Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary

swamp hibiscus

I can't say I've had many psychic dreams before, but something about the ghost orchid seeped into me and wouldn't let go.  This summer I had the most vivid dream about a ghost orchid, that I had gone hunting for them in Orlando. Funny thing is, in my awake world, I wasn't even sure ghost orchids existed. The  morning after my dream, I had no recollection of flowers, until a patron at the library where I work checked out the audiobook version of Susan Orlean's The Orchid Thief.  Then someone checked out a few orchid magazines, and another patron requested a book with "orchid" in the title.  There's nothing like being hit in the head with synchronicity!  So, I hopped online and googled ghost orchids, and, amazingly, discovered a ghost orchid lives just 3 hours away from here in Naples at Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary.  Even more incredible, the ghost orchid was in bloom. It was calling me, and I had to visit and ask what it wanted.

"super ghost"

Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary is considered the "jewel in the Audubon crown."  The Audubon Society became involved with the sanctuary over 100 years ago with a campaign against plume hunting, and officially founded Corkscrew in 1954.  It's 14,000 acres of pine flatwood, wet prairie, marsh, pond cypress, and home to the largest remaining virgin bald cypress forest in North America.  One of the gateways to the Great Florida Birding Trail, Corkscrew supports one of this country's largest colonies of nesting wood storks, as well as +200 birds, both natives and migratory. Add a gorgeous butterfly garden and the Blair Education Center and the ghost orchid, and you know you're in for quite the experience.

Naples is about a 3 hour drive from where I live, so The Way Eye See It loaded up pretty early in the morning, in order to have most of the day to explore.  Even the parking lot at CCS is interesting! There's a huge butterfly garden, where Anna and I saw white peacocks, gulf fritillaries, and Florida's state butterfly, the zebra longwing.  Also cool was seeing a tiny Ruby-throated Hummingbird zoom down to drink from the flowers.  It was hard to tear ourselves away from butterfly garden action, but we knew we had a lot to pack into the day, so we followed the boardwalk to the Blair Education Center and paid our $10 entrance fee.  Right inside the front door was a poster describing the ghost orchid, with an attached dry erase board on which was written, "12 blooms!!" 

There's another dry erase board before you hit the main boardwalk, and we stopped to read what everyone had seen thus far: many birds, black bear, snakes, butterflies, skinks.  I love the anticipation of what lies ahead on nature walks. Of course, we wanted to see everything listed on that board, and knew we wouldn't. But maybe we'd see different things?

The first bird to greet us was a white-eyed vireo, a new bird for me.  We could hear woodpeckers all around, and saw a fair share of red-bellieds, as well as a pileated, which we heard first, then waited and waited to see.

white-eyed vireo

Whenever I'm walking through swamps, woods, and other natural areas in Florida, I always wonder what it  must've been like for explorers crazy enough to hack their way through tall grass and wetlands, with no idea of what they'd encounter.  Huge bugs, alligators, snakes....  I, for one, am happy in most instances to stay on boardwalks!

Corkscrew's boardwalk is 2.25 miles long, and you're definitely at one with the landscape.  As we made our way to the ghost orchid, we passed alligator flags, pond apple trees, swamp hibiscus, swamp lilies, a tiny ribbon snake, and who knows what else hidden above and below us. Butterflies whizzed past, and we were thrilled to see two new ones: a queen and a ruddy daggerwing (if ever I need an alias, it's going to be Ruddy Daggerwing!)  Even though I couldn't wait to see the ghost orchid, I didn't want to rush the experience.

queen

 

And finally we saw it, this "super ghost" with an unusually high number of blooms. This orchid, the only wild ghost orchid whose location is not kept secret.  Actually, we saw the scope an Audubon volunteer set up for better orchid viewing.  In my vision, I saw the orchid up close, but, in reality, it lives about 150 ft from the boardwalk, 45ft up a 400 year old cypress tree.  Also, in my vision, I was 1 on 1 with the orchid.  In reality, though, the scope was like Grand Central Station. Luckily, I had my big zoom, and Anna had her binoculars, so we were set with pretty good views as we waited our turns at the scope.  

