp'. Stories of paddlers who MISSED the turn into the Slave Canal -- getting stuck, finding their way back to Goose Pasture after dark, losing their way, needing rescue -- swirled vaguely in my memory, as I said "yes, I'd love to go."




As we paddled down the open Wacissa, marveling at the giant cypress, wild rice, and wildflowers, Sue asked why this wasn't a regular paddling trail.


Swallow-tailed kites circled over us at our lunch stop as the clear cool water beckoned us to swim. We saw a nest of freshly hatched alligators (where's mom?).


There WAS a stretch of 'braided swamp' where the walls closed in. I put my camera away as we felt our way along, tried several dead ends, and crossed a few downed trees, but it was not so challenging or mysterious as I'd imagined.




What I hadn't imagined was the reward at the end of the swamp: the confluence of the Wacissa and Aucilla Rivers. The clear waters of the Wacissa poured down over huge boulders into the dark tannic waters of the Aucilla. Tall palms stood on the banks over pools and mini-waterfalls.


We hung out there for a long time and soaked it up. Then we paddled upstream along the half mile stretch of the Aucilla to the landing where Irwin's truck awaited.


Rain was lightly falling by then and the limerock bank glistened against the tea-colored water. I made one last river photo and promised I'd be back.

Wildlife 2060

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"Florida's population to DOUBLE over the next 50 years!" That was the conclusion of a research project called Florida 2060 released by 1000 Friends of Florida two years ago. Maps delineating urban sprawl were shocking, showing the loss of 7 million acres (equal to the state of Vermont) of rural and natural lands.

In response, Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission prepared a follow-up report to show the impact that 18,000,000 more humans will have on Florida's wildlife. It is called Wildlife 2060: What's at Stake for Florida? And it has just been released. You can view and download a pdf of the report at http://myfwc.com/Wildlife2060/Docs/FWC2060.pdf … And that's worth doing!

I feel honored to have a number of my photographs included in this impressive, if dire, report. I have included some of the images here to entice you to have a look at Wildlife 2060. The report is short but powerfully written by Susan Cerulean (http://www.susancerulean.com/), and the creative graphics designed by Faye Gibson, illustrate some of the points -- for example how many other animals and what types might be lost from the development of one black bear's home range of 25,000 acres.

There are stories about the plight of the sea turtles, the fragile state of our freshwater rivers and aquifers, and various Floridians' efforts to set aside land for conservation and restore lost habitat.

Check it out, become more informed and inspired to join the voices calling for careful balanced growth. dm

Coolness on a Hot Day

Can you believe this place is in central Florida?! I made this photo on Friday at a little-heard-of place called Devil's Den about 10 miles from Gainesville. Essentially the Den is a dome-shaped cavern with a spring water floor and a smallish hole in its roof ringed by the drapery of vines. Through this ceiling window bursts a shaft of light which illuminates the depths. Upon entering through a small side cave, I was stunned by this view. To add to the surreal effect, there are enormous catfish, some 3 feet long, gliding slowly about in the pool.

This is a scuba diver's destination. (There are twenty or so steps down to a floating platform - I was near the top of the steps.) The cavern is said to be so enormous underwater that it requires 2 to 3 tankfuls of air to see the whole submerged room. No divers here Friday.

For this photo, I had to make several exposures and combine them to get the wide range of light in the darkness. Click on the image above to see a larger version.

What a cool place!

Redbay Going Extinct?

How can it be? Walking from my house to the Wakulla River, about a half mile, I count no fewer than 50 redbays in the understory along the road and path. In fact, it's the MAIN tree in the understory. Our favorite stretch of the river is lined with hundreds of these beautiful bright green leafy trees, hanging shadily overhead as we paddle downstream.
So my response is numb disbelief - the denial stage of my grief - to the recent discovery that this ubiquitous fragrant beauty of our woods is dying.
A small ambrosia beetle has made its way from Asia to SE United States, stowed away in the wood of crates on a big ship. This insect bores into the heart of the redbay, infecting it with laurel wilt, and the tree dies. The disease is rapidly spreading west from the Atlantic coast, leaving browned and wilted trees, by the thousands, in it's wake. The redbay and sassafras are cousins of the avocado, and both are doomed... the avocado too? No word on that yet.
These are a few first images I've made of still-healthy trees in my yard. The last one is sassafras. Here's a great story in Terrain.org with all the details. Clicking on the last image - sassafras - will take you to a better version of the image on my website.

Florida Pelicans

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The paradoxical pelican - clutzy and graceful at the same time - can provide hours of entertainment along Florida's coast. Pelicans make a great study for photographers, especially for flight shot practice. And for portraits, action shots, and seascapes, no other bird offers such versatility, cooperation, and accessibility.

On my recent workshop with Artie Morris in southwest Florida, I again encountered both Brown and White Pelicans. Many of the birds in this highly human-populated area are comfortable around people, and plenty have learned that fishermen (and tourists and photographers) can supply an easy meal. We found such a flock at the fishing docks in Placida. Artie was happy to reinforce the begging birds, sending them into a frenzy with a tossed bait fish. Pelicans were coming and going, making take-offs and landings easy to capture. For awhile I practiced some long-exposure-blurs, trying to keep the center point on the face of the bird (for a sharp eye). This proved to be quite difficult but I did get a few interesting effects. Here's one I liked.

At Estero lagoon, we came across some tourists with a bucket of fish, trying to attract the egrets and herons fishing there, but the pelicans kept rushing their offerings. The happy pelican at the top of this blog is about to make a mid-air catch.

Not all pelicans are so human-friendly. (Luckily, I suppose.) I photographed these three white pelicans swimming near shore, but this is the first time I have been able to get close to these elegant birds. Once at Lake Okeechobee, I paddled into the lake from Fisheating Creek, climbed out on a bar (camera-in-hand) and before I knew they were there, a flock of white pelicans took off from a small inlet on the other side of the sawgrass. Most often, I see whites from a distance, often in large flocks.

Whether human-acclimated or in wilder places, it's always fun to sit and watch these birds as they glide on the updrafts in formation, dive for fish, paddle deftly like little boats, maneuver a fish around in their pouches for a face-first swallow, roost on shrimp boats or pilings, or fight for the spoils at the fishing docks.