It's nearly 4:00 am and the colon that splits the numbers of my hotel room's bedside clock blinks in syncopatic anticipation of my forthcoming alarm. I still have some time to sleep, but I relent to the day's expectations. I sling my legs off the bed, stand, and stretch.
"Might as well get started," I murmur as I shake off my slumberous haze, turn on the lights, and begin my day. I turn on the television. As cathartic as customary, I tune the TV to The Weather Channel. I like the background noise in the morning, and now and again, I'll get e glimpse of what the local weather holds in store for the day. As expected, the Southwest Florida weather will be extraordinary during the first week of February.
A few minutes later, I'm downstairs to start packing the van. While it's more than an hour before our scheduled departure, I'm not the only one with anticipatory jitters as a couple of guests are already in the lobby, ready to go. The backwaters of the Everglades and Southwest Florida make you feel like a kid waiting on Christmas morning. There's always an air of excitement about what's to come.
As the day lightens, we bounce down a gravel road to an immense cypress swamp. It's a bit foggy, but the fog thins quickly as the sun heats the air over Florida. With a new day nigh, the swamp comes alive. Blue herons squawk in protest as we walk past them on our way to our destination. Along the way, we see warblers and cardinals darting in and out of the low brush and alligator tongue. When we reach our destination (an area of open water in the cypress forest), birds hang around the margins. This is where the species count begins and by week's end, we'll see more than 80 species of birds, mammals, and reptiles.
In the little pocket of the swamp, green herons dart about while a female alligator guards her brood of a half dozen just-hatched babies. Out of nowhere, a pair of limpkins float in to feed mere feet away. It's my first time seeing these wading birds on any of my Everglades outings, so I alert the guests to the anomaly. Mostly, the limpkins are nondescript birds and not showy at all. They are beautiful nonetheless.
Out at the edge of the swamp, near where we parked, the birds are active as well. After a couple of hours at the water hole, we returned to where we had started. On a cypress, a great egret preens in the sun. Along the margin of the small water hole, a slew of baby alligators sits motionless. On one end of the slough, a black-crowned night heron stared into the water below while waiting for his meal. On the other end, a little blue heron waded. At the same time, a pair of cormorants dove underwater, trying to catch fish in which to satiate their constant hunger. Perched above it all is a red-shouldered hawk who watches the whole affair with the curiosity of a house cat.
The occasional sound of water going plunk catches our attention. Mere feet away, a cormorant, sleek and shining from the water, dives headlong into the tannic water colored a reddish tint by the acids in the cypress. With such turbidity, the cormorant disappears as soon as he submerges. He pops up ten feet away from where he first dove and then dives again.
PLUNK!
On his subsequent emergence, the cormorant brings up a catfish. Deftly, he moves the catfish from a cross-body clasp to arranging the pisces headlong into its gullet with a single move. Soon, the fish is gone - eaten by a ravenous bird.
From there, the week is a whirlwind of activity. We cast out in the mornings and spend the entire day looking for photographic activities. In the Everglades and her associated habitats, you don't have to wait long. Wildlife is everywhere. The wildlife sighting is punctuated by fabulous meals at local eateries, deep conversations with locals, and a growing fellowship made possible by a congruent love of photography and nature.
One morning, while on the boat tooling around Marco Island, we see a rare white-faced great blue heron. These geographically anomalous birds are usually found down in the Florida Keys. Still, one has drifted north and is feeding on a broad oyster shoal tucked into a shallow cut between some mangrove islands. He's big, yet his appearance belies everything we've come to understand about the commonly seen blue heron.
Nearby, American oystercatchers feed with their long, orange bill. They are strange-looking birds but beautiful in their own right. They migrate here each year and congregate in loose flocks.
Low tide also means the raccoons are out. These island-marooned raccoons aren’t like inland raccoons in any of the normal senses. Their feeding schedule isn’t dictated day and night like their suburban cousins. Instead, they live their life by the tides. A high tide keeps them on the island and most likely resting. Come low tide, however, they take to the shorelines to feed. Using their articulating paws, the small and swarthy raccoons look for tiny crabs, oysters, and any other kind of food left behind when the water recedes. While feeding, they show little fear of people as they are focused on their singular mission of finding food before the next tide comes in.
Soon, we are cruising through a strait kicking up a modest wake behind us. Out of nowhere, we are joined by a small pod of dolphins. The dolphins, aided by the boat, speed up and jump gleefully behind us. They trail us for several minutes and give everyone ample opportunity to get memorable photos. Seeing dolphins is one of the seminal natural moments you'll rarely forget.
Late in the week, we are near the very southern tip of Florida. Sawgrass swamps fan out in all directions, interrupted only by the occasional pine key or mahogany hammock. These islands of trees rise with elevation changes where the calcareous bedrock has buckled, subsided, and eroded over time. In all, it's a patchwork of habitats that draw all kinds of birds and wildlife.
Near Flamingo, we see a red-shouldered hawk. He's low on a limb and unafraid of us. Therefore, we approach him about 20 feet away. It's perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be this close to a wild raptor, and each photographer takes advantage. Soon we are at the marina where a trip of manatees surface and then submerge in a semi-predictable pattern. Nearby a pair of osprey sits in a nest while an immense American crocodile swims lazily in a canal. This is the farthest-most point in North America where crocodiles are found, and his presence attracts a small crowd. It's remarkable to see, but it's one of the many surprises the Everglades always deliver.
It's an amazing place.
Learn more about our Birds & Wildlife of the Everglades photography tour!