Fabulous News and Silver Glen Springs

As of last Thursday, I am officially accepted into the Florida Studies program at the University of South Florida. I'm still a ways away from actually going to class (fall of next year) but I am still a-twitter nonetheless. I also got the assistantship, so it doesn't look like I'll have to pay tuition, which is doubly cool. However, we still will have bills and bunnies, and money goes to both, so I'll have to find a part-time job down there. DeSoto national memorial is down in that area, and if I could be a student ranger again, that would just be the bee's knees. I mean, that's too perfect.
Anyway, to supplement the paying down of debts before I head down south, I have opened up an Esty store. Nothing's on it quite yet because everything I am going to sell is in the process of being made. It's mostly going to be Florida-centric things, but I am planning on having goofy, googly-eyed things as well. My username is "rangerhat". Go to http://www.etsy.com/people/rangerhat in a week or two to see if I've got anything that tickles your fancy. 

***

A few weeks back, my husband, my dad, and I took an early morning trip to Silver Glen Springs Recreation Area. There are few things more exciting than the sun coming up on a muggy summer morning. There is a special smell in the air - sort of like wet dirt, wet vegetation - that simply means ADVENTURE! Once the sun rose, though, the clouds quickly obscured it and made for a gloomy brunchtime. Storms were forecasted for that day, but we remained undaunted (my dad, some of you may know, is the whole reason behind my unadulterated love of Floridiana). The day was almost cool, somewhere in the 80s, and there was a gusty wind coming from the river. As gung-ho as I've become in my later years, I regressed to my 14 year old self when I got in that icy blue spring water. I stood where I was, unsure as to whether or not I would survive the plunge. My dad, as per usual, was happily swimming about near the middle of the swimming area calling to me to just get in and stop being such a weenie. After what most likely felt like hours to my dad, I finally got all the way in and dunked my head under.

There's a special (read:awful) feeling I get when I jump into springwater when my core temperature is already down due to windy and sunless conditions. I can assume it's akin to the feeling gazelles get when being pursued by a cheetah - that is, HOLYCRAPIAMGOINGTODIE! ESCAPE! ESCAPE! It only lasts for a few second, then it's replaced by a general annoyance at being so dang cold. My skin is very sensitive to cold (I can sit comfortably in four thousand degree water, but I can tell when it starts to cool off) and during the winter I am just a giant grumpfest. Every time I get into springwater, my body goes through a tiny winter. But, I digress.

The springhead itself is a large, sloping sand dune. It's actually a gorgeous vista - the clear blue water, the white sand, the MILLIONS of fish - and it makes suffering in sunless, windy cold worthwhile. I am a terrible judge of distance, but I'd say it's just a tad deeper than Alexander Springs, because I seem to run out of air quicker when I am at the bottom. The massive amounts of ancient water billow forth with incredible force, and it's nearly impossible to swim at it. You have to come around to it from the backside if you want to get near it (many people, it seems, can't quite grasp this concept and end up flailing around underwater in a futile attempt to fight the flow from head-on). 

I love how the fish just don't pay you any mind when you're down there. You're on their turf, and they know that unlike you, they were built to swim well. While I count myself among the better swimmers, I am no fish, and the other fish know this. They glance at my idly while I cruise by on the current, my camera poised to take as many freaking pictures as possible. There are a few pictures I managed to get in the shallows that look like a dreamscape (check all the pictures on Flagogo's facebook).

There are a two trails on the grounds that are certainly worth traversing. First, there is the trail to the sand boils. These are little mini-springs that are in the shallows that constantly blorp up sandy water. They're cute, but you are under no circumstances allowed in any of them. (When I was little, I do admit that I climbed into one, but as an adult who now knows it's not allowed, I don't even think about it. Besides, I distinctly recall my feet getting cut on sharp limestone edges down at the bottom. Gives me the jeeblies to this day.) The other path takes you all the way to Lake George, the second largest "lake" in Florida (it's actually just a part of the river). A storm was rolling in from across the way, and it gave a lovely vista. 

Silver Glen Springs Recreation Area is a lovely place to swim, and a great "Junior Spring" for people who have never encountered one before. It's a bit old-hat for me now, but most likely because I've just done so much more in my ADVENTURES. Still, it's a great place to chill - literally - and soak up some general Florida goodness. I would certainly suggest it as an ideal location to take someone who is unfamiliar with the state to show them what Florida can really do.

A Flagogo Special: Water, Water Everywhere

Quick! Watch it before it goes away! (I don't own the music, so it might disappear!)
A home-made music video of my various watery Florida ADVENTURES!


