Moments on the Fly: Iguanarama

 green iguanas first turned up in Florida in the 1960's, one of many invasive fauna that took to the warm and wet subtropical  climate. You may know of Florida's iguanas from famously falling out of trees during cold weather. Though they can tolerate the state's climate and indeed do well in it, they're limited in northern expansion even within the state. Like the many cichlid species present in the canals and ditches, northern extent is dictated by the animals intolerance of the cold. So there weren't many, or really any, in the first parts of Florida Noah and I saw while making our way south. But by the time we got to Boca Raton they were ubiquitous, scattered throughout the landscape right within the city. These big lizards had an almost stray dog like character. They were timid, not especially inclined to come near us if they had any choice, but carried a visible indignance if we had the audacity to interrupt their sun bathing. They were grungy and a little dopey but acted as though they were trying to carry themselves with some standard of dignity. 

I of course really wanted to catch one. The little kid in me that had pocketed June beetles and lady bugs and caught every frog he could get near would not let these lizards rest. So I crept up on them, trying to get as close as I could before attempting to pounce on them. This had largely unsuccessful results but was a needed distraction from staring into the clear blue water trying to pick out rarer fish species among the swarms of sergeant majors, spottail pinfish, and tomtates. Though I never managed to catch one there my actions did result in a memory that will stick with me forever. One particular dull looking iguana was sunning on a rock right along the inlet. When I inevitably startled it in my attempt to get my hands on it, the animal saw its best escape into the water. There are semi aquatic iguanas throughout the world, notably in the Gallapagos, but green iguanas seem extremely inept at water-based activities. After plunging into the rushing inlet water. this ine thrashed and spun violently, seemingly completely unable to right itself at all. It was a blur for legs, belly and tail for a few moments until it found purchase and made its way out onto another rock. There, it exhaled seawater out of its nose and blinked, looking almost embarrassed. Perhaps my fondness of reptiles as well as my confidence in their understanding of the world around them is causing me to anthropomorphize, but I swear that iguana looked right at me. The look it gave me was one of clear irritation. 

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, and Sammy for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.

Go Back

Trucks roared by one the highway as I traversed the brushy riparian zone of a small wild trout stream. The landscape I was in was heavily altered, to my eye. But if it weren't for that road perpetual road noise someone else may not recognize the signs of human interruption. Many haven't trained themselves to understand the unnatural landscape, and some signs are more subtle than others. I wasn't in a city or even a suburb, I was in the woods. A place many might call "out in nature". But there was actually very little in front of me that was indeed natural. 

Dropping down a steep bank, I looked up and down a straight course of the stream. Along one bank was broken rock, rock which didn't match the native granite and gneiss. This black and fine grained basalt, a volcanic remnant that looks the part, had likely been quarried from one of the ridges in Central or Western Connecticut or possibly even Massachusetts. It was broken free with the help of explosives then trucked to this place and used to try to make a stream do what some people had decided they needed it to do. This stretch had been channelized, making it a straight shot of underwhelming water. Without natural bending and meandering the stream couldn't create deep pools, undercuts, or slowly fell trees into itself. This is all necessary habitat for fish, macroinvertebrates and more. Without it the stream was not only unnatural but much less full of life. I wouldn't catch fish in this section, they weren't there. They weren't there because people had made it unlivable. 

The irony is the fish I was there for was a fish that didn't belong either. Salmo trutta, not in spite of but in fact because of out love for them, are a broadly introduced invasive species that has brought disruption and damage throughout the world. I harbor a similar deep appreciation for brown trout, but unlike others who allow their adoration to cloud their view, I can see the problem at hand. This very stream should be and could be teaming with the native salmonid, Salvelinus fontinalis. But brown trout sometimes have advantage outside of home court and they outnumbered brook trout here. When I reached stretches where the stream took its own course and formed deep cuts and pools I ran into brown trout. These lovely fish had genetic lineage dating back to near their initial introduction. They'd adopted and adapted characteristics that allowed them to survive in this foreign land, and to me they were indeed beautiful creatures.

 As if they weren't there, in just a couple months a truck would pull up to a bridge not far from here and offload a couple hundred horrible facsimiles of these fish. Farm raised and bread, these trout would be ill adept and equipped to survive where they'd be put and in all likelihood none would even survive a whole season. But while they were there they'd do nothing but damage to the wild fish present in the stream, be they native or non-native. Human's had demanded the stream travel a certain course and they demanded not only what sort of fish lived in the stream but how many as well.

I dropped below the channelized stretch a ways, navigating between beech trees and maples, none of them very big or old, and occasionally deviating around a mess of green brier or bittersweet. Even these aspects of the landscape hinted at the anthropogenic alterations. Invasive plants, stunted trees, and unnatural abundances of species denote the post-European New England forest. Old growth is all but non-existent today, as are many of the huge native trees that once characterized and cast wilderness. Of course, the native peoples were making changes too before the white man ever stepped foot here. The natives managed land for their survival, maintaining habitats that favored species they relied on. Europeans had a different outlook: domination. And we did indeed dominate. We used, abused, and replaced. We left a landscape that is lesser, even when we've tried to protect it for the future. It's hard to feel something other than cynicism and apathy once you know just how... wrong, how unfathomably incorrect our people have made all of this landscape. If I could snap my fingers and turn it all back, I would. But I can't. So that leaves those of us who know to take responsibility. It will never be what it was; but those with the eye for human change and alteration, who know the subtle signs of damage, should use their understanding to turn back the clock where possible and preserve with extreme prejudice anywhere that remains somewhat natural. So the next time you go for a walk in the woods or along a stream, try to look at it with a new eye. Ask what's natural and what isn't and consider what could be put back. 

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, and oddity on Display for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.