“Boarding a cruise boat from the Historic Gulfport Casino... I saw her!”
While walking through the historic waterfront district of Gulfport during the last ArtWalk I found myself drifting backward through time. Passing the Penninsula Inn I felt myself staring at the clock tower pretending to reach for and check my pocket watch tucked smartly in my wool vest under a highwayman's jacket of a fancier time. In just a few minutes I'll be departing from the now historic Gulfport Pier on a boat which has been successfully reviving the sunset cruises long dormant here. In the late 1800's the rough dirt road leading to the candlelit Casino was bustling with people from everywhere! A clang from the trolley and a toot from the streetcar would echo over napping cats and dogs laying about in the shade. Vendors touted wares of both quality and not, selling them briskly to the visitors to help pay their price for living in a coastal paradise. A visiting lady wearing fitted bodice and extravagantly puffy sleeves, the picture made complete by feathered hat perched on hair piled up high for the mob cap effect, commented on the charm of the town to her husband who sported a black bow tie and Capezio black Jazz oxfords. “Everybody is so friendly. They all say hello!” she said. He pulled a pipe from his bearded mouth and agreed. I tend to agree to this day. Shadows, viewed through thick cigar smoke, loomed in the alleys as fishermen tossed dice against the wall to wager their daily catch. Two rough-n-tumble boys in knickers and cap smacked a can with a stick. High heels and laced boots clicked and clattered up the old planks of the dock which led to the boat. A timeless summer breeze carried heavy smoke over the roof of the Casino and across the small restaurants and passersby. It wafted through the thick oaks and pines of the waterfront district and swirled upwards over the remains of the original steamboat, the Mary Disston. There she lay, mournfully, settled on the sandbar. Fishermen, mostly shoeless and penniless in rowboats which carried the day’s catch tied up to the dock and showed off the modest fruits of their labor: clams, oysters, mullet and even citrus picked from a not too far away island. Their cries of “Cockles and mussels…fresh fish” echoed in the air of the darkening evening. Down the beach, mothers with their children hiked up their skirts and removed their boots to walk in the sand. Girls dressed in high yoked dresses, boys dressed in knickers with white shirts, all eager to pick up shells and play. “How's the water?” This night, Captain Dan welcomed the visitors and checked their name on the clipboard with care and dignity. Stepping onto the vessel was like a vacation moment. Fellow cruisers contemplated the demise of a sunken sailboat and imaginations soared! With lines tossed to the dock, a blender whirring in the background, there were smiles all around. And why not, we're cruising with the ghost of Mary.
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I can't tell you what possessed me to go into the water with that alligator, but there I was standing in the middle of the Withlacoochee River. The truck coasted into Nobleton on a sweltering summer morning. The air loomed heavy over the bridge offering glimpses of the enthusiastic canoers that stirred at the outpost. Scurrying like worker ants the paddlers prepared for the first shuttle trip to nearby Silver Lake. The filtered view of the river revealed no secrets as we passed over the silent flow. What mystery lay ahead as we idled through the final turn onto the long narrow drive? Oh what excitement lives just beyond the headlights beam, in the fog that grew thicker near the river. The overhanging willows, oaks and cypress trees stood as proud guardians hanging over tin roof of the old log cabin. My dormant childhood excitement spiked… I was at home... in the swamp again! John Morris, a retired big league ball player from New Jersey was my guest for the day. He'd heard my stories about the swamp and wanted to see for himself why I was so drawn. We moved quickly from the car to avoid the throng of mosquitoes that took fancy to his sweet smelling skin and hair. I welcomed Johnny to the swamp and wondered what he was thinking. He didn’t need to say a word, he let me know instantly by swatting frantically at the buzzing pests. I tried to make him as comfortable as possible by offering bug spray, but somehow I knew that “comfort” – in a swamp - might be impossible to a newcomer. It’s likely that my advice of “a few welting bug bites add to the outdoor experience” didn’t help matters! After a nice breakfast cooked over the wood stove we unpacked our gear and moved to the porch. Daylight was approaching and the fog played hide-and-seek with the shadows and low laying areas of the yard. My ears were full of city noise pollution and for the first five minutes