Everglades National Park - The Steamy Swamp

As the river of grass nears the ocean, freshwater begins to mix with the sea, and the hammocks and pinewoods give way to dense mangrove thickets. Symbols of a steamy world that is neither land nor sea, mangroves thrive in briny swamps where the air is heavy and moist and filled with buzzing mosquitoes and screeching tropical birds. Mangroves stand like natural barriers to the current, slowing it down and creating vast pools of stagnant water, stained brown from tannin in the trees. Mangrove roots, although anchored underwater in the mud, generally rise above the surface, arched like umbrella ribs and intertwined in an impenetrable maze. This arrangement is not accidental: the mud lacks oxygen, and the roots are able to breathe in the open air.

Red mangroves, the dominant species, have deep green waxy leaves that grow in a jungle mass; the plants' delicate little yellow flowers bloom late in the summer, perfuming the air with a refreshing citrus fragrance. Hanging from the branches are podlike seeds, which sprout while still attached to the trees. Falling into the water, they are carried away along the winding creeks interlacing the swamps, eventually to settle down and take root.

For a long time people considered mangrove swamps to be little more than breeding places for mosquitoes, but now scientists realize that mangrove roots trap silt and debris, building new land. Their leaves add valuable nutrients to the water, and the food and shelter they offer attract life from land and sea. Rainbow-colored fish flash through murky pools, and the sun glinting off their backs. Rooted in the mud, sea anemones open their tentacles like flowers in full bloom. Crabs, snails, and other small animals crawl along the roots, picking for food among the waterlogged leaves. The diamondback terrapin suns lazily on mud flats, its black shell etched with sets of concentric rings and its speckled face adorned with a clownlike grin. Local legend says that a terrapin's age can be calculated by counting the number of rings contained in one set; but when this works at all, it holds true only until the turtle is about 10 years old -- and the diamondback can live to 40. Female terrapins grow twice as big as the male. They dig sandy holes above the waterline, then deposit up to 18 eggs in the nest. Baby terrapins hatch from two to four moths later -- that is, if the eggs have not been snatched by gulls of other marauders.

Mangrove swamps, where the land oozes and shifts, are not for mammals that prefer firmer footing, but spectacular numbers of spectacular birds find such places safe and isolated havens. Snowy egrets and great white herons pierce the water with their long, pointed bills. Brown pelicans roost in the mangroves, fishing a short distance away in Florida Bay or the Gulf of Mexico. But by far the most magnificent feathered creature in the mangroves is the roseate spoonbill, a wading bird whose bright pink plumage brings a joyous glow to the swamp. The unique paddle-shaped bill differentiates this bird from the similarly hued flamingo, which occurs in the Everglades only sporadically.

If the roseate spoonbill is the queen of Florida Bay, surely the crocodile is the king. Roaming the mangrove creeks, its knobby, clay-colored back rising formidably above the water and its tapered snout studded with fangs, this reptile, when it wants to get other animals out of its way, needs only to give the water an angry slap with its tail. The crocodile rules its kingdom, confident and supreme, though its authority goes unnoticed by most human visitors. To catch a glimpse of one of these creatures surging ahead in the brackish waters of Florida Bay, the only place in the United States where they are found, is to feel fear and excitement rolled into one. Crocodiles are wild and wonderful, awesome and atavistic, mysterious and marvelous -- superb symbols of the wilderness where they are king.