A murder of crows

Stopped at an interstate rest area, in the middle of The Big Cypress Swamp, a man approached with an interesting problem. He asked if I knew anything about birds. When I answered "yes," he led me to his car, which had a black vulture attached to the front grill.

The buzzard, which was stuck, yet still alive, looked uncomfortable. The man said that he had slammed into a "flock" of the birds on the highway.

I thought about correcting him, for you see the correct term is a "wake" of buzzards. animal group names, or collective nouns, are peculiar things. You can impress your friends with your Florida naturalist IQ if you learn a few of the basics.

Remember, it is a "gulp" of cormorants, a "bask" of alligators, a "brace" of ducks, a "convocation" of eagles, a "stand" of flamingos, a "business" of flies, an "army" of herring, a "passel" of hogs, a "smack" of jellyfish, a "romp" of otters, a "parliament" of owls, a "warren" of rabbits, a "shiver" of sharks, a "nest" of snakes and a "gang" of turkeys.

But I didn't correct the poor guy. The bird, you see, had punctured a hole in his radiator. We unhooked the poor creature, which waddled off to join his buzzard friends. The man? He called AAA.

Billions for birds

What's the fastest growing outdoors sport? Fishing? Hunting? Frisbee golf? Guess again.

According to the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, more than 3.3 million Floridians viewed wildlife near their homes in 2006, and another 1.6 million Floridians and tourists traveled around the state to watch various critters, i.e., birds, gators, squirrels etc during the same time period.

State officials are big on this user-friendly, non-consumptive sport not only because any body can do it, but more importantly because those outdoors enthusiasts pumped an estimated $3 billion (yes billion with a "b") into the state's economy.

Sure, laugh while you can, but more an more people seem to be content with just heading outdoors and soaking up the sights. In fact, retail sales associated with the sport have almost doubled since 2001. Wish the same could be said about the sale of boats and fishing equipment.

Florida has done a good job promoting the state as a destination. In fact, we rank number one in the country when it comes to places to go to birdwatch. That could be in part to the Great Florida Birding Trail, a 2,000-mile, self-guided highway tour that hits 445 great birding sites from Key West to Pensacola.

For more information, check out birding.

Diving with maneaters

Jim Abernathy assured me his shark diving operation was "quite safe." He added, "We have had more than 2,400 dives without a single incident." That was in the summer of 2001, when I went shark diving aboard one of Abernathy's boats on Florida's east coast.

But when you play with wild animals, sooner or later, you'll get bitten. On Monday, a a 49-year-old lawyer from Vienna, Austria was killed on one of Abernathy's trips off the Bahamas, where he had moved his diving operation after Florida officials banned shark feeding in 2001.

Like most shark feeding operations, Abernathy used dead bait to lure the sharks in. On my particular dive, in 75 feet of water more than a mile offshore of Ft. Lauderdale, fresh yellowfin tuna attracted a variety of Caribbean reef sharks, which are veritable toy poodles compared to some of the other sharks in local waters.

On Monday, victim Markus Groh was hoping to see hammerheads, tigers and bulls, which are an entirely different story. I've seen all three in open water. Of the trio, the bull is by far the most aggressive, and like pit bulls, have a fearsome reputation.

It is not known what kind of shark hit Groh, but if I were to guess, I'd wager it was a bull shark. Spearfishermen know that when these bad boys of the ocean show up, it is time to leave. If a bull shark shows an interest in your stringer of fish, let them have it.

Sharks are unpredictable animals. Just when you think you have them figured out, they will do something totally unexpected. Sure, you may have 2,400 encounters without incident. But don't be surprised that if on dive 2,401, one may turn around and bite the hand that feeds it.

For after all, when in the ocean, you are just another link in the food chain.

Steve McQueen and me

I agree with the late, great Steve McQueen who once said that he "... would rather wake up in the middle of nowhere than in any city on earth." I probably spend at least a month of each year sleeping outdoors, and given the chance, would choose my sleeping bag over a feather bed in the Ritz Carlton.

