Birthday Extravaganza

If I could plan an ideal weekend, I wouldn’t have planned this – but only because I wouldn’t have been able to dream of anything this amazing and full of surprises. I have no idea how many hours I’ve spent at Ginnie since the time I first floated the river and snorkeled in the gin-clear water with my mom and immediately fell in love, captivated by the crystal clear water and limestone formations. Since then, it has led to open water diving, more snorkeling, field work for the Springs Institute, and most recently, cave diving. Each visit to Ginnie is unique, but I will certainly never forget this weekend of camping, night swimming, friends, watermelon, biking, treasure hunts, and campfires. In fear of getting too excited about every detail, I will let the photos and a few short captions tell the story…

I saw this campsite while taking flow measurements at Dogwood last winter and have wanted to camp there ever since - thankfully it was open when we arrived on Friday afternoon :)

We set up camp right away on Friday - the spring run was on one side and the river on the other - beautiful views from all directions!

After setting up camp, we walked over to Dogwood for a dip...

... and a swim in the sky.

Then we found a snake... he blended in pretty well with the algae-encrusted limestone and wove his way effortlessly through the cracks. After a while of swimming around in the shallows, he made his way over to the main boil and was actually playing around in the flow, swimming up and down and twirling his long, skinny body around like a ribbon spiraling in the wind.

Reflections at the water surface as seen when swimming back from the end of the run.

1/2 and 1/2 of Greg surfacing at Dogwood.

After a swim at Dogwood, we walked over to Ginnie to enjoy the calm afternoon.

And enjoyed a sunset on the  Santa Fe River  at the end of the Ginnie run - my favorite time of day at the springs. The setting sun reflecting on the tannic water, crystal spring water, and  fall leaves makes for a beautiful scene.

After our swim, we headed back to cook some dinner on the grill and start our first campfire of the weekend.

There was a live band playing at the main basin for a cave diving function, so after enjoying the sounds carrying along the river to our campfire, we walked towards the music for a night swim.

...followed of course by a surprise birthday watermelon. Fully equipped with candles and balloons :) 

The next morning was the greatest surprise of all. Apparently no birthday is complete without a treasure hunt!! (my favorite!) Greg had me searching all over the entire park for little rhyming, mysterious clues with shiny pink ribbons - one of them was even at the bottom of Dogwood in a little bottle! The most amazing birthday surprise ever - an what was at the end?! A MERMAID TAIL?!?? (Still in shock). Greg, you are beyond amazing! 

After the treasure hunt, Val and Austin joined us for a swim at the main spring. Here is a view from the cavern entrance with some people floating in the sky (above) and Val saying hi :) (below).

Val and Austin, both in streamline position with awesome flowing hair. Headed to warm up and play on the slackline.

After a fun swim and slackline with Val and Austin, we had another relaxing night at the campfire and kept ourselves fully entertained by people watching and seeing nighttime rivergoers pass by on canoes and kayaks. We couldn't resist the spring, so we took a night swim in Dogwood with the cave lights. There is something magical about jumping in when it's dark - perhaps it's the thrill of the crunching leaves and sticks under your bare feet as you cautiously walk to the steep, muddy bank of the spring run, hoping you don't step on anything on the the way. Maybe it's the warm feeling of the water as compared to the cool night air or the metallic reflection of hundreds of nocturnal fish with one sweep of the light. Suckerfish, catfish, and bullheads, often in the caves or cryptic during the day, abounded in the spring, as did big schools of minnows such as mosquitofish and redeye chubs. Despite the quiet of night, the spring was alive and thriving in the darkness. We even found the resident Dogwood snake - even more mystical and amazing at night :)

The next morning, Danielle came out to celebrate! This is Danielle mermaiding where the spring meets the river at Devil's Ear. Pure bliss. 

Another shot from the ear - swimming into the sunshine and tannic water.

 (Left) Greg diving into Devil's Eye and (Right) doing some reverse mountain climbing down the Devil's Ear wall.

A little turtle taking a breath above the Eye just before I got out and ran for the hot showers. A beautiful end to a watery weekend :)

You can find these photos (and more!) in my Birthday Extravaganza Facebook album.

Water on Mars

I'm not quite sure what the consensus is about water on Mars, but I do believe that if there were pools of water there, we now know exactly what they would look like. I can't pretend to be an astronaut or an astronomer, but flooded Troy Spring felt like swimming on Mars.

