Marina Wildlife
During the winter season, for the past quarter century, I migrate to the western side of Florida along the Gulf of Mexico. There in a liveaboard lifestyle along a downtown waterfront marina. I encounter the feel of nature with its wildlife — tidal variations lifting and dropping the boat, almost constant lapping of waves against the hull, the sound of fish nibbling barnacles off the hull, and a host of animals that make their home on the urban waterfront. It is a boundary strip of urbanized land and water. On land are high-rise condos and a string of restaurants and drinking establishments for strollers. On the water are hundreds of boats in individual slips.
We do not have the news-making scary creatures of Florida fame like pythons, alligators, and iguanas but a more peaceful set of critters. Boat cabins separate us from the water underneath by less than a half-inch of fiberglass and the open cockpit exposes us to a hemisphere of sky and water. There is drama both above and below the water. One night I walked to the edge of the marina to observe a full-moon rise on a perfectly clear early evening. As the star gazer on my iPhone predicted, the moon broke the water surface in an orange ball. A couple walking their dog asked, “What’s that?” I told them it was the moon! They had never seen anything like it in their hermetically sealed condo.
Manatees are a top draw for sightseeing. They frequently leave a brackish salt water environment for the marina to sip boat air conditioner and dehumidifier exhausts. They also take advantage of rainwater runoff in street sewers that flows into the marina.
Oysters and barnacles that cling to pier pilings and boat hulls are probably the least favorite critters in our marina world. The oysters have to be hacked away lest they damage boats colliding with an outcropping. Barnacles have created a lucrative business for divers who scrape hulls monthly to protect the bottom paint on hulls.
Mold is another of the least favorite member of the plant or animal kingdom.It can take over a highly polished white deck leaving it greenish and very unattractive after a prolonged wet and sun-less period.
Schools of mullets offer an enjoyable spectacle as they maneuver to escape the casting fishermen who chase them during their seasonal runs. There are dozens of highly maneuverable flat-decked boats with net casters while tens of thousands of mullet are trying to hide under boats. It is a dramatic and highly acrobatic scene as fishermen pirouette casting their nets and mullet schools adroitly play hide’n seek.
Flocks of terns take off from the covered docks over power boats for some unknown reason, circle around a couple of times, and settle back down to their communal roof-top residence. I’ve come to announce such events with a shout of “terns astern” because the boat happens to point away from the covered slips. I have no idea what signals the colony of terns, but the sea gulls along the edge of the roof covering seem unperturbed by the commotion and continue their squawking during mating rituals.
Great Herons often stand one-footed on pilings surveying the still waters for signs of fish. Then swoop down and snatch fish with uncanny accuracy. Ospreys perched on mast tops high above or circling over the open waters also dive with unbelievable accuracy to catch fish and then take them up to the mast tops for dinner. Circular antennae at the top of a mast often provide perfect dining room tables.
Anhingas are skilled underwater swimmers in search of deeper fish. When they surface, they often seem to play with their catch as they try to align the fish headfirst before swallowing. Then they hop on a boat mooring line or a nearby rock and spread their wings to dry in the sun before their next dive.
Ducks are also popular birds swimming around boats looking for handouts. I’ve thrown them stale crackers and for days afterwards they swim around the boat for more. They remind me more of pets than wildlife.
Pelicans are another example of very skilled divers from a much lower altitude sometimes barely skimming the water. Tourists are attracted to pelicans and this fisherman’s temporary jewelry display. The fisherman pays the pelicans with small fish for drawing the tourists — everybody wins.
My quarter century of annual migrations to the other side of the Atlantic for the summer season is to a small farming village in Bavaria. In a spacious apartment compared to a small sail boat, I overlook a thousand-year-old town wall but almost no wildlife. There are crows on rooftops and trees, many hectors of cultivated corn, and a couple of swans in what is left of a town moat. Occasionally, there are geese overhead in v-formations headed from Scandinavia across the nearby Alps to North Africa. The village has a long history but is short on wildlife.
