Mystery and Majesty of Southwest Florida

Natural Wanders…
exploring the natural world through writing

Mystery & Majesty (Natural Southwest Florida)
Introducing Naples
by Linda Lee Rathbun
photos by Steven David Miller

Mystery and Majesty
by Linda Lee Rathbun
Photography by Steven David Miller

They call it paradise here in Southwest Florida...and they're not wrong. Most people don't need to look beyond the stretches of ivory beaches littered with pretty shells, nor past the smooth embracing waters of the Gulf of Mexico, or any further than the swaying palms and mellow sunsets and warm breezes to agree that this is indeed an Eden. But there is more to this paradise than just sand.
Florida's ecosystems connect with each other like the pieces of a puzzle. There are the barrier islands with their gulf shore beaches and bayside mangrove swamps. There are sand dunes and pine forests and lagoons...and more mangroves estuaries. Then the puzzle fractures into wetlands: swamps, wet prairies, salt marshes and sawgrass marshes. As the land rises a few inches above the flood zones, there are the flatlands: the scrubland, pineland and tropical hardwood hammocks. Within each of these habitats is a myriad of perfectly adapted plants and animals. To me, these are the places that give Southwest Florida its mystery and majesty...to me, this is what makes it a paradise.
Few regions are as mysterious as a swamp. In this corner of Southwest Florida, our swamps are fed by a slow, steady flow of water from the Big Cypress Swamp which sits beside the western edge of the Everglades Basin. Though much of the water has been diverted for development and farming, in some cases to a catastrophic degree, a few places still receive a healthy flow. My favorite is Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary, an 11,000 acre pocket of wilderness with the largest remnant strand of bald cypress trees in eastern North America.
I have never been to Corkscrew without being enchanted. Once, just past the Visitors Center, I was struck still by a male painted bunting, a bird of impossible beauty. And then there was that time when, just beyond the pinelands, a field of vibrant sunflowers had burst into bloom. Was that also the time I saw a family of otters cavorting in the wet prairie? or that white-tailed deer standing in the tall grass, staring at me with brown-eyed curiosity?
Always, as I make my way along the 2.25 mile boardwalk to the cypress forest, I begin to look for barred owls, but there are so many distractions. I have to check for the white, spidery blossoms of the swamp lily, and the lustrous red flowers of the wild hibiscus, and the delicate violet spikes of the pickerel weed. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't fail to notice the textured variety of the bromeliads and ferns clinging to the barks and branches of trees. Of course, I must search amongst the leaves of the swamp plants for little tree frogs; they are usually tucked up like emerald broaches, blinking at me with golden eyes. I also love to find iridescent *green anoles sunning themselves on the boardwalk banisters.
But I mustn't forget that I'm looking for barred owls. Sometimes I see them, sometimes I don't. Once, there was a nesting pair in the heart of the woods with their two fledglings, the four of them like a row of stuffed toys tethered to a ferny branch. Another time, an adult landed like a silent ghost on a tree right in front of me, leaving me breathless with admiration. Not as quiet as the owl is the red-shouldered hawk, its call piercing the stillness of the swamp. Other sounds ring out too, the drilling of the pileated woodpecker, the meows of the cat bird, the clamor of nesting wood storks, the grunts of the pigfrogs.
Of course, no Florida swamp would be complete without an alligator or two, and at Corkscrew there are usually dozens. On one early summer visit I came across a mother lolling in the sun with her newly-hatched babies. The hatchlings would venture out, crawling up on to the leaves of water lettuces to reach more sunlight, but when the mother emitted so much as a groan, they would cry out in response and rush to her side. During the mating season, the swamp resounds with the lusty bellows of lonely "gators".
Corkscrew: there is so much that I love about it. The little blue herons that dance effortlessly across the lettuce lakes. The lipkins that wail mournfully on overcast days. The swallow-tailed kites soaring up above the tree canopy. The lush, feathery needles of the cypress trees in spring, the way Spanish moss dangles from branches like old veils, the way a strangler fig drops its constricting roots down a trunk like an ominous tangle of ropes. I love the last light of day illuminating the wet prairie, I love the peace and serenity that this place of mystery never fails to give me.
