MOOving Along

What do cows and cave diving have in common? 

Traveling to almost any sinkhole or remote spring in the back country woods of north central Florida, farmland dominates the landscape. Pin-straight rows of corn sprout up along the side of the road along with bright green fields of peanuts and endless fields of watermelons. Where vegetables, fruits, and legumes aren't emerging from the ground, grassy pastures are cluttered with hundreds of cows of all shapes, sizes, and colors: spotted, black, white, brown, you name it. Most of the animals crowd a watering hole or one of the few remaining live oak trees in the wide open field, anticipating the arrival of the first few rays of morning summer sunshine that will trigger the onset of intense heat.

The majority of the hour and fifteen minute drive from Gainesville to Cave Country Dive Shop yesterday morning consisted of cows, river crossings, and towns that appear to have been forgotten many years in the past. Along the way, I crossed the Santa Fe, the Ichetucknee, and finally the great Suwannee River, a telltale sign that I was getting close to Cave Country. The big blue bridge that has the words "way down upon the Suwannee River" written in big letters marks the transition from Lafayette to Suwannee County, and as I drove across it and looked down at the dark, tea-colored water of the Suwannee, a rush of sturgeon-fishing memories flooded my mind and the excitement of exploring a new Suwannee spring woke me up like a stiff cup of morning coffee.

I met Dave and Harry at Cave Country where we signed in and got the key to the spring of the day. As if the cows dotting the endless fields on the way to the spring weren't enough, we all piled back into our cars and caravanned over to Cow Spring, nestled about 100 yards and just out of sight from the banks of the Suwannee River.



This photo shows our first view of Cow Spring. It's an interesting spot that lies quite far off the beaten path - and its hydrology is really cool too. There is no visible spring run aboveground, but underground, there are both upstream and downstream tunnels: the upstream tunnel sends you winding your way down to 109 feet, at times with your fin tips over your head and pulling against the flow while the (much shorter) downstream tunnel heads out to the Suwannee River. (Although there is no way to dive out through the underwater spring run and end up in the river because the tunnel becomes too small.) We dove the upstream section, and before I describe it, take a look for yourself... Harry shot this short video on our drift out of the cave:
(Disclaimer: don't watch if you're claustrophobic!)

While all caves are pitch black, this cave is perhaps the darkest I have dove thus far. The walls have famous fragile clay layers and on top of the limestone rock, there is a thin black film. Despite our lights, it felt like night time. This is also the smallest cave I've ever dove. After the tight initial entrance, the passageways open up, but there are still spots that I wouldn't necessarily want to have to squeeze through using backmount. As you saw in Harry's video, this spring can have one of the highest flows - to help us get through the cave, we used a permanently installed rope that runs next to much of the main line in the cave (called the "poor man's scooter"). The flow wasn't insane, but it was certainly strong and the line really helped us pull our way through the tunnels. We dove to thirds (until the first diver goes through 1/3 of their air, so that you technically have 2x as much gas as you need to exit the cave) then turned around and rode the flow out of the cave. It was a fun and relaxing ride as we swiftly mooooved with the flow of Cow Spring, using our fins like sails on a boat headed downwind, and adjusting them ever so slightly like a rudder to weave our way through the twisted underworld until we again saw the light.

Sunlight and shadows in the Cow cavern.

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After the dive, Dave and I walked through the woods to find where Cow Spring meets the Suwannee River - we found two breathtaking little springs, each with multiple vents. "Liquid light" is the best way to describe the brilliant blue color of the two shallow spring pools. Crystal clear water poured out of several openings in the surrounding limestone walls, tumbling its way down to the tannic Suwannee and eventually out to the sea.

Monday Morning Meditation

As air fades to liquid, we are cradled by the crystal clarity of spring water.

Masked ninjas fluently fly by, suspended in what appears to be thin air. Most wave a friendly hello as they effortlessly squeeze through tight limestone tunnels, following guidelines into the darkness. 

These mesmerizing tunnels extend for miles. Carved by the greatest sculptor, their intricacies are unparalleled – tirelessly weaving its way through the passageways, water ever so slightly shapes everything in its path - drop by drop, gallon by gallon, day by day.

We are suspended in the water that will soon appear at the downstream springs – before it appears at the vent, it winds through the puzzle-like underworld that forms the world’s most amazing (and perhaps most advanced) playground. It's time to play.

