Biscayne Bay is for the Birds, as it Should Be

I went to Morningside Park to commune with nature. But it wasn’t going to be enough to just come to the edge and look. That day, I needed to go beyond the fringe of riprap and mangroves on the waterfront and be in it.

I asked the woman at Morningside Watersports if she thought I might see dolphins from my rented kayak.

“They like to come out in the morning. Early morning,” she said, looking back at me with a sly smile, like I was a fool to even ask.

It was late afternoon and the wind had picked up, bringing an unseasonal chill to the air. The bay waters were choppy. It looked like it might rain. I considered my options.

I went in. I snapped the salty safety vest shut, picked up the oars and headed to the water. After a year of city confinement, I needed to connect to someone, everyone, the universe, a rock.

I pointed my kayak toward a small mangrove island in the middle of the Bay. Even from a distance I could see the faint outline of some creatures in the trees, most likely birds, not likely dolphins. But I was going to take whatever wild thing was out there.

The island is small, not much more than a circle of mangroves with a narrow inlet that was wide enough for my kayak. The closer I got, the louder things became. The squeaking, squawky chatter and rustling of wings from soaring birds turned into a deafening roar. A white egret stood sentinel on a far branch while pelicans roosted around it. They either didn’t notice me or didn’t care. I was nothing there. I slowly glided in, marveling at this secret chamber, then slipped out. This was their world.

While humans locked down during the pandemic, some animals came out to see where we lived, too, roaming emptied streets hungry, curious, relieved. Earth seemed quieter, cleaner than they last remembered it. While we gasped for breath this past year, the skies cleared of our pollutants. When our cruise ships docked, waterways cleared.

Will we keep it that way? Before we get back to industrial tourism and mega ships churning toward glaciers and coral reefs, let’s at least think about it.

In Florida, some of the most environmentally destructive things are often placed next to the most environmentally fragile places.

Ports. Sewage treatment facilities. Nuclear plants. Us.

But nature can only forgive our indiscretions – or survive our transgressions – for so long.

Last fall, that part of Biscayne Bay was bobbing with dead fish. This tropical lagoon, a state-designated aquatic preserve, deserving of the highest environmental protection, crossed the “ecological tipping point,” according to Miami Waterkeeper, an environmental preservation group. Overnight, the sudden drop in oxygen levels suffocated fish and other marine life. Aerating pumps were brought in to inject oxygen back into the water – hooking up the Bay like a patient on life support – to save the fish.

Miami-Dade County Mayor Daniella Levine Cava has since appointed a “chief bay officer” to advise on issues related to the health of the bay. On deck is a plan to replace failing septic tanks and defective and leaking sewage pipes. Water pollution from sewage is partly responsible for the death of sea grass meadows that are an essential habitat for marine species, a food source for manatees and, also, critical to filtering bay waters.

Restoration projects have been allotted $20 million in state and local funds so far. It won’t be enough and it won’t be the only thing needed. Saltwater intrusion from sea-level rise, dredging and blasting for port operations, coastal development, the sheer weight of unbridled growth. These things are unsustainable and incompatible with conservation, with sharing the bay and the planet with other life forms. How can we do better?

On the open water, a parade of vessels materialized in the channel. A yacht, a fishing boat, five jet skis. I asked a fisherman if he’d caught anything.

“Nah, “ he said. “The fish are napping.”

Or dead?

Back on land, I told the Watersports woman about the birds, the island, the adventure.

“What do you call that island?” I asked.

“Oh,” she said. “We call that Mangrove Island!” 

She asked about the dolphins.

“Not today,” I said.

Will they be there tomorrow?