Perhaps I wasn't entirely truthful when I said Corkscrew was my favorite place, because Fakahatchee Strand State Preserve is also my favorite. Fakahatchee sits by a slough in the southwest region of Big Cypress Swamp, it is a 20-mile long strand of mixed hardwood trees. Janes Scenic Drive cuts through the heart of the strand, and from here one can stop at various gates that thread out along old tram tracks once used to rob the swamp of its magnificent cypress trees. Gate 7, Gate 12, Gate 15, the K2 tram, all are glorious walks that lead you through swamp waters, sometimes waist deep, to still pools rimmed with epiphyte-festooned trees. In fact, Fakahatchee is renown for its wild orchids and bromeliads. The foliage can be dense here, and it is possible to get lost if you venture off a clearly defined trail.
I did a swamp walk one New Year's day at Fakahatchee, the best way in the world to start a new year. When we sat down for a rest, we spotted a family of otters. A red-bellied turtle was sitting atop a felled log, its neck stretched out to fully capture the beams of light penetrating the emerald canopy up above. The otters, like a pack of teenagers hell-bent on fun, came scampering into the pond in search of fish. The fish had no hope of escaping these clever hunters, and the otters loudly crunched on their lunch with no regard for table manners. One feisty youngster decided the turtle might serve some worthwhile purpose. The otter slithered up onto the log beside the unfortunate turtle, and with a sound whack sent it flying off its perch into the water. The other otters played water hockey with the bewildered creature for awhile, then growing bored, zoomed off to another playground in search of more trouble.
When I'm not in the mood to get wet, I forego the tram lines of Fakahatchee for the Big Cypress Bend boardwalk that is also within the preserve. I defy anyone to walk amongst the towering trees of this un-logged sector of the strand, and not come away touched by the beauty of a swamp. One word of warning though, don't go in summer or you will be devoured by mosquitoes. Though the boardwalk is only 2,000 feet long, every inch of it is magnificent. About half way along, on the left hand side, is an eagle nest high up in a tree. Here, a nesting pair of bald eagles tend to their chicks, and the sight of these majestic birds is always exhilarating...yet, I still remember to look for the little things. There are the treefrogs and green anoles, of course. I've seen a baby turtle sunning itself here, a young swamp snake trying to swallow a small fish, and butterflies careening through the air like intoxicated fairies.
At the end of the boardwalk there is a large water hole where animals congregate, especially in the drier months of winter. There are several benches, and I have spent many happy hours here watching the drama of nature. A mother alligator basks in the mud, her back and head covered with a litter of babies taking her protection entirely for granted, as most children do. A belted kingfisher darts and lands from one tree branch to another, making endless rounds of its forest circuit. A red-shouldered hawk lands on a branch with one of my friends as its prey: a doomed green anole clutched in its talons. Little blue herons still in their juvenile cloak of white feathers, great blue herons, American egrets, all gather here to feed. The green heron, a comical bird prone to a lot of protesting and complaining, is usually at this watering place, perched on a branch overhanging the water, intent on finding a fish. Fakahatchee, just to know it is less than an hour from Naples, makes me happy.
I have another favorite place, I go there when I want to be in the heart of the Everglades without driving a further 80 miles down and around to the main section of the park. This is Shark Valley, a northern patch of the Everglades along Tamiami Trail. Driving along Tamiami Trail is a pleasure in itself, the Trail cuts below Fakahatchee Strand State Preserve, then Big Cypress National Preserve, and through a part of that vast sawgrass marsh that gave the "glades" its name. Shark Valley sits in the Shark River Slough which spills out at the western edge of the Everglades into a series of rivers feeding the mangroves and coastal prairies of the park. I can't look out at this vast expanse of water and sawgrass without aching for how beautiful it is, without yearning for what has been lost by the impetuous diversion of its flow of water from Lake Okeechobee.
