On March 31 state officials turned over a 90 acre tract of land to developers as part of a lop-sided land swap. Environmentalists say the 90 acre "Wooley" tract is key to preserving the southern reaches of the country's smallest black bear population. State land management agencies attest that no matter what decision they made, the bears were going to loose. The state in turn acquires nearly 900 acres of coastal marsh and tropical hammock. You might say this is a good deal. The 900 acres is consider great bear habitat, especially the wooded areas. But without the 90-acre Wooley Tract to connect the 900 acres in the south to larger tracts of land to the north, the bears will be totally cut off from using the newly acquired land. That's one of the few things that pretty much eveyone agrees on. It's sticky issue that I'm just coming to know.

Around the same time as the State's decision, I was in Aripeka visiting friends when I decided to take a look at the Wooley property. It's currently a small park. It's public land, managed by the Southwest Florida Water Management District. I started down the fence line, along an old fire break. My friends told me stories of bears in the area. People know they're around. At one point scientists had radio collared the bears and were tracking them using the land south and north of the Wooley property. I didn't see any bears. But I did see another rare animal that has been negatively impacted by Florida's rampant development – the gopher tortoise. 

You'll be hearing more about this from me in the future ...

Nearly a dozen inches of rain across North Florida since April 1 has spurred flood warnings for rivers across the region, especially those rivers with origins in or near Georgia, where rain totals were even greater.

I've been traveling between Wakulla County near Tallahassee and the Santa Fe River in the recent weeks and have seen the result of this heavy rain. I'll post some more images in the coming days. For now, check out these insane storm clouds that boiled overhead on my way home from work. Capturing this scene was simple matter of pulling the car off the road and pointing my camera skyward. Crazy. God looks really upset.

On Friday, April 17, I drove to my favorite bayou near the confluence of the Santa Fe River with the Suwannee. News reports forecast the river's crest at 28.3 feet near the bayou. The giant cypress trees I had walked past in December would barely be recognizable.

The first clue of this extraordinary flooding came as I turned onto the road heading toward the boat ramp. Just beyond a pathetic lone barricade and a giant puddle, the dirt road disappeared beneath a silent "river," swallowed by a tea-colored abyss. The original boat ramp was still 150 yards away.After paddling through the forest over the what was actually a road, and past where the original boat ramp was, I entered the main river channel and turned east.

Entering the bayou was not as easy as I thought. Instead of a clear path beneath the branches of trees, I intead faced a wall of limbs and leaves that normally would be far overhead. The surface of the water buoyed me into the canopy of the floodplain forest. Once I squeezed through the thicket, I couldn't believe my eyes. Where I had once walked was cover in 25 feet of water. The magnificent cypress, some 60 feet tall and 10 feet in diameter, were like saplings again. Only their narrow necks were visible and no knees could be found. I would need scuba gear to reach the forest floor. 

Among the tree-tops ... branches normally high overhead were just barely able to see the light of day. 

I photographed this cypress loaded with bromeliads one year ago. This time I could appreciate them up close and personal.  

One of the most fantastic experiences I've had in nature was a close encounter with a bottlenose dolphin at dawn on the lower Wacassassa River. What a surprise! As I floated along silently in my canoe the dolphin approached so close I could touch it. At one point it crossed between me and a beam of orange light penetrating the mist rising into the cold air. My camera was at the ready. 

Dawn begins to give way to day on the lower Wacassassa. The river is known for it's sub-tropical forests, remnants of a vast coastal hammock that once stretched 20 miles inland, handing on the coast like a green necklace.

Five foot tall sawgrass announces the transition zone between the forest and the low-lying marsh. 

Mosquitoes and gators make the swamp a tough place to survive and an intimidating place to visit. A looping palmetto thread speaks to it's fragility.

Searching the marshlands for a photograph. 

Florida Forever Day turned out to be a huge success for LINC and the 2009 Florida Forever Calendar. Governor Christ was one of the first to show up at the event, boasting his "Florida Forever ... and Ever" green sticker. He walked directly to our table to inspect our beautiful calendar and hear our message of conservation. Carlton and I introduced ourselves. We explained our mission of using photography to educate the public about conservation issues. The governor was warm to our message, oohing and aahhing over the captivating landscapes. Of course I had to tell him that it was my image on the cover! He picked up a calendar to take with him. Just after commending us for our work, we posed for this photo. From left to right: James Valentine (one of the photographers featured in the calendar), Florida's Governor Charlie Christ (holding the calendar), Carlton Ward (LINC's founder and calendar photographer), and yours truly.

One year ago I fell into the role of committee member for the college scholarship program for the North American Nature Photography Association. For the past year five other committee members and I have promoted this program and eventually selected 12 college students from across to country to come to NANPA's annual summit in Albuquerque, N. M., to meet the best photographers in the county. We cater to their every need: food, lodging, advice, inspiration, portfolio reviews, networking – everything. Yesterday we traveled to the nearby Ojito Wilderness, and the Rio Grande Nature Center State Park, to  photograph in the field. We photographed landscapes in the Ojito and captive owls at the nature center.

Colored sandstone in the Ojito Wilderness. We started the day off in brisk, cold weather. The sky was blue and clear, but the bitting wind blew mercilessly. 

I looked for texture the light created as it scraped over bare rock. No place is more accentuated by low angle side light than the desert. 

Following a college student to keep track of his whereabouts, a series of pinnacles distracted me and lured me into their recesses. I became engrossed in the landscape and the student went missing for a half hour! He eventually returned to the bus as I roamed the desert yelling his name. 

One view of a mushroom rock.

The opposite view of the same mushroom rock.

This tiny adult flammulated owl is only about six inches tall.

The larger, more intimidating great horned owl.

Fei Lian, a college student scholarship winner.

Yu Jiang Tham photographs a cholla cactus just after sunrise. 

 Courtland Hathaway in the New Mexico desert.

A diffuser and a reflector help maximize the photographic opportunities of a captive great horned owl.  The owl had been "rolled" (not hit) by a truck, where it was caught in the turck's draft and its wing broken. Now it's used for educational purposes.