Floridana Alaskiana v.2

big beautiful bears; or, "be afraid, colbert"

Grizzly (brown) bear (Ursus arctos horribilis).
Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center; near Portage, Alaska.
12 April 2008.
Nikon D70s.

After what's felt like the longest two or three weeks of our collective life, we finally managed to scrap some time & energy and to set them aside for ourselves.  Being an absolutely beautiful and sunny day, we decided to trek down Turnagain Arm and check out Portage Lake and the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center (not too far from each other).

The day ended up being rather spectacular for photographs, especially the landscapes.  But I feel driven to post a few grizzly shots.  Grizzlies represent!

These two grizzlies were having a hell of a good time ripping the flesh off of what appeared to be a moose leg.  I have no idea where the rest of the moose was.  Sort of a macabre sight, these two beautiful grizzlies going to town on a disembodied moose leg in the frosty snow...  But hell, that's just the way it goes. Some days are better than others.

It was, of course, a lovely day for us. 

A few hours out in the daylight, out of the office, out of the house...  Away from work.  Away from CNNMSNBCFOX.  Away from the routine.

Amazing what a few hours outdoors can do for your lungs.  I'm desperate to get out more.

Assuming I don't end up like the mystery maimed moose leg (...although...  maybe my leg will then end up on somebody else's blog?)

Janson

diamondback watersnake

Diamondback watersnake (Nerodia rhombifer).
Cherry Creek & The Canadian River basin;
Norman, Oklahoma.
07 July 2007.
Nikon D70s.

When I was a kid, I lived in Norman, Oklahoma for a few years in the 80s.  My buddy, Billy, and I used to head down to the Canadian River basin to wrassle up snakes. One of our favorites was the diamondback watersnake - a large, robust, non-venomous animal frequently found near the Cherry Creek region of the basin.

I can't count the good times I had as a kid messing around with these snakes. Though nonvenomous, they are hefty and large watersnakes. Like most wild animals, they'll do what they can to defend themselves when caught. This usually led to frequent biting fits, as I'd greedily grab the fleeing snake from those murky red waters. I have to admit, I always thought it was funny.

On our way from Florida to Alaska, we spent a week in Oklahoma during July of 2007. One of my goals was to get back down to the Canadian River and try to find some diamondback watersnakes. Sure enough, not far from where I first started searching, I found a magnificent individual slinking from some overhanging brush into the water. After a quick (and sloopy) capture, I once again held one of these magnificent animals.

They're incredibly robust, by North American non-venomous watersnake standards. Their scales are heavily keeled and they feel deeply muscular and strong. A hell of an animal.

I'm sad it'll likely be a long, long time before I get to study one of these animals once again, up close.

You want video?...

water, grass

Cypress swamp.
Manatee Springs State Park; Levy county, Florida.
12 March 2008.
Nikon D70s.

This is an odd shot I really, really like.  The water level was up and over the soft, mucky, slightly-grassy basin of the cypress swamp at Manatee Springs. The end result was a glossy, fluid sheen covering the ground, grass and all.  Gar were swimming nearby, as well as some sort of ancient-looking fish I couldn't identify. 

An elevated boardwalk traverses the area, providing a spectacular view of the area.

-

-

Janson.

black vulture

Black vulture (Coragyps atratus).
Manatee Springs State Park; Levy county Florida.
12 March 2008.
Nikon D70s.

An odd bird, the black vulture is.  They have an uncanny beauty about them.  From a distance, they seem rather nasty to me.  But when you look at one up close, there's an unexpected beauty in the intricate details of their faces. In particular, I'm rather drawn by those piercing red eyes.  Strong, yet soft.  Sort of.

This individual bravely stood his ground in the parking lot at Manatee Springs State Park. This shot was simply taken from behind the window, pointing out and down from the driver's side window.  I've never really seen a vulture so stubbornly hold his ground.  There was no carrion immediately near him, so I'm not sure why he felt he had to hold his ground.  But hold it he did.