Pushing our way through the flow, I clutch my camera. Kick, pull, kick pull along the left side of the wall after our initial descent into the cave. I breathe slowly and steadily but can feel my heartbeat increasing as I push against the invisible force that is doing its best to expel me from its rocky home. Finally we duck out of the flow, as we arrive at the Catacombs – time to play with light.

We station the four lights like torches in the hallway of a medieval castle. But instead of illuminating eerie stone walls and suits of tarnished armor, we illuminate the aquifer. Harry helps me set up the lights in a way that brightens the walls in a magnificent pattern – his years of experience and thousands of dives have taught me so much and this dive is no exception. 

As I set up the camera and peer through the viewfinder, I feel an overwhelming sense of happiness – I can feel the excitement flowing through my veins like the water rushing through the catacombs and miles of caves that surround me. But it’s a different type of excitement – it’s a calm, collected feeling of ultimate relaxation. It's my form of meditation.

It’s practically impossible to imagine that 65 feet away, there is a rambunctious party – country music blares, monster trucks rev their engines, and the crisp sound of a freshly opened beer accompanies laughter and singing. It is the middle of a sweltering summer afternoon, yet as we switch off the lights, it is pitch black. Despite our apparent proximity to a raging party, the world is silent. Hidden below your feet, we are weightless and free at an underwater disco. Reflections of light dance to the rhythm of runaway bubbles and we swim to the sound of silence.

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Recounting this story is serving as my Monday morning meditation - as I scroll through and edit my photos, I can practically feel the crisp spring water on my face. As I fell asleep last night, I could see divers floating around behind my eyelids, suspended in a dark night sky. While the caves are beautiful and exotic, they are also incredibly dangerous without the proper training - but whether you relax and reflect by the ocean, on the river, in the springs, or in a hammock by a lake, it doesn't matter... any water is wonderful for a morning meditation.

Also, this week marks exactly three years since I packed up the Prius and drove 22 hours south to Gainesville. I planned on staying until I could find a way to move closer to the ocean. If you had asked me 5 years ago what I would be doing now, I never would have said cave diving or studying freshwater, only ocean diving and marine biology. Now, I wouldn't trade my freshwater world for anything and can't imagine what life would be like without the amazing people I have met and places I have been during the past 3 years - it has been an incredible adventure, thank you!  

Silent Springs

Pause for a second and picture water… what do you see?

Visually, water is tremendously diverse: it can be pure white in the form of snow capping a mountain, deep blue as seen in the open ocean, or brown like the great Mississippi. It may boast the magical azure hue of the Caribbean or take on the brilliant oranges, reds, and pinks of the sky at dawn. But what is perhaps the most beautiful and mesmerizing is when it simply has no color at all - this is when it truly feels like you can fly.

In the clear water of Ichetucknee Blue Hole, you can make out the distant green treetops in the sky - it truly feels like you can fly.

Water also moves in incredible ways. Salty water ebbs and flows predictably under the influence of the moon, while rivers wander and pulse like beating hearts as they are fed by and then starved of rain and meltwater. In the chilly poles, water is bound as ice - seemingly motionless in its solid state but very vulnerable to a return to its fluid form with warming. Artesian springs flow from below while drops of rain careen from the clouds above.

Listening to the symphony of rain while underwater is one of my favorite sounds.

And it is these mesmerizing movements that create an addicting melody. A love for the ocean makes us long for the relaxing sound of waves on the shore, and flowing water calms the anxious soul, just like the pitter-patter of rain on a lazy Sunday afternoon. We can hear streams babble and waterfalls roar: while water is not silent, it has no voice. When it emerges from its mysterious passageways hidden beneath our feet, water has a story to tell. But in order to fully understand its language, we must do much more than listen with our ears.

Visually, we can tell a lot by looking at water. Here, clear/green spring water from Devil's Ear and Eye at Ginnie Springs mixes with tannic water from the Santa Fe River. As the sun shines through the mixing waters, it creates a beautiful reddish glow overhead.

Water’s story is often visual – over time, it may change color or begin to flow more slowly. What once fell as crystal clear raindrops can become dark brown as it picks up tannic acids from the leaves and organic matter surrounding a river, staining the water like tea; this is what colors the tea-brown tannic waters of the Santa Fe and Suwannee Rivers. Clear blue lakes can turn green when cyanobacteria bloom (1), and crystal clear springs can become choked with algae, as seen in Florida. While these visual clues are both telling and compelling, water also holds fascinating messages that we cannot see.

