28 Jun ‘Wild Florida’ Adventures – Fiddlers of the Sedge
Sedges swished as I picked my way along the edge of the marsh, freshwater to my left, the Gulf of Mexico lapping on my right. I stopped to watch a great egret wading in the glassy sea. Despite my pause, the swishing sounds continued.
I spun in a slow circle, scanning the horizon in all directions. A flock of pelicans approached and passed; their wings silent. The swishing sound persisted.
I stepped forward tentatively, moving onto the mud flat to avoid all grasses. The swishing sound crescendoed.
Motion. Something scurried across the mud, disappearing into the sedge forest. I knelt and peered into the darkness. Beady eyes peered back – an army of fiddler crabs.
They swarmed and scuttled through the sedges, weaving around the stalks to create the swishing tune that had captured my attention. The crabs paced the fringe of their protective cover. I watched motionless as they grew brave.
As if cued by a conductor, the fiddlers suddenly surged onto the mud flats. They wielded their enlarged claws in concert, clicking and snapping a percussionist beat. They shifted from one formation to another, striking poses as deftly as a marching band. They spread across the flats, claiming the entire stage.
And then there was a swoosh. Boat-tailed grackles joined the parade.
The fiddler rhythm hit a dissonant chord as frenzied individuals fled the perceived danger.
The grackles split up. One herded the ensemble while the other barred its path to safety.
The fiddlers darted in one direction, then the other. The birds bore down.
A crab is clipped by a beak. It escapes. Another is not so lucky.
The grackle holds its catch tightly. The other crabs take advantage of the distraction, disappearing into the sedge forest.
A sad swishing accompanies the solo clicking of the captured fiddler’s claw, a clicking that slows then stops. The bird tosses its kill into the air, catching it in its bill and gulping it whole. A triumphant grackle caw fills the air.
The grackles strut along the mud flats, their calls replacing the fiddlers’ tune. The swishing sounds have stopped.
The birds leave. The marsh is silent.
I sit still, waiting and watching. It isn’t long before I hear the telltale swishing of fiddlers in the sedges. The tune will go on.
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