One of the best narrated ranger tours I've ever taken was the two hour tram tour from the Information Center at Shark Valley to the Shark Valley Tower and back. The energetic ranger, bursting with a perfect mix of scientific information and comic presentation, took us through a narration that explained the geology and ecology of this unique wetland. I've also done the short walking trails here, and one doesn't have to go very far to find hawks soaring up above, alligators only a few feet off the path, turkey vultures lurking in tree branches, and one of the prettiest of all birds, the purple galinule. Once, a purple galinule kept me amused for over an hour as it lurched from one unstable lily pad to another, its huge yellow feet an unseemly contrast to its regal plumage that shone with the blue and green and purple hues of a peacock. Another bird caught my attention here, the red-winged blackbird. As it darted from one reed to another, its startling red wing patch would flash in the sunlight like flames of fire.
For those who want more of a challenge, the tram road is also open to cyclists. This is a wonderful way to see the area, if not as informative as the tour. For me, the highlight is to look out from the Shark Valley Tower across the slow-moving river, so aptly called 'the river of grass' by Marjory Stoneman Douglas. If Shark Valley inspires you to visit more of the Everglades, then drive down to the heart of the park and stop at the Pa-hay-okee Overlook. This provides an interesting view back up across the Shark River Slough, Shark Valley is about 20 miles directly north of there. Like much of Florida, the beauty of the Everglades is subtle and mysterious. Once, I heard a visitor describe it as "a whole lot of nothing". I don't think she had taken the time to stand quietly and let it softly penetrate her heart...it has certainly penetrated mine. I understand why the early Spanish explorers called it "the lagoon of the sacred spirit".
At the northwest edge of Everglades National Park, is a thickly isled mangrove region known at the Ten Thousand Islands. This is my other favorite place, and we in Naples are lucky to have sitting at our doorstep. The best way, the only way, to see the Ten Thousand Islands is by boat, though a scenic flight would be breathtaking indeed. The Park Headquarters at Everglades City conducts boat tours, and rents canoes. These, and other boat tours, leave from Everglades City and Chokoloskee Island. Chokoloskee itself is a fascinating place. Its inhabitants are the descendants of people who never actually considered that the law of the land extended to them, many of the characters were delightfully exposed in Peter Matheissen's book, "Killing Mr. Watson". The Calusa Indians inhabited this region, and constructed Chokoloskee from a massive mound of shells. Some members of the Seminole Tribe remember growing up in these mangroves, and the Smallwood Store was once an important trading post.
Beyond its pioneering history though, the Ten Thousand Islands is a remote labyrinth where one can become hopelessly lost...I for one like to know that such places still exist. I went on a boat trip there once with a friend who knew the area intimately. He pointed out dolphins and sharks and rays as we cruised, entertaining us with stories of the Everglades. This included a riveting account of how he shot off his kneecap in a hunting accident, and while bleeding in the swamp as he waited for help, had to ward off menacing alligators by throwing fistfuls of mud at them as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He was saved by only the narrowest of margins, yet his love of the region always draws him back. And why wouldn't it? The fishing here is legendary. The birdlife is renowned: in spring, the heron and egret rookeries are packed with birds in dazzling mating plumage. There are roseate spoonbills standing in the muddy shallows, casting reflections of cerise light beneath them. There are primitive horseshoe crabs washed up on lonely beaches. There are mangrove trees sending out their roots to claim more land. There are sunsets that break your heart. This is a wild place, an untouched place.
This is also where the 99 mile Wilderness Waterway canoe trail ends, or begins, depending on your point of view. On my trip into and beyond the Ten Thousand Islands, I jealously watched as canoeists tied up for the night to wooden platforms elevated above the water where they would sleep under the stars. Other adventurers pulled onto island campsites, their fires flickering in the hushed distance. I would love to do this trip someday...though it does involve eight days of paddling. Perhaps a motorized canoe?
