By Peter R. Gerbert
Rain is pummeling my canvas roof as I nervously glance around me looking for leaks in the corners of my tent. The many tree frogs in the area have united their melodious chirping into some kind of grand crescendo, a frog symphony celebrating this late afternoon deluge.
I feel somewhat confined, having zipped up the windows and the front door. I had planned an early evening hike to look for white-tail deer and other animals, as this is the time of day that they are usually more active. Lightning suddenly cracks with an explosive sound, perhaps finding the tallest tree close by. The deafening thunder that follows seems to roll off to infinity. I reluctantly lay back on my sleeping bag and pick up my pad and pen, thinking that this would be an opportune time to try continuing my “Exploring Wild Florida” story… and I command from memory some of my more interesting experiences... as the rain beats down in torrents…
The water
churns into whirlpools of spherical designs. The beast raises its huge head
towards the surface. I lean from the bow of my boat and look down with wonder.
A snout breaks the surface with gray, wrinkled skin similar to that of an elephant.
Inquisitive, round eyes peer up at me from below the water and our gazes lock
for a moment. The West Indian Manatee. It looks at me with a gesture that I
cannot adequately describe. But I get a strong sense that this creature is very
intelligent. I see the recognition of a human being in its eyes; perhaps it
knows that I mean it no harm. I wonder if it can tell that I am thrilled by
sharing its presence here in this very wild place.
After
trolling my boat several miles up the river, I tie off to some protruding cypress
knees. This river, the spring fed Weekie Wachee is a treasure with beautiful
spring water and a wonderful abundance of water birds, small animals and many
turtles and fish. Having brought my snorkel gear I climb in to the refreshingly
cool spring water. With the mask and snorkel in place, suddenly the world is
transformed into a surrealistic aquatic environment, there is sound but it is
a hollow, muffled droning that surrounds you. The familiar, sunlit sky seems
distant, separated from me by this ceiling of watery movement: the roof of the
river. Swimming towards a bend in the river, I am almost overpowered by current
and have to grasp some extending cypress tree roots to pause for a moment to
study a school of small fish that hover in the strong current, effortlessly.
Two large shapes appear in the distant murkiness; like huge prehistoric animals
on a journey through this majestic underwater world. The current here is churning
things up a bit, hampering visibility, but I can tell that it is a manatee and
its calf, two that I had not even seen when I came up the river. That is why
I do not use my outboard engine in confined areas like this. They are swimming
by with utmost grace and becoming clearer as they get closer. The mother glances
at me and I get that same feeling that these creatures have strong feelings
and intelligence.
The small
calf turns to look back to the area of river from where they came, and then
I see the first manatee that I had encountered making its way slowly up the
river. The way this small manatee turns and holds one small fin back against
itself, glancing back with innocent eyes longing for the other to catch up,
it is a gesture of complete innocence. I am so touched by this; it is a scene
that I will never forget.
Into the deeper parts of the river, the manatees disappear. Back above the surface, I remove my snorkel and diving mask and rest for a minute. The forest is quiet. The manatees are gone, yet I don’t feel alone.
I suppose
that one of my favorite pastimes when spending time in the wild is having a
campfire in the evening. Assuming that it’s not too hot for it! But even then
a small fire is nice. It’s a great time for me to just relax and let all my
concerns and deadlines be laid aside for the time being. The forest usually
comes alive with sound: sometimes crickets and cicadas and other insects fill
the forest canopy with their chirping and buzzing. Sometimes there is only a
melodious chorus of the subtle chirping of crickets. Other times owls will visit
the area and announce their presence with hoots that echo through the dark woods.
You also never know what small creatures might come hobbling along for a visit:
the occasional raccoon that wears a burglar mask with good reason, and armadillos
that tend to crash through the brush sounding like one-ton bears. As branches
break and leaves crumble, I shine my flashlight into the brush expecting to
see some terrorizing creature and out meanders the small, somewhat clumsy armadillo.
There is something about watching a campfire that is very compelling; I have
never known anyone not to find it so. A bed of glowing embers, wood crackling
and popping with twirling, colorful flames, smoke twirling up into the star-studded
sky. I wonder if this contentment might stem from our early ancestors who would
not have had much more to do each evening after the sun went below the horizon.
To enjoy the ambiance of a contained campfire in natural surroundings, serenaded
by the sounds of the forest. For me it is a way to become completely in tune
with my environment, at least for a remarkable moment.
I stop writing, noticing how quiet the forest has become. The rain has miraculously subsided. I unzip the tent’s front door and hobble outside, knee joints popping. The only drops of water plopping around me now are from the drenched tree limbs. Everything glimmers with fresh rainwater wetness. The sun breaks through the clouds and illuminates all the forests leaves and grasses. I glance around at this beautiful subtropical terrain, and I notice footpaths leading off in several directions. A double-rainbow glorifies the Eastern sky. It would seem that some previously unexplored regions still await me.
Continued…
Exploring Wild Florida -Part III
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