WOW!  I was blown away when I saw the orchid up close.  It's very ethereal and tendril-y and mysterious and sexy, and I'm fairly certain it knows this. I asked why it called me to Corkscrew, dragging me out of bed at 5am to drive 3 hours away.  I wanted to hear something profound and life-changing, and I did. The ghost orchid said simply: "Stop. Be still. Enjoy me." 

The ghost orchid usually blooms in July and August, and I wonder if it will reappear in my dreams next summer.  Will I still need its gentle reminder?  I daresay I probably will.  And, even it doesn't come to me in my sleep, I'll definitely stalk Corkscrew's website until the announcement comes it's time to commune with the orchid once more.

Paynes Prairie Preserve State Park & the Florida National Cemetery



Sanhill Cranes


Note to self: next time The Way Eye See It heads off somewhere, do some research!  Actually, I thought I'd researched Paynes Prairie Preserve State Park fairly well, but somehow I didn't absorb the fact that it's humongous.  Our "ah ha" moment, as Anna called it, came when we climbed the park's 50 foot observation tower and surveyed nothing but vast land - 21,000 acres worth.

One of the reasons I wanted to go is because PPPSP is a gateway to the Great Florida Birding Trail, and, for that reason, I assumed we'd see birds galore. We actually did see quite a few birds on the 2.5 hour drive over; sandhill cranes pecking in the dirt by the road, cattle egrets on and around cattle, and a sweet flash of swallowtail kite flying over us on I-75. 

PPPSP is Florida's first state preserve, established in 1971, and it's even designated as a National Historic Landmark.  Artist and naturalist William Bartram called it "the Great Alachua Savannah" when he visited in 1774, and it's pretty remarkable to think of how little has been changed by human hands since then.  In fact, I'll let Bartram himself describe what he saw (and what we saw, minus the wildlife) :

"Now on a sudden opens to view an enchanting scene, the Great Alachua Savannah. Behold a vast plain of water in the middle of a pine forest 15 miles in extent and near 50 miles in circumferance, verged with green level meadows, in the summer season beautifully adorned with jeting points and pormentorys of high land. The prospect is greatly beautiful by the prodigious numbers of wild fowl of various kinds, such as cranes, herons, biterns, pluvers, coots, vast herds of cattle, horses, and deer which we see far distant, in detachments over the vast plain. The upper regions of the air contributes to this joyfull scene. The silver plum'd heron, early in the morning, hastening to their fisheries, croud the watery plain. The sonorrous stork and whooping crains proclaim the near approaches of the summer heat, and decend from the skies in musical squadrons themselves over the wide green."



View of PPPSP from the observation tower

Since it was blisteringly hot, Anna and I didn't spend too much time on that wide green.  We walked a little bit of one trail, and, when we didn't see or hear anything, decided to try another trail, again without much luck. Our last stop was a boardwalk, but saw nothing on the ground or air, although we were surrounded by gorgeous thistle. We then decided it'd be much smarter to return in the fall, when more creatures would be out and about.   





thistle



It was still fairly early in the day when we left PPPSP, so we weren't quite ready to go home. On the drive over, we'd seen a sign for the Florida National Cemetery, and we decided if we passed another sign on the way back, we'd stop and check it out. We knew we'd made the right decision when another swallow-tailed kite flew overhead on I-75.

The Florida National Cemetery, near Bushnell, lies in the Withlacoochee State Forest, and is the final resting place for +97,000 veterans of twentienth century wars and their spouses. Land for the cemetery was transferred to the Veterans Administration in 1983, and a carillon was constructed in 1993 by WWII AMVETS. When we were there, the bells played "From the Halls of Montezuma" and "Tis a Gift," both very fitting.

Seemingly endless lines of graves make the Florida National Cemetery a humbling place, particularly when you face the grave a newly buried 22 year old soldier. Because we were there on Memorial Day, flags were everywhere, snapping in the wind high on their flagpoles, and in front of hundreds of headstones.  This war cemetery is no different from any other, reminding us of not only the worst in us, but also the best.  



 



view of Florida National Cemetery



Boyd Hill Nature Preserve

Boyd Hill Nature Preserve is a jewel. Located on the south shores of Lake Maggiore, Boyd Hill is another St. Petersburg park hidden in a residential area. There are 245 acres of unspoiled Florida, and entering this oasis feels as though you've stepped back in time, before Pinellas County's population explosion. In much need of time away from that population, and craving the type of regeneration only nature can provide, Anna and I set off to see what what we could see.