Janson.

the knight anole

Knight anole (Anolis equestris).
Matheson Hammock Park; Coral Gables, Florida.
07 March 2008.
Nikon D70s

At last, at last...

I've wanted to find and photograph a knight anole in south Florida for a long, long time. These incredibly beautiful lizards are larger than Florida's other anole species, but still smaller than the iguanas. They mostly stick to the trees and elevation. Native to Cuba, they're a recent addition in south Florida's ecological balance (or, unbalance).  There are so many species of lizards down here, it's mind-numbing.

This individual started tracking up a tree when he saw me, but I was able to actually catch him easier than I had anticipated.  Just magnificent.  I did take a little bite or two from the dude (the video's amusing), but the bite wasn't actually as bad as I would thought...

Anyhow, a real score for the south Florida trip.

There's so much more, but I must keep moving forward.

Until then, peace yo.

Janson.

turnagain light

Turnagain Arm.
McHugh Creek; Seward Highway, Alaska.
12 January 2008.
Nikon D70s.

There can be such a softness in the hues and tones of the Alaskan winter. In the thick of winter, when the sun does come out for a few hours, there's such a soft tonality to it. A dance of light pastels, in a way.

Shortly after taking this photograph, I perched down on a rock and simply watched the colors drifts. A lone bald eagle, cruising the edge of the Chugach Mountains, flew not-too-far from my head.  I swear I think the eagle was looking out over the horizon, admiring the view just as I was. 

Janson.

racer and curve

Southern black racer (Coluber constrictor priapus).
Residential Mt. Dora, Florida.
18 August 2006.
Nikon D70s.

Ah, the Southern black racer...  Again.

I seem to be in a bit of a snake mood recently, as I begin this photoblog anew.  Thus, here's another Southern black racer.

There's just something about the racers and the watersnakes.  I can't count the number of deeply pleasurable, surprising, and memorable photo "sessions" I've had with them.  The racers, in particular, are really thrilling to work with.

They're highly active snakes.  It takes a little work to get a racer to calm down in your hands.  They can be a bit tricky to photograph.  But, with a little tenderness, you can get them to at least slow down.  While you hold the snake in one hand and the camera with the other, the racer will often turn back to face you (and the camera). It makes for some nice angles and photographic opportunities.  But again, the trick is timing.  Racers don't like to hold their pose for too long.  And if they're a little too nervous, they'll strike - repeatedly. 

There's a sass inherent in most racers I've worked with.  A real edge.  A tough attitude.  They may not be the easiest to catch and to photograph, but they do prove to be a fun challenge.

Janson.

thick yellow and green

Eastern rat snake (Elaphe alleghaniensis).
"Yellow rat snake".
State Road 40; Volusia county, Florida.
04 January 2007.
Nikon D70s.

How many ways to say, "I love you, you lovely little snake o' love"...?

Quite seriously, I do adore this snake.  This is a classic Eastern rat snake.  In Florida, they're known as 'yellow rat snakes'.  There's actually some debate right now as to how to classify the yellow rat snake.  Is the yellow rat snake simply a regional variant of the Eastern rat snake?  Or is it its own species?  Hell, I'm not sure, so for now I'll stick with the CNAH.

I found this individual slinking about the brush in the early January air of central Florida.  I know a few spots just off State Road 40 in Volusia county that typically yield positive results on the herp front.  Sometimes I'd drive way out of my way going to work, just to hit State Road 40 for an extra hour.  It really is a fantastic stretch of land. 

Sadly, the development from Ormond Beach keeps trudging its way west...  In ten years, I'm not sure how many of these sacred little spots will remain.  Hopefully the yellow rat snakes will negotiate the human development with relative ease and little discomfort?

Janson.

white oranges

Bob White Oranges mill, ruins.
Deleon Springs, Florida.
26 June 2005.
Nikon E5700.