we heard nothing but ringing. We watched the river slip by and waited patiently for our eyes & ears to adjust to the outdoors. The frogs were first to pierce the barrier followed harmoniously by the crickets ... then it all came together. The swamp critters formed a wooded orchestra that performed their songs in the shifting shadows of the Oaks. Bullfrogs as big as cream buckets belched out mating calls with billowing pops and cracks. Tree frogs provided the harmony and the gators threw in a few bass growls. The Chick-a-dee’s provided the lyrics with there Chick-a-dee-dee-dee, chick-a-dee song. The gray squirrels wasted no time. When they got a whiff of John's city boy smell they sent a warning cry through the canopy, Chuk,chuk,chuk, chukka -- squeeeek. My memory flashed back a few years to the time my dad taught us kids how to build a squirrel call. He did it with an old peanut butter lid that he cupped it in his left hand. He fished around in his pocket and pulled a two-inch stove bolt and held it in his right hand. With quick, short strokes he'd drag the bolt along the edge of the lid. Dad's raspy call would lure 'em within range on a regular basis. I still use one today. We moved off the porch and stepped quietly to the river. A light breeze carried the earthy smell into the air and it blended with a patch of wildflowers that massaged my nasal airways and stimulated relaxation. The river's high water marks stained the trees well above where we stood and told stories of record rainfall and recent floods -- nature’s way of eliminating the weaker entities that live in the swamps.. Startled by a wheezing cough I turned and caught a glimpse of something stirring down stream. I bobbed my head like an old barn owl and tried to get the visual advantage of what turned out to be Joe, the neighbor, standing inside the base of a granddaddy cypress. His silhouette against the fog moved with an eerie quickness and before I could blink he was upon us. His raspy Marlboro voice returned my greeting as he grabbed my hand shaking it with the authority of a steel worker. He offered his hand to Johnny and commented on his nice smell. He knew the smell would attract the winged biters and he kindly offered a solution. "A nice dip in the river'd do ya good." He then spat a gob of Redman off to the side that trickled down his chew-stained beard. Johnny’s comment on being a “wilderness rookie” got Joe’s attention and he took the opportunity to show the city-boy a few things. He told a story of an alligator that he'd been 'baitin up' for the past few weeks and wanted to know if we wanted to see him. Johnny surprised me with his enthusiasm and spoke up, "Hell yes! Where's he at?" Joe responded, " Well. The best place to see him is out on a shallow sand bar in the middle of the river." I shuddered when Johnny called the charge, "Let's go!" Joe's face lit up with a toothless grin that showed the deep cracks his aged cheeks. "Now he's about a ten footer. We shouldn't have a problem with him as long as we keep a safe distance." "What would that distance be Joe." I asked nervously. "I'd think you'd be safe around twenty feet." He said confidently. I wondered where he got his information. I had heard somewhere that gators were impossible to train -- always have been...always would be. That's why they've been around for tens-of- thousands of years. Johnny was quick to shed his Polo shirt and $150.00 Nike's. He followed Joe (who remained fully clothed) toward the center of the river. Not for one minute did Joe seem concerned about what we were doing. "Gets a little deeper here. May have to swim a bit out to the middle." he said. The sun was just skimming the treetops and it pressed the fog down onto the river. The temperature of the water was… invigorating, especially when it reached my tender midsection. The three of us swam toward something I hadn't planned when I left St. Petersburg...a game of fear extraction! "I spoke to Joe about it briefly a few weeks later and I came to the conclusion that he knew what he was doing all along -- giving us a chance to look primitive death in the face." With every stroke I questioned what we were doing and why we needed to go to the middle of the river to see a gator. I've seen hundreds of gators and they were no big deal...from the shore. John on the other hand had never seen a gator and I wanted to be there with him for the experience of it all. My toes scuffed the soft bottom sending a chill down my spine for the possibility of what else lurks below the surface that I couldn't see. The muck turned to hard sand and I dug my toes in and leaned heavily into the current to keep from being swept away toward the Gulf of Mexico. We shivered uncontrollably in water up to our armpits. I noticed Joe had a beer with him and he sipped quietly and watched our expressions as we nervously looked about expecting