River of Grass and Ci Ci the Suicide Owl

I fear my head is going to explode with Florida facts and figures and I've only been in the car with Erica of the US Army Corp of Engineers (USACE) for a few minutes. She is evidently passionate and committed to the cause, as is everyone else I will meet on this project over the next few days. We are on our way to the formal start of the Florida section of my journey - a kick-off meeting at USACE HQ in West Palm Beach.

Susan, Erica, Jenn and Michael

I expected smartly dressed soldiers saluting and calling everyone sir but, not for the first time, I was to be pleasantly surprised. The only military attire on display were fatigues worn by Michael, the Lieutenant Colonel - one of only four formal military people in this section of the organisation. The rest are civilians. There were few other people around (it was a Sunday after all), but the USACE's Jenn and Susan were also present and correct.

During the obligatory pre-presentation wrestling with computers and projectors, Michael kindly offers me a cup of that English delicacy, Typhoo Tea, which he buys from a special shop. He developed a penchant for tea and real English beer during his two years working in the UK. It is easily the best cup of tea I've ever had in America.

Landscape restoration projects don't come much larger or more ambitious than the Comprehensive Everglades Restoration Plan (or CERP), which aims to restore 18,000 square miles of one of America's most sensitive and important ecosystems. (This is an area larger than that former swamp the Netherlands.)

Florida is shaped like a gun with an over-sized handle. The natural water flow of the Everglades ran from north of the hole in the handle, through the hole - Lake Okeechobee (Lake O.),  then south to the sea at the tip of Florida. In the 150 miles from Lake O. to Florida's end, the land drops by only 14 feet. The natural state of affairs was for water to flow north to south, with the meandering Kissimmee River in the north draining into the 1,100 sq mile, 9 foot deep Lake O, from which water seeped slowly to the tip of Florida through a River of Grass.














Florida's Everglades have been described as being akin to a hospital patient on the critical list, who won't recover until it receives intensive care. CERP aims to provide that care. The Sunshine State suffers from two main water-related problems: there is either too much, or not enough, reflecting its bi-seasonal wet/dry cycle and is regularly affected by hurricanes. Although this has always been the case, the dichotomy has been exacerbated by human activity over the last century. In the 1920s major floods inundated half the state, killing thousands. After this experience a series of major civil engineering projects sought to reduce the flooding risk, while still maintaining water for people and agriculture. An extensive system of dikes, pump stations, locks and canals was constructed to disrupt the natural flow and remove flood water from the system as quickly as possible, into the sea in the east and west.

Ultimately this has had several major impacts. There is now less water in the system: Lake O. - home to multi-million dollar fishing and recreation industries - has shrunk to 700 sq miles and the area south, including the classic Everglades Sea of Grass, is drying out and the water it does receive is enriched in nutrients from agriculture. Both factors mean that invasive and exotic plants are taking over the natural system across huge areas, and the drier environment increases the risk of fire. Much of the east is concrete conurbation, with never-ending pressure for further development. Nearly eight million people live here and all use aquifer-fed water. The remaining area of the 'Glades is half what it was a century ago. The aquifers are not being recharged adequately because there is less surface water feeding them, which means seawater is ingressing below ground. If left unchecked, the water supply to millions will be severely disrupted. Furthermore, the fertile agricultural soils are disappearing and the land surface has been lowered in some places by several metres.

CERP plans to change the water management of 18,000 sq miles, run by people motivated by a desire to undo the engineering of the past and save the Everglades ecosystem. CERP includes 68 separate elements and will take more than 30 years to construct. The estimated total cost runs at over $13.5 billion of largely state and federal public finance. The key drivers are the federal USACE and the state South Florida Water Management District (SFWMD). This is the first time that I really appreciate the scale of the ambition of this endeavour – just reading their excellent website doesn’t do it justice.

After the tea and chats about CERP (and England) we are taken to a Stormwater Treatment Area. This is one of several enormous impoundments constructed as a series of cells to biologically treat the high-nutrient water from agricultural run-off, before it is released into the Everglades. It seems perverse to spend millions on building artificial wetlands on an area where, not long ago, they were once natural; however, the immediate precursor to the STAs was farmland, not even five years ago.

We trundle along the gravel tracks that bisect the the STA. The transformation from farmland in such a short time is astounding. The wetland vegetation cannot hide the wheeling flocks of wading birds, some of which are quite rare, such as the wood stork and the stunning roseate spoonbill. Most memorably I watch, for the first time in my life, an osprey dextrously dipping its talons into the water, at speed, to snag a fish. (Needless to say I didn't get a photo!) There are alligators everywhere, some of them so close that I'm glad I'm in a vehicle. All this in an area sandwiched between sugar-cane farm monocultures and the eastern limit of one of America's major cities literally just across the road. I mentioned to Michael that no matter how fast the alligator was, I would probably out-run it, to which he replied, "I don't have to be faster than the alligator Pete, I just have to be faster than you!"

