Protecting Birds in Paradise
“That’s nothing,” Barbara Ranck, the leader of this crew of Audubon society members and their friends, said of the pale clouds. “When you see dark gray in the skies, then you know it’s rain.”
The drumbeats stop minutes before the Shell Key Shuttle departs on a recent Sunday morning, but Ranck’s words would haunt her. The catamaran sways back and forth as it makes its voyage from Pass-A-Grille’s Merry Pier toward the north end of the island.
Back and forth.
April through August is a crucial time: it’s mating season for several species of birds on Shell Key. The site’s central core, about 98 acres, is designated as their personal nesting grounds, off-limits to tourists and their wayward pets. This group of bird enthusiasts makes the pilgrimage to maintain the bird nesting site two to three times a month. Without them, the habitat would be exposed to the whims of boaters, anglers, picnickers and partyers.
Their task becomes a quiet tribute to a sight long-since replaced by seaside bungalows and towering condominiums on this beachfront community -- that of undeveloped shoreline habitats. Normally the morning downpour would force them to come back another day, but television weather reports showed no signs of impending storms on the way in, and they weren’t about to make the Sunday morning commute in vain.
Ranck, a 55-year-old registered nurse, began the tradition years ago. She and her boyfriend started a tourist shuttle to Shell Key in 1989. During a stopover, she stumbled into a nesting area of a bird species she no longer recalls. The discovery propelled her into a decades-long journey to save one of the few remaining natural bird habitats in Pinellas County.
“I never claimed to be an expert,” she said, “but I know now more than I did back then.”
As the catamaran gets closer to shore, Ranck barks orders like a general on the verge of battle. Six members will break into two teams and comb opposite ends of the island looking for trash. Downed twine encircling the nesting habitats will be replaced. The trek will take two hours. If they see lightning, the teams are to hustle back to the pickup point, no questions asked.
“You’ve got to be very careful when you’re walking,” she adds. The space between the edges of the bird sanctuary and the shoreline becomes very narrow in parts of the island.
Shell Key was designated two years ago as one of the state's most important areas for shorebird nesting and wintering, and the site serves as an important area for the study of bird habitats. The county’s Department of Environmental Management monitors the populations of at least 11 species for signs of extinction. Two in particular, the Snowy Plover and Least Tern, are classified by the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission as threatened animals, a classification bordering on endangerment. Another two, the American Oystercatcher and the Black Skimmer, are closely watched, partly for their gauge of the habitat’s health and their own dwindling population sizes.
The island has a short but lively topographical history, said Catherine Flegel, a biologist for the county department. During the 1920s, archived aerial photographs identified the island as a sandbar formed by wave currents that deposited sand in one area. By the 1970s, two more appeared. As wild grasses and other vegetation grew, they were able to anchor the sand and form a viable, stationary habitat for both migrating and indigenous birds.
For years Shell Key was seen as an ideal setting for weekend getaways and beach parties. When Ranck first visited the island, she nearly crushed a few of the sandy-colored eggs. Realizing that the site needed special protection, she contacted the St. Petersburg chapter of the Audubon Society for help in protecting the nesting sites. As the group streamlined its conservation efforts, members lobbied the state and county to develop a management plan for the site.
“Now we had teeth to be able to enforce these rules and keep the habitat safe,” Ranck said.
The catamaran hit the shores of Shell Key minutes after 8 a.m. Shells cover the patchwork sand down the length of its shores. Once the volunteers -- some carrying telescopes, others protected by ponchos, all dressed in blue Audubon shirts -- got off the boat, Ranck leads them to the main nesting area for a chance to do some observation before the real work begins.
Halfway down the boomerang-shaped landmass, the group stops to take in the sights. Hundreds of birds nest on the sand dunes in the middle of the island. An occasional Black Skimmer soars along the waterfront searching for food. Baby plovers sit tight to their nests as their mothers fly in place to scare off unwanted guests. But it’s no use. These humans are here to stay.
“Bird watching is something you’re just born with; most people can’t understand it,” said Amy Donovan, a Washington, D.C., native who is visiting her family in St. Petersburg. She found the local chapter of the Audubon Society online and has been visiting bird sites with its members for the past week.
Bruce Ackerman, a marine biologist and former Audubon society president, sets his scanning telescope in the sand. Like a sniper, he quickly centers on his target -- a baby Snowy Plover. The tiny cotton-ball-shaped bird is one of the species of threatened populations on the island.
“You see a bird and don’t know what it is, you get curious,” Ackerman said of his bird-watching interests. “Well, I got curious.”
After a few minutes, Ranck notices a dark haze of storm clouds offshore and scatters the crowd. Winds gust directly at them. The storm looks to be coming their way.
“It looks like we may not have much time to move,” Ranck said as the crew breaks off into formation.
Even with the impending storm, the island cleanup is long, slow and cumbersome. Mike Odette, an intern with the county, carries an open trash bag to pick up debris along the southern stretch. Much of the time, the objects are common enough. Aluminum beer cans are scattered from tourists who forget alcohol isn’t allowed on site. Nets wash ashore from wayward fishermen. Wood from part of a pier is used to hammer plastic piping back into the sand. It will uphold the twine borders of the nesting grounds.
Once in a while the waves wash in an oddity, like the prosthetic leg Odette found dug into the sand during a June 1 cleanup. It was molded plastic with a caucasian tone and had a Reebok low-top tennis shoe still attached to its end.
“The rest of the group was kinda grossed out by it,” Odette recalled.
Odette and his partners make their way back to the pickup point when the first drops strike. The birds finally take exception to the combination of 23 mph wind gusts, stinging rain and voyeuristic intruders. They stage their protest above their nests, shrieking and flapping against the coming storm.
“They can’t go anywhere else,” Ranck said. “There are no other barrier islands left for them to go, so this place has got to be protected.”
On any other day, the catamaran would make four more trips to the island, filled with paying customers looking for a weekend excursion. The morning’s rainstorms kept them away. But then again, this day was never about making money.