This is an example of what I call the “Nouvelle Archaic”. It applies differently in different states, but in Florida the Nouvelle Archaic are the not-too-distant remnants and remains of the past, quickly swallowed up in the Floridian foilage.

Florida’s Western history goes back to 1565 with the foundation of St. Augustine along the Atlantic coast. William Bartram’s writings give us a glimpse of Florida in the late 1700s. But for the most part, Floridian history is systematically torn down and rebuilt, sometimes by human causality, sometimes by natural forces.

In some regions, we are presented with a sense of natural history that isn’t really natural history at all. The presence of wild Spanish horses in Paynes Prairie (Alachua county), for example, is a historical nod – but, wild Spanish horses aren’t indigenous to Florida (obviously). So, it’s a manufactured history.

Interestingly, the most “natural” of historical remnants easily seen on a regular basis are those of the unnatural manufactured world: factories, buildings, mills, etc. The most charming, for me, are the factories and mills of the early- and mid-20th century. They weren’t abandoned too long ago, but already the foliage has reclaimed that land for its own purposes. The end result is that an abandoned orange mill from the 1950s feels much older and archaic than a currently-maintained Spanish fort originally built of coquina and shellstone in 1565. Thus, the New Archaic. The Nouvelle Archaic.

(In Alaska this works rather differently – - but I’ll save that for another post!)

Janson.

caramello

Florida banded watersnake (Nerodia fasciata pictiventris).
Kanapaha Botanical Gardens; Gainesville, Florida.
09 September 2006.
Nikon D70s.

Here's one of the more-interesting Florida banded watersnake photographs in the collection.  This individual was caught and photographed at Kanapaha Botanical Gardens in Gainesville, Florida.

Florida bandeds seem to come in three dominant color variations.  This, the caramello, is the rarest of the three.  I've only seen a few individuals with this patternation.  Typically, Florida bandeds are much darker - - either nearly-black with dark red stripes or as a banded mix of black, brown and red.  The caramellos are literally that - a thick, smooth mix of light and dark caramel hues.

One of the more-precious of the individuals I've handled and photographed.

Janson.

racer and bark

Southern black racer (Coluber constrictor priapus).
DBCC West Campus; Deland, Florida.
07 June 2005.
Nikon E5700.

I had the good fortune of teaching at Daytona Beach Community College, on the Deland campus, for several years. Our small campus was tucked in the woods near the intersection of State Road 44 and Interstate 4. Pine forests and scrub brush flanked our campus on all sides, dotted occasionally by a small pond or lake.  It was, in some ways, like teaching at a really, really nice campground.

It didn't take too long before I had a bit of a reputation for being the snake guy...

Southern black racers, like the one pictured above, were quite common on campus.  These fast, agile and alert (non-venomous) snakes actually do quite well around people and development. They have excellent vision and can spot a person and disappear into the brush well before most people even notice their presence. Often you'll see a smooth flash of black that suddenly disappears - - that was a racer.  An appropriate name for this animal. They are incredibly fast. And why so many on campus?  The campus attracts a plethora of frogs and lizards, both groups being favored prey for the southern black racer.

Over time I got quite good at spotting racers from a distance and anticipating which direction they would flee. It's simply a matter of learning how to read the animals. Catching racers isn't always the easiest thing to do and when you do manage to catch them, some racers prove to be quite formidable.  Though they are longer than they are big, racers can still pack quite the punch in terms of biting.  They'll sometimes lash out repeatedly, trying to protect and defend themselves when caught.  Again, you learn how to handle these racers to minimize their anxiety with time.

Many DBCC afternoons were marked by the unexpected appearance of a large bald guy with a camera jumping into the grass by the sidewalk and then standing up with a long, black snake in his hands.  I admit, it was a remarkable and precious added-component to teaching on that campus.  I never grow tired of the racers and I'm grateful to have been able to work with so many over the years.

