Kissimmee River

If you squint just a little, it's not difficult to believe that you are in south-central Florida. To the right, stretching off into the distance, lies a ruler-straight concrete drainage canal. Water runs smooth and fast through it, unimpeded by soil, trees, bends or the other geological vagaries that give a river character and vitality. To the left lie the graceful loops and oxbows of the old riverbed, now filled with near-stagnant water, barely moving in the dim twilight.

The dying, white branches of wax murtle trees protrude like skeletons along the banks of the restored Kissimmee River. The dry-soil trees can't survive in water several feet deep that covers land surrounding the river for the first time in 30 years. The flooding is a result of a massive restoration project to return a portion of the Kissimmee to its old, meandering course. "The dead and dying trees are a good sign," said Paul Whalen, the project's director.

The dying, white branches of wax murtle trees protrude like skeletons along the banks of the restored Kissimmee River. The dry-soil trees can't survive in water several feet deep that covers land surrounding the river for the first time in 30 years. The flooding is a result of a massive restoration project to return a portion of the Kissimmee to its old, meandering course. "The dead and dying trees are a good sign," said Paul Whalen, the project's director.

Having speared a fat fish, a great blue heron is poised to gulp. I stand on the bank of the Kissimmee River-the headwaters of the Ever-glades-watching the wading bird, expecting that the drama of swallowing will surpass that of the impaling. Surely this feathered predator would fare better, I think, if it had a short, wide, straight neck-like that of a gator-instead of a narrow, sensuous S-curve that's prettier than it is practical. Then again, maybe not.

Having speared a fat fish, a great blue heron is poised to gulp. I stand on the bank of the Kissimmee River-the headwaters of the Ever-glades-watching the wading bird, expecting that the drama of swallowing will surpass that of the impaling. Surely this feathered predator would fare better, I think, if it had a short, wide, straight neck-like that of a gator-instead of a narrow, sensuous S-curve that's prettier than it is practical. Then again, maybe not.

Imagine the outcry if private firms were allowed to tap underground geothermal reservoirs on the borders of Yellowstone National Park to the point that Old Faithful sputtered itself into just another Yellowstone mud pot. Essentially the same thing has happened in southern Florida, and now is the time for the rest of the nation to help correct this environmental misfortune.

BACKGROUND: In 1990, when Marjory Stoneman Douglas, grande dame of the environmental movement and author of the seminal 1947 book "The Everglades: River of Grass," celebrated her 100th birthday, even she allowed, "They'll probably make a fuss." They did. Miami celebrated with an all-comers beach picnic, a private reception sponsored by the Wellesley Club, a sculpture dedication and a black-tie dinner. UPDATE: Douglas will mark her 102nd birthday on Tuesday more modestly.

In "Florida's Apologies to Nature" (Feb. 15), I found some solace in the fact that people were recognizing, albeit too late, that nature relies on a delicate balance. I grew up in central Florida and was involved in the debate over channelizing the Kissimmee River. We lost that argument and the state lost a valuable resource, which it is now trying to reclaim. I now live in the Ojai Valley, and find myself involved in the debate surrounding the Weldon Canyon landfill. I have been amazed at the lack of coverage by the media, both print and broadcast, of the dangers facing the Ojai Valley.

In launching one of the most far-reaching environmental initiatives of the Clinton administration, Vice President Al Gore shared an Everglades tableau with snowy egrets, coots and alligators Monday to endorse a $245-million subsidy reduction on sugar cane to help fund a cleanup of Florida's ailing freshwater ecosystem.

Roger McCulloch skipped a grizzly bear hunt in Alaska to drive 18 hours to Florida with one mission: shoot an alligator with bow and arrow. "I love gator hunting," said McCulloch, who owns an Ohio construction business. "It's just the rush of it. I've hunted everything — caribou, bear, elk. Gators are tough critters. " Special rules govern the bagging of gators. Hunters are not allowed to use guns. Instead, they may use a pole, spear, bow and arrow, or rod and reel to catch the animal, then use a bang stick — a pole with an explosive charge on the end — to dispatch it point-blank before bringing it into a boat.

If you squint just a little, it's not difficult to believe that you are in south-central Florida. To the right, stretching off into the distance, lies a ruler-straight concrete drainage canal. Water runs smooth and fast through it, unimpeded by soil, trees, bends or the other geological vagaries that give a river character and vitality. To the left lie the graceful loops and oxbows of the old riverbed, now filled with near-stagnant water, barely moving in the dim twilight.

From the air, they look like gobs of paint flung against a canvas: a splash of dark blue-green here, a long stream of brown there, a puddle of yellow over there. But look closely into what was once crystal-clear water, and the colors become more menacing--smothering blankets of algae, covering plant life below that used to nurture lobsters, bonefish, redfish, pink shrimp. "The tarpon used to just loll around in here," said George Barley, pointing to a stretch of shallow water.

Thunderheads were building to the southwest as Steve Loyd fired up his bass boat to join the dawn parade of fishermen heading out of the channel. "I don't mind getting a little wet," he said, glancing warily over a shoulder, "but if it starts to sparking--well, even I won't stay out there then." Out there is on Lake Okeechobee, America's second-largest freshwater lake and, even after 18 months of drought, still perhaps its hottest spot for largemouth bass.