By: Matt Badolato
Article Category: Matt Badolato
At the end of my neighborhood in Indialantic, Florida, a narrow drainage canal begins and runs in a straight line toward the lagoon. Lined with cattail reeds and tropical philodendrons, the hundred yard-long conduit is the path I follow to the old dock. Tree frogs bark from deep in the ditch. Startled soft shell turtles slide off the shoreline as I stroll by. In spots where the plants clear up, timid tilapias cower for cover in the clear canal.
Where the freshwater canal dumps into the saltwater lagoon, you’ll find a wonderful example of nature overcoming and adapting to the presence of man. A great blue heron stands tall on a worn-out concrete dam. His eyes gazing intently at the water below, like a bolt of lightning he’ll snap his neck down and snatch up a mud minnow from his man-made perch.
The flowing freshwater flushes a steady stream of nutrients into the lagoon, creating an aquatic oasis. Oysters the size of my hands line the crusty seawall and barnacles take up any leftover space on the dock pilings. Like clockwork, a school of fingerling mullet will always be hanging out here, hovering over the sandy river bottom and eating debris off the surface that is swept out of the canal. They’re a good indicator that the riverside ecosystem is flourishing, because when the mullet make their appearance, so do their predators…
It’s a weekday. No boats are running through the Intercoastal Waterway, and the lagoon is calm as a sheet of glass. I walk down to the end of the canal and see a big school of mullet rippling the surface. Small flashes of light catch my eyes as the silvery schools of fish flip on their sides. I cross the canal and take a seat on the concrete seawall, my feet dangling just inches above the coffee-colored water. Suddenly, I hear a loud crashing sound in the water a few docks away. Moments later, there is another loud thrashing, splashing sound and the unmistakable exhalation of a dolphin breathing through its blowhole. The breathing sounds are getting closer. And closer. Looking down into the water at my feet I watch as a school of mullet speeds through, coming from the direction of the dolphins. Like a human out of breath after a long sprint, the dolphins’ exhalations become more frequent.
They are feeding on the mullet, using the seawall-shoreline to their advantage. I watch in awe as a pair of dolphins split up in opposite directions. One corrals a school of jumbo mullet using his tail and a stream of air bubbles. Once he tightens up the school into a ball, he scares them toward the seawall where the second bottlenose awaits. I’ve learned that if I stand up, I’ll scare the mullet myself and the dolphins lose their lunch. As the baitfish are pushed in I lay on my belly, only my face hanging over the wall for a front-row seat. The waiting dolphin begins to gain speed, staying tight to the seawall to get even more power out of his tail strokes. And then, right there in front of my eyes, the dolphins meet with the school of mullet between them and single out a few to suck down. My eyes meet the dolphins’ and I swear I can see smiles on their faces as they chase their victims.
There’s something special about having such a treasure so close to home. I feel beyond fortunate to be able to easily escape the real world of a downward spiraling economy and the rest of the world’s problems. And it’s a place that I love to share with anyone who cares to join me. I discovered the canal on my own, but I’ve taken friends, my brothers, my mom, and even a foreign exchange student who came and stayed with us from France. I remember that summer afternoon well. His name was Thibault, and he’d never been fishing before. Using live baits, we fished for a while without a bite. Finally, his mullet gets nervous and there’s a big splash out on the glassy calm river. Thaibault pulled in a huge sailcat and told me it was the most beautiful fish he’d ever seen.
No matter where I go in my life, it’s comforting to know that the top of cloud nine is in the least likely place. Some people will empty their bank accounts to take a vacation to a place they call paradise. They’ll pack suitcases until they’re bursting at the seams; fly, drive or cruise hundreds or thousands of miles; hire a house-sitter, babysitter or pet sitter for some time away. But me, I just take a walk down the street to an old seawall on the Indian River Lagoon and I might as well be in Heaven.