I'm heading out to Fisheating Creek, near Lake Okeechobee, and was given the chance to sleep on a foam pad in a bunk house or bring a tent. I chose the tent.

I always travel with what I call my "sleeping pod." It consists of a one-man tent, self-inflating mattress and lightweight sleeping bag that all fits snugly into a backpack or waterproof stuff sack. So it doesn't matter if spent the day freezing in a sea kayak or lumbering down a trail, I know I will always get a good night's sleep.

My tent, an MSR Hubba, weighs 2 pounds 12 ounces and costs $249.95. My Thermarest (you have to have a sleeping pad) weighs just 13 ounces and costs $74.95. I have two Mountain Hardware Lamina sleeping bags for our two seasons (cold and cool). One is good to 35 degrees, weighs 2 pounds 4 ounces and costs $125 and the other is good to 45 degrees, weighs 1 pound 12 ounces and costs $105.

So all together, my "sleeping pod" weighs in at just a little over 6 pounds, which means I can take it everywhere, sack out whenever I want, even in the middle of nowhere.      

Cowboy Joe

My friends hate my coffee. They think it should be classified as toxic waste or at the very least, be resigned to some industrial use, such as stripping the paint off of old fire hydrants. I kind of like it; thick, black, brewed over an open fire, no sugar, no cream. Just an obscene amount of caffeine. Just the stuff to get you through a 40-mile kayak paddle on a cold winter day.

But most normal folks think it stinks. That is why I was surprised when Dr. Gary Mormino of the University of South Florida asked me to brew some joe on this weekend's expedition to Fisheating Creek, the only free-flowing tributary of Lake Okeechobee.

Mormino and his buddies don't know what they are in for. I went down to the Bill Jackson Shop for Adventure today and bought a 36-cup GSI, blue enamel "coffee boiler." The first thing I noticed was that this work of art had no basket for the grinds. So I did a little research.

Turns out that pots of this type are meant to brew cowboy coffee. Old cowhands, like the Crackers who once ruled the Florida scrub, didn't have time for filters. They just grabbed a handful of ground coffee, threw it in the pot, put it on the fire, went out and rustled up some dogies, then came back a few hours later for the best darn coffee east of the Mississippi.

Some recipes call for a raw egg to be tossed in. It is supposed to help settle the grounds. Another calls for egg shells. Yet another said a few rocks tossed in for good measure will do the trick. If my brew can satisfy these discriminating professors, I might open up my own little boutique coffee shop. It will be the anti-Starbucks. Think I'll call it Cowboy Joe.

Guns along the Hillsborough

Imagine paddling the Hillsborough River on a warm February afternoon and suddenly hearing rifle shots, followed by war hoops, echoing through the forest. If you stopped just above the state park and looked into the clearing, you would have seen brightly clad Seminole warriors attacking some very unhappy-looking soldiers in 1830s vintage uniforms.

No, this wasn't an episode of the Twilight Zone. This was just another day at Fort Foster State Historic Park. Reenactors from around the state gathered here Saturday and Sunday to recreate a historic battle from the Second Seminole War.

Florida was pretty empty in 1835. There was a fort in Tampa and another one in Ocala. Linking them was the Fort King Military Road. The road (more like a trail) crossed the river just above the present-day Hillsborough River State Park. U.S. soldiers built a fort to protect the bridge, which the Indians periodically tried to burn.

It was rough duty. Many of the soldiers stationed there grew sick from yellow fever carried by the mosquitoes thriving in the nearby swamps. Nature would eventually accomplish what the Seminoles could not, as the soldiers were forced to abandon the fort after the place was deemed uninhabitable.

You can see a Times' photo gallery here. You can view additional photos and read more on Friday's outdoors page, or visit the fort's website.

Naked sailors

That is what I thought the first time someone told me that the NOOD regatta was coming to St. Petersburg.

