Big Cypress National Preserve

In the bigger, more famous neighboring park in southern Florida, the paid guide assured me that the American alligator “is a solitary creature, you never see more than one or two together”. In Big Cypress, I counted 16 alligators in one puddle and 17 in the next. Unlike most other wildlife I try to photograph, the alligators don’t run away; they look you right in the eyes and even slowly move towards you. Some are easy to spot, but while I was counting, three more were sneaking up on me.

Most of the million acres in Big Cypress and its smaller partners are actually prairie habitat for the endangered Florida panther, but there was a devastating fire recently, in our rapidly heating world. I drove the loop road instead, looking for gators in the gullies, but I often found myself looking up at the various trees to look at the air flowers hanging on to trunks and branches. In the hardwood hammocks, you might see some tree snails. And I saw a lot of birds, especially wood storks and other large wading birds.

Coming from the Naples side, I stayed in Everglades City, which is tucked in between the Ten Thousand Islands, the Everglades western estuaries and mangrove islands, and Big Cypress. Before the highway was extended to Key West, many visitors took boats to Key West from Everglades City. They’re rebuilding the hurricane damaged visitor center there in the name of Marjorie Stoneman Douglas, who wrote the book, River of Grass, that led to the protection of 2.5 million acres of lower Florida. Fortunately, large commercial efforts to farm, graze and otherwise exploit the land had all failed, so the environmental coalition won. Carbon pollution raises sea levels, so the future is uncertain. But for now, this is a good place for adventure travel out into the mangroves.

Amistad National Recreation Area

In 1969, just below the confluence of the Rio Grande, Devils and Pecos Rivers, a dam was built, creating Lake Amistad (friendship en Español). The lake caused the mouths of the Pecos River and Seminole Creek (above) to silt up, and now that the water level has fallen (like Lake Mead and Lake Powell) they’re cut off from the Rio Grande (see far right). Most of the boat ramps, like the small dock at the cave above, are no longer accessible. The lake is far below minimum expectations, because the US diverts virtually all the Rio Grande water before it even reaches Big Bend. From there most of the river comes from Mexico’s Río Conchos. The park is run in partnership with many agencies, and the two towns that share the border are friendly and have joint cultural festivals annually. Mexico maintains a small fishery, US residents enjoy bass fishing, and the border is marked with buoys. I took one of the old highway ‘spurs’ straight down to the water, but it was too hot to kayak in winter.

Panther Cave, across the canyon above, is on the far western park boundary. While the park film absurdly claims that “no Native Americans have any ties to the area”, the canyon is Seminole Canyon, and the cave is an important site for prehistoric cave art. The Amistad visitor center has information and large reproductions of the cave art, and the excellent Seminole Canyon State Park has morning ranger-led tours to another similar cave and a few miles of hiking trails to see the view above. Before man dammed and drained the rivers and destroyed the riparian ecosystems, Native Americans must have traveled up the Rio Grande to Albuquerque, where some of the oldest petroglyph art was created at the same time as the art here. Sitting on the cliff above observing the wildlife, I imagined prehistoric people hunting, traveling by canoe, drawing on the cave walls and protecting their families from panthers, until thunder warned me to seek shelter.