The Dreamcatcher

"The Dreamcatcher" - Florida Bay - Everglades National Park - Photo © Mac Stone

The Everglades hosts the largest continuous stand of mangroves in the world. These gothic trees, with their crawling prop roots and arching limbs, are one of my favorite subjects to photograph. They each take on their own personality formed by wind, water, light, and even by the birds that roost upon their branches. Of the entire 850 square miles of Florida Bay that I've explored, however, there is only one particular mangrove that I have come to regard as my favorite. It sounds ridiculous to admit this, to hold preference of one tree over millions, but this partisanship isn't unique to just me. All of my coworkers at Audubon each have their adored mangrove, one that seems to smile back at them when their boats race by.

"Dreamcatcher Dusk" - Florida Bay - Everglades National Park - Photo © Mac Stone

This particular tree, which I have dubbed "The Dreamcatcher" is one of the most unique and distinguishable mangroves in the Bay. Its flat-top canopy expands radially in spindled limbs crowned with a perfect ring of orange, yellow, and green leaves. The base is a series of red columns littered with barnacles that come to life as the tides rise and fall. At one point in this mangrove's life it supported a large osprey nest, giving it the rounded platform look we see today. I have spent countless evenings and pre-dawn mornings over the last year boating through the cuts and shallow banks of southeastern Florida Bay just to share this mangrove's voice with the world.  Like many projects I've started, it will take me months and sometimes even years before I feel comfortable showing the results. Many times I came home empty-handed but finally, in April, I managed to make two images worthy of this spectacular tree, "The Dreamcatcher," and "Dreamcatcher Dusk."

American Crocodiles:

American crocodiles are probably my favorite animal in the Everglades. I grew up with alligators, played tag with their tails, swam with them, and even caught a few (all of which I would never condone). They're a dime a dozen in most Florida waterways. Everglades National Park, however, is the only place in the world where alligators and crocodiles share the same space. Double bonus! I've photographed alligators so many times that I'm constantly trying to find new ways of photographing them.

Crocodiles, however, are completely different beasts. In the United States they are considered endangered species and estimates range from 2,000-3,500 individuals. Besides the physical differences (longer snout, more abrupt scales, coloration, eye color, and jaw line), American crocodiles seem to have little in common with the alligators I came to know as a kid. While their gaze and exposed teeth are more menacing, they're actually incredibly shy and tough to approach. I've tried for nearly two years to capture a worthy image of these reptiles without much luck. It always seems that just as I am closing in with good light and camera ready, they scuttle off into the murky water. I do, however, have plenty of images of a giant splashing tail.

A large, 12ft crocodile basks at the edge of Lake Ingram

I embrace these types of challenges, though. The trick to any wildlife photography is figuring out the animal's habits and then putting yourself right in the middle of it. Reptiles are fairly predictable creatures. Knowing that above all else they need to warm their bodies by sunlight, I tried a technique I employed while in South Carolina. Setting my camera trap up at one of their favorite basking locations I let the shutter run for three days at 2 minute intervals. I was disappointed not to find a single crocodile when I returned to retrieve the camera but they simply have too many places they frequent to depend on one location with a static, un-manned camera. I needed a bottleneck; some sort of biotic or abiotic factor that would increase my chances of getting close.

Crocodiles gather on a mud flat along the southern tip of Florida.

Taking to the air, I scouted out locations where I thought they might congregate. It turns out flying over Cape Sable during a cold winter day the best way to see American crocodiles in the Everglades. While this made for a couple "keeper" images, I needed something better, closer, where viewers could get right down in the dragon's lair.

Luckily I'm not the only one down here who thinks these sorts of missions are fun. A few friends of mine, Garl Harrold, Mark Parry, and April Geisler were all patiently waiting for a cold weekend to sweep through the Everglades this winter to get close looks at crocodiles. We had one day where the temperature was just barely cold enough and water levels moderately low to concentrate the reptiles in a few remote locations. I had my bottleneck!

Garl Harold (front), Mark Parry, and April Geisler portage the canoes through a shallow creek

We woke up at 4 AM and trailered a boat loaded with a kayak and canoe out to the park. Putting in right at sunrise we headed out for the Cape Sable area. Anchoring the boat, we portaged the kayak and canoe loaded with enough food, water, and camera gear through salt marsh until reaching the water. While I cannot disclose where this area is, I will say that it's no easy task to get there.