Same place, (very) different view.
February 10, 2013
October 6, 2013

This past Sunday was Val's birthday and a celebration was in order, so we piled in the car and headed up past Fort White to Branford where we found Troy Spring, a ~70' deep spring feeding into the Suwannee River. Thankfully the government shutdown didn't affect our plans to swim on another planet (Troy is a State Park, not a National Park). It had reopened the day before after being closed for a few weeks due to flood conditions - and what was left after the flood was certainly a drastic change from the last time I dove there in mid-February.


We jumped in with GoPros and cameras to join some beginner open water scuba divers and an intense camo-suited free-diving class. In any other situation, I would laugh at the camo wetsuits and make some absurd southern comment (they could at least wear those blue camo-printed suits people wear in the ocean!), but the greenish-brown color of the water was actually perfect for their color scheme if they were planning on blending in with their environment. Equipped with hoods, weight belts, and long fins, they elegantly dipped head-first from the surface and slipped into the darkness only a few feet below, emerging long minutes later from the brown abyss.

Camo-suited free-divers.

What I previously remember as a clear, light-greenish-tinged bowl of water with a fierce flow and a bunch of Vaucheria algae, had become a still, brownish alien planet. There was no algae to be found, only silt that covered everything like a thin layer of snow. Leaves lay motionless on the bottom, sadly and hopelessly waiting for a fall breeze to blow them away.

A wind-less fall day.

We swam around in the main basin for a while, taking pictures while making the best of the low visibility and little pieces of floating sand and matter in the water that made for a snow-like appearance in our photos. We also watched the free-divers disappear and slowly re-appear one by one. On our way out to explore the spring run, I stopped at my favorite swim-through. Usually, you have to take a big breath and brace yourself for a fast, cork-popping-out-of-the-bottle push through the little cavern. But this time, instead of the water spitting you out the other side, it was a still, leisurely, flow-less swim through what felt like a completely different place.

A calm and serene scene as seen from the cavern.

The ancient, haunting-looking ship wreck and plentiful mullet near the river were an endless source of entertainment. The hot water from the river was a continuous temptation, as little plumes spiraled into the chilly spring water and attempted to coerce us into the tannic zero visibility river. We floated and watched as the mullet disappeared and looked (as usual) as happy as little kids in a candy shop.

Shipwreck (where I first met Harry while snorkeling with Kate!)

Mullet disappearing into the warm river.

Were you playing and eating in the sand?

If you had asked me in February, I would have told you that Troy was about to dry up. At the end of the rainy season, the staff gauge was unusable because the water was so low and boatloads of algae were symptoms of the sick spring. But this past weekend, the opposite was true: water was midway up the stairs and cypress knees and trees were completely submerged. The staff gauge was not readable because the water was too high. All of the algae (and any submerged plants for that matter) were shaded by the silt and dark water, inhibiting growth of anything and making the spring devoid of much wildlife. This is just another reason that visiting the same springs over and over never gets old - but also a wary warning that perhaps neither of these ecosystem states are healthy.

February 10, 2013                      October 6, 2013

More photos are HERE.

Anti-Gravity

From a young age, we learn many of the unfortunate effects of gravity – we take our first wobbly steps only to tumble to the ground, hit the pavement riding a bike, trip, fall, and hit our heads, bang our knees, and scrape our hands. We learn that when we throw something upwards, it will come down (unless of course it’s a balloon), but we don’t necessarily learn the fun part: that what goes down will come up and that falling isn’t always in a downward direction.

Seeing as gravity is quite essential to life on earth, I have no problem with it - although escaping its gripping force once in a while is magical – especially in the springs. Where else can you be completely upside down, suspended in gin-clear water, propelling yourself downwards, then stop and hover with no effort at all?

With the flick of my finned feet, I duck dive down, dolphin kicking and feeling the onset and relief of different pressures – I feel the pressure of the water surround me while at the same time, the pressure of all stress and cares in the world disappears. For as long as I can hold my breath, it’s silent, life is trouble-free, and I exist in a world where fish and turtles swim in the sky above my head.