My other favorite place is Collier-Seminole State Park. I love it here because it has, within its boundaries, a number of archetypal ecosystems. Several things make it unique: it is a blend of both tropical and temperate plant life, and it is where the southern tip of Big Cypress Swamp blends with a huge mangrove estuary that gives way to the Ten Thousand Islands. This makes for a fascinating mix of fresh and salt water wetlands. Aside from the riverine mangroves, there is an exquisite expanse of salt marsh, which in wintertime attracts a number of wading birds. There are cabbage palm hammocks and tropical hardwood hammocks with the rusty trunks of the gumbo limbo trees and the towering beauty of royal palms. The hammocks also have Jamaica dogwood and other West Indian species one normally associates with the Caribbean. There is pineland with slash pine trees and saw palmetto, there is a prairie that blooms with a soft expanse of wildflowers, and there is a cypress swamp. All this in 6,423 acres of park.
There are several ways to explore Collier-Seminole, but I would venture a word of caution: the mosquitoes are terrible in the late spring and summer. Though the mosquito plays a critical role in its niche at the bottom of the food chain, one doesn't necessarily want to express one's gratitude by donating gallons of blood to this voracious nudnick. In winter though, the park is perfect.
There is a 13.6 mile canoe trail that snakes its way through the riverine mangroves, but with 8 hours of paddling and only one place where you can get out of your craft, this is for more experienced canoeists. Less intrepid visitors can still rent a canoe and follow Blackwater River to its mouth, or do a shorter, ranger-guided canoe trip on Saturday mornings during the winter. One marine mammal you have a reasonable chance of seeing in the mangroves is the manatee. When I find a manatee, I slip into raptures of delight. I am a manatee worshipper, a manatee stalker even. In the winter when they leave the cooling waters of the Gulf in search of warmth, I follow them. To have one of these gentle giants swim up to you and role over to have their massive bellies rubbed, is nothing less than a privilege. Their curiosity and affinity for humans is touching, I really can't gush on enough about this magnificent animal. Other animals to look for in the mangroves include herons and egrets, small wading birds foraging in the mudflats, raccoons, otters, alligators, turtles, snakes and fish. But most important of all, you'll find peace in the mangroves. To float along these still, black waters with clouds reflected from above and the greenery wrapping itself around you like the loving arms of mother nature, is to find a trance-like serenity. Best of all, only a few canoeists are allowed on the trail at any one time, and motors (other than electric) are forbidden. Quiet and solitude. It is so hard to find nowadays.
But there is more harmony to be found at Collier-Seminole. There is a 6.5 walking trail that circles through pineland, prairie, and cypress swamp. I haven't done this walk yet, I wanted to try it this summer, but the mosquitoes got the better of me. Come winter though, I'll be out there. For those who want to experience the lushness of a tropical hammock, and to look out over the salt marsh, there is a self-guided nature trail, which is also led by rangers on Saturday mornings. For mountain bikers, there is newly completed five mile course.
Not to be overlooked at Collier-Seminole is the walking dredge, a colossal black steel machine that played an essential role in the construction of Tamiami Trail, an engineering feat that few people are aware of. If nothing else, think of the conditions the workmen had to endure: heat, bugs, sawgrass, mud, isolation, rain...and in the 1920's they considered themselves lucky to have a job! I didn't think I would find the walking dredge interesting, but a talk given by park ranger, Peter Brockmann, had me riveted.
When I first moved to Florida, I didn't look beyond the beaches and the Gulf. That, and the wonderful weather, were enough to make me want to stay. But I have discovered so much more. Its like falling in love, first you are attracted to the obvious, but the more you discover and the more you understand, the deeper your feelings go. Southwest Florida is not a booming symphony, it is a gentle lullaby. If you listen, if you look, you too will discover its mystery and majesty.