More compelling visual clues that there is something wrong with our water. Domination by the cyanophyte Lyngbya wollei near the natural well at Silver Glen Spring in January 2014.

Part of unlocking water’s story involves figuring out what nutrients are present. The results of lab tests run on a sample of water collected in the field can tell us how much nitrogen, phosphorus, calcium (and a whole slough of micronutrients, metals, etc.), are present in the water (see chart below). Because water quality has been measured at many sites throughout Florida for many years, we can compare current values to those measured in the past and piece together a picture of how the water has been changing over time (2).

An example of  water quality parameters that are measured in the field and in the lab (from Springs of Florida, Bulletin 66 - see the DEP website for a full copy of this document).

Another fascinating story bound up in water molecules requires different tools to decipher. Similar to the way trees hide their age deep within the rings of their trunks and fish hide their age in the rings of their ear bones (called “otoliths”)(3), water carries information that helps us unlock its approximate age. By measuring isotopes and chemical tracers, scientists can determine water's average age, which helps them answer the question of whether water emanating from a spring vent is rain that percolated through the ground from a storm the week before or water that is just now emerging after 50-100+ years underground. Similar techniques allow scientists to identify sources of pollution in the water and, for example, understand whether nitrate pollution in a given spring came from fertilizer or sewage (4).

Finally, what I personally find most fascinating is that we can measure how a river “breathes” (5). Scientists are like river doctors – but instead of using a stethoscope, we use sondes, devices capable of measuring dissolved oxygen (DO), pH, temperature, etc. over time. Measuring DO over time, allows us to calculate gross primary productivity and (along with other values) ecosystem metabolism (6). In addition, relatively new sensors (called SUNAs) allow us to measure nitrate levels over time as well, which helps us better understand how nitrogen uptake may vary depending on which plants and animals are present in a given spring ecosystem.

(Top) The main spring at Gum Slough. The dark colors underwater are massive beds of algae. (Bottom) Courtney and I have been working on a project at Gum Slough since fall 2013 that combines both of our interests: ecosystem metabolism/nitrate dynamics and grazers. Our two main questions are (a.) do increased densities of grazers influence levels of gross primary production and (b.) how do metabolism and nitrate uptake vary according to the type of vegetation present in the spring?

The ability to measure dissolved oxygen, nitrates, and flow over time has allowed scientists to demonstrate that our spring ecosystems have not been stable over time and that many are being degraded to an algae-dominated state (7).

(For a more comprehensive review of the science, you can watch this video that I made last semester:)

Algal Proliferation in Florida's Springs from Jenny Adler on Vimeo.

Final project for Algae Biology and Ecology, Spring 2014. A scientific literature review of the diverse array of factors leading to algal proliferation in Florida's iconic freshwater springs. Narrated Keynote presentation (all photos and videos in this presentation are by jenniferadlerphotography.com).

In short, our springs are threatened - those who understand the springs’ struggles and those who rely on and love water must be the voice of our springs. WE together must be the voice of our springs, because we all depend upon the same aquifer that feeds the springs. Our silent springs are crying for help, but their voice is not being heard, and ignoring their quiet message is only making them more silent over time – their once-powerful flows are being diminished and water that used to flow swiftly through spring runs is becoming quiet as well (8). Where crystal clear water once told a joyful story, tinted water and algae abounds. Water flowing from the springs today tells us a story about the present, and it also suggests what may be in store in the future; without change, there is no fairytale ending. But if we work together, the voice of the springs will be loud and clear, just like the water of our springs once was.

Fairytale in Blue Spring, Gilchrist County. A Suwannee cooter (Pseudemys concinna suwanniensis) takes a breath in the endless underwater world. Where the spring meets the sky, it extends to infinity, unlike our water supply.

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(1) More information about (and pictures of) harmful cyanobacteria blooms can be found on the EPA website. Also, if you google "cyanobacteria bloom", you will see what I mean about the intense green color of the water.

(2) While nutrient levels have been increasing over time, Heffernan et al. (2010) demonstrate in the graph below that nitrate levels are not necessarily correlated with percent algal cover. For more information, see the video above - I explain more of the science background and research in the video. 

