Another 15 minutes.

We arrived painfully early at our rendezvous point at Fort Desoto, Florida after a 45-minute drive – having allowed two hours. The sun was barely poking out of the horizon, and all I could think of at that dawning hour on Tampa Bay, was how I could have stayed in bed another 15 minutes.

Scouting the island for coffee (non-existent at this hour) we stopped instead to capture on HD film the golden sun as it rose from behind the Skyway Bridge. A multitude of seabirds danced their stealth ballet at waters edge, seemingly oblivious to the cars buzzing in the distance. It was a spectacular juxtaposition of natural and man-made elements, and reminded me of the permanence of the footprint mankind has placed on the earth.

Florida’s red tide could be one such example of the impact of man. The root of this Harmful Algal Bloom (HAB) is a naturally occurring micro-organism (Karenia brevis) that seems to be proliferating in recent years –  much to the chagrin of tourists, residents, health officials and businesspeople. One can’t help but wonder: is it something we are doing that has caused this HAB to be so frequent, and so enduring, of late?

This, of course, is the nature of much of the scientific research going on by organizations like Florida’s Fish and Wildlife Research Institute (FWRI) – a group we were to join that morning at Fort Desoto. Researcher Ryan Pigg and his team were venturing a few miles out into the Gulf of Mexico to collect water samples at specified study sites, and we’d follow along: bounding sloppily in our own boat through four-foot seas, drenched from head to toe, trying to capture the essence of the research.

Water temperature, salinity, the presence of Karenia brevis and other organisms, and so on would be culled from the samples, to determine what conditions coincide with the red tide bloom.

Later, after a brilliant interview with FWRI Biologist Sue Lowerre-Barbieri, we would join a second (much drier) research trip through the bay. Sue’s team had been studying the reproductive habits of Spotted and Sand Sea Trout and had documented, via the spawning trout’s drumming noises, their visits to the spawning site … until one day, all-of-a-sudden, the trout all disappeared. It concurred with a red tide bloom in July 2005; and we would watch this day in September of 2006 as Biologist Sarah Walters cast net after net in the hopes of catching a Spotted Sea Trout – and found none.

The team worked until sunset: casting nets, making visual studies, and listening on hydrophones for any hint of the trout. I was struck with the tenacity and dedication of all of the field workers we met on this trip – despite long hours, uncomfortable weather and sea conditions, unanswered questions, and disappointing results. And I dared anyone to say ‘Nothing is being done about red tide’ – as we had heard so often – as the researchers puttered back to the launch ramp beneath a crimson and gold streaked sky.

-Submitted by Betsy Crowfoot, EISF Writer and Production Coordinator