Florida's natural wonders have been in the news this year for all the wrong reasons: toxic tides, green slimes and rotting marine life.
Losing paradise has long been a fear in Florida, so I recently traveled to three areas to see what's left in a state endowed like no other with woods, wildlife and water.
I began in the Keys, with 80 miles of cycling and a night in a tent at an unexpected jewel of a state park. Campers urged me not to reveal it. I will, though, because it exemplifies a lot of Florida refuges: man-made facsimiles of nature.
After that was a hike along 12 miles of wilderness beach of Canaveral National Seashore at Central Florida's Atlantic coast. It's rarely traversed on foot. I got cell service but the sense of isolation hinted at haunting. Visually, it was astonishingly beauty-and-beast and not for the nudists I interviewed. I'll explain.
The final outing was 25 miles of paddling on the Suwannee River through federal refuge to the Gulf of Mexico. I stayed for an inspirational starry night, sleeping in my canoe, tied off to a cypress knee, lulled by currents and thinking of pirates plying those black waters in pristine times. It was the most moving of the three stops.
Far apart, each setting affirms the state is endowed with natural wonder. Each is wounded by water abuses. And each tells a story of remaining paradise.
