It’s a brisk afternoon out on the water as Wendee and Matt and several other visitors lean forward in the Caribiana skiff, cutting through the waves as we cruise along the edge of Perdido Bay, an important Gulf estuary where Florida and Alabama meet.

Joanne slows the engine down a bit, and we cruise past Robinson Island, where she points high up in the slash pines. "See them?" Flapping its giant wings in the top of the tree, a great blue heron tends to its nest. Cruising along the edge of the wet flatwoods, we spy several more of the massive wading birds up in the trees and along the shoreline. "It’s a shame," says Joanne, as we pull back out into the channel. "This island is still threatened by development."

Development defines where Perdido Bay meets the Gulf of Mexico, where expensive homes, towering condos, and bayside hotels line the shores of Ono Island and Perdido Key. With limited public access to the waterfront, the best way to enjoy the natural wonders of this unique estuary is on an ecotour. Sailing out of Orange Beach, Alabama, Caribiana Island Cruises offers "private nature discovery cruises," where you and a handful of your friends board a sea skiff made for exploration, drawing a shallow draft allowing you to cruise right up to the many small islands in the bay. Our captain today is Joanne McDonough, a licensed naturalist and former producer for "Sunday Morning with Charles Kuralt." As she talks about the various nesting colonies she’s seen along the bay, it’s clear she loves her job.

It’s the weekend, so pleasure boaters zip past. A surreal picture drifts past us—a man walking his two beagles in the middle of the bay. He’s beached his Jetski on a sandbar barely sitting below the surface of the waves. The dogs frolic, unconcerned by the inch or two of water they’re treading through. Nearby, a family stakes out a claim on a tiny island, setting up tents and preparing a barbecue. We round the busy channel and come around to the beaches of Walker Island, where two distinct rookeries of cattle egrets fill their air with their fussing and squawking. Easing into the shallows of the sand beach of this mostly-swampy island, we disembark. The water feels warm, the sand bottom covered with a healthy growth of widgeon grass. Joanne pulls out what she calls the "Discovery Box." In it, we find tools for the naturalist—field guides, magnifying glasses, binoculars, a plankton net, buckets, various specimens, and other goodies. "We use these for families with kids," she says. "But you’re welcome to try them on for size."

BENEATH THE SURFACE

Dipping the plankton net into the grass, Joanne shows us dozens of wriggling forms before emptying them gently back into the water. "These grass beds are an aquatic nursery," she says. "You’ll find baby stone crabs, mullet fingerlings, shrimp…" I look around us at the sweep of Perdido Bay towards the Gulf, the development crowding the distant shore, and find it amazing that the grass beds look so healthy, that these baby creatures survive here. "This is where the river meets the sea," says Joanne, gesturing at the estuary. "We have incredible biodiversity here." With a salinity hovering around 20% and summer water temperatures in the low 80s, beds of widgeon grass and shoal grass flourish in Perdido Bay. The grass beds shelter young red drum, spiny lobster, Spanish mackerel, and gray snapper as well. But like many of our coastal waters, these saline nurseries are at risk. According to the U.S. Geological Survey, from 1940 to 1987 the total underwater acreage covered by grass beds in Perdido Bay has decreased nearly in half, to 619 acres. Boat traffic and sedimentation from development remain the primary culprits.

We walk along the white sand beach of Walker Island – brilliant quartzite, just like the beaches on Perdido Key – for a peek at the rookery. Standing a respectful distance from the nesting birds, we observe hundreds of cattle egrets jostling for space, winging in and out with fish to feed their young, squawking at the little blue heron regarding them from a tall branch. Walker Island is long and thin, scarcely a sandbar with a tiny path of maritime hammock on top. Sea oxeye fills the foreground, while a dense marsh of black needlerush stretches off into the distance. We quickly run out of beach, and head back for the boats. Back on the prowl, we play tag through the waves with Earl Calloway’s skiff as we head around the vast sweep of bay up to Ingram’s Bayou, wind rushing across the open water. "Watch for dolphins!" Joanne yells out, turning quickly to follow a pod of dolphins that Earl discovered. Between the boats, we watch their sleek forms break through the waves, several pairs of mothers and their young moving in perfect synchronization. 

PELICANS AND PIRATES

As we turn back towards the bayou, a brown pelican sits on a bobbing channel marker to greet us. Joanne pulls us close to shore and points out an osprey nest near the top of a large slash pine. We watch as the osprey streaks in, fish in talons, to its lofty perch. Easing up against the flow of a brackish creek, we spy coots in the needlerush, and more pelicans along the shoreline. The twisting, winding creek narrows and the dark floodplain forest closes in, branches touching the canopy. "I love this place," says Joanne. "It’s so primeval. I used to come here with my girlfriends and we’d dive into the muck, give ourselves mud baths." With some deft maneuvers, Joanne turns the skiff around and we head back out to open water, watching for more dolphins. We’re not disappointed. Depending on the time of year, you may see West Indian manatees feeding in the shallows. In 2000, researchers captured and tagged juvenile loggerhead turtles in the bay, where they are assumed to feed on the lush aquatic grasses near Perdido Pass.

We make a pit stop at Pirates Cove, a hot spot for locals on the weekend. It’s a family swimming hole and a bar Jimmy Buffet would be proud of, with rustic seating and a variety of frozen drinks. Since our group takes up two boats, we swap captains as we leave Pirates Cove, setting sail with Earl Calloway. Earl’s roots go deep in this region. In 1876, Earl’s great-grandfather sailed a seventy-foot schooner through Perdido Pass, moving his family from Dauphin Island to their new homestead along the bay. As we cruise by Ono Island on the way to the pass, Earl chuckles at the fancy homes. "My granddaddy ranged cattle there. What do you think those millionaires would think of that?" According to Earl, the Calloway and Walker families, the early settlers of this region, hand-dug a ditch from Perdido Pass to Pensacola Bay to create a route for their boats, creating Ono Island when the water rushed through. An older man who’s lived his life on the sea, Earl talks about the cultural history of the region. "I remember this all being cattle ranches and orange groves when I was a kid." We cross Perdido Pass, noting its killer currents as it narrows through the deep cut out into the Gulf of Mexico. Earl points the boat back towards the Alabama bayside, and we complete the circuit of Perdido Bay, watching the cattle egrets flutter over Walker Island as we head back to our moorings.
 

PLANNING YOUR TRIP

Caribiana Island Cruises runs out of the Alabama side of Perdido Bay, at Orange Beach. From I-10 in Pensacola, take exit 12 to I-110, following it east to Brent Lane. Turn right on FL 296 to the Blue Angel Parkway, turning onto FL 292 (Beach Highway) to cross over to Perdido Key. Follow the highway along the Gulf into Alabama. Turn right on AL 161 in Orange Beach, then right on Marina Road. Look for the sign for "Tacky Jacks," a popular waterfront bar and breakfast bistro. Caribiana Island Cruises sails out of the marina below the restaurant. Call 888-203-4883 to charter your trip; reservations are required. Each skiff seats six and costs $75/hour, with a 2-hour minimum. Most guests prefer a 3-hour tour with a stop at popular Pirates Cove on the return trip. Bring your camera!

This article appeared in EcoFlorida Magazine in 2002
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