(3) For some neat information about dendrochronologists, see: http://ltrr.arizona.edu/about/treerings and for more info about otoliths and aging fish, see: http://myfwc.com/research/saltwater/fish/age-growth-lab/aging-fish-otoliths/. 

(4) The science behind aging groundwater and determining the source of pollution can be complex and often times leads to inconclusive results. For an in-depth explanation, see this USGS webpage or Katz 2004.

(5) For more information and an interview with Dr. Matt Cohen, see this cool article in the Environmental Monitor from 2012.

(6) Basic info on stream metabolism is on Wikipedia. There are also many scientific papers on whole ecosystem and stream metabolism - if you're interested, I'm happy to pass some along. Most that I've learned about GPP and metabolism comes from Courtney :)

(7) Heffernan et al. (2010). Algal blooms and the nitrogen-enrichment hypothesis in Florida springs: evidence, alternatives, and adaptive management. Ecological Applications 20 (3): 816-829.

(8) Figure from a 2013 Wetland Solutions Inc. report demonstrating that the annual average discharge at Rainbow and Silver Springs has been declining since the 1950s.

Mermaid Inspiration

Her eyes widened and sparkled as an adorable smile spread across her face.

All she could whisper was an awe-struck “Wow.”

Waterlust had just released a teaser for their “Fountain of Youth” Florida springs video, which involved mysterious music and about 10 seconds of a mermaid swimming in the impossibly crystal clear sky of Blue Spring. I had driven out to Jax beach to hang out with Greg while he was dog-sitting for his friend’s sister and before she left, we showed her 3-year-old daughter the quick video.

Having not been around kids on a regular basis for several years, I had forgotten that mermaids are totally mesmerizing to little girls. That being said, I’m not sure if the feeling of wonder ever dwindles for a girl raised by the sea – I’m going on 25 and definitely didn’t think my ocean-and springs-filled life was even remotely close to being complete until I first swam in a tail in May 2012. 

The mermaid in the video is me, and I will certainly never forget my magical first swim 2 years ago nor will I ever forget the wonder in the little girl’s eyes as she looked up at me after seeing the video. Nobody at any scientific meeting, water outreach event, or casual conversation involving water or my research over the past 3 years has ever looked at me with such wonder or interest. In the eyes of this little girl, I was better than a celebrity - I was a mermaid. And whatever I had to say was pure gold.

This all unfolded a few months ago, but right now I’m fresh off a cover-to-cover non-stop reading of Randy Olson’s awesome book Don’t be such a scientist, ¹ and I can’t help but let my imagination run wild. One of the main themes of the book is that in order to be more effective communicators, scientists need to (among other things) become more likable; the book gave me insight into what a general audience will take away from a presentation, interview, or argument, and I learned that it doesn’t necessarily have to do with what is said. In fact, being a successful communicator doesn’t always involve being the one who can rattle off endless accurate facts or present the most data, or even present the most logical argument. Olson reiterates a point by Richard Lanham, ² arguing that “today, style is the substance.”

I began thinking of this mermaid encounter when Olson brings up the hypothetical idea of a clown on stage at a scientific conference. He says that scientists have an uncanny ability to see through the clown costume and get at what the clown is saying – if he is presenting falsifiable hypotheses, rigorous science, and legitimate results, scientists can somehow be okay with his crazy appearance. But it’s not this easy in more mainstream media - people have information overload and are often too overwhelmed or busy to pay close attention, so they really just rely on their gut instinct i.e. who seems to come across as being more likable. In order for heady and academic scientists to gain the interest of the masses (and not just preach to the choir), they need to get the attention of those who wouldn’t normally care about their topic. They must do what Olson calls “arouse and fulfill”³ - this involves creativity, skilled storytelling, and maybe some charm.

