New Snorkelers

I love to introduce people to the sport of freshwater snorkeling. It can be as exciting or relaxing as you make it. Snorkeling reveals worlds hidden from the surface, and is full of adventure, and wonder. Freshwater snorkeling relaxes, connects and centers. It reminds us that we are a part of a much larger whole, and it always puts things in their right perspective for me. It is easy for me to lose total track of time and place when I am in a river or stream watching and participating in life. I love to share this with as many people as I can, and the Florida trip presented a few opportunities to introduce new people to the sport.

We had a few people on this trip who have never been snorkeling before, or who had only been snorkeling a few times. Sometimes all it takes to get someone in the water is to provide equipment. Sometimes it takes a little instruction. Anyone, with a little coaching and a little time to get used to the gear can enjoy underwater wonders wherever they are. It didn’t take long for the new snorkelers in our group to explore the springs on their own and come back with comments like “I never swam with fish before.” “I can see why you love it.” and “I’m hooked.” Me too.

We Have Arrived

It took a while to get here, but we finally arrived at Juniper Springs, one of many phenomenal fresh water springs in central Florida. This was our first stop in a short tour of the major springs in the region. The area offers some of the best snorkeling opportunities in the country and I looked forward to seeing and photographing life I don’t see in my usual east coast creeks.

Jupiter is clear and about 20 foot deep. It is fed by a spring that bubbles 72 degree water from a fissure at the bottom of the pool. I grabbed my snorkeling gear as soon as I arrived before camp or anything else was set up. Priorities.

Immediately I was in another world. Not really a different sensation for me when I snorkel. Even streams I have been in hundreds of times are new on each trip. But I can usually identify most of the players in those ecosystems within a few minutes. Here, almost everything is alien and unidentifiable to me.

Juniper is more developed than other springs and a concrete ledge and wall lines the spring bowl. In some ways it looks more like a swimming pool than a spring. But the fish don’t care, and an assortment of eastern mosquito fish, and melanistic eastern mosquito fish hang on the artificial ledge. Hundreds of fish congregate at the edge of sand flat and grass beds. I surface dive to the bottom 6 feet below and swim through the schools. I played in the pool until I shivered. I will return tomorrow, with a wetsuit and more time to learn more about Juniper, and the other springs in this amazing region. I can’t wait to explore with more time and intent. Can’t wait to see what lies in other springs. Can’t wait to discover the miracle of Florida’s freshwater life.

Reverse Hatch

Deer creek ran clear, a lot more clear than this time last year. I was here to see if shad have returned, but knew it was early. Still I hoped I would see some in this incredible clear water. As soon as I put my face in this very familiar spot, a very foreign stream scape appeared. For as many times as I’ve been here, this was new. Algae covered the rock moss carpet in pinks and orange pastels, and silver dots crawled down the lee face of a large rock in a rapid.

The silver dots were caddisflies and they glowed as they crawled down the face of a rock back into the rapid. I thought these might be recently metamorphosed adults, emerging, and tried to get some close up photos to document this phenomenon, but the water is this rapid was just too rough to keep the camera still. Caddis flies spend a year or two in creeks as aquatic larvae, then emerge from the water into the air as winged adults where they mate, lay eggs and die. I wasn’t sure what these flies were doing, coming or going. Adult caddis flitted just above the surface in clumsy flight. But as I watched these silver coated adults slowly creep back into this rapid I realized that the silver was from an envelope of air that surrounded the adult caddis flies body and these were probably mated females returning to the water to lay their eggs to ensure the next generation and die. Circle of life.

Caddis are always in creeks, and in just about every creek I snorkel. I am used to them and I though I knew their biology. But today changed all that. I never witnessed this incredible feat. I never expected it. I learned the caddis life cycle in ecology. I learned that the females lay eggs after they mate, but no one ever told what that looked like. No one ever told me what an amazing sight this was. Maybe the Professors who taught me didn’t know. Maybe they never witnessed the caddis return to water.

It’s a shame, because if more people knew about the miracles taking place in our creeks and rivers, maybe they would care more. But not just knowledge of the mechanics of the process, but rather what the process actually looks like, how it feels to be a part of it, a direct witness to ask questions like “Why are there silver caddisflies walking down this rock?” Maybe then people would care more for our most vital resource, water, and maybe then more people would feel alive by experiencing the excitement of discovery.

Shad Are Comming!

Snorkeling with Shad from NorthBay Media on Vimeo.

I look forward to this rite of spring every year! Swimming with this many fish is absolutely amazing! Any week now!

(Another) Fishing Creek

There must be something in a name. Every area has a fishing creek, and every fishing creek I snorkel is full of fish. The Fishing Creek that empties into Long Level on the Susquehanna was no exception.

Kitchen table sized schist slabs were scattered on the bottom where the moving waters of Fishing Creek met the still water of Long Level. I figured I would start my exploration here and ducked under the cold water thinking this would be perfect hellbender habitat. I held onto the remote hope of sighting one. It was definitely a long shot but I never, ever, know what to expect while creek snorkeling. A foot long salamander very well may be hunkered down under one of these slabs, however unlikely.