a gator to appear any moment. Seconds later it did. Twenty yards down stream a large head appeared motionless in the surging current. The fog slid over his aerodynamic head in waving sheets of white. He was floating in an oily slick that appeared to come from John's body. Fancy body oils, shampoo & bug spray combined with Brut proved to be a great gator attractant! "OK I'm out a here." Joe said as he dropped his beer and headed immediately toward the shore. John was close behind riding in his wake. I, on the other hand, couldn't move. Something was keeping me from moving. At first I was mesmerized by how much bigger they look at eye level. He slowly moved in for a closer look and I stood my ground. John called from the shore, "Don't be stupid Kurt, get the hell out of there." Joe stood with his arms crossed not offering any suggestions. I couldn't help but to wonder just how dangerous this situation was. Every fiber of my being wanted to believe that I was as safe as being with a Golden Retriever. I felt content as the gator moved in. His eyes looked compassionate and friendly as a pup. That's when I realized his approach -- he lulled me into a false sense of security with the trademark of a big gator -- swim silently and carry big teeth! Now within ten feet Joe expressed concern. "Time to go Kurt...start movin' boy!" I couldn't move. I waited too long and now I was afraid that he might attack. I watched the gator’s eyes quickly change from peaceful blue, to a demonic red leer of a prehistoric hunter. Then he submerged out of site. There's a theory about gators. To measure up their prey they must move within visual distance below the surface. In this pitch water that meant moving within inches of me. Suddenly I cracked. As if being hit with a baseball bat loaded with common sense I kicked my muscles into gear and headed back. The moment I turned my back on him was the most frightening moment that I can ever remember. I felt my vocal cords squeal for help. I could feel him moving closer as I struggled to cover the short distance in the heavy current. Time stood still as I gulped water and splashed like wounded duck. My mind was very convincing in telling me that he was within biting range. When I reached the shallows I tripped and fell facedown in the mossy mud. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a huge wake moving toward my feet. I lunged toward dry ground and grabbed a powerful hand that nervously pulled me to safety. The gator slid into the shadows and turned sideways exposing his enormous ten-foot body. His armor was thick, glossy black and heavily plated with ridges and spikes. For a moment he just floated there. Then his eyes rolled back and he disappeared into the river. Joe was smiling from ear to ear from the satisfaction that another “City boy” has been initiated into swamp school. Jersey John realized that the gator is a fearless predator that demands respect. I headed back to city-life a little wiser too - packing a new appreciation for Florida’s swamps and the creatures that patrol the murky depths of the Withlacoocheee River. The wait is over and through the patience of vigilant parents the eggs have hatched! Watching the baby Green Herons of Clam Bayou this week caused me to realize that they likely wouldn't be there (at least 8 chicks) if it weren't for the efforts of you who have volunteered time and efforts to protect and preserve this place of obvious importance. As an observer it's been fun to watch this stage of growth in the chicks. The adults are bringing back live minnows to the nest to show the young what food looks like. I actually saw one adult intentionally drop a minnow in a school that gathered below the nest. To my delight the more developed chick hopped down a few branches to see where it went and discovered...food! Although it didn't display the acrobatics of an adult (yet) it now knows where they are and perhaps we'll get a chance to see them fishing next week! Paddle into the sunrise to summer clouds streaked with purple & pink, see it permeate nature and stir the slick-calm surface of the bayou to life! Several tarpon rolled and snook swirled as a water snake slide across in front of a traveler from Ohio. It appears their are people more afraid of snakes than I! Squabbling birds bitching for the best fishing branch & calling crickets echo through the mangroves. Mornings are the perfect choice this weekend for visiting & touring the bayou, here's a few more reasons; Heron's are hatching and still dropping new eggs in the upper creek... a promise of a bright future in the bayou. Ten chicks have been counted and more to come! Who remembers the gator wallow? Well, the "big fella" has emerged from the swamp and is making a new hole in the mud bar.... he's been eating well by the looks of his belly-marks. Remember the nice house with the burned out roof? (old