by Alexis K. Heinz, 2017 ecology & evolutionary biology, woody plants graduate student instructor; 2019 master of science, conservation ecology & master of landscape architecture
The coastline in Naples, Florida at Vanderbilt beach has a wide stretch of ocean. Entering at the public swimming site, to the south are buildings of downtown, to the north, a tree, fuzzy in form.
On the east coast, the waters were pretty dynamic when I visited earlier in April 2020.
The water conditions near Vanderbilt Beach are variable.
I swam wearing head to toe swimming clothes, goggles, and a baseball cap to start, protecting myself from the sun and valuing the experience of being in the water.
Doing something new – swimming alone in the ocean – and facing, processing, and letting go of apprehension, I felt the pressure of the towering buildings and the onlookers the buildings contained. I noticed differences in the water temperature, aquatic species and activity, and air currents when in proximity of the buildings. The fishbowl effect is experienced when in a location surrounded by onlookers.
Expanding my career into broader landscapes, handkerchief on, I jogged through crowds to open beaches further north or south of the public area. I started wearing a mask and snorkel, exploring data collection procedures.
I noticed fish as individuals and estimated the number present in each small community. I saw larger groups of schooling species, some tiny, fast, and iridescent, others small and translucent with distinctive dark eyes. Charismatic species showed bluish streaks and pointed snouts or 20″-long bodies with down-turned mouths. Very infrequent were black and white striped groups of three or four individuals, almost square in shape.
One day I saw a crustacean quickly retreat into the shell, then emerge, pause, and scurry away.
I saw another crustacean burrow into the ocean floor. I thought there could be thousands of them buried in the sand. Or maybe only a few.
Some areas had sand dollars everywhere. 50-80% cover, only 1″ in diameter. In 1-hour of “diagonal transect” snorkeling, only three 4″-wide sand dollars. I think some of them exuded feces in an off-white intestinal shape.
On the first day, I saw fins in the distance, embraced the fear of sharks, and later enjoyed the active dolphins that swam nearby. I researched the shape of dolphin and shark fins that day after swimming, i.e. the fins I saw belong only to dolphins.
Later in the summer, I avoided the underwater clouds of perfume and body chemicals as the number of human attendees increased.
On August 16, 2020, I swam to what I later identified as a Pine Tree, in four and a half hours of traveling up and down the shoreline via walking and jogging, wading, snorkeling, and swimming. Many pines slightly shaded the beach and probably stabilized the soil.
Swimming back towards the exit, I saw a dolphin in the distance. I stopped and ate a snack standing in the water with my back to the buildings. The beach didn’t feel safe with all the overlooking towers and technology. Then further in the distance, a few more dolphins. I was relaxed and responded verbally. Then more dolphins, 10, 20, 30, probably 80, even more than 100 total, crested the surface. An alternative hypothesis, maybe it was the same 40 dolphins cresting multiple times. I felt grateful, laughed some, and signed respect. Another possible alternative hypothesis is that a boat nearby the dolphins was encouraging their activity.
The turbidity is dense some days. I saw particles in the water, shining slightly, while I listened to the salt and sand make tinkling noises. I have seen them in the sky since 2004 or 2005, the shiny spins mostly visible with soft, slightly unfocused vision.
For some reason, the salt water on my eyelashes stings my eyes when normally any discomfort goes away promptly. Now I am concerned about the safety of the water in the Gulf of Mexico and elsewhere.
To pay for some work training, I worked with a local native plant grower, a professor who retired early and had written two peer-reviewed published articles and reports about Collier County. One published, peer-reviewed paper discusses the water being safe nine months of the year and unsafe the other three months once the rainy season arrives.
Speaking with the professor and observing for months, I think the Collier County water supply influences the ocean. If personal practices of the residents have a detectable effect, the water supply probably does also. Plus, the Gulf of Mexico is the receiving body for the Mississippi River. I hope the farmers in the north use less fertilizer and pesticides and that the southern infrastructure becomes healthier.
I did not swim again before I left, instead driving north to greet the academic semester. And the trees.
Copyright 2020 by Alexis Heinz. For questions or permissions contact akheinz@umich.edu