A moment with manatees

Fall 2008

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

To download a pdf copy of the magazine click here: > DOWNLOAD

By Matthew Crane

All I wanted to do on my last day in Florida was paddle, so, before the rest of the family considered any other options, my father-in-law Stacy and I were dropping into the water. He had been a constant companion on my paddling excursions during this vacation. A long-time canoeist, he had found a new passion in kayaking and was right behind me as I crossed the channel from San Carlos Island to Estero Island’s Ft. Myers Beach, on part of the Great Calusa Blueway. Nothing was planned; we just wanted to be on the water.

As we approached the inland side of the island we began to explore the man-made channels that formed watery subdivisions. We floated through them discussing the changes since Hurricane Charley had hit the area in 2004. Mansions were flanked by ramshackle cottages and cleared lots, the island’s reminder of that category four hurricane.

Stacy had mentioned that manatees were routinely seen in these channels. We didn’t expect to see any of the endangered species on our meandering journey through the water-alleys, but in one channel we noticed a woman staring into the water, a forgotten cup of coffee in her hand. When we came broadside of her she simply stated that two manatees had just passed by the pier. We immediately sat up and focused on the water around us.

We peered into the green water, continuously searching for anything that might be a manatee, and my mind obliged me by creating shapes rising from the gray depths.  Time passed and my anticipation turned to impatience. Finally the water stirred and a gray form began to rise. The shape became defined, and I could see hair and a head and a long round fluke with a single bite out of it. My heart stopped; my boat seemed so small and insignificant to the expanse of what must have been the manatee’s back. It rose slowly up and another gray shape floated up out of the blackness beside it. At about half the size of the mother, it matched her speed and slow grace as they broke the surface and exhaled together; they inhaled loudly and sank again. We stared after them until they were gone and then we waited.

The pair came and went several more times, sometimes staying down so long we thought they were gone, but they would surprise us and reappear again. We called our wives, who were rushing to meet us. We hoped they could access the channel from the street, but there was nothing we could do but float and wait for each precious sighting hoping the rest of our family would arrive before the manatees left.

The sun rose high above us as we watched. Eventually the water was just a glare with no manatees. Feeling that our time with them was over, we slowly began to paddle to the bay, but a few strokes into our departure a gray shape appeared behind Stacy’s boat. Baby had become curious and was now investigating us.

Stacy and I began to slowly paddle back to the area we had last seen the pair. We were afraid of separating the two and hoped Baby would continue to follow us back to where we thought Momma was. Luckily, Momma surfaced in front of us and Baby continued to follow us, drifting from boat to boat. Her intense curiosity and innocence touched my heart. She bumped the boats and swam underneath us, seeming to play. She spent more time investigating Stacy. When she surfaced near him he would talk to her and she would look at him inquisitively. My father-in-law, the manatee whisperer! Baby didn’t seem to mind me floating around trying to snap pictures.

The rest of the family finally found us. Baby had rejoined Momma by this time and they were back into their old rotation. We made a switch on the kayaks while the manatees were underwater, allowing my son Jacob and his grandmother Debbie a chance to be close to them when they came up. My wife had paddled our third kayak across the bay to our channel and showed up soon after we made the switch.

Stacy and I sat on the pier watching the rest of our family make their own memories. I watched as my son’s body stiffened, much as mine probably did the first time I saw them. He turned his head slowly and whispered that they were right beside him. Debbie was nearby and she swung her head around and let out a quiet “oh.” Soon afterward they surfaced beside my wife and she had her moment of awe.

We stayed with them until the hot sun finally drove us to return home. The experience was behind us but something was different within us. We have bonded rather closely since then. Our two families do things together all the time now and for a while after the encounter we all had a little different view on the world.

The unplanned nature of paddling creates moments that live forever in memories: coming around a bend into view of a sunset silhouetting a great blue heron as it fishes for its supper, finding an eagle scraping the mirrored surface of a lake or floating with a manatee mother and baby – these are the moments that paddlers carry with them forever. These experiences change us and enrich our lives more than we may ever realize.

Reflections is writing that captures the spirit of kayaking. Matt Crane is a writer and outfitter. His paddling began in Italy and now he spends time on the rivers and streams of the Midwest kayak fishing and introducing others to the sport. He dreams of warm blue water with frolicking manatees.