Fall in Florida

When I awoke for my early morning patrol on Pensacola Beach, it was evident fall had arrived in the Florida panhandle.



There isn't much fall foliage here, but the signs are everywhere...



In the brilliant yellow wildflowers,



the fields of purple,



the red of this dragon's mouth flower (well, at least that's what it looks like to me - anyone know what it is?)



and the butterflies starting their migration.



Even the bees are buzzing about the change in the weather. It may be a bit cool for my taste, but it sure makes Florida beautiful!

Tornadoes and Common Sense

I set a new mark of dedication, or insanity, at the park today. In the end, the insanity tag will win...

I arrived at Perdido Key to assess the extent of the red tide fish kill at about 7:30 this morning. After fueling the ATV, I headed to the south shore to count live birds and dead fish. Within 5 minutes, I couldn't see again because of the brevetoxin still in the air. Ten minutes later, my boots were full of water and my three (yes, 3) raincoats were soaked through. All I needed was a bottle of shampoo to recreate my morning shower ritual.

Since I already gave up once this week, I couldn't give up again: I continued down the seven mile stretch. On Perdido Key, that means I left the road and any shelter behind as I traveled down the rather flat seashore. The rain came sporadically, at times drenching. Once or twice, the sun peeked out from a cloud; I seized the opportunity to turn the ATV north, away from the wind and toxic gulf, to scribble some field notes. By the time I reached the east end of the island, I had counted over 23,000 dead fish. These counts, from yesterday and today, are severely limited by my inability to see clearly with all the salt, sand and brevetoxin in the air -- I don't ride slowly or look closely enough to count anything under about 4 inches. I just can't tolerate the red tide. As it is, I'm pushing my body to unacceptable extremes for the third day in a row.

After surveying the eastern point around the ruins near Fort MacRae, I turned to assess the north shore. A gray-black cloud hovered between me and the Perdido bridge, several miles to the west; the western fringe of the cloud seemed to start rotating slowly in the sky. I didn't see a tell-tale greenish tinge so I didn't worry. In retrospect, I think that twisting fringe was the start of the tornado.

The north shore of Perdido Key is one of my favorite places in the park -- isolated, natural, in places, reclaimed by salt marsh, tide and the elements. There are still boats in the marsh from Hurricane Ivan, three years ago. It's a place I go to relax. I leisurely headed up the north shore, stopping at Spanish Cove to talk to some fishermen, suggesting they not consume the contaminated fish they were catching. I watched some plovers playing in the pools created by the receding tide and intermittent rain. When a tourist stopped me to chat about what was killing the fish, I firmly recommended he postpone his plan for a morning swim in the bay. While the red tide was still a factor, it was a relief to be away from the exacerbating effects of the rough surf and south wind on the opposite shore.

Around 10 AM, the skies grew dark as night, and the rain came down with a vengeance. I had hoped for a better end to my run, but at least the rain kept the red tide from being as bothersome. As lightning flashed and thunder growled, I decided to do a very cursory survey, only checking for stranded marine mammals and sea turtles. The birds would have to wait for a better day.

I made it back to the buildings thirty minutes later. My colleague, Kevin, opened the garage door as he heard my ATV approach and laughed as he watched the giant puddle grow under my feet in the dry garage. The rain was menacing. After chatting with Kev, I ran to my government truck to turn on the heater full blast and try to dry a little. I stripped to my uniform and basked in the warmth, clicked on NPR and listened to that annoying blare for the 'test of the emergency broadcast system', This time, it wasn't a test - a tornado had touched down about three miles from me while I was on the beach.

I waited in the truck 'til the tornado warning was lifted. As I sat with my thoughts, it struck me that I had taken a huge risk. I knew there were tornado warnings west of us that morning, but I shrugged it off in my need to just get things done. I often do that -- take unnecessary risks. I don't have dependents, a husband, or anyone that would notice if I didn't come back from this six month stint at Gulf Islands. Maybe that gives me an element of freedom, maybe it's a ticket to the Darwin Files.

I've lived this lifestyle for a decade or so, going where I want to go, taking risks, fully living my life. I'll fly to a job in Barbados or Thailand, travel in a war-torn nation, hit the beach not knowing about a tornado three miles away. No one really knows that I do these things, or thinks much of it if I tell them, so I never mention it and soldier on. I imagine I'll have to change this behavior if I do ever find a guy who wants to marry me, but until then, I'll still be a bit of a cowboy in Manolo's -- I'll push the envelope, trying to understand the sea and save it from the destructive humans that line it's shores.

After the tornado warning lifted, I drove through an eerily quiet Pensacola. Police cruisers sat at the sides of the road, lights on with no sirens. Rooster tails sprayed over the hood of my truck as I plowed through flash floods. Traffic was non-existent for a Thursday lunch hour in a Navy town. Street lights were either black or blinking red. The railroad trestle gate was down, with no train in sight or even scheduled. I drove around the gates and crossed the tracks -- how's that for nuts? Driving further, I saw a church in ruins, homes with no roofs, a marina in disarray, stunned people. I said prayers in rapid succession, praying for these people, and those trying to help them.

As I saw all of this, I wondered what my boss would say when I returned to the office. I deserved a reprimand. I know I took a chance too many today. I was in the worst possible place when the weather turned to hell. Add the red tide for good measure, and I was more than a fool. I could easily have been badly injured or killed, and put someone else at risk as they came to find me. Sometimes, I am too focused on the goal without regard for personal safety.

I don't think of myself as stupid or dedicated or brave, or out-of-the-ordinary. I'm just a girl, trying to save the sea. Nothing gets in my way -- even common sense. Guess I never had too much of that to begin with.