Janson

the white ibis

White ibis (Eudocimus albus).
Lake Monroe and the St. Johns River; Sanford, Florida.
23 August 2006.
Nikon D70s.

Oh, I do love the white ibis. 

The white ibis is a very common bird throughout peninsular Florida.  If there's water nearby, odds are you're going to see that curved, bright orange bill and those brilliant blue eyes somewhere in the vicinity. The ibis frequently clusters together near the shore's edge, foraging and milling about.  You'll see them wade in the water a bit and then, when spooked, take flight as a single, blinding white mass.  They are simply lovely.

When we lived in Sanford (a little north of Orlando, just south of the Volusia and Seminole county line), the St. Johns River was literally just across the street.  At Sanford, the river mounts up into Lake Monroe, before continuing its path north to Jacksonville and the Atlantic Ocean.  Lake Monroe is a haven for ibis, herons, egrets, and osprey.  Manatees come through these waters, near the American alligators and the freshwater population of Atlantic stingrays that hunt the sandy shallow bottoms.

I used to love walking to the "sea wall" with my camera, sitting, relaxing, and watching the birds go by.  The ibis, in particular, always exhibited a cautious but curious body language.  They would troll the sea wall edge, checking for kibbles and bits, and occasionally pivot their oddly shaped faces back toward me, just to be sure I wasn't on the hunt.  Ever cautious, ever watchful, ever moving, I didn't realize how Everyday these birds had become in my life. 

Janson.

keysian

Keysian storm in the distance.
near Bahia Honda State Park, The Florida Keys.
26 September 2005.
Nikon D70s.

Coming out of a rather rough couple of days, I found myself on the University of Alaska Anchorage campus this morning, shivering through ten degree temperatures.  Granted, the sun was already coming out (sunrise is now at 9:09), but still - the cold definitely got the better of me.

So I briefly turn back to the Florida Keys for a little inspiration.  I look at this photograph of a Keysian storm brewing near the shoreline of Bahia Honda and I can almost smell the salt in the air.  I can almost feel the humidity on my skin, the breeze on my face.  The sound of the occasional gull flying by.  The constant patter of the water brushing delicately on the shore...

It just takes a moment of imaginative reflection . . . and my ears stop burning from the ice cold chill I picked up while walking across campus a few moments ago.

Some days are colder than others.

Janson.

rocky mountain bighorn sheep

Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep (Ovis canadensis canadensis).
Glacier National Park, Montana.
18 July 2007.
Nikon D70s.

In July of 2007, when we drove over 4800 miles from Florida to Alaska, we watched the flora, fauna and topography change around us.  In Florida, of course, the land is thick with vegetation, winding creeks, and small, crittery wildlife.  In Oklahoma, the space is open and vast, spotted occasionally by bison and bovine. But by the time we reached Glacier National Park in Montana, we found ourselves in a deeply different world.

Here the mountains are dense.  Glacial valleys overlook thick cobble-stone rapids.  Ice clings to bowl shaped divots in the mountainside.  And the Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep overlooks it all.

Quite simply, there's nothing like bighorn sheep in Florida.  We do, in fact, have some bison and bear in Florida.  We even have a few Florida panthers remaining.  But there's nothing like the bighorn sheep.

This individual was hanging out with a buddy near one of the high-altitude, winding roads in the heart of Glacier National Park.  Having stopped and found a place to bunker down with my camera, I simply sat and watched the pair.  One of the individuals, the one photographed above, seemed a bit curious of me.  He came much closer than I had expected.  Fortunately no confrontation ensued.  After a few moments of watching me, he slowly turned and began making his way down a slippery rock slope, with his companion.

I have yet to have come so close to one of Alaska's dall sheep, a close relative of the Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep.  In Canada, however, I did get quite close to several groups of stone sheep.  I really never imagined how interesting and regal a wild sheep truly is.

