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The Everglades: a mosaic of ecosystems
By Ginny Nelson
Sometimes it is ok to not be in charge; to just kick back for the car ride, uncertain about what challenging experiences the next two days may bring. Our destination for that week-end trip last fall was the Everglades: a place I hadn’t seen for thirty years and then only from a car window. I was excited to go on this trip when Mary Sanders told me about the itinerary and invited me to go along. I was currently reading a recently purchased copy of Jack E. Davis’ book An Everglades Providence and had just finished reading Marjory Stoneman Douglas’ book The Everglades: River of Grass. I was ready and anxious for a personal experience in the Everglades, and I was about to get it.
After a 9:00 a.m. departure from Pinellas County, by early afternoon we were southeast of Naples heading east on the Tamiami Trail. We passed through the Cypress National Forest and into Everglades National Park. The 1 ½ million acres in the Everglades National Park (which is just 20% of the Everglades original extent) is not just one identical ecosystem. It makes sense to think of the Everglades as a mosaic of ecosystems: including, among others, saw grass marsh and marl prairies dotted with tree islands of pinelands, hardwood hammocks and cypress systems. Our week-end plans included visits to two different types of Everglades’ ecosystems: the Shark Valley Slough (a sawgrass marsh known as the “river of grass”) and the Fakahatchee Strand Everglades State Preserve (an elongated cypress and hardwood swamp forest).
We drove towards the Shark Valley Slough, our first tour of the day, through the Big Cypress National Preserve and the western half of the Everglades marsh. The terrain on both sides of the road was flat, a wide-open expanse (prairie-like) and dominated, of course, by the sedge known as sawgrass. The flat line formed by the tops of the grass repeated the flatness of the land. No taller plants interrupted vertically. I noticed that water completely filled the man-made canals wedged between the sawgrass edge and our road, indicating a watery base in the dense fields of sawgrass. In the far distance on the horizon were trees that looked very small from that distance, too indistinct to identify. Occasionally we saw wading birds and birds in flight. These first glimpses of the Everglades were pretty much the way I remembered it, and I was anxious to see more.
Since we were a little early and had some time to spare before our scheduled tour at the Shark Valley Slough, we decided to stop at the Clyde Butcher Gallery. It too is on Rt 41, the Tamiami Trail, near The Big Cypress National Preserve Oasis Visitor’s Center. Clyde Butcher is famous for his black and white photographs of swamps and cypress trees and other remote places in the Everglades. We were impressed with his photos showing the beauty and uniqueness of places we were about to see for ourselves. Also included in the gallery were works by other lesser known and local nature artists. It was hard to resist the urge to buy, but I haven’t forgotten them, and hope to return soon for a shopping trip.
After driving a bit longer, we arrived at the Shark Valley Visitor’s Center in plenty of time for our previously arranged tour. Soon we were on the park-operated tram. Our three car tram had open sides and was covered for shade. Every bench was crammed with passengers as we headed out into the slough with our driver and narrator. We moved slowly along the narrow 15-mile loop road trying to hear explanations of the history and ecology of the Valley. Before us was the Shark River Slough, a shallow trough of slow-moving water that is 50 miles wide. The currents that move through its channel move north to south at about 100 feet per day. It is a struggle to comprehend the idea that this slough is a slow moving river, because we did not see the common features of a river, such as the banks that often define a channel of easily seen moving water. Here the water is mostly hard to see in the dense mats of vegetation. The slough, though, is actually the wettest plant community of the Everglades. Sloughs are often covered in water for more than eleven months per year. From the tram, we were looking at spikerush and maidencane and interspersed knolls of cocoplum, willow, and asters knowing that the “river” was there hidden from our view. Sporadically and in the distance there are areas of open water where aquatic plants such as bladderwort, water lily and spatterdock grow. Periphyton, I later found out, is an important algae that mostly forms on solid surfaces under the water or can be seen as brown mats on the water’s surface. It is critical to the development of the slough’s insects and amphibians which then are a food source for its birds, fish and reptiles. Ducks were swimming on the surface of the nearby open water, and in the distance we watched as large flocks of white ibis took off together and flew low in a graceful arc. The tram halted to allow a snake to safely cross the road. Midway on our tour we stopped and got out to walk the trail to the observation tower. From the top we were treated to a grand panoramic view of the “glades” and the big “gators” basking in the sun. On the final leg of the tour back to the Visitor’s Center, we learned that the road we were driving on was put in when oil companies were exploring for oil there. The canal next to road was used to drain the water off the land. Fortunately, we are now working to remove the human interventions that have prevented the vital slow movement of the Everglades water to the sea. But I am grateful for the road that has allowed us to see this special place.
