Florida Springs in Distress
Florida has many freshwater springs, gushing water at a steady 72 degrees in the eastern part of the state, and a chilly 68 in the Panhandle. However, many of these springs are now ailing. Some have been loved to death by the swimming public, converted into sand pits by too many feet, the vegetation and fish simply gone. Other springs, located near cities, have run dry when their aquifer (groundwater) dropped too low. Near the coast, saltwater intrusion increases as the aquifer runs lower and the Atlantic or Gulf pushed back. One can only hope for lots of rainfall, to restore power to these springs. Florida springs were amazing to witness 200 years ago; the explorer William Bartram witnessed one of them blasting water four feet in the air, hosting a kaleidoscope of fish.
Invasive plants have moved in, such as hydrilla. Worst of all and nearly impossible to control, nutrients from lawn fertilizer and cattle (among other sources) leaches into the aquifer and is pumped out through the springs. This feeds a noxious algae called lyngbya, which chokes out native vegetation, coats the rocks, and carries irritating neurotoxins many people are allergic to.
In the past two weeks I dove two springs, one connected to the Gulf of Mexico, the other to the Atlantic. At Crystal River on King’s Bay, there were more divers and snorklers, hundreds of them, than fish. Up to 700 manatees, cooped up there in warmer spring water to survive last winter’s cruel weather, and likely tired of entertaining thousands of swimmers, have fled down-river towards the Gulf, looking for food and privacy. A volunteer told me that at least 200 pregnant manatees across Florida didn’t survive last winter. So, the springs at least still protect local wildlife during frigid weather. Ye Gods, but the number of pontoon dive boats on King’s Bay that prowl around, looking for them…it’s quite an industry.
The week before, we dove in Silver Glen Recreation Area in the Ocala National Forest, connected to the Atlantic through the long St. John’s River. Talk about an ailing spring…everywhere grew toxic lyngbya algae, choking out native eelgrass called Vallisneria, the tall, graceful aquatic plant that’s been here for millennia. Even though Silver Glen is far from any town, the nutrient levels must be very high to support unbridled algae growth. Aquifer water from deep underground should be fairly sterile—-almost ready for bottling—-the fate of some springs purchased by giant water bottling companies such as Coca-Cola.
The park rangers at Silver Glenn are gone now; instead a private concessionaire hires locals for about $8 an hour. Their job is to charge admission, drive around in golf carts, clean the grounds, sell food and drink. ‘Round the picnic tables lurk buzzards, who have become expert at rifling through swimmer’s bags until they find something edible. We chased them away repeatedly…one had chewed a hole through a nearby family’s bag of bread, burying his head in the loaf itself, before I chased him off. There’s no telling what roadkill that buzzard’s head had visited that very morning…Enough to flavor any sandwich.
Underwater was worse, apparently ignored by “management,” such as it is. Thick brown algae coated everything, except where the current was strong or swimmer’s feet kicked it loose. Around the periphery grew a dark terrain that no animal could eat. The few stalks of native vallisneria were mostly coated with this neruotoxic mess, which causes rashes. And this before the summer growing season has even begun. One wonders why this algae isn’t at least vacuumed ashore, compressed and hauled away. We did see mullet sucking up the algae, but they spit out the white cotton after filtering the darker matter. Whether this flavors the mullet isn’t known.
The only fish present were native ladyfish from the Atlantic. And one other—-the invasive blue tilapia, numbering several thousand. Tropical tilapia are not a native fish, so there are no harvest restrictions. Tilapia in the lakes died in their thousands during the cold winter, but the springs offered refuge, and many found it there. These fish crater the ground like no-mans’ land in a World War I battlefield, each one requiring a nest as big as a car tire. Though these tasty fish in the springs are plainly vulnerable to harvest, they’re protected in park boundaries. Which leaves them free to spawn, the young heading down-river to spread throughout the St. John’s River drainage, stretching more than 100 miles. One castnetter and a diver with a pole spear could limit their spreading by harvesting most for fish markets.
But there’s no park management underwater here. Either biologists in Tallahassee don’t care, or (more likely) there have been extreme budget cutbacks. Less state government, with politicians using ideology as management.