THE END

HELPFUL INFORMATION (600 words)

Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary: 941-348-9151
-Easy boardwalk suitable for everyone, including wheelchairs.
-375 Sanctuary Road. Naples. 25 miles east of Naples on County Road 846 (Immokalee Road). Watch for signs and turn left, then left again.
-8am to 5pm May-Nov. 7am to 5pm Dec-April. $6.50 adults, $3.00 children. Discounts for Audubon members.
-Bathroom facilities, picnic tables, gift shop, limited snacks and drinks.
-Bring water for 2.25 mile self-guided boardwalk. Hat, insect repellent, binoculars for birds.
-Guided walks for ten or more when booked one month in advance.

Fakahatchee Strand State Preserve:
-Boardwalk at Big Cypress Bend: 28 miles east of Naples on US 41 (Tamiami Trail). Sunrise to sunset. No facilities. Free. Self-guided, 2000 feet. Take water and binoculars. Easy boardwalk suitable for everyone.
-Preserve Headquarters on Janes Scenic Drive in Copeland. 941-695-4593.
-Scenic Drive suitable for all vehicles. Tram walks suitable for those who are reasonably fit.
-Take US 41 to the Everglades City turnoff. Head north (left) on State Road 29, turn left into the scenic drive. No facilities. Sunrise to sunset. Easiest tram walks are from Gate 7 (4.5 miles from headquarters on left side), and Gate 12 (6.5 miles from headquarters on right side). Both trams are 2 miles each way (4 miles round trip). Wear comfortable shoes and clothes you don't mind getting wet. Take food and water. Guided swamp walks conducted third Saturday Nov-Feb, call for reservations, limited to 15 guests. Janes Scenic Drive (12.5 miles) ends at the boundary of Picayune State Forest. Either return on the drive, or stop at forest kiosk to obtain map to continue on road to Naples.

Shark Valley Park Visitor Center: 305-221-8776.
-Tram tour suitable for everyone (no wheel chairs). Short walks suitable for everyone. Loop road suitable for those who are fairly fit.
-About 70 miles east of Naples on Tamiami Trail (US 41), just past the Miccosukee Indian Cultural Center.
-8:30am to 6:00pm. Entrance fee: $8 per vehicle.
-Facilities. Visitor Center. Limited drinks and snacks. Restaurant across road.
-Bobcat Boardwalk Trail: 1/3 mile. Otter Cave Trail: 1 mile. Loop Road to Shark Valley Tower: 15 miles.
-2 hour Guided Tram Tours: 305-221-8455. Call for schedule, reservations suggested Dec-May. Bicycle rentals: $3.75 per hour, 15 mile loop road takes 2 to 3 hours.
-If doing loop road on foot or bike, take water, food, hat, sunscreen and binoculars.

Ten Thousand Islands: 800-445-7724
-Suitable for everyone.
-Everglades National Park Gulf Coast Visitor Center at Everglades City. 4 miles south of Tamiami Trail on State Road 29 (call for recorded directions).
-8:30am to 5pm. Stop in to see exhibits.
-Facilities.
-Naturalist-guided boat tours leave every 30 minutes between 9am and 4:30pm. 90 minute trips. $13 adults, $6.50 children.
-Canoe rentals $20 per day, 8:30am to 5pm. Shuttle to launch site available $5.00. Overnight rentals also for part or all of 99 mile Wilderness Waterway.
-Restaurants and shops in Everglades City. Bring water, hat, sunscreen, insect repellent, binoculars.

Collier-Seminole State Park: 941-394-3397
-Pontoon boat and short nature trail suitable for everyone (not disabled). Hiking trail, bike trail and canoe trail suitable for people who are fairly fit.
-20200 E.Tamiami Trail (US 41). 17 miles south of Naples.
-8am to sunset. $3.35 per vehicle (up to 8 passengers).
-Ranger-guided canoe trips Nov-March. Canoe rentals $3.18 hourly. Call for schedule and reservations. Winter program of guided walks for nature trail and walking dredge.
-Facilities. Picnicking. Camping. Limited snacks and drinks.
-90 minute narrated pontoon boat trip down Blackwater River. 9:00am to 4:00pm daily. $8.50 adults, $5.50 children. Call boat concession for reservations on 941-642-8898.
-Wear walking clothes and shoes for trails. Bring hat, sunscreen, insect repellent, water, lunch, and binoculars.

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