When Manatees Attack
A warm Saturday with no foul weather in sight begs for a kayaking excursion. So Dave and I started paddling north on the St Johns, enjoying the calm water, the abundance of ospreys, and the manatees. At one point, Dave pointed out a manatee that was only a few feet to the right of his boat. Intrigued by the huge gray lump with stark white propeller scars on its back, Dave slowed and paddled a bit closer. "Don't spook it," I instructed. As a kid growing up on the river, I've witnessed what happens when you spook a manatee, and it's no joke. Most people have this image of manatees as docile, slow-moving animals blissfully unaware of their surroundings. Nothing could be further from the truth. Heeding my advice, Dave backed off of the manatee, and it slowly swam away.
We continued our track north, paddling under the multitudes of private docks stretching from the shore to the drop-off beyond the sand bars. The water was only about 3 feet deep beneath our boats, and seemingly void of any noticeable life besides redfish and shiners. Suddenly, I looked to my left and was surprised to see a huge gray lump protruding several inches above the water's surface. It was obviously a manatee, but not moving, and only about 6-8 feet from my kayak. Dave, who was a few feet ahead of me, seemed to notice it at the same moment I did. Together, we stared. "Is it dead?" I queried. A few more seconds ticked by as we stared, trying to discern any movement. Then, slowly, it began to shift, turning towards me. "Shit," I muttered. This was not where I wanted to be. Experience and understanding of basic animal nature told me what was going to happen next, and all I could think was, "This shit is about to get real, QUICK."
The manatee was now perpendicular to my boat, and I did not like being in its path. As soon as it realized we were there, it was going to take off for deeper water, and when a manatee wants to go somewhere in a hurry, you're smart not to stand in its way. Trying to keep my movements to a minimum, I turned my kayak to point towards open water, but was afraid to paddle. This manatee was sure as hell going to notice me as soon as I swiped that paddle through the water. But as I felt a gentle swell pushing me backwards towards the manatee, I knew there was no choice. I did not want to end up on top of this big boy. So I made my move......and he made his.
Manatees have a round flat tail that they use to propel themselves through the water. With my back to the manatee, I heard a huge SLAP the second I made my first paddle stroke, and knew he was coming towards me. There was nothing to do but wait for the impact. I tucked my head towards my knees and held on. SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP, and a shower of salty water was drenching me. Eyes closed, I waited as the roar of water rang loudly in my ears. After what was probably only 7 seconds at best, the manatee made it past me (passing only 2 feet to my left, according to Dave), and continued its thrash until reaching deeper water. When the water ceased raining down on me, I straightened up and looked back at Dave, who had managed to stay out of harms way. "Are you OK?!" he asked me. All I could do was laugh while I spit out sandy water and wiped my sunglasses.
We continued our track north, paddling under the multitudes of private docks stretching from the shore to the drop-off beyond the sand bars. The water was only about 3 feet deep beneath our boats, and seemingly void of any noticeable life besides redfish and shiners. Suddenly, I looked to my left and was surprised to see a huge gray lump protruding several inches above the water's surface. It was obviously a manatee, but not moving, and only about 6-8 feet from my kayak. Dave, who was a few feet ahead of me, seemed to notice it at the same moment I did. Together, we stared. "Is it dead?" I queried. A few more seconds ticked by as we stared, trying to discern any movement. Then, slowly, it began to shift, turning towards me. "Shit," I muttered. This was not where I wanted to be. Experience and understanding of basic animal nature told me what was going to happen next, and all I could think was, "This shit is about to get real, QUICK."
The manatee was now perpendicular to my boat, and I did not like being in its path. As soon as it realized we were there, it was going to take off for deeper water, and when a manatee wants to go somewhere in a hurry, you're smart not to stand in its way. Trying to keep my movements to a minimum, I turned my kayak to point towards open water, but was afraid to paddle. This manatee was sure as hell going to notice me as soon as I swiped that paddle through the water. But as I felt a gentle swell pushing me backwards towards the manatee, I knew there was no choice. I did not want to end up on top of this big boy. So I made my move......and he made his.
Manatees have a round flat tail that they use to propel themselves through the water. With my back to the manatee, I heard a huge SLAP the second I made my first paddle stroke, and knew he was coming towards me. There was nothing to do but wait for the impact. I tucked my head towards my knees and held on. SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP, and a shower of salty water was drenching me. Eyes closed, I waited as the roar of water rang loudly in my ears. After what was probably only 7 seconds at best, the manatee made it past me (passing only 2 feet to my left, according to Dave), and continued its thrash until reaching deeper water. When the water ceased raining down on me, I straightened up and looked back at Dave, who had managed to stay out of harms way. "Are you OK?!" he asked me. All I could do was laugh while I spit out sandy water and wiped my sunglasses.
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