We left the Slough and headed to Everglades City for dinner and a night’s rest. Sunday we were scheduled to “see” the Fakahatchee Strand.
The Fakahatchee Strand is by definition a cypress and hardwood forest surrounded by swamp. It is about twenty miles long and three-five miles wide. Its shape is elongated (think constant currant action from north to south). On the short ride from breakfast to the Strand, I was reading in an attempt to learn something about the area I was about to experience. At the appointed time, we were at the Preserve’s headquarters’ building to meet Mike Owen, the ranger, guide, and expert on the Fakahatchee. He was to lead our group into this unknown forest, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Someone in the group had said it was the dry season, but I found out later, that the dry season was just beginning. The wet season had just ended. An important point as I would soon find out.
We began our walk with Mike on a high gravel road through woods on both sides. He explained that the road is an old logging road. During WWII the logging industry came in and clear-cut the old cypress and mahogany trees from the strand. With that disturbing information, we began to more closely look at the woods surrounding us. And that is when we saw the trees: royal palm and cypress trees growing next to each other in the same woods! The Fakahatchee is the only place in the world where that happens. That those two magnificent trees are found here together began to reveal to us that the Fakahatchee is truly a special place. We followed Mike as he headed left off the road, down a steep slope, into a dark dense jungle of trees, saplings, fallen logs, low growing branches, and water. Our boots were immediately covered with water up to our ankles. It was definitely an odd sensation as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness. I soon discovered that the ground under the water was uneven and covered with unseen logs, roots, and large fallen tree trunks that likely would trip one of us eventually. I didn’t even want to think of what else might be there. Determined to see more of this watery place, though, I quickly learned to take small measured steps and not to lift my feet too high. The water quickly got deeper and soon was to the middle of my thighs. We followed Ranger Mike, slowly, stepping carefully, in a zigzag path as he led us through the swamp. He showed us where the elusive and famous “ghost orchids” grow, mostly on pop ash trees: taking care to tell us that all the locations are inventoried. The Fakahatchee is famous for its large variety of rare orchids and bromeliads, and orchid thieves have long sneaked in and stolen the flowers from their native places. After an hour and a half, we stopped walking. At last I could take my time viewing all the beauty of this place. What impressed me even more than what I saw was the sense of timeless calm that I felt just being in that place. Looking back, I think I felt “in touch” with earth’s life force: of what came before and that to come. The hazy sunlight came down to the water’s surface and reflected light off the brown water. It filtered through the leaves and plants highlighting so many different hues of the color green that I almost held my breath. The epiphytes were everywhere, up high and down low on the tree trunks, on the branches hanging over the water and in the tree crevices. The cypress trees were second growth and so were not huge. However, there were cypress stumps that were huge, and like a bandage over a wound, lush mammoth ferns were growing and covering the stumps with their pendulant and graceful fronds. Somehow, it seemed to lessen the loss of the tree. As we began the return trek to our starting point into the swamp, I was almost comfortable slogging through thigh-deep swamp water. I was reluctant to leave the swamp behind but glad to get onto dry land at the same time.
When we were back at the car, each of us expressed amazement at what we had just accomplished. We were a special group of people … no doubt!, with the grit to overcome our fear. I for one remember it fondly.