Preaching to the environmental choir in regards to water issues in Florida has proved to be a big dilemma, as is springs science communication. Meeting after meeting, I see basically the same people. There is fascinating and cutting edge springs and river science going on (a lot of it at UF), but when you talk to people about water - even those who are genuinely interested in the springs and water resources - they don’t necessarily know about a lot of the science. This is understandable because it’s not exactly readily available.⁴

"Lack of springs funding upsets environmentalists" - and rightfully so! http://t.co/wAcHKysRVJ via @GainesvilleSun #springs #florida #water

— Jenny Adler (@aMermaidLife) June 2, 2014

Last week, I tweeted an article in the Gainesville Sun titled "Lack of springs funding upsets environmentalists." The article upset me... maybe more than it should have. Don't get me wrong, the article itself was great - very informative and an accurate snapshot of what the funding and money side of things looks like for springs. What struck me was that the lack of funding upset only "environmentalists" - shouldn't we all care that our springs and water are not getting a lot of funding? Shouldn't everyone ("environmentalist" or not) be upset and fighting for one of the most (if not the most) basic human necessity? The "crazy" upset environmentalists need to find an effective way of making everyone care and get upset as well - this is when real change will happen.

There seems to be a genuine disconnect between most Floridians and our water – we literally live on top of our water in the underlying aquifer and we should be protecting it as if we were mermaids who depend on clean and abundant water to survive – while we are not in fact mystical underwater creatures, we are inextricably tied to water; we depend on clean and abundant freshwater for drinking, agriculture, energy, recreation, etc. Over 90% of Floridians rely on groundwater, whether it comes from their own private well or from a hookup to city water. Just as endless shopping at grocery stores somehow make it seem as if broccoli is grown in the produce section (how dare they not have broccoli and fresh salad greens in the summer when it’s actually too hot to grow them locally?!), we see water as originating from our tap – BUT where did that water come from? “A pipe” or “city water” are not good answers – it came from the aquifer. Therefore what else is “competing” for this water? Our beloved springs, which are also fed by water from the aquifer under our feet.

So, what does this have to do with mermaids?

I’m not saying I’m about to quit my day job as a PhD student and start swimming around in a tail every day, but I do think this, as well as other creative and interactive ideas,5 have tremendous potential for engaging the public – specifically in outreach and education events with elementary school kids. Talking about water isn’t just about communicating facts and trying to wow people with intellect and cutting edge science – it’s about inspiring. We must inspire others to love the water and instill a love for our threatened water resources in the next generation. We must find out what water means to people individually⁶ and play to their emotions so that they understand what is really at stake if we pollute and overpump our water.

Thinking back, when the little girl looked up at me, maybe I should have said something like “did you know that just like mermaids, we rely on water in the springs to live?” and “did you know that we are using too much water from the springs?” Or was the connection and shared love for water enough?

I had her attention – she was all eyes and ears, and I can’t help but wonder if it would be the same for other young kids. Would kids listen to a mermaid at a summer camp or school field trip? Would swimming with a mermaid at the springs (and maybe hearing the mermaid mention a few things about her watery home afterwards) inspire them to learn more about water and grow up with an appreciation of our fragile and endangered water resources that they will soon be tasked with managing and (hopefully) preserving for future generations?

Jacques Cousteau’s famous words “we protect what we love” are ringing in my head. If we can raise a generation that loves springs and cherishes our water and the creatures (mystical or not) that live in it, we will have done something truly revolutionary and amazing. As of right now, we are pretty much on track to kill off all of the mermaids that live in the springs (and simultaneously our drinking water and tourism economy which is based on our springs and rivers) – but I’m not quite willing to let that happen and I’m not sure that other Floridians are either.

So don’t take water for granted - think about what water means to you and share it with others: inspire your friends, neighbors, and coworkers to understand how important water is to them personally and our society as a whole. You really don’t need to be a scientist to do this. I did ask the little girl if she’d like to swim in a spring with me, which I think has the potential to change someone’s world – I can tell you firsthand that even minus the mermaid, it changed mine.

This little boy at Blue Springs yesterday was adorable - he had an engaging smile and a love for mermaids and water.  He and his dad were standing in the shallows as I was swimming around and seeing how engaged the little boy was, I went over to say hi. Thanks to Greg for capturing this amazing moment - I was talking to them and asked if he wanted to touch my sparkly blue tail - his eyes lit up just like the little girl who saw the video. I hope it's kids like him to grow up to protect our water and save our springs.

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¹ I couldn’t put the book down until I had read every word – it arrived in the mail one afternoon and later that night, I found myself staring at the last blank page, ready for more. It addressed many of the themes of a Science Communication course I took during my senior semester at Brown as well as the Scientific Thinking in Ecology course I took during my first fall as a grad student at UF. It is both witty and inspirational – it is a book about science communication that has you laughing, contemplating, and learning from page one, and I highly recommend it to all fellow scientists/wannabe science communicators.