Watch "A Flagogo Special: Water. Water Everywhere"

A Day for Flying Kites

Few things compare, in my book, to that feeling I get when I am in the middle of nowhere and underwater. It's such a complete feeling of freedom and wholeness - like I finally fit in with the universe. I am able to stretch up and out, to not be in the way, to have complete freedom of movement. Alexander springs is my favorite place to experience this. During the summertime, there are typically many people there, but few situated as I wish to be: floating among the deepest of the headsprings. It's like nature tailor-made one special, specific spot on the map where -along with my trusty mask- I may always be happy, free, and at peace. The depth is just under my breath-holding limit, and I am allowed a moment or two to grab on to a knob of limestone and let the cold ancient water billowing up from the heart of my home cascade over me, through me, on its way out to my buddy, the St. Johns.
I must look like a complete crazy person while I am swimming about. My head pops up every minute or so from the center of the swimming area, only to pop back down again after a few heaving breaths. I've never been afraid of drowning in the cool clearness of freshwater, despite that innate panicky feeling that my lungs send to my brain after too long without a breath. My chest heaves as I swim up from the depths, pretending to breathe, and I pop up again with a sound escaping my throat that would usually signal that one is done for the day. But no, not me. A few more breaths, and I go back down into the blueness. Hold still, and you can hear the wee swirling shells and rock bits near one of the boils click around on bare limestone as they turn and turn until they are worn away. It's a close sound, almost coming from inside your body - a bit like pop rocks in your mouth. I see them, and I challenge myself to grab one, to bring it to the surface, and to show it the interest and respect that no one else would give it. So I try; I dive once... no, too short. I dive again... no, ran out of air. But the third time's a charm, and I surface, my hand clutching three small pebbles. I inspect each one, show them to the sun, and after a short rest, I return them.
Now, I know these are just wee bits of rock and shell, but to me, they are like little secrets that Florida likes to tell to anyone who would listen. They are down there, making that clicking noise, eternally swirling their existence away, but I acknowledge them and return them, to live their intended lives. For a split second in eternity, I talk to the aquifer.

* * *

Wekiva Springs State Park is an interesting specimen as far as ADVENTURE goes. Really, it's surprising that something so wild could exist in such a place (just outside jolly ol' Orlando). My dad and I got there early to take a CANOE ADVENTURE, and found it to be a pretty straightforward setup. Concrete pool containing the springs, large grassy knoll containing spring-goers, and a long river that splits off into two rather opposite types of runs. 

Upon setting out, I nearly lived a thousand lives in a few minutes. We were greeted by a Swallowtailed Kite taking his morning skim across the water. I actually got actual footage of an actual kite, and although my dad was rather unsentimental about the situation (we're an amazing team, he and I - we balance where we should and we go overboard where we should) I knew he was slowing the canoe down so I could get a good shot. Once we passed him, the kite noticed I was no longer watching, shrugged his feathered shoulders, and flew off to start the day's business. It was an excellent omen.

The map we had was pretty explanatory, or so we thought. Straight ahead, the Wekiva River oozed out and about with various spots along the way to visit and remember. However, branching to the left off the Wekiva, there was Rock Springs Run. As we made our way to the junction, we noticed that pretty much no one was heading down the latter, so of course, I voted for Rock Springs Run as our path. The committee delegated, and it was decided that it was "not a bad idea". So, turning against the current, we headed upriver upon the road less traveled.

The oddest thing about this whole CANOE ADVENTURE was the lack of wildlife. At all. We were out early, and it was warm but not stifling. No birds, no fish, no nothing. Then again, the water was almost red with tannins and the shores were close - perhaps creatures prefer wider, clearer waters.

Anyway, there were many sticks in our path. While I type "sticks" I really mean "submerged spears set to hinder your advancement, annoy your dad, and also punch your beloved canoe in its underbelly". Going upstream the entire time, with vile "sticks" in the water, and the eeriness of no wildlife made Rock Springs Run a CANOE ADVENTURE that was hard to really define. Sure, it was neat, but it was also unforgiving. We paddled for a good long while, cursing the poorly drawn map ("We must be near the end by now!"), and hoping that our assumptions about the distance key were all wrong.

Alas, we came upon the dreaded Otter Camp, an event of which we had been joking due to the incorrectness of the river map. It was relieving, frustrating, and hilarious all at the same time. And above all, more fun than anyone is ever allowed to have. (Otter Camp, by the way, is a lovely little place and I plan to spend perhaps Christmas there or some other holiday that requires the visiting of people with whom the nature of the holiday compels you.(i.e. I want to stick it to convention while also enjoying a quiet few nights alone in the woods.)

On the way back from the aforementioned camp, we saw birds, turtles, tadpoles (!), and an otter. It was almost like it was challenging us on the way up and rewarding us on the way down. 

When we finally met up with the Wekiva River again, we merged into paddled boat traffic. Few things annoy my dad and I more than a couple of novices in a self-propelled watercraft. We know that they have to learn sometime, but COME ON, IT'S A PADDLE NOT A SOUP LADLE. USE IT ACCORDINGLY. We learned from one of the rivergoers that there was a big bar with a party down the river apiece, and "everyone goes there on weekends". With that, the committee reconvened, took a vote, and unanimously declared that not only was Rock Springs Run "not a bad idea", but as a whole "a much better idea and good lord what a hot crowded mess this river has become in the few hours we were away from it".Thanks, Mr. Kite. You gave us some good juju.