Fakahatchee Strand

Last week we visited the Big Cypress Bend Boardwalk in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park. It's one of our favorite places, especially once the winter tourists have left. (Many seem to have heard it's an obligatory stop, so they clomp to the end and back, wondering what's so great about the place).

The best times to visit the boardwalk are dawn and dusk, but we always manage to get there in the middle of the day, when most of the animals are resting. Yet we've never  been disappointed.

Another World Awaits You

For me, the sense of this vast wilderness, not the details, is the draw. Once you are under the canopy, you are enveloped by a wonderful stillness that somehow is not disturbed by the slightly manic call of a pileated woodpecker, the crash of a falling branch, or the grunting of a frog. It is the beautiful quietude of a place unshackled by the clutter of our presence. (That is, if you're lucky enough to be there without the clompers. At least they never stick around long). It would be a mistake to think this place welcoming, though. Stray very far away from the boardwalk and you would be lost hopelessly.

For the plant lover, any time is a good time. I usually loiter behind my companions, pretty much justifying the complaint that I examine every leaf. This time the spherical flowering heads of buttonbush, Cephalanthus occidentalis,  perfumed the air. Cinammon-colored spores covered the backsides of giant leather fern fronds. Fruits were forming on the stems of myrsine. Ferns, mosses, swamp-lilies (chewed by lubber grasshoppers, which also hopped along the boardwalk) and vines grew exuberantly, vying for space and light. Cypress were sporting "spring" green new growth and dark green cones.

Buttonbush - Cephalanthus occidentalis L.

Every leaning or fallen tree becomes a new habitat for mosses, ferns, epiphytes, and the fauna associated with them. You have to go deeper into the swamp to see orchids, because such plants  close to any public path or boardwalk get picked. Out of reach, various tillandsias flourish. Royal palms, Roystonea regia, grow out of depressions, biding their time in the shade until they reach the top of the canopy. Cypress trees close to the boardwalk are so tall you have to hang onto the rail in order not to fall as you crane your neck backwards to see their crowns. Some of these venerable trees are struggling in the clutches of strangler fig; some have died. The slow, inexorable violence of that struggle is breath-taking.

 Cypress, Taxodium ascendens or T. distichum  - There is some discussion whether these are different species.  Strangler  Fig Root Descending

The Fakahatchee is a "strand" swamp, a type of swamp found only in Florida, and mostly in South Florida. Strands are elongated water courses that follow miniscule depressions in an otherwise flat landscape. When there is heavy rainfall the water overflows the depressions and spreads widely. The water in a strand is very slow-moving, and in the case of the Fakahatchee, eventually makes its way into the Gulf of Mexico. A strand ecosystem has a great variety of plant and animal species, because minor differences in elevation make a huge difference in  habitat, along a scale from species that must have standing water, those that can take some drying, those that can tolerate some flooding, and those that can not be flooded at all. (Ron Larson. Swamp Song. A Natural History of Florida's Swamps. University Press of Florida. 1995.pp.24-26)

We've experienced extremes of wet and dry around the boardwalk over the years. Last week it was moderately wet. In 2017 Hurricane Irma toppled a huge cypress along with its rootball, creating a small pool, which appears to be permanent. One life ends in nature, another begins. This time 3 small snakes were sunning themselves, though one swam away, taking its time. One was no bigger or longer than a pencil. The other 2 looked to be between 12 and 18 inches long. Dull brown-black with light reddish bands in a chain pattern. One had a pronounced chin stripe, which is a mark of the Florida cottonmouth, but the markings weren't conclusive enough for me to make a positive id.

Rootball Pool - Where Snakes Were Sunning 

The boardwalk ends in a sitting/viewing platform at the edge of a pond-sized alligator hole. We spend a lot of quiet time on the platform, trying to blend in, waiting to see what happens. At low water we once witnessed a large alligator systematically rooting things out of the mud with its snout. We couldn't tell what it was eating - turtles? frogs? fish? Periodically it would lunge from the water, twist, and fall sideways back in with ruthless speed and power.  It was a textbook illustration of the alligator's are a key role in the Florida ecosystem. First, they make holes or enlarge depressions to collect water to bide them over the dry winter, and in succeeding years continue to widen the holes, preventing them from filling in in the middle.

One year we saw baby alligators sunning on the back of a large turtle, perched on a log, also taking in the sun. Still another time, we noticed immature alligators - they still had their yellow stripes - ringing the pond. Suddeny they went into a feeding frenzy, leaping and pouncing on frogs. The pond was alive with the splashing of prey and the relentless hunters. We've also been hissed at by a 'gator that thought we were getting too close, even though we were on the platform. (We moved over). We've even witnessed alligators mating.

This time, even though we were very quiet, we inadvertently flushed a  great blue heron and great egret from the thicket of alligator flag ringing the pond. The great blue left, but the great egret just moved to another side. The noise of these birds in turn flushed something else on the opposite side of the pond. We never were able to get a good look at it, because it stayed partially hidden, but its general size and shape, overall beige -tan coloration with some faint striping on the belly, and a blue-black patch on the back of the head led us to id it at home as a least bittern. Probably the first and last bittern we'll ever see.

An obliging alligator eventually "flowed" into the pond from one edge, and just "hung out" semi-submerged. An anhinga flew into a high overhanging branch. It gradually moved lower and lower, until at last it flew to the opposite side and disappeared into the water. We saw its long snakey neck, up like a periscope, from time to time. Bright red cardinals flew overhead. Eventually it was time to go.

On the way back out the boardwalk we were startled by a flash of yellow and red-brown as a basking bird flew up from the boardwalk. My guess is a great crested flycatcher, given the habitat, time of year and colors. Apart from the birds we saw, we heard many more, chirping and chattering.

Alligator Hole Pond at End of Boardwalk

Though this parcel was in different hands and escaped the worst depredation, the story of the Fakahatchee is largely one of devastation, looting, and almost inconceivable regeneration. But that is a long story in itself and will have to be told in another post.