This deep, thick mud pit held me for about 5 minutes before I freed myself. 

Luckily no cameras were injured in the making of this photo. Photo by Garl Harrold

Paddling 7 miles, we finally made it to the mud banks where the year prior I saw over 40 crocodiles, only to find they had all slipped into the water. It turns out the 60-degree weather just wasn't cold enough to keep them from moving. I was almost heart-broken. Muddy, wet, sore, and tired, I knew I'd have to wait another year for a shot like this.

An American crocodile in its natural habitat reveals only a glowing green eye.

Disappointed, we anchored the boats and started eating lunch until Mark yelled out from the shore that he found a croc still submerged in the mud. We slogged over and it took me about a minute to actually see the crocodile. Its whole body was camouflaged with the mud and the only part visible was a neon green and yellow eye glowing in the afternoon sun. This is what I came for!

Slowly and cautiously, I walked around the crocodile so as not to scare it off or scare it towards me, and began shooting photos from a distance. Once I felt the 8-foot croc was comfortable or tolerant of us being there, I moved in a little closer. The tingling in my fingertips and tension in my thighs felt the palpable presence of wild nature. Those of you who have been close to large wildlife, know exactly what I'm talking about. I want to believe I made a connection with this crocodile, that we bonded for a moment, but the biologist in me knows that it's a simple calculation in the crocodile's mind which allowed me to stay. It was cold and he didn't want to spend the energy to defend his spot. Ten very sweaty and nervous minutes later, I had the image I'd been envisioning for the last two years.

The difference between how I felt just before biting into my lunch, knowing that we hadn't found the crocodiles we came to see and finding ol green-eye laying up in the mud was a complete 180. I know I shouldn't rely on wildlife for the barometer of my happiness, but after years of planning I was too emotionally involved. Treasure hunters probably feel this way all the time. Luckily this year we didn't come up empty-handed, or one-handed for that matter.

All jokes aside, wild crocodilians are not what I would consider to be aggressive animals. When unprovoked and unmolested they are simply observers and tend to avoid humans at all costs. To them, we're big potential predators and they want nothing to do with us. To assume that every alligator or crocodile is just waiting for a chance to bite people is baseless. To this day there still has yet to be an unprovoked alligator or crocodile attack in Everglades National Park and there is no shortage of tasty tender-skin tourists running around. Still,  I do not encourage people to get close to alligators, crocodiles, or other animals. I was accompanied by a wildlife biologist who works professionally with crocodiles and alligators and I myself have years of experience with these animals. No crocodiles were harmed in any way in the making of these photos. Please do not attempt this in your local swamps or parks.

Flamingos!

Juveniles and adults preen Lake Ingram in morning light

You may remember a post I did back in August of last year where I freaked out about getting to see my first flamingo in Florida Bay. Pete Frezza and I pulled around for nearly 15 miles trying to get a good glimpse of that one bird and I thought it would be my last chance. Oddly, this year for a period of about three months a group of 19 flamingos found refuge in Lake Ingram. A frenzy ensued with birders, photographers, and anglers trying to get good looks at these birds, and there they were; a mix of adults and juveniles not 20 yards from one of the busiest channels in the park. Biologists are guessing they're Bahamian birds and hopeful that they'll continue to use Cape Sable as a foraging ground. I just stoked I was able to see this incredible sight before they flew back home.

Turner River

The Turner River

Two places that I've been hearing about since I arrived in 2009 are the Dry Tortugas and the Turner River. While it's shameful that I still haven't made it to the islands off the coast of Florida, Turner River is a lesser-known, but equally beautiful area in Everglades National Park, just two hours from my doorstep. A group of ten friends got together this weekend to paddle the river on a ten-mile one-way trek out to Chokoloskee. I knew it was going to be a promising trip when a one-eyed, nine-foot alligator was guarding the entrance.