A tiny corner of Stormwater Treatment Area 1A

Erica, Jenn and I are on a tight time schedule. We miss lunch and drive north, with a brief stop-off on the east side of Lake O. We climb the 140 mile-long Herbert Hoover Dike that surrounds the lake, built to control its flooding and now the subject of major CERP-related strengthening. We talk endlessly about the Everglades and Florida's future. The big elephant in the car is what effect climate change will have on all of this over the next few decades. Part of CERP's rationale, therefore is an attempt to "future-proof" the ecosystem from climatic perturbations.

Lake O.

We pass ancient, huge swamp cypress trees, now surrounded by farmland. These slow-growing giants indicate that the area was once swamp. You wouldn't think it now as they sit among caravans and farms. Suddenly we stop! Some large birds have sauntered onto the road like they own it! Bird-rage!


The setting sun silhouettes the palm trees as we arrive at the famous Lightsey's fish restaurant to meet Tiffany (USACE) and Lawrence (SFWMD). The restaurant is decorated with dried alligator heads, which look even more unappealing dressed in Halloween trinkets. Freeze-wrapped alligator meat is on sale in packs the size of a pillow. I choose alligator for my meal - a pre-emptive strike I think!

It's now dark and getting late. Erica and I drive into the night following Lawrence. We arrive at the Riverwoods Education Centre - a bungalow with 70's decor, done up with dormitories and a conference room. It's very dark here - every star twinkles - and this is where we are to spend the night. Before we are allowed to approach the house from the car, Lawrence rushes inside to collect his badminton rackets. He hands us one each. These are for self-defence against local, gender-confused barn owl, Ci Ci, who loves to terrorise guests, sometimes scratching them with his/her talons. We creep, laden with bags, to the house, badminton rackets at the ready. (Almost) disappointly we are not attacked and survive the ordeal.

Before bed, we are inspired by a powerful powerpoint presentation on the Kissimmee River restoration by Lawrence. This is where we are heading tomorrow morning, first thing; it's now eleven, so we need a good sleep, Ci Ci permitting.

Snorers and Dolphins

After a symmetrical 777 miles of driving through Appalachian splendour, I finally waved goodbye to my trusty Kia. We'd been through a lot together, not least the final panicky drive from Wise, Virginia, to the small, but perfectly-formed Tri-Cities Regional Airport in Tennessee. The last drive had started well, although I'd had to scrape the frost off my windscreen with my fingernails. The shadows were  long, the sun summoning just enough energy to lift the early morning mist, swirling smoke-like from the increasingly skeletal trees. I thought I had left enough time, but the usual unexpected detours and u-turns added extra time, as did a 15-minute stop for petrol - embarrassingly the till-lady had to help the idiot Englishman . It turned out her husband was Scottish. Small world!

I arrived at the check-in desk, panicking, just 30 minutes before my plane's departure and the surly, unco-operative check-in lady only delayed me further, charging me a small fortune for daring to check-in baggage. I dashed through security with an anxious sweat building and ran to the departure gate like a heavily-laded Usain Bolt. The plane had been delayed by 30 minutes!

In the air, en route for Florida, my last-minute ipod-Spanish cramming was interrupted my the most godawful farmyard noises emanating from behind me. I turned around to be confronted with a cavernous mouth exhaling chainsaw breaths. I tried to ignore it and increased the volume on my ipod. Five minutes later, my immediate seat neighbour - another big bloke - also started snoring! Gave up concentrating on the Spanish and turned to watching the unfolding landscapes below. I half-watched the stewardess handing out drinks from her trolly. As she came to the snoring section she stalled, shocked, and disbelieving. What was she going to do? Surely not wake up a passenger just for snoring? No, she calmly rolled up a piece of paper serviette and launched it at the snorer's mouth in the style of a darts player. It missed and didn't have any effect on the human chainsaw, but afterwards we all felt like we'd shared a dirty secret!

Descending into Fort Lauderdale, I was amazed how much water was weaving its way between estates and houses. On leaving the airport, the humid heat hit. My Haitian taxi driver drove me through a flat land of palm trees, closely cropped lawns, manicured shrubs and concrete. This place felt very different to where I had just come from.