Nude, as in naked, I asked? No, my friend replied, NOOD as in National Offshore One Design Regatta. Sailing might just become a spectator sport if all the competitors raced in the buff. But head downtown this weekend, and you will see a spectacle to remember.

More than 1,000 sailors from across the U.S. and abroad will be in town for this multi-class event. The sailboats, ranging in length from 20 to 70 feet, will all have identical measurements and specifications. Three or four fleets will be competing simultaneously on three different race courses right off The Pier.

The NOOD travels around to eight other U.S. cities, but the racers will tell you that when it comes to a spectator-friendly venue, St. Petersburg has them beat hands down.

So if you have nothing to do this weekend, head downtown and check out the action. Clothing is not optional.

Sharks or alligators

Civic groups often contact the newspaper for public speakers. I have one speech and it doesn't change much whether I am addressing second graders or Shriners. This evening, talking with a group of senior citizens enrolled in Eckerd College's Elder Hostel program, I made them pick.

"Sharks or alligators?" I asked. A show of hands revealed an evenly-split crowd. The audience, many of them from as far away as Canada and the Pacific Northwest, wanted to know which of the two I considered more dangerous.

Alligators are stupid reptiles with the brains the size of walnuts. As long as you stay away from their mouths and tails you are usually OK. But sharks are another story.

As a surfer, I live by the creed: I don't eat sharks, sharks don't eat me. But I did acknowledge that sometimes members of the wave-riding brethren do become part of the food chain. Tragic indeed, but let's not forget, natural selection. Were sharks put here to develop a stronger, more cunning breed of surfer?

There's a race in San Francisco called the Alcatraz Shark Fest, I told this crowd of silver-haired students. The Bay has its challenges...cold, current and Carcharodon carcharias. The first two can be overcome, but the third, now that's not quite so easy. My strategy, I explained, was stay in the middle of the pack. As long as you are not first or last, the sharks will leave you alone.

But in all seriousness, I warned, these toothy predators are not to be taken lightly. That is why when swimming or surfing in any ocean, always bring a buddy. It will cut your risk of shark attack by 50 percent.

Humbled by the heat

The rangers warned us that there would be no water in the Big Cypress Swamp. Well, no water that you can drink that is.

My hiking buddies and I thought we had enough fluids, two gallons each, to make it across 30-miles of the most inhospitable landscape in Florida. But we didn't count on the heat and we didn't figure in the weight of all the camera gear we would be carrying.

We hit the trail Wednesday morning at 9 a.m. hoping to hike 17 miles into the woods. By noon, we had only made it seven miles (the terrain was rough and difficult to manage) and we had used up nearly our entire supply of that day's water.

We had wanted our packs to weigh less than 35 pounds, but in reality, they were all over 40. The air temperature was much hotter - 85 by mid day - than we had anticipated which also added to our fatigue.

Rather than risk be stranded in the middle of nowhere dying for a drink, we decided to pitch camp, re-group, and head back the next day. Big Cypress would always be there and we could return another day, better equipped.

Lessons learned: Travel light and carry more water than you think you will need.

The trail of the panther

Big Cypress Preserve is a 2,400 square mile wilderness in southwest Florida. People often refer to this area as a swamp, but that is a misnomer. In reality, this area has everything from pine flatwoods and hardwood hammocks to cypress domes and marshes.

The mixed habitat makes this an ideal stomping ground for Felis concolor coryi, more commonly known as the Florida panther. These secretive animals are seldom seen by humans, but if you are lucky enough to have one cross your path, this is where it will happen.

The Florida Trail runs through the main section of the preserve. Its possible to walk, or more like slog, from Tamiami Trail in the south to Alligator Alley in the the north, a distance of approximately 38 miles. The trail is rough, underwater in some parts, and seldom ventured by hikers.

But we have had a mild winter, with little rain, and I'm hoping the path will be dry enough to make it halfway across by tomorrow at sundown. Then, that is when the fun will begin.