As I reach the spring vent, the forceful flow from the aquifer below gently whips and swirls my hair like algae as I hold on to a piece of limestone rock and gaze from the mysterious opening in the ground up towards the blue sky to take a photo. Looking upwards, I release my grip and drift freely, falling upwards towards the surface. And for just a moment, I am convinced that gravity does not exist and that falling down and falling in love are not the only types of falling that we experience.

Keeping my body horizontal and dipping only a few feet beneath the surface, the sky totally disappears. If you go way too far under and look up, all you see is the sky, and if you go only a tiny bit too far, there is a neat view of half sky, half spring- bottom reflection. But the most amazing view is the perfect mirror that the water forms as the sand, vegetation, fish, turtles, surreal blue of the spring vent, and everything before your eyes is flipped upside down above your head, completely eliminating the sky and the world above. If the sky is the limit and there is no sky… is there a limit? I think there is not.

I took the photos in this post on September 13, my 11^th visit to Gilchrist Blue Spring since May.  Every time, I see something new, whether it’s a new type of plant, fish, or snail, a friendly group of people, a familiar face, or a view of the same things from a unique perspective.  I am happy to report that 5 days post-turtle-capture and tagging, there are still almost 300 turtles in the spring (via my visual count, which tends to underestimate), including almost 50 that we didn’t tag.  The white paint spots made for an even more interesting reflection at the air/water interface as hundreds of white spots reflected in the sky.

After counting the turtles, making observations about the vegetation, snails, and distribution of the turtles, I relaxed with my camera, trying in vain to capture the feeling of falling upwards in a seemingly impossible and physics-defying world with no sky.

Turtle Soup

How much soup can you make with 497 turtles?

Lucky for the turtles, you can’t make any – in fact, taking Suwannee cooters (Pseudemys concinna suwanniensis) in Florida is illegal, so if you were automatically thinking the redneck version “Suwannee chicken” when you read "Suwannee cooters," think again.

But the turtles were as thick as soup in the spring – and I don’t mean Campbell’s wimpy-chicken-noodle-soup-thick… I mean homemade-beef-stew-thick.

They have been this dense in Blue Spring since June. I’m not sure of the exact date, but one week they weren’t there, the next weekend there were about 20, and soon after that, the number skyrocketed. It’s an absolutely amazing phenomenon – both to see and experience and also to think about as a scientist: Why has this never happened before? How are they communicating to let each other know this is the best spot? How far have some turtles traveled to get to the spring? Will they eat all of the hydrilla then leave? Or will they eat all of the other plants too? …and the list of questions goes on…

I’ve been visiting Blue since before the turtle invasion, each time taking photos, writing detailed notes, and spending hours in the water observing the turtles’ behaviors, movements, etc. Since my primary interest in school is grazers in the springs, I am now doing a little side project on this incredible example of large-scale grazing of hydrilla by the turtles – which is pretty ironic in itself because if you had asked me 3.5 years ago, I would have enthusiastically told you that I was going to become a sea turtle biologist.

I am certainly not a turtle expert, but there are some awesome resources in Gainesville to help solve this problem. Thinking back to a springs-related event at O’Leno State Park this past May, I remembered meeting Dr. Jerry Johnston, a professor at Santa Fe and head of the Santa Fe River TurtleProject. One phone call later, and a few meetings with my advisor at UF, we were on to something…

After a ton of planning, designing, and discussing it was time for two field days of visual turtle counts and vegetation sampling... aka swimming mixed with science; I was in heaven. In the main spring/run, we counted an average of 283 (max count of 351) turtles in the mornings (Note: don’t try to go in the afternoon, you will be thoroughly disappointed because they leave the spring!). Then, we spent one day in the lab processing the vegetation samples and suddenly it was the weekend of Jerry’s big turtle-tagging event.

I’ve never seen so many volunteers come forward to help with a science project – I guess giving people the opportunity to catch protected turtles attracts crowds. In addition to Greg, I had rallied some troops from USGS (the awesome “Team Sturgeon” who I worked with for about a year, including Ken, Mike, and Bethan) while Jerry had a bunch of his core turtle-tagging crew, students, friends, and enthusiastic volunteers.

The calm before the storm.