Janson.

lake woodruff national wildlife refuge

Late afternoon.
Lake Woodruff National Wildlife Refuge; Deleon Springs, Florida.
12 January 2006.
Nikon D70s.

Lake Woodruff National Wildlife Refuge is just over 1,000 acres in size.  Tucked between the town of DeLeon Springs and the St. Johns River, near the line between Volusia and Lake counties, the refuge is a vast series of canals, ponds, wetlands, and forested "islands". 

Birds are numerous here, in both diversity and quantity.  Along with Merritt Island near Cape Canaveral on the east coast, this is simply one of the best places to go for birding.  Sandhill cranes, great and little blue herons, snowy egrets, black vultures, glossy and white ibis, common moorhens...  They're all here, along with so many more lesser known species.

This is also one of the resting points for the precious few whooping cranes remaining. 

In addition to the avian population, the refuge is also home to numerous mammalian and reptilian species.  River otters troll and hunt the waterways.  Dusky pigmy rattlesnakes patiently hang out on the edges of the grasslines. Numerous watersnakes and alligators hold dominion of the water. Rat, ribbon, and garter snakes can be found, along with so many others.  It truly is an impressively rich and diversified area.

Dr. Peter May of Stetson University, in nearby Deland, has spent a lot of time studying Lake Woodruff, its ecology, bird and snake populations. If you have any interest in studying more about Lake Woodruff (or in simply seeing some amazing photography), you absolutely must visit his website here:
http://www.stetson.edu/~pmay/woodruff/

Woodruff is definitely one of those places I'll try to visit each and every time I visit Florida.  It is very much in my heart.

Janson

trail of blue ice

Portage Creek.
The Trail of Blue Ice; Portage Valley, Alaska.
08 December 2007.
Nikon D70s.


The December wind was bitter on this day.  The overcast skies rained a mix of sleet and snow, casting a thick blue haze on everything surrounding the aptly-named Trail of Blue Ice.  Rarely have I seen a place more perfectly named than the Trail of Blue Ice.

A few miles upstream from this creek is Portage Lake and Portage Glacier.  This is glacial-fed water, drifting and mixing with the headwaters of Turnagain Arm, a few miles to the west.  Ultimately this connects with the Gulf of Alaska and the Pacific Ocean - but that is many miles away from here.  Here and now, in the Alaskan winter, the glacial ice melts into creek water, which in turn then freezes again in the December chill.

Alaska is a cycle of ice and water, of water and ice.

There were moose tracks near the shore, but otherwise no evident signs of life.  Winter here is harsh.  It's strong.  It's tough.  A few birds do linger about, but they are few and far in-between.  Winter in Alaska is a time dominated by hard ice and cold water.  Blue is the dominant color.  A thick, hazy, dreamy, and quite chilly hue of blue. 

It's an amazing spectacle.  Simply amazing.

Janson.

key west lightning

Lightning and thunderstorm just offshore.
Key West, Florida.
08 June 2007.
Nikon D70s.

One the things I've been missing since arriving in Alaska is lightning. There just isn't much in the line of lightning and thunderstorms up here in Alaska.  We've got the corner market on overcast skies, snow drifts, and five-hour sunsets.  We even have some impressive wind gusts.  But we don't have lightning.

I remember listening to Scott Slone of The Alaska Podshow Podcast, talk about a summer storm that came through Anchorage this past summer.  We were about to leave Florida and make our month-long, cross-continent drive to Alaska. Slone sounded really amazed by the thunder that had ripped over Anchorage.  I remember thinking how interesting that was...  to really step back and actually take note of thunder as a rare thing.

Typically in Florida, lightning and thunder are a daily rite of passage for the late afternoon.  The heat of the summer day spawns afternoon squalls.  Lightning flashes, the thunder rolls.  It's the music of any given Floridian summer afternoon.