We'll set up camp under some oak trees then take off on a night hike in search of bobcats, bears, wild hogs, snakes, gators and all those other cool things that make Florida, Florida. The chances of seeing a panther are slim, but not non-existent.

The only way you will know is to go.

Swamp Bowl: The Sequel

My boss asked what kind of idiot would plan a cub scout camping trip the night of the Super Bowl. I raised my hand and smiled. It was an accident, I tried to explain. He just laughed and said I was going to miss a good game.

Not if the dads in Pack 210 had anything to say about it. A few opted out, but Joe Springsteen had his own plan. He hauled his 32-inch HD TV to an oak hammock on the edge of a swamp, rigged a 20-foot free-standing antenna in a small clearing and then fired up his new Honda generator.

A dozen of us stood there speechless as he searched for a signal. Then, after a few tense minutes of channel surfing, he found the pre-game show and a collective roar of approval echoed through the woods.

By kickoff, we had a seafood boil cooking on a turkey fryer and a pot of Son of a Gun stew heating over an open fire. The crowd was evenly divided: the men pulling for the Giants, the boys for the Patriots.

Sitting in lawn chairs beneath a star-filled sky, listening to barred owls calling in the distance, we watched what may have been the best Super Bowl in decades. We all wondered how much Springsteen's coveted red chair, sitting on the campsite equivalent of the 50 yard line, would have cost if we put in on E-Bay.

One hundred? Five hundred? A thousand? Not enough. You just can't put a price on a night like that.

Super swamp ape

Heading out to Myakka River State Park this afternoon to watch the Super Bowl in the woods. But this state park, one of Florida's oldest, offers more than just an unusual place to watch the big game.

Myakka is probably the best place I know to test the mettle of young campers. with two lakes, a river and miles of wilderness trails, this little patch of paradise is Florida at its best.

The river, which connects the upper and lower lakes, has more big gators in a small area than I have ever seen. These gators are not your "usual mosey off the bank when humans come by" reptiles that I am accustomed to. These brutes stand their ground.

If you are scared of heights, Myakka is the place to go to conquer you fear. The park's canopy walkway, and elevated boardwalk through the treetops, has a 74-foot tower that offers a commanding view of the surrounding swamps and hammocks.

The terrestrial trails are well-marked but rugged, thanks to the wild pigs that run rampant through the scrub land. Hikers should not be surprised if they run across a 200-pounder while hiking. But don't worry, you can usually smell these beasts before you see them.

And finally, the Myakka area is also the location of a highly-publicized Swamp Ape sighting in 2000. In December of that year, the Sarasota County Sheriff's Office received an anonymous letter that contained two photographs a big, hairy hominid some believe may be the legendary Skunk Ape.

If so, I'm sure the larger than life creature will be swinging by our camp this evening to watch the match-up between the NFL's top two teams. Who will the BIG hairy guy be routing for? Why the giants of course.

Grouper Wars

The Gulf of Mexico Fishery Management Council may have agreed with the National Marine Fisheries Service's plan to shut down grouper fishing for three months next year, but go selling your offshore fishing gear. The fight is far from over.

Federal officials have been wrong, or let's say behind the curve before. Look at red grouper. The feds said the species was in trouble, so they dropped the hammer on recreational fishermen, then one year later we all found out that it was a big mistake.

Stock assessments take time, and as a result, fishery manages are often working with numbers that one or two years old. Any angler or charter boat captain can tell you that fishing pressure has slowed as a result of skyrocketing oil prices.

Whether that will factor into the Council's final decision, due later this year, remains to be seen. But one thing is for sure. The Tampa Bay recreational fishing community turned out in strong numbers to voice their concerns.

If the fisher kings are smart, they will stop and take another look at the numbers before they put a lot of people out of business. If they don't, they might just get hit with another lawsuit. The Fishing Rights Alliance (FRA) and the Florida Chapter of the Coastal Conservation Association (CCA) have capable lawyers.

What's next? No fishing in the Middle Grounds?