2 Richard Lanham is the author of The Economics of Attention: Style and Substance in the Age of Information. He coined the "substance is style" catchphrase that Olson talks about in his book - Olson basically says that Lanham means there are two different parts of a message: the substance and the style. You can either look at a what is being communicated or through it - if you're looking at it, you're getting caught up in the style of what is being said, whereas if you're looking through the message, you're getting past the style directly to the substance (see p. 141 in Olson's Don't be such a scientist). Olson goes on to say that scientists are well able to look through appearance to what is actually being said, but this is not necessarily the case in the mainstream media (Olson p. 141-142).

3 The "arouse and fulfill" strategy - basically, get peoples' attention and get them interested in what you have to say then give them information (i.e. fulfill their expectations). Olson's alternative shorthand version is "motivate then educate" (Olson p. 69). He also discusses limitations and exceptions to this model (i.e. academia and the "pre-aroused" audience of students).

4 The science isn't necessarily readily available to the general public, but Cynthia Barnett's wonderful books about water should (as I've said before) be required reading for everyone in Florida. She is a gifted storyteller and does an amazing job of relaying scientific and historical information in a readable and enjoyable way. Also, this is not to say that scientists and outreach programs are not starting to do great things in Florida - the Springs Eternal Project spread springs and water awareness via an exhibit at the Florida Museum of Natural history, the Urban Aquifer project, and the springseternalproject.org website; the Alachua County Environmental Protection Department (along with other organizations) does a lot of water education and outreach with local elementary and high schools; there are many springs working group meetings open to the public, etc.

5 Springs Challenge - Carmine (from the Florida DEP) has an awesome interactive exhibit that he brings around to different outreach events and environmental fairs that helps people see that we have a very limited supply of water and a seemingly endless list of things that require a lot of water. It sheds light on the important and often forgotten things that require water: electricity, meat and dairy production, paper products, local produce, etc. Each participant gets 4 votes (i.e. 4 ways to use their precious limited amount of water!) and has to pick their top 4 uses of water out of 9 choices. Votes are tallied by seeing the amount of water in the jar for each designated use. I've seen him at many outreach events and his Springs Challenge is always a hit - educational and fun at the same time.

6 Waterlust is doing a cool project called #watermeans in honor of World Ocean's Day (today, June 8). They reached out to all of their Instagram followers and asked them to share a photo of themselves, one word describing what water means to them, and their hometown. Check out Waterlust's Instagram page and the #watermeans tag on Instagram to see what water means to different people worldwide. And stay tuned to see what Waterlust does with all of the submissions - they've promised something cool!

A Jump in Johnson

Reflections in Johnson Spring immediately as we tiptoed into its quiet waters. There are 2 main spring vents just below the frame of this photo; there are also a few smaller boils throughout the spring.
If this is the start of the busy springs season, how is this peaceful serenity possible? Read on to find out...

The heat bugs are buzzing and the craziness of Memorial Day weekend has just passed – this can mean only one thing: the official start of summer and the return of the masses to the springs. The water is 72 degrees during every season, so we (just like the manatees) especially love the off-season when the steaming 72-degree water is actually a thermal refuge from the chilly mid-winter temperatures. The warmth of the springs in the winter time reminds us that north Florida does in fact have seasons – and it also serves as a stark contrast to the full-body shock of diving in to what feels like an icy cold spring on a 100+ degree summer day. 

There are two strategies for steering clear of the crazy crowds – you can’t completely avoid them, but you can either arrive just as the park opens and run directly into the water or you can find springs off the beaten path that take a little more exploring and off-roading to find. Most recently, we used the latter strategy and were rewarded with a fun little adventure.

Johnson Spring is actually only a few hundred yards away from our most-traveled-to spring. We’ve been to Blue Springs park 20+ times and have swam for hours and hours in the magical main spring basin during all times of the year – last year, we watched the sky-high hydrilla be mowed down to sand by 500 turtles, snorkeled out the entire run a dozen times counting turtles, did some mermaiding and snail-observing in Naked Springs, and jumped into the tiny 'Lil Blue spring during the rainy season.

Hundreds of turtles in the main Blue Spring basin, just a few hundred yards from Johnson Spring.

When the water is high, 'Lil Blue is crystal clear and enticing. During the dry season, the water is a few feet lower and the water is the color of strong coffee - not ideal for swimming!