drug dealers house in the upper creek) In a matter of hours it was demolished and is now gone! Spoonbills have been occupying the dead tree near the pass of the bayou nearly every day. The only pair of Black Crowned night herons in the bayou have built a nest in the lagoon that was filmed in our "Priceless" video! (visit youtube Video page) This is exciting because before we cleaned and restored circulation to the lagoon the area was nearly dead! Daylight in the bayou comes early this time of year and awakens life to a new day... are you awake? "One question I ask of you; Where flows the water? Deep in the ground in the gushing spring, A water of magic power - The water of life! Life! O give us this life!" - Native Hawaiian poem When the rain fell on the bayou this morning... I had nearly forgotten. The dark sky dumped the noisy, sizzling rain and drowned out the nearby traffic flow...do you think they know? When it dripped off my coal black hat and down my spine...I didn't mind. There, in the presence of nature, under the canopy of the mangrove forest...I was re-minded! Awakened by the shower the spoonbills fluffed and stretched their wings and welcomed the wash. A great blue heron puffed to nearly twice his size to let the fresh water touch & cool his skin and the snowy egret followed suit. The mangrove crabs scurried up the branches all in a row for a freshwater bath...they know! An osprey on the wing and a jumping stingray on the flats flew together today and shared a moment in the same magical element... I think they know. Just in time I turned to see a kayaking family from Boston acting naturally; fluffing their rain-soaked cloths & shaking their heads they settled into the magic... They took off their hats and rubbed the rain into their hair and let it drip of their noses and onto their lap. Then like a well trained flock they turned their pale, sun-starved faces to the sky and stuck out their tongues to catch the dew. Birds of a feather I guess... they knew. Water's cleansing, healing and renewing powers are unmatched by any other resource on Planet Earth. Water is fun as well as awe-inspiring and is the single most sought after recreational resource on Earth...but it's likely you already knew? by Kurt Zuelsdorf Who doesn't love the otter? Their playful, care-free demeanor will forever capture my attention. Even watching them sleep is entertaining - laying on their back with feet up in the air or "spooning" one another on a bare rock in the sun...it's pure joy! A couple visiting from Ontario toured Clam Bayou today. I'm always skeptic about a low-tide tour, but the sunshine and perfect temp (and quite frankly I was bored on land) lured us out the south pass to visit the oystercatchers & dowichers feeding on the flats between the jumping mullet & diving osprey. The night herons held tight in the mangroves allowing us to get within arms length - never moving - just letting us pass quietly & even the usually "chatty" kingfisher was quiet & content today. Paddling through Brandt's lagoon the egret stood silently next to the wood stork beneath the soaring vultures and today...two bald eagles! In case you didn't know, Gulfport is partially known as an artists colony, but here on the bayou the pelicans are the true talent! Numbering almost twenty they've moved in for the Winter roost and the once green mangrove canvas of the gallery is being creatively splattered with pelican poo-paint! Such patterns... such artists...what creativity...is that a depiction of the Virgin Mary I see in the leaves? Come see for yourself and you tell me! Dropping into the narrows of the cross channel (once littered and choked with shopping carts) I'm thrilled to see nature restoring herself to the hard sand bottom. Now it's scattered with "nature's litter" - discarded tiny shells! Just before passing under the canopy into Magorrie Channel something big stirred off the bow. I first thought it to be a coyote, but it turned out to be two river otters bobbing and swimming right at us! My heart skipped a beat as I've not seen the otters for over 18 months and this was the first time someone (other than me) has seen them. The female was carrying something in her mouth and I'll be darned... it was a newborn otter pup! Discovering us she quickly dove and disappeared under the legs of the mangrove. The big male's curiosity on the other hand got the best of him as he barked and snorted at us. I scrambled for my camera that was buried in my dry bag and tried to get off a few shots, but the closer he came the more I excited I got. By the time he reached the front of my kayak I was trembling so wildly I couldn't keep the camera still and the photos only reveal shots of MY thumb, feet, leaves and blurred objects! Then he popped up right next to me with his mouth wide open. He wheezed while looking me straight in the eye then vanished like