Manatees of Crystal River 1/05

Having performed a successful trial in the bathtub just the day before, I was itching to get this housing into open water. From the front, the heavy bronze-colored contraption looks like a fish bowl. From the back it appears to be a high-tech torture device with buttons and knobs protruding in all directions, and fighter plane machine-gunner grips sticking out of the sides. Inside, my camera rests snug and dry and slightly nervous.

It suddenly seemed that the old adage “there’s no time like the present” actually applied to me. I marched inside to inform my mom, “Change of plans, I’m going to Florida to swim with manatees.” Mom said “Cool! Have fun. Let me make you some turkey sandwiches for the road.” I grabbed my bundle, the mandatory package of food that mothers insist on giving their children as they head out the door, and I was on my way.
(The individual in this photo bears the nasty scars of a recent propeller encounter, as do most manatees.
It is probably the leading cause of death among these gentle, slow-moving giants.)

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