Greg and I drove up to Blue, arriving early to beat the Sunday spring-goers. I jumped in right away to do a visual count and even though I was a frozen icicle by the end because I was in too much of a rush to change into a wetsuit first, it was totally worth it to observe the beautiful calm before the storm – and more turtles than I’d ever seen in my life. In one half of the hydrilla-covered main basin (a 50m x 13m transect), I’ve been counting between 140 and 169 turtles. That morning there were 306. Our entire count for the main spring and spring run (not counting Naked Spring) was 389 – 106 higher than average over the past few weeks and 38 higher than our highest count ever.

Adrienne lurking with a turtle... she's been working with Jerry and the turtles for a few years and is an expert turtler :)

After drifting down the calm, clear, turtle-filled run, a controlled version of chaos ensued. What was once a quiet and peaceful scene became a cat-chasing-dog craziness of people dashing after the turtles, snatching them up and putting them in canoes, and bringing them over to the tent to be tagged, weighed, sexed, measured, and inspected by Jerry.

While I didn't personally catch or tag the turtles, I couldn't resist bonding with this little guy...

... he was just too impossible to resist. 

If I’ve learned anything about myself over the past two years since graduating from college it’s that I do not make a good hands on animal biologist – it simply doesn’t work. I am 100% fascinated by the sturgeon, the fish in the springs, and turtles, but actually netting fish, picking up fish, electrofishing, grabbing turtles, and doing invasive tagging procedures… forget it. I’m not necessarily grossed out and I have thought long and hard about why I can’t do it; here is not necessarily the place where I will pour out my feelings about it, but there is something in my vegan heart that doesn’t even want to touch the animals or disturb them. Believe me, I’ve tried every way possible to convince myself and pump myself up, but the more I think about it, the more excited I get to study vegetation and algae in the springs. But nothing will ever make me want to give up being in the field, immersed in the springs observing turtles, monitoring plants, doing fish counts and surveys, taking water samples, and just being around the springs in general.

Boatloads of turtles!! (Top: Mike loading some turtles into a canoe as I watch from the boardwalk. Middle: Bethan, Adrienne, and Mike filling some boats and hunting for turtles out near the end of the spring run. Bottom: Greg captains a canoe chalk full of turtles.)

Anyway, as canoes and canoes full of upside down turtles paraded up and down the spring run, I took pictures and observed the turtles (and people). Some experienced “turtlers” could hold 3 or 4 at a time, grabbing each one individually then hugging it to their body as they reached with their free hand to grab a few more. It’s actually quite impressive to watch.

Some expert turtle catchers with their hands full (from top to bottom: Mike, Pete, and Adrienne).

While Jerry and his tagging team worked diligently at their little tent by Naked Spring and truckloads of turtles sat patiently waiting to be tagged, I went over to the main basin with Greg and John Moran. We spent the afternoon making pictures with John, exploring Little Blue Spring, and observing the tagged turtles as they were re-introduced into the spring – a liberating and exciting event and quite visually interesting as a whole slew of domino-dotted turtles re-entered the spring and began again feasting on the hydrilla.

John Moran on his "Johnny pod" in the middle of Blue Springs - totally in his element getting some amazing photos.

Greg exploring Little Blue Spring.

This is over in Naked Spring after a number of turtles had been released back into the spring - I swear they were more curious and would get closer to you. One even got so close that I backed away because I though it was angry... I guess we'll never know...

Some spotted turtles in Naked Spring.

Freedom! One turtle out at the sandy end of the run, taking one last breath before heading back out into the tannic Santa Fe River.

While my observational study of the vegetation will hopefully have some interesting results, Jerry’s Santa Fe Turtle Project (now with almost 2000 turtles tagged!) has the ability to teach us an incredible amount about both this amazing congregation of turtles and the understudied turtles of the Santa Fe River in general.

So, what’s up with the white-spotted turtles, you may ask? No, it’s not a new species. And no, they’re not eyes. They are two spots of non-toxic paint that will wear off after a month and they help us, in the short term, easily identify which turtles we just tagged at this massive tagging event. If you spot them somewhere that is not Blue Spring, please let me know the date and location, either through Facebook, a comment on this post, or by email (jennifer.adler@gmail.com) – we really appreciate it!!

Greg and I ended the day (which also happened to be the 1 year anniversary of our first date) with a beautiful walk out the boardwalk, watching the mullet feast like kids in a candy shop and admiring the underwater vegetation as it waved back and forth in the sunshine, bowing down in the swift spring flow.