a ghost. I don't remember the last time I was so excited by a wildlife encounter...and hopefully with the successful rearing of the new otter pup it won't be our last in this place called Clam Bayou! Thousands of people herded like cattle toward Gulfport to see a beach chocked-full of "Real" Florida charm. People picnicing and swimming, sailboats by the dozens and powerboats galore anchored up to get a spot for the gala, but kayakers get the best show of all! This is the perfect time of year to kayak Gulfport Florida. It's only a 20 minute paddle from Gulfport beach to the entrance of Clam Bayou Nature Park which is a pasture for the feeding manatee that roam Boca Ciega Bay - as a young couple from Boston discovered; While paddling lazily across the flats they drifted over the top of a sleeping cow manatee and her calf. He awoke the sleeping giant with a paddle-bump that trigger a startling event. A giant whale-like tale rose from the calm surface like the great whales of the oceans. It hovered momentarily with water running off its rubbery black skin, then in a thunderous slap it crashed defiantly onto the back of the kayak and sent an enormous wake across the entire length of the boat! It could have been a 'bottle rocket' or maybe a 'Whistling Pete' screaming across the bay, but no, it was the little “Mrs” in the front of the kayak clutching all she owned belting out an ear-piercing squeal that got my attention. My cell phone rang. Before I could say hello a flurry of stuttered, unfinished questions roared through the phone with high-pitched chaos in the background! “What the heck? What kind of sea creatures are... do you have alligators...there's no killer whale's out here is there.... SHARK! It looked like a giant sea lion, do you have....?” Wildly entertained I interrupted calmly, respectfully smiling, "Could it have been a manatee?" Now with the phone in her hand – not that she needed it cause I could hear her anyway – she screamed, "What the #$%^ is a manatee and are they dangerous and do they eat people?" Her excitement then redirected toward her husband in a series of muffled direct orders. - Like the wheel on a riverboat his kayak paddle was spinnin-n-slashin with rapid strokes toward shore. Constant glaces over their shoulder's suggested that my advice of manatee being harmless was disregarded. So back at O'Maddy's Beach Bar the couple shared their experience using wild arm gestures and contorted facial expressions that over a few beers grew to an entertaining side show for the friendly locals who gladly acknowledged with applause, laughter & congratulatory slaps-on-the-back. Being from Wisconsin I can honestly say I've never actually "tipped" a cow. But this I know; Cow Tipping... the 'sport of farmers' was created and perfected by the largest consumers of beer in the country! So if your up for a little Southern styleesea-cowow tipping, load up a kayak and launch from Gulfport Beach, head East to the turtle grass pastures of Boca Ciega Bay and watch for the critters that look like sea lions. And if you get up the nerve to tip one, our best advice is to wear a life jacket & bring your own beer! by Kurt Zuelsdorf
Dog days, dripping dew & dastardly storms are the reaccurring theme these days, but have you noticed the nightly noises are louder than ever! The approaching full moon pulled me out of bed long before daylight streaked the surface of a choppy bay off Shell Island. It was clear to me that noise pollution had built up in my ears as all I could hear was the distant traffic crossing the Skyway bridge. Then, like an inner ear plane flight pop - all was clear. No less then a mile from Ft Desoto's dense foliage I could here them, ratcheting and buzzing to one another. Sister Island's swarm chimed in and the Cabbage Key crowd raised the decibel level above any traffic noise! Why, just this morning I found the molted shell of a huge fly-like creature crimped on the side of my truck tire... they're everywhere! All day and into the night the male singers flex their abdomen belly muscles against a rib membrane and with the help of a hollow tummy to amplify the sound our Cicada is the loudest insect on the planet! “There are some that are basically as loud as a jet engine taking off,” said Jeff Cole, a Ph.D. candidate at Kansas University’s ecology and evolutionary biology department. “The loudest species can get up to 120 decibels, which is about the pain threshold of human ears.” So if today's Moon doesn't have you stirring in your sleep you won't be alone, the song of the Summer Cicada will keep playing over, and over, and over again...can you hear it now? |
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AuthorKurt Zuelsdorf. Published author, Urban Tracker, Outdoor Enthusiast & Kayak Nature Adventures Owner Operator Archives
March 2024
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