By Kathy Worley, Acting Director of Environmental Science and Coastal Biologist
Have you ever had days when you are at work, and you think, “Why am I doing this? Well, this was one of mine!
We were heading out to survey one of our mangrove plots. This particular plot is a nightmare and has a very sad history. In 1999, this plot was in a black mangrove forest, with big mature trees, a full canopy where hardly any sunlight hit the forest floor, and their pneumatophores (little finger-like roots) were sticking out of the soil all over the area. These trees ranged in age from 50 to 100 years or more, strong and healthy, supporting a wide range of wildlife.
Then came Hurricane Wilma in 2005. This particular hurricane was a wind maker, without the storm surge that we have seen in recent hurricanes. What Hurricane Wilma did have were tornadoes, and one had the audacity to touch down right in the center of my plot. The power and fury of nature’s might was unleashed on my poor, beautiful mangroves, breaking them apart like matchsticks and scattering them all around the area. We were heartbroken to see the mess left behind by Hurricane Wilma, but we knew it was a part of nature, and the mangroves would try to recover over time.
Unfortunately, this plot is surrounded by either a high-rise or multi-story home to the north and south, a concrete culverted bridge to the east, and the beach to the west. Hand-dug ditches were installed (on the other side of the road from my plot) to drain impounded water out of a large mangrove die-off area as part of a restoration project. However, there were some unanticipated consequences. My plot is in an area of lower topography, and the water would drain through the culverts and swamp any mangroves trying to recover from Hurricane Wilma. Mangroves did try over the years to recover, and just when you think they might have a chance, more storms or heavy rains hit, and the area where my plot sits became further inundated with water. Today, it is a muddy, algae-infested waterhole with a few struggling mangroves.
Let’s just say the logistics of even getting to the plot are fraught with pitfalls, literally. What was a 5-minute walk in 1998 now takes about half an hour if we are lucky. You are probably familiar with aluminum planks that make up bleacher seats. Well, that’s what we use to get to the plot. Imagine two biologists, Vanessa Booher and me, gently set down a plank and watching it sink into the swamp out of sight. At this stage, it is important to remember where the plank sank. I step on the plank, and the other end of it rises like a teeter-totter, as I windmill my arms to keep my balance, and the mucky water rises up over my boots. I creep carefully down to the other end of the plank, with Vanessa following, carrying another plank. She passes me the plank, and I extend it out into the brown gooey void, and the process is repeated until we finally reach the plot, while the song “Working on a Chain Gang” by Sam Cooke and his brother Charles plays in my head. We don’t subject our interns to this plot, as they would quit on the spot – they sit on the sidelines and record the data we yell to them.
Now comes the hard part: measuring the few mangrove trees and seedlings that are sinking into the muddy water, estimating cover, and performing other monitoring activities. If this plot were dry, where you didn’t have to worry about stepping into mud that acts like quicksand, this would have been a rather enjoyable experience, not so at this plot. Even though there are only a few trees, many are horizontal with vegetative offshoots sticking out, so finding their ID tag can require feeling up the tree trunk elbow deep in muck, and you can’t see your hands until you find a metal ID tag and pull it out of the water to read it. At times, we were leaning precariously off the planks, and it never fails that one of us will have a misstep, and one of our legs is swallowed up. Stairmaster workouts are nothing when it comes to working in this mud. After this plot, I can expect a charley horse to occur as my leg muscles let me know this activity was not advisable. By the time we have finished the survey, Vanessa and I are elated, until, that is, we realize we still have to get back on dry land.
So much has been learned about mangrove resilience by braving the muck year after year. I would have never imagined how hard these trees try to survive in such inhospitable conditions. They are truly remarkable, and we could learn a thing or two about persistence and adversity by just studying these trees and other natural environments around us – and that’s why I do this!