Before this trip, I had only made the quick walk over to Johnson Spring once to dip my toes in its mysterious waters. At the time, it was February 2014 and the water level was too low for swimming. The run was a trickle and I played with my above-water camera among the tall cypress knees and fallen tree that formed a bridge over the spring run. Having missed out on swimming in February, I knew the flood-stage Santa Fe meant only one thing: my window of opportunity for a dip in Johnson was small and certainly at the top of my list of places to swim.

Johnson Spring in February 2014. The water now (mid-May) is over a foot higher - all of the emergent water lilies are completely underwater and the spring pool is significantly larger in area with 2 visible spring boils!

Johnson Spring in February 2014. The spring run was only a few inches deep... much too shallow for swimming -the Santa Fe River has been in flood stage since late April, so the spring has been swimmable since then.

Greg and I headed out to count the turtles at Blue Spring early one Saturday morning, walking out the ¼ mile boardwalk to the end of the spring run just like we’ve done every week for about a month. Wrapped in sweatshirts with our hoods up and clouds over head, we shivered but secretly savored the feeling of what turned out to be the last crisp and chilly spring morning. Looking for an excuse to warm up a bit more before jumping in, we made the trek along the low-lying, muddy floodplain trail over to Johnson Spring, leaving the screams of weekend campers and morning swimmers what felt like miles behind…

The view just as I entered the water.
Sunlight penetrates the otherwise shady but crystal clear water in the back corner of the basin, just above the main spring boil. Bright green water lilies and red ludwigia are reflected in the sky.

Greg and I explored the secluded spring for a while. Here, Greg is getting some GoPro footage in the main part of Johnson Spring. We swam around very carefully because the bottom was super silty and easy to disturb, especially where we entered the water. 

We carefully swam out the shallow spring run, and I had fun taking bright blue reflection photos as we gently kicked our way through the silty run.

Illuminated.
The dark and gloomy sections of the unexplored run lay in stark contrast to the brightly illuminated vegetation, suspended motionlessly in the calm water. Even though there were two visible boils in the spring, there wasn't really any noticeable current in the spring run, and silt from the fragile bottom stayed easily suspended in solution.

Here are two more photos that visually demonstrate the incredible difference between low water in February (top photo) and high water in May (bottom photo). It was much too shallow to swim in February but absolutely breathtaking when we were able to jump in recently:

Top: Johnson Spring run in February 2014.
Bottom: Johnson Spring run in May 2014. The water lilies that were in only a few inches of water in February are now totally submerged and reflected in the sky of the crystal clear spring run. We surprised a Suwannee cooter hiding just on the other side of the fallen tree in the bottom photo.

So make sure to look just off the beaten path as the springs start to get crowded and crazy this summer - any spring is a treat, but a secret, secluded spring will leave you feeling happy and wonderful for days as you daydream about being submerged in a peaceful and calm underwater paradise - worlds away from the summer heat just above the water's surface.

Adventures in a Flooded Forest

As river levels rose, so did our excitement. The flood curtains at Ginnie Springs have been up for a while, holding back the tannic river and allowing divers access to the winding underworld via Devil’s Eye while most of the other caves in the area have been closed. But the heavy rains that have caused many springs to be tannic and off-limits to divers have also transformed the Ichetucknee River into a flooded forest that was begging to be explored.

(Top) A hydrograph showing days (x-axis) and corresponding river levels (y-axis) at the Ichetucknee Headspring (April 28-May 27, 2014). The river crested on May 3, but it was still in flood stage on May 9 when we paddled from the headspring to the southernmost takeout point. (Bottom) A real-world visual representation of the flood data presented in the hydrograph - the water was at least a foot above the top of the dock railings at the last take-out spot at the state park when we paddled on May 9!

But it wouldn’t be a full-on adventure without explorations en route. April showers are supposed to bring May flowers, and Florida is no exception to this age-old rhyme. Fields of wild flowers in full bloom are of course impossible to resist, so we pulled over to run through endless fields of blooming Coreopsis.

Somewhere along the side of the road in High Springs, FL.

Wildflower-frolicking behind us, we made a quick stop at the Ichetucknee Campground to get our boats and began our paddle on what appeared to be an entirely new river.