Boyd Hill has 5 unique ecosystems (hardwood hammock, sand pine scrub, pine flatwoods, willow marsh, and lake shore), but we've never covered them all at once. My tendency is to drift towards the shoreline, and, since we'd covered some of the pine flatwood trail on previous visits, we decided to walk towards Lake Maggiore.

Along the way, we crossed some short bridges, and came across lots of cypress knees looking like primeval fingers reaching up from the earth. Crossing one of the bridges we spied a little gator snoozing on a lily pad. They sure are a lot less intimidating when they look small and the lily pad looks big!

Back on the trail, we heard a hawk in the pines. We followed its calls, and saw it swoop to the ground. Next we heard what sounded like a squirrel in distress, and I have to admit I was relieved that squirrel hadn't become the hawk's lunch. I know how the food chain operates, but I don't really want to witness it.

There's a small peninsula jutting into Lake Maggiore, and we'd read that's where birds hang out, so we headed up the trail to find it. Just over another short bridge, it's a bird oasis. Anhingas and Cormorants filled nearby trees, ducks splashed in the lake, terns flew overhead. A family of (presumed) tourists approached us, asking if we'd seen the alligator just behind some brush, then proceeded to get way too close to it in order to show us. Anna waked off with a "Oh, hell no!" but I wanted some shots, although with my zoom, I felt safe. Well, fairly safe....

It wasn't until we'd crossed back from the peninsula to the main trail that it occurred to us: what would we have done if that alligator decided to come out from the brush? Especially if it had blocked access to the bridge. Hmmm.

Our return trip to the nature center was fairly uneventful, although there was one highlight: a banana tree blossom, deep purple and sexy. I love how in Florida there's always the possibility of running into something unexpected and exotic.

We had a great day at Boyd Hill, and, once again, the universe confirmed we're on the right path. How do I know? As we walked across the parking lot, talking about the wonderful things we'd seen, a bald eagle flew by.

Dunedin Hammock

Have you ever forgotten how much you've enjoyed a place, then rediscovered it, and it's even better than you remembered? That's how I feel about Hammock Park in Dunedin. I grew up in Dunedin, and, over the years, spent time walking the trails, but only recently have I started really exploring the Hammock. I'm in love.

The Hammock was surveyed some 158 years ago, and the North-South boundaries remain to this day. It was purchased by the City of Dunedin in 1965, and, in 1974, the Dunedin Garden Club helped create the first self-guided nature trails. There are 5 miles of trails in this 90 acre natural park, and each trail is different.

The Skinner Tail is the Hammock's main drag, and it runs alongside a stream, where I've watched great blue herons, white egrets, green herons, and cormorants do their thing. I always follow the Skinner Trail to the Friends of the Hammock's new butterfly garden, located next to Andrews Memorial Chapel. Butterflies are one of my favorite subjects to photograph, but they don't make it easy, unless they're in caterpillar state, which many of the monarchs were. Fat and stripey, they were in abundance on this trip, many munching leaves, first up, then down, as though the leaves were corn-on-the-cob.

My usual route is to backtrack from the butterfly garden to the Sugarberry Trail, because I always see something on the Sugarberry. Turtles are plentiful, and further down the trail there's always the promise of a raccoon tip-toeing across the trail and into the water, or a green heron searching for food. Today, I discovered a tangerine tree packed with tangerines. I'm used to seeing orange trees in the Hammock, but had never come across wild tangerines before. They're fiery orange when the sun shines on them. Some unripe tangerines had fallen to the ground, and it was hilarious watching a squirrel attempting to roll one up to a tree branch.

When I finished the Sugarberry Trail, I decided to try my luck at the end of the Skinner Trail, where there's a large pond. There are always birds there, and I was curious if I'd see anyone new. Along the way, I took the time to notice wild flowers, which I don't always do, and was rewarded with both irises and spiderwort, both in the most spectacular shades of purple. The usual gang was hanging out at the pond: snowy egrets, great blue herons, anhingas, and osprey soaring overhead. Nobody new, but that's ok. I'm never disappointed with the same old same old when it comes to nature!