Whitewater rushes out of a mangrove forest along the banks of the Turner River

For the first three miles we floated through freshwater mangrove tunnels. Our paddles were nearly useless so we grabbed the limbs like monkey bars and swung our way until reaching open water. To my amazement, we came upon a ripping tributary that was gushing whitewater over a mangrove bank. I have never seen whitewater in the Everglades, frankly because there just isn't enough relief to create riffles. I didn't have enough time to go find the source, but it's very possible it was spring-fed.

Garl Harrold and Linda Lorenz happy to arrive at Chokoloskee

After four hours on the water, we made it to Chokoloskee, just barely out-running a storm as the sun was setting. I'd love to go back to explore those mangrove tunnels a little more with my camera. There are certainly more photos to be had in such a primeval place. Until then, I'll just enjoy having spent a wonderful afternoon with my friends in another one of Florida's hidden gems.

Audubon Aventure Sunday crew

Power Struggle

"Power Struggle" - South Park Key in Florida Bay

In the still of a mauve morning, the full moon sets over the Bob Keys and a storm lingers in the west. During the blue hour of twilight, a dramatic tension fills the air as night reluctantly succumbs to the day. "Power Struggle," is the newest image to go into my Florida Bay portfolio and I can't wait to see it in a bigger format!

Frazier Springfield works a mangrove cluster at South Park

I made this image while a couple photographer friends were visiting for the weekend. Wanting a chance to shoot early morning light with mangroves and a setting full moon we boated out at 5:00 AM from Islamorada to get to our location. Since it was pitch black, finding the banks and cuts was a little difficult but we managed to make it to South Park Key at just the right time. I felt so lucky to have a full moon, lightning, morning light, and mangroves in the same image.

The predawn ambiance was spectacular and we treaded lightly through the flats spooking lemon sharks that trolled the shallow water. It was an easy place to feel overwhelmed since there are simply thousands of potential images but recently I've been trying to lock in on my spot and work it until it sings. It certainly paid off this time.

Trolllin' and Pollin' Everglades Style

The same places I've been visiting since I arrived here are still continuing to surprise me. There's no shortage of adventure and discovery in Everglades National Park, that's for sure. With my friend, coworker, and backcountry fishing guide Pete Frezza, we headed out before dawn to meet the sun as it rose over the Everglades. Launching his boat we battled swarms of mosquitoes fully understanding our blood was a necessary sacrifice for our plans that day.

Right off the bat, the calm water began rippling out from the banks as juvenile tarpon rolled violently on unsuspecting minnows. I had never seen anything like that in South Florida. The only time I watched fish rise this frequently was on the North Platte River in Wyoming, and those were 15'' trout. These were 30'' tarpon. By my third cast I had one on the fly and it sent itself rocketing into the blue morning sky. What a way to start the day!

Pete was nice enough to let me have the first casts, but promptly after I wanted to see how it was done by a pro. Watching a seasoned fisherman cast into the tight spots around mangroves is like watching an artist at work. His fly danced and line undulated in beautiful loops and fell silently on the water, presenting an unresistable morsel to the fish below.

And just when we thought it couldn't get any better than fishing on a Monday, a double rainbow appeared over the water. We stayed in this spot for the next two hours and found a few young snook which was encouraging to see since their numbers declined so abruptly after the 2010 freeze.

Despite the adrenaline-filled morning and intense satisfaction I felt, our day was far from over. A few days earlier we received word from Garl's Coastal Kayaking that they spotted a flamingo around one of the flats on Florida Bay. Historically, this wasn't an uncommon sight, as the main marina is called Flamingo from the vast numbers of pink birds that spent their summers here. Unfortunately, as a result of the plume trade, hurricanes, and continued hunting in Cuba, it's extremely rare to see these iconic birds in South Florida. While our expectations were low, our hopes soared, carrying us on a 10 mile boat ride without the use of a motor through pole and troll-only zones.

The bay was like glass and we could see redfish tailing in the flats as the tide drew out. Along the banks, dense mats of turtle grass floated on the surface, uprooted by storm surges and water currents, then elegantly arranged in lava-like tendrils of varying colors. Great white herons dotted the horizon waiting for unsuspecting toadfish and crabs to swim by. Just when it couldn't get any better, all of a sudden by the shoreline we spotted it; my very first wild flamingo. 