My boss didn't scold me, but as I walked in, he laughed at my sodden, weary appearahce. His humor echoed through his words: "You sure can pick 'em"

A Poisoned Gulf

My day started out really well -- I headed back to Santa Rosa on a cloudy morning with no rain. The wind was still from the south east, but I headed to the north shore with my back to the wind and had a great time counting birds. There were tons on the north shore as they hid from the stiff breeze, dinoflagellate outbreak and dead fish smell. I felt like a kid in a candy store after the stormy mess of yesterday. I needed the pick me up.



Then, my boss, Mark, called. After I finished the north shore, he wanted me to head to the south shore, take pictures of at least a dozen species of dead fish and try to get a good estimate of the fish kill on this seven mile section of beach. I usually love to take pictures when I'm at work, so I was happy to oblige -- I just didn't know it was going to be such a challenge.

There were some interesting fish out there... I've only seen these when diving:




There were tons of eels, remoras, stingrays, skates, guitarfish, redfish, drum, sergeant majors, lookdowns, pompano, catfish, ad infinitum, strewn from the sea to the high tide line. At first, I stopped to take photos of each new species, but that grew tiresome. A mile and a half into my survey, I had 2,000 dead fish, a runny nose and eyes that were so blurry and toxin-burnt I could hardly see. I stopped every minute or two to clear my eyes. I could barely see to drive, let alone count dead fish. I had to pry my eyes open, one at a time. I rode with one hand steering and revving the ATV, the other shielding my open eye, alternating between them. This was quite a challenge! After two miles, I thought I was going to have to stop --- I kept envisioning the road crew finding my dead body washed in the morning tide. I considered giving up two days in a row.



As I was about to call it quits and head back to the air-conditioned fire cache with my less insane colleagues, I completely lost the ability to see, even with open eyes. I was praying as I drove, hoping I could at least find the road as I didn't want to hit the Gulf of Mexico. The clear green water seemed as poisonous as anti-freeze today. As I was contemplating all of this, I noticed a steep tilt on my brand new ATV -- my left half was two feet lower than my right. In my brevetoxin blindness, I had driven off an erosion bluff from the night before. I think I actually cursed! The new Honda Rancher only had 14 hours drivetime, and I imagined Mark would kill me. Thankfully, the ATV was fine and I got a good shot of adrenaline, in addition to some emergency attention from my cadre of guardian angels -- I have dozens as I need them so often!

The adrenaline rush got me through the rest of the beach, though I learned to take breaks every mile or so to drive to the north shore, breathe a little and rinse my seething eyes with bottled water. It was a tortuous day, but I got the job done. Imagine how ticked I was when I got back to the office and they were complaining because they had a hard time walking through the humid forest! No sympathy from me on that one -- no one even asked how I was after my second day immersed in dinoflagellate sea spray and brevetoxin. Cough, cough, wheeze, wheeze. Guess I know who my friends aren't...

I'm sure I under counted tremendously due to the difficulty I had with my vision in the toxic air, but I think my estimate is at least in the right ball park -- my final tally was 22,470 dead fish.



Tomorrow is another day -- I get to count Perdido Key!

Red Tides and Stinging Sand

Since my first days as a sea turtle biologist on Little Cumberland Island, I've always prided myself on my ability to meet my goals, no matter what obstacles were in the way. On my first night on the nesting beach long ago, the full moon tides were so high that Nicky, Doug, Brad and I were stuck among the dead trees on the north point of the island. If we couldn't find a way through the trees, we would have to backtrack down four miles of beach, across the island and back up the west beach to finish our patrol.

My friend Nicky and I decided we were creative, intelligent women who could find a way around our dilemma. Since we couldn't drive our ATVs through the stout live oak and pine trees and we couldn't leave the ATVs to be carried away by the still rising tide, we decided to carry them over the scramble of trunks and branches. For those of you who don't know me, I'm 5 foot three inches and a hundred pounds on a heavy day, so this was not a minor task. But, I would not be defeated. As the men in our group looked at us and laughed, our summer motto was conceived: 'No Wimpy Women'.

Ever since, I haven't allowed anything to stand in my way when it comes to sea turtles. Cat 5 hurricanes don't really scare me, though clean up is a mess. I can work with a fever, or a dislocated shoulder or anything else life throws at me. This is why today was so upsetting.

Today, I left the beach. With my stubborn streak and refusal to admit defeat, I threw in the towel. I rode down Santa Rosa beach from Pensacola Beach to the Navarre gate, a total of about ten miles. The rain pierced my skin while the sand-laden wind polished my face with it's abrasive attack. Even the red tide, caused by an overload of the brevetoxin-producing dinoflagellate Karenia brevis, was no match for me. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of fish lay dead along the shore line, just like these:



The brevetoxin, if ingested, can result in Neurotoxic Shellfish Poisoning. Blowing into my face on the southeast wind as it did, it just made my eyes red, my lips and tongue burn as if I had eaten habaneros, and made me start coughing... I was glad it was raining enough to hide my runny nose. It still didn't whip me. I was on the lookout for my sea turtles and shorebirds.

Then I went to survey the north shore. Every time I turned around, I headed directly into 20 mile an hour winds, made stronger by the speed of my ATV. Normally, that's not such an issue, but when the winds are armed with coarse sand, dinoflagellates and huge raindrops, it's as if someone is sandpapering your eyes while blowing pepper spray up your nose and stabbing you with small nails. It's impossible to see, to breathe, and certainly to drive. I was sure I was going to hit one of the storm berms or one of the random heaps of asphalt still scattered about after Hurricanes Ivan, Dennis and Katrina. I gave up, went to the office and spent the day proofing data. Not much fun, but a necessary task. When I left the office five hours later, my hair, boots and clothes were still wet, and deeply embedded with sand, even though I had worn two rain coats and rain pants... It was not a pretty day on the beach!

Still, I can't believe I gave up!