From visit to visit, I never know what I'll encounter at Hammock Park. Sometimes there's more action than others, and either way is fine with me. I'm a wanderer at heart, and being outside is my joy. With no expectations, I know there's always the promise of things to come.

A Two Parks a Day Habit

For her birthday, my friend and photo buddy, Anna (bird watcher and the business brain behind The Way Eye See It Photography), wanted to celebrate with a day at Brooker Creek Nature Preserve in Tarpon Springs. We met early in the morning, anticipating what birds we might spot, and hoping to see Swallow-tailed Kites, but the park was closed when we arrived. We stared at the locked gate, as though the power of our desire would make it magically unlock, and, when it didn't, we sat, contemplating our next move.

John Chestnut Sr Park is, fortunately, only a short drive from Brooker Creek, and we headed there, with no expectations, since we've had hit & miss photo ops on previous visits. We wanted to stop first at the butterfly garden, but got diverted by the loud pounding noises of a Pileated Woodpecker looking for food. It's not easy, despite their bright red heads, to spot pileateds among tall oak branches, and when we did, it flew away. I've yet to get a decent shot of a pileated, but I love watching them, and they're always a goal to look forward to. Alligators are common at John Chestnut, and I wanted to see one surface from an algae-covered pond, but no such luck there, either. We did spot a Blue Heron, though, and its color, combined with the algae, was spectacular.

Not to be deterred from our original birthday plan, Anna and I drove back to Brooker Creek a few days later, and wandered a few trails, followed some butterflies, got a split-second view of a Red-shouldered Hawk, and swatted mosquitoes. Early on, we could tell it was going to be the sort of day where patience might or might not pay off. We finally lucked out on the exit trail, when both a Palimedes Swallowtail and an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, a new butterfly for us, landed and fed on close-by plants. Butterflies are among my most difficult, but favorite, photo challenges. Swallow-tailed Kites are an even more elusive challenge. We'd seen one once at Brooker Creek, and wanted to see one again, but it didn't feel like we would on this trip. So, we packed up our gear, making plans to hit John Chestnut Park next. Anna and I are shameless gawkers, constantly on the look-out for wildlife, and when, on the drive out, Anna spotted Gulf Fritillaries on daisies, we couldn't pass them up. But we had to, because there was a car behind us. So we drove the park's entry/exit loop again, hoping the butterflies hadn't zipped away, and this time pulled over. Not only was I rewarded with butterfly shots, we were shocked when first one, then another, Swallow-tailed Kite swooped over our heads. The first kite flew so close, it practically touched the hood of the car, and I was so surprised, all I could do was watch. Both kites sailed high in the sky above us for a few minutes, before disappearing behind a line of trees.

That's what I love about nature: the magic and the gifts. In my experience, there's a mystical element to nature, which I can't explain, but magical moments, like the Swallow-tailed Kites, almost always happen. Sometimes I have my camera handy, and sometimes I don't. And sometimes I have my camera handy, but am too caught up in the moment, or too surprised, to even think about using it. I don't mind if I don't get the shot; I'm just grateful to receive the gift.

When I'm in the zone, though, concentrating on a subject, there's nothing that compares. Later that afternoon, at John Chestnut, we followed the sound of a Red-shouldered Hawk calling. When we found it, we were able to watch it/photograph it for several minutes. The hawk sat on its oak branch, I stood below it, and it's as though we were connected by some invisible thread. It definitely knew I was there, because it looked right at me, and I stood as still as possible to let it know I wasn't a threat. In moments like this, when I'm connected to an animal, it feels like I'm in a bubble, and nothing exists outside it. These moments fade as abruptly as they occur, and I can always feel when the moment is over. The imaginary thread breaks, the bubble bursts, and I hear the noises of everyday life again.

I've never felt complete in anything I've ever done until I started taking photography seriously. I've always loved being in nature, and the combination is what makes me whole. In The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell talks about "the peak experience." He explains it as "actual moments of your life when you experience your relationship to the harmony of being." Campbell's peak experiences came when he ran track. My peak experiences happen, camera ready (or not), in nature.

That's why I'll never give up my two parks a day habit.