I haven't heard significant thunder or seen any lightning for months now.  And I'm only just now starting to realize how utterly bizarre that is.  I never would've thought that I would miss lightning, of all things...

This particular shot of electricity was just off the coast of Key West.  Weeks before leaving Florida, we booked down to Key West for one final shot of Tropicalia, Key West style.  It was a damn fun little trip, but I remember being perturbed by this storm.  I wanted sun, I wanted shine - not rain, not lightning.

Now, a little over six months later, and several months beyond having seen or heard any lightning, I find myself truly grateful for that vicious little northern Caribbean storm.  It was, I believe, the last significant thunderstorm I experienced as a Florida resident.  And so I now embrace it warmly in my memories.

Janson

nerodia and green

Florida banded watersnake (Nerodia fasciata pictiventris).
Palm Island Park; Mt. Dora, Florida.
01 July 2005.
Nikon E5700.

As the snow continues to drift and our fence continues to disappear beneath powdery white water, I'm thinking forward to this upcoming March.  I'll be heading down to Florida for Spring Break, for a week of hiking and photography.

One of my favorite snakes in central Florida is the Florida banded watersnake.  A non-venomous watersnake, Nerodia fasciata pictiventris is a common and beautiful animal.  They vary in appearance and temperament, but are generally the calmest of the Floridian watersnakes.  Unfortunately, they are often mistaken as Florida cottonmouths and consequently brutalized and killed by tourists and natives alike.  I've found many dead Florida banded watersnakes with their heads crushed in.  Very sad.

Still, I focus on the positive.  I look forward to seeing these cute little guys and gals again.  I look forward to the game of trying to catch a decent photo before they duck effortlessly away and disappear in the central Floridian waters.  I look forward to hanging out with my old Nerodia buddies, if but just for a week.

Janson.

the first post

Burns Glacier & Portage Lake, Alaska.
07 October 2007.
Nikon D70s.

Welcome to the new Floridana Alaskiana!  Version 2.0, alive and kicking.

It seems appropriate that the first photograph be this one.  The deep blues of Burns Glacier and Portage Lake, near the terminus of Turnagain Arm and just north of the Kenai Peninsula in southcentral Alaska, are a far cry from the brighter blues of central Florida, my homestate.

It's now 2008 and a new year has begun.  My wife and I find ourselves living in a radically different world.  We've traded our gators for moose and accepted that the ice is no longer simply in our iced tea glasses (or margaritas, for that matter).  As I condition myself to frequently shoveling snow and battling gravity and inertia as I walk to class on slippery, iced sidewalks, I find myself somewhat amazed at how well we're handling this new life.

Granted, I'm missing the sunlight terribly.  There's a physiological and psychological impact in losing the sunlight.  But, it is the new year and the winter solstice has already passed.  Each and every day is a little bit longer, as we slowly amble our way to the long, lazy summer days that are to come.

This new version of the blog will typically feature a new photograph each and every day.  At least.  Further, I'm going to work more autobiographical writings into the mix.  For those who know the old site, many photos will reappear with time, but I'll be mixing in new shots and others that never made it to the earlier site.

The old site is no longer active.  This site has literally erased it from existence.  Floridana Alaskiana v.2.

Why make these changes?  Why begin again?  Well, the old site simply grew too large.  Updates in Typepad's technology helped tempt me to begin again (rather than trying to update all the individual pages on the old site). But in the end, it was really a craving to begin anew.  To right old wrongs, to revisit old work, and to reframe those yet to come.

It is, after all, a new year.  And 2008 is indeed a year of "change" (sorry).

I do hope you'll enjoy the new site - and let me know what you think.  Comments are open as always - - and I deeply appreciate the feedback I've received in the past (both on the comments pages and on emails).

The video podcast is still up, running, and available on both iTunes and through the link at the top right of this page.

If you have any advice on what I should focus on, please let me know!

Happy New Year to you - and may 2008 be a great one for all of us.

With thanks,
Janson.