21 Mar ‘Wild Florida’ Adventures – A Stellar Start: Big Cypress National Preserve Artist-In-Residence
It was the new moon and it was dark, the type of blackness one never sees in the city. I squinted at the dirt road glowing in my headlights, hoping to spot a snake soaking in the last warmth of the day, or perhaps a possum emerging from the bushes; though I was pretty sure I’d already maxed out my wildlife luck for the day. It was my first full day as Artist-in-Residence at the Big Cypress National Preserve and it would be a hard day to top.
I’d spent the morning amidst a gang of black vultures. The wind from their wings lifted the edge of my shirt as they scrappled around me, vying for a spot on the upturned belly of a dead alligator floating in one of the culvert ponds along Loop Road. The birds had picked their way past the leathery skin, creating clean slits from which they pulled sinewy strands of flesh that they consumed quickly to prevent other marauding vultures from stealing. One vulture hovered a few inches above my left shoulder, making me somewhat concerned that I was expected to defend my front row view but the bird landed beside me instead. It cocked its head and eyed me in a way that suggested I was a curiosity rather than an adversary. The vulture to my right sidled closer and gave me a similar look. Fortunately, black vultures seem to appreciate entertainment, and my presence seemed to fall into that category. Nonetheless, I reassured – “I’m not dead.”
My evening outing began with something that looked not quite like a snake crossing my route along Turner River Road. I leapt from the driver’s seat and raced around the back of my car, hoping not to startle it more than the arrival of my jeep already had and expecting to find it already squirming through the grass toward the impenetrable vegetation along the edge of the canal. To my surprise, it remained frozen in the exact spot where I’d first seen it. The animal moved less fluidly than a snake, the body seemed too clunky despite its length, and as I approached, the head and neck looked skink-like. I knew immediately that it was a legless lizard, only the second time I’d seen one in South Florida. This one was an island glass lizard, named after glass because of the fragility of their tails. This one was patient and calm, even waiting in place as I switched from my telephoto lens to a macro. When I finished photographing it, I shooed it off the road for its own safety.
I surveyed my surroundings as I continued to drive toward the Bear Island campground. There was the usual array of herons, egrets, cormorants, anhingas and alligators. There was even a redbelly turtle along the roadside, but it was a flash of black that next made my heart race. I’d pulled up beside a small cove, an area with sparse understory but an arched tree canopy that provided shade and a framed view onto a widened section of water. I’d no sooner arrived than something ferret-like, a black, skinny, furry animal about a foot and a half long leapt from a depression on the bank and disappeared over the edge. I sat quietly, scanning the water for signs of movement but a school of fish dominated the ripples. I eyed the banks and waterside vegetation for several minutes before slowly emerging from my car and sneaking to the site of the disappearance. There was nothing more to see, but I was sure it had been a mink. I later learned that there had been other mink sightings reported from the same area.
I’d hiked to a muddy area beyond the campground that had been filled with animal tracks – definitely a bobcat with kittens, raccoons, various wading birds and what was likely fox tracks, though they were larger than I expected and I wondered if coyotes were in the area. It had given me hope that more wildlife sightings were on the way and I kept my eyes pealed as I drove back down that dark dirt road.
I slowed for a shadow. It was a raccoon. It glanced briefly in my direction before waddling into a bush.
I focused on a stripe of white barely visible in the distance. Was it attached to a beak? A load squawk reverberated through the night. As I neared, I saw movement, then the white lifted into the air as the outline of a heron with spread wings glided in front of my car.
A yellow sparkle in the distance caught my eye. Was that a reflection from one of the road markers? I glanced at the opposite side of the road. There was nothing. Weren’t the road markers usually paired? I looked back toward the sparkle, it was at the right height to be a road reflector but it seemed to be moving. Then I noticed a pair of reflectors not far beyond. They wouldn’t space them that closely, would they? I stared at the mystery light. It blinked off, then reappeared with a pair. Eye shine! Just as the thought crossed my mind, the sparkles disappeared and a long shadow darted across the road at the outer limits of the beam from my headlights. I grabbed my spotlight and scanned the bushes, but the shadow was long gone. I sat in stunned silence for several moments. I’d been waiting over 20 years to see a Florida panther. It may have been brief and phantom-like, but this was definitely a sighting. I couldn’t help but grin all the way home. It was going to be a good two weeks in the Big Cypress Preserve!
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