I've seen plenty of flamingos in zoos and postcards in all the stores down here, I've even drunk out of a plastic one, but never fully appreciated these birds until this moment. I couldn't believe how they dwarfed all the shorebirds and wading birds along the coast. Maybe because they're rare, maybe because we pulled 5 miles to get there, whatever the case I was overcome with this entitled feeling that I had been let into some special club. My camera was working, batteries at full charge, and an empty memory card, things were looking good. We approached slowly, but we couldn't quite get close enough for a candid image. Wary of people, the flamingo would promptly take off as soon as we got within 50 feet, extending its long awkward neck and using the flats as its runway. It seemed to take forever for the bird to get into the air.

After another hour, we saw the flamingo land near some other wading birds. Hoping that power in numbers would make this bird feel safer we headed towards them and were able to get a little closer. Just then, my polarizer fell off my lens and scared the bird away. I managed to get some frames off just before, but still, with such a rare sighting, the images I was making didn't match what I was feeling. Fortunately, the flamingo landed with a group of white herons. Seeing the image line up, Pete helped paddle us into a position to juxtapose the mangrove islands of Florida bay and this odd family of birds against the afternoon horizon.

Given the light and the physical circumstances, I couldn't have been happier. And just in time too, because looking behind us, a storm was brewing, forcing us off the flats to bring our 15 mile pole and paddle to an end. I'm still buzzing from the energy.

Mangroves

I've been obsessing over mangroves lately. They are the unyielding force of the Everglades. Each of them with a unique footprint and a character all their own. Constantly bending and stretching to reach fertile ground, they posses a certain ingenuity, an intelligence, even.

Mangroves are tricky subjects to photograph, though. Their waxy leaves reflect harsh light in the afternoons and around sunset, even the slightest wind will move their outstretched branches during long exposures.

I've found that the best time to see them is in the mornings because the wind is much calmer. For the most distinct subjects, however, I have to boat out into Florida Bay an hour before sunrise to catch the first light. Luckily, they're right on my way to work.   

One of the more bizarre landscapes I've seen was right at the end of the dry season at the top of Florida Bay. For a week, North winds pushed water into the mangrove swamps along Taylor River. The ground, still parched from the months without water, stayed defiantly cracked and broken regardless of the water that now filled the area. I'd been to this place dozens of times and never seen it this way.

 

My next goal is to get underwater and see what they look like from below. Stay tuned...

"Swept Away"

Swept Away - Florida Bay

Two weeks ago I made a new image in Florida Bay that will become part of my print portfolio. I was having trouble coming up with a title that resonated with me personally and spoke to the transient nature of this wonderful place so I called on some help. After posting the image to Facebook, I asked all my friends for their ideas to give this photo the last creative "umph" that it needed. In exchange for their brilliant nuggets, I offered an 8 x 12 matted and signed print to the winner. I didn't expect too many people to respond, but after three days, there were 100 comments with all kinds of inspiring input. I was so overwhelmed by everyone's enthusiasm. I had a tough time deciding which one would define this new image, but I kept coming back to one in particular. Caitlin Sandersen Friedman, and old friend from high school came up with the winning title "Swept Away." I love it when art becomes collaborative!  

The new print will now be available at my running gallery in The Great Frame Up in Gainesville, Florida or online through my website MacStonePhoto.com. If you'd like to get in on the next title contest, find me on Facebook!

Rain?

The parched mangrove flats region of Taylor River in Everglades National Park

While South Florida waits for the summer rains, I've been enjoying heading out to my favorite backcountry locations to see how the prolonged dry season continues to reshape the landscape. Places that I could normally access by motorboat have now limited me to using a push pole or kayak.

Shallow sediment flats of Florida Bay along the Bob Keys

On Florida Bay, even the tides seem to become a little more drastic as the river of grass has turned into a mere trickle, limiting the supply of freshwater expelled into the bay.

Rolling rain clouds over Florida Bay off Flamingo point in Everglades National Park

Still, big thunderheads and towering cumulous clouds develop in the early mornings and late afternoons. And just when we think we're getting the first big rains, after only a few hours the storm passes and we're left with just the afterthought of a summer that never seems to come.