I thought I would have to search for fish life, as is usually the case in winter time streams, but I was instantly in the midst of a thousand strong school of spot tail shiners, hold up at this confluence of moving and still waters. These are common fish, and non-descript. They don’t have elaborate fins, or brilliant colors. They are easily overlooked, mundane. Their only distinguishing characteristic is a dark spot on their tails, thus the name spot tail shiner. But seeing thousands of these fish shoaled up was nothing short of remarkable. Why were they all here? Were they congregating to spawn? Or were they taking advantage of food flowing into Long Level from Fishing Creek? It was like swimming through a school holding on a reef.

I started to work my way upstream against a strong flow. The architecture is complex and fascinating. Schist is the dominant rock and it is present in both angulated slabs and smoothed ropy bedrock. Makes for interesting scenery and plenty of hiding places for a diversity of aquatic life. A plump green sided darter nestled into a crevasse in the carved bedrock. I wished the early march water temperatures were warmer. I wanted to spend hours more exploring Fishing Creek. But my hands were numb, and I was starting to shiver. I needed to get out of the water. I let the strong current carry me back down stream over bedrock plains and boulder riffles. The spot tail were still congregated, and I’m pretty sure I saw an encrusting freshwater sponge. I am always amazed at what I see in our rivers and streams and I can’t wait to see what swims in fishing creek this summer. Another Fishing Creek certainly didn’t disappoint.

Big Water

Most snorkel trips I go on involve crawling along in a few feet of water, with the bottom usually in easy arms reach. I am regularly amazed by the power of water. Experiencing one of earth’s elemental forces is one of the draws of creek snorkeling. But I can usually hold my own by hanging on. That isn’t the case on Muddy Creek.

The Muddy flows through a deeply cut gorge, forested in old hemlock. It is secluded, and I feel like I am in the Pacific Northwest or anywhere else much more remote than here which is only an hour from both Philadelphia and Baltimore. The water is blue green clear and big compared to most rivers in my area.

Ropy bands of smoothed schist plunge into the water as a sheer wall. Water carved chutes are too smooth to hold against the current and the eddy pushes me upstream, and then out into the main turbulent flow. I can make out the outlines of smooth scalloped bedrock sheets eight feet below as I swim hard across the current to an eddy on the opposite shore and get swirled upstream again over a large peaked sandbar.

The circular current pushes me out into the main flow where I am swept downstream across the river into the eddy, pushed upstream and back out across the flow in what would be a perpetual figure 8, if I didn’t grab a smoothed nub of schist in shallower water. It’s a pretty incredible rush, akin to weightless flying.

I picked my head out of the water and viewed the river from water level. A small hatch of small flies flittered away from the surface. Water continued to flow, and the eddies swirled. I have seen Muddy Creek dozens of times from a kayak, but this one short trip gave me a completely different perspective and appreciation for the forces that shape this place.

Cold Focus

The last time I was in Principio Creek, there was 6 inches of visibility, partly because of high spring flows, and partly because of the soup millions of herring eggs swirled in the current makes. Today was different. There weren’t any herring, and no eggs, but in exchange the water was incredibly clear. I slipped into the stream in a deep pool downstream of the falls, where migratory fish often congregate before making a push up the falls, to breach the fall line, the dividing line between coastal plane and piedmont. The principio is one of those no mans land streams, not quite coastal plane, not quite piedmont, but the transition between the two. It is neither and both. I hoped to see some of the early migrants holding in the large pool - some herring, or maybe some yellow perch. Instead I saw darters, and had to wonder if these fish were in the throes of reproduction, as abundant as they were. Two or three shot out from their cobbled cranny hiding spots each time I grabbed a new hold as I crawled upstream.

A large school of river chub shot around my right flank. I spun around to chase them, to try to get a shot and soon I was among a 50 strong school. The water was painfully cold, cold enough that my teeth felt like I bit ice cream. But none of that registered anymore. In the instant I found myself in the midst of all of those fish, my world narrowed to me, this stream and these fish. As usual, creek snorkeling put me into the here and now and all the thoughts of yesterday and tomorrow were gone. I had a focused acuity I have only ever experienced underwater.

The skittish river chub outswam me, but the tessellated darters were more reluctant to swim from their protective stones, so they tolerated my close approach. Tessellateds are one of those fish I am used to. I see them on almost every trip. And yet, like other common fish, they still hold my attention and fascination. I love how their bodies just kind of limply conform to the cobbles, and just when I think the river just pushes them around, they muster an incredible burst of energy and master the current to put distance between me and them. I love how their large pectoral fins hold them to the bottom and almost irridesce blue, and I love how some individuals allow my camera to get within inches while others scatter when I’m still feet away. A lone crayfish sits out exposed on a sand bar and its brilliant red color is striking. The usual never gets mundane.

There is always the fascination with the familiar in streams and maybe that’s why time becomes focused, and compressed to the moment. Maybe the focus comes from experiencing the stream on the streams terms, and learning about the life of the stream from its vantage point rather than ours. The more I snorkel streams, the more I realize that we have a lot to learn.