Trip essentials: GoPro, GoPole, mermaid friends, and Greg, who singlehandedly paddled our canoe down the entire Ichetucknee River to save my broken shoulder. He definitely deserves half of the photo credit for all of my photos... none of them would have been possible without his paddling and expert canoe skills!
Top: Testing Greg's new birthday GoPole just after launching. This is by far the widest I've ever seen the usually-skinny northern section of the river. Bottom: Danielle and Jenna enjoying the first few minutes of our peaceful paddle.

Just a few extra feet of water transformed the entire river, and the low-lying flood plane, once dominated by tall cypress knees and emergent macrophytes, became a flooded forest. The water drowned palmettos, roots, grasses, and everything else in its path, allowing us to paddle where feet once tread. But the high water was also disorienting - places once familiar to me were suddenly unrecognizable. We were able to see places through an entirely new light - due to both the beautiful sunlit reflections of the recently-sprouted green leaves and the newly-flooded places to paddle.

Recognize this place? I barely did! Usually, the water is much too low to allow canoe or kayak access to Jug Hole due to the large grate in the spring run, but the high water meant everybody could easily access the spring via canoe or kayak.

Jug Hole from an entirely new angle...
I've snorkeled here about a dozen times, each time endlessly enamored while hovering at the water's surface, but never have I stood directly over the spring vent! We were able to canoe into the spring and peer down into the green-tinged abyss.

So much action! GoPole/GoPro shot by Greg as we all explore the spring and are joined by Nate. (Look closely... I spy two happy mermaids underwater!)

Of course we couldn't resist taking a dip in the sunny spring water before continuing our journey downstream. I took the GoPole for its maiden underwater voyage. Using the stairs in the background as a benchmark, note that at least 2 steps are usually above water!

Top: Greg swimming in the sky above Jug Hole as I dive below.
Bottom: Hovering above, about to dive down (Photo by Greg).

After a quick dip, we continued our journey downstream, at times taken aback by how wide open and Suwannee River-like the river appeared to be, and at other times weaving our way through trees, over mats of floating vegetation, and through newly-created river channels.

The Ichetucknee looked more like the lower Suwannee in some places! The navigable river is usually about half this size and is lined with emergent grasses and dense beds of floating macrophytes.

A rare and special sight on the flooded Ichetucknee, just downstream of the wide open river in the previous photo. The islands of macrophytes floated downstream and clogged the river channel where you can normally paddle - but it also served as the perfect feeding grounds for manatees... what a treat!!

The huge beds of floating vegetation blocking the main channel forced us to paddle through magical forests. In the distance, amidst the vegetation, manatees surfacing for air let out loud breaths that sprayed water skyward, sending echoing noises throughout the woods. 

Just when I though I had completely lost my bearings, I caught a glimpse of some familiar treetops. Pushing our way through floating islands of dense vegetation, we found a barely-recognizable spring amidst the flood.

This tree was made popular and familiar by John Moran's "Fireflies on the Ichetucknee" photograph. This view is a little different - I'm looking at the tree head-on instead of from the side. Its branches look like arms actively reaching out to embrace rivergoers who can find their way to its hidden spring.

Submerged palmettos, sunlit patches, and twisted tree reflections in the spring.

September 14, 2013 - A view of the spring from a previous trip. I'm standing a bit higher than I stood while taking the next photo, but it still gives you a comparison in terms of how much more area is underwater in May versus September!

May 9, 2014 - 8 months later, flood stage

Shortly after our spring stop, we entered the lower part of the river where tubers usually abound. The extremely high water meant the river was closed to tubing, which also totally changed the feel of the lower section. In the heat of the summer when river levels are low and the park is crowded, you can basically hop from tube to tube - without touching the water - all the way from the northern launch to the southern launch! 

Peaceful views on the lower part of the river near where the tubers usually launch and begin their takeover.

GoPole view of the lower section of the rivers where rambunctious tubers usually block any views of the water's surface.  Instead, a quiet, flooded forest stood still as we quietly explored, suspended in water where snakes once slithered, turtles once crawled, and feet once walked.

For more photos of our adventure, check out my "Adventures in a Flooded Forest" album on Facebook - or head out to the river next time it floods to experience something unforgettable! And remember, just because the river is flooded does not mean that we have an abundance of water!! Check out Ron Cunningham's op-ed in the Gainesville Sun "If you think the springs are back to normal, you're not paying attention" (May 25, 2014).