New Smithsonian Associates Sunrise Hikes at Great Falls

Saturday August 20th, Sunday August 21st, Friday August 26th. Join us for this unique sunrise hike at Great Falls National Park Virginia. Its a 3 to 4 mile outing with several hills and rocky trails. We'll discuss the areas historical geology, plant life, birds, human history and related conservstion issues. Reservations can be made at www.smithsonianassociates.org

Everglades Trip January 2022.

Had an excellent trip to Everglades National Park in January. Covered most of the territory we discuss in the Smithsonian Associates program-The Glades or River of Grass, Rock Pinelands, Hardwood Hammocks, Blad Cypress, Coastal Prairie and Mangrove Forest. Park facilities are improved over several years ago. A new interpretive center and lodge are under construction. While many environmental issue persist in the Everglades, it remains one of the most unique National Park experiences in the United States.

South Florida has always been intriguing to me. As a child we flew out of Detroit’s Metro Airport on a cold, snowy late afternoon. The twin turboprops seemed to struggle as we flew over the distant flatlands occupied by various farms etched into Michigan’s fertile, frozen soil. I fell asleep on the flight. Some hours later we landed in Ft. Meyers. Holding my dad’s hand we walked on to the tarmac. A warm breeze blew as palm fronds clacked upon their stiff mid-rib. A sound I would come to love visiting the tropics around the world. So completely exotic from the north temperate forest I came from. The warm breeze was intoxicating, portending the mysteries that lived in this urbanized landscape. There would be several family vacations to Florida in the sixties and seventies.

As an adult by the early eighties, I spent every extra hour outdoors. This was driven largely by a passion for rock climbing. I was just beginning to lead climb. A committing and at times dangerous pursuit. On the right climb one could access that rare space between ecstasy and terror. Every spring break I would travel to a larger Appalachian crag to test my skills and nerve. These trips were almost always with my friend and coworker, Todd Jewell. Unlike me, Todd was a natural athlete. Tall, strong and wiry. A veteran backpacker, photographer and able outdoorsman, Todd was an ideal climbing partner. He was always up for an adventure; we had many together. Spring break of 1983 was different. Todd and I had become aware of an unusual wilderness experience in south Florida. Apparently, there was a backcountry canoe trail through the Everglades. Suddenly the attraction to Florida was renewed. We left our ropes and climbing gear at home and strapped a canoe on to Todd’s little Toyota Celica, a remarkably sporty but functional car. The canoe reached well beyond the sloping car hood and trunk. It felt odd not to be negotiating a steep mountain road with the first wildflowers just emerging. Instead, we beelined to the Everglades over 1000 miles to the south. Like clockwork we pulled through the entrance station while a large alligator eyed us from a roadside slough. We would camp on the marl prairie that night near Flamingo at the very southern tip of peninsular Florida.

 Setting out the next morning we were consumed by the flat subtropical landscape. Palms clacking in the breeze, mangroves holding the shoreline and the remarkable bird diversity. It may be fair to say this trip was also the beginning of a lifelong interest in birds for both of us. Perhaps for the first time the wilds weren’t exclusively consumed with physical challenge, but the more subtle pursuit of natural history. Bird watching in particular.

 Our aluminum Grumman canoe was perfect for the outing. We packed in the gear at the entrance to the Lane Bay “trail”. This was unlike anything we had seen before. Arching mangroves formed a low tunnel over the near copper-colored, shallow brackish water. We slipped in quietly; the trail was narrow and circuitous for perhaps a mile with water only a foot or two deep. Dappled shade of the mangrove tunnel gave way to a few sunny embayment’s. Curious vase shaped plants grew in numerous forms among the mangrove branches, some tiny, others nearly a foot high. Some years later, I would study these members of the Pineapple Family. Soon the full sun bathed us in a genuine subtropical heat. The place became more exotic with each dip of the paddle. Great blue herons took flight as we rounded a corner. The trail is marked with white PVC pipes driven into the murky substrate. Without these one could become endlessly lost among the maze of tiny canals, ponds and larger embayments. In a few locations lazy alligators eyed us suspiciously as we quietly passed.

Soon the area changed character entirely. Now we paddled largely open expanses of water, perhaps a mile across in some locations. A group of Roseate Spoonbills passed overhead, their spatula like bill plainly visible. Further in the distance brown pelicans seemed to fly in formation, their mammoth bills pointing keenly forward. They looked like an avian dinosaur. A few years later in an ornithology class, I learned Pelicans were indeed very primitive birds. A taxonomic oddity, sometimes called a living fossil. In a few locations we spied Anhingas, a sleek bird and skilled swimmer who’s neck protruded discreetly above the water, almost snake-like. Found mainly in Florida, the Anhingas were entirely exotic to us. Like Cormorants, Anhingas often roost in trees drying their long attenuated wings. On close inspection their emerald-like green iris nearly glows.

By late afternoon we arrived at our backcountry Chickee. Essentially a deck large enough to set up your tent and stay the night. We set up in absolute silence as the sun faded in the west. It’s one of the most unique camping experiences in the United States. A Barred Owl could be heard in the distance as we secured the tent zipper in anticipation of copious mosquitoes. The level, flat deck made for good sleeping unlike a sloping mountain side studded with rocks we were accustomed to. Morning came quickly as we got organized to cook breakfast. Suddenly a loud wholly unfamiliar sound boomed from outside our tent. Sort of a deep sucking sound. We dashed out to see a dolphin swim by chasing fish around the chickee. It circled back toward us and surfaced exposing its blowhole while taking a deep, rapid breath. Clearly winded, it took off across our intimate lagoon. It’s path clear as small silvery fish frantically jumped out of the water to evade being eaten.

 Our excursion to the Everglades proved to be memorable in many ways. Perhaps most pointedly that we could journey beyond the collective tension of climbing to simply marvel in the diversity of nature surrounding us. My next trip back would be four years later for an undergraduate research project on the geography of differing plant communities within the park. There have been many visits since then. The Everglades and South Florida became a touchstone in my training and work as a naturalist for decades to come.