From Deseret News archives:
Swamp walks lead Florida visitors to rare orchids
The ghost orchid is among the world's rarest flowers, the star of the popular book "The Orchid Thief" and the movie "Adaptation" and is the biggest lure to the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park in southwest Florida.
The preserve has been the scene of numerous orchid thefts, but park biologist Mike Owen promises to lead our group of orchid enthusiasts within arm's reach of the delicate plants during a four-hour swamp walk.
Orchids are available even in grocery stores now, but more species of orchids and bromeliads grow wild here than anywhere else in the country. Some species have never made the transition from swamp muck to windowsill pot.
There are 315 ghost orchids scattered across the Fakahatchee's 85,000 acres, according to Owen. The odds of spotting one aren't good. They don't bloom until summer, and without their white flowers they're likely to blend into the swamp's lush shades of green and brown.
Nevertheless, we line up behind Owen and set off down a dirt trail. The park offers these Saturday tours during Florida's November to April dry season, when the orchids are easier to find.
The park lies about 70 miles west of Miami, across the Miccosukee Indian Reservation and a five-mile stretch of road marked with "panther crossing" signs and a roadside stand called the "Skunk Ape Research Headquarters," the local equivalent of Big Foot hunters. The straight shot across the Tamiami Trail only seems flat; the road is gradually sloping toward sea level.
The Fakahatchee is part of the Everglades ecosystem that streams down from Lake Okeechobee to the Florida Keys. It's the largest strand swamp in the world: a 19-mile long channel cut 2- to 3-feet deep into a limestone bed over more than 5,000 years.
Low streams called sloughs flow throughout the strand, and Owen is leading us into one recently filled with rainwater.
He raps on two culverts that serve as steps down from the trail. He says he's trying to scare out any alligators or snakes that might be hiding inside. It's not entirely clear if he's trying to scare us — we just did see a 4-foot gator sunning in a nearby ditch.
Nothing slithers out, though, so we wade into the cool water. We're protected from the sun by the canopy of tree growth above us.
A third of the group, six retirees from Ohio, abandons the tour at the water's edge. One slips while entering the shin-deep water and lands badly on his shoulder. Another park staffer walks them back to their minivan while Owen takes stock of the bromeliads around us.