That evening I ate, alone, in a pseudo-Irish sports bar. I was surprised to find Newcastle Brown Ale on tap - a staple from my youth - only to find it tasted, disappointingly, like a slightly darker version of every other lager you have ever tasted. The menu included Tilapia - which we are told is the Irish word for fish(!) - and, gob-smackingly, dolphin. I nearly walked out, but I didn't, as I still had my Newky Brown to finish. I later discovered that dolphin around here is also a type of fish. Now I felt stupid!

Mines, Wines and Gob

A sapphire sky frames the burning colours of autumn as a truck full of pumpkins turns up to collect me. The driver and my guide for the day, is Amy, a research and extension worker at Virginia Tech University, who is to introduce me to the impressive array of coal mining landscape reclamation projects around Wise, VA.

We wind our way along narrow country lanes towards the Powell River Project. Like the area around Hazard, Kentucky, mountain coal is mined here in enormous surface mines using contour mining instead of mountain-top removal. Although the former still creates dramatic new topographies, in this area the impacts are smaller because there are fewer mines.

Powell River coal mining area

Virginia Tech have established a 1,100 acre research and education centre on old mine lands to research a range of different methods of post-mining land-use. Mining creates large flat areas in a region where such land is at a premium, so agriculture is a favoured after-use, and there is much research underway to determine what crops to grow and how to grow them. The site also has working cattle ranches. The growth of a range of tree species is also being studied, including for biomass production as a potential feed for a new coal and biomass power station being built nearby. The project is also a partner of the excellent ARRI project (described in an earlier blog). Closer to the town, former mine lands are being put to more prosaic post-mining uses such as shopping malls, the Lonesome Pine airport and my hotel.

After a short pumpkin truck ride through narrow country lanes, past wooden houses festooned in Halloween garb, we arrive at the picturesque Mountain Rose Vineyard, its ranks of vines flowing over a small hill; but the setting isn't quite what it seems. David, the enthusiastic owner and good friend of Amy, describes, on a short drive through the vines, how we are actually on an old mine site and his vines are planted directly into coal mine waste. Apparently they grow well and produce delectable wine. The wines are named after the mine's coal seams, such as Jawbone, Pardee and Dorchester.

Mountain Rose Vineyard

Richard and Amy

But no time for a tipple. Amy and I are off to share a pizza with Richard, who works for Virginia's Department of Mines, Minerals and Energy co-ordinating their abandoned mine land restoration work. En route to the site he wants to show us, we pass through the remnants of mid-20th century communities that once housed 10,000 mining people, apparently still remembered by his mother. Today about 500 people live there. There are few obvious vestiges of the villages that once existed - most have been swallowed by the forest, along with the dwindling memories of the lives that once revolved around King Coal.

Babbling brook

We arrive at what used to be the Crane's Nest Gob Piles (gob is a technical term for mine waste). A local saunters up to us and warns us to look out for copperheads and rattlers - both are quite poisonous snakes (I wonder if they also play banjos). This particular gob pile was produced in the mid-20th century and part-filled a small valley to a depth of 10 feet.

During reclamation, a contractor extracted the residual, valuable coal from the gob and the remaining rock waste was piled up against the high cliffs produced by the open cast mining. A small stream was then created in the new valley floor and ARRI volunteers, including in-mates from a local jail, planted thousands of native trees. Now, only a couple years later, the babbling brook brims with small fish and dashing dragonflies, and the small trees sport gold and red.

Its evening and I dare myself one last night-time drive in Appalachia before leaving the next day. It's only a couple of miles to down-town Wise, but I manage to inadvertently veer off into the woods again! Eventually I arrive in Wise and have a lonely, but sumptuous meal in the Tavern on Main. Instead of beer I prefer wine. I choose the Dorchester Red from the Mountain Rose Vineyward. It's nectar!

A Day at the Races

Jim insisted that I should capitalise on my being in Kentucky and a relative stone's throw (in American terms) from Keeneland, which is apparently one of the world's great horse-racing venues in one of the world's great horse, er, farming areas. I know nothing about such things, and thought it would be a good idea to get to know more. This meant driving, in the pouring rain, to London, Kentucky, along the Hal Rogers Parkway. This used to be called the Daniel Boone Parkway until the great American folk hero's name was replaced by that of a local politician! The road, like most of the roads around here, are serious feats of engineering, cutting against the grain of the mountain chain for hundreds of spectacular miles.

Charles and Jim

I met up with Jim and his long-time friend, Charles. The three of us were to go to Keeneland. These two chaps have been friends for 50 years and were raised in the mining heartland of Hazard, Kentucky. They entertained me with decades-worth of stories of their adventures in the valleys, forests, hills and mines. Some would make your toes curl and are not for relating here!

Horses running

We arrived at the races after a half-tonne plate of breakfast pancakes under grey skies and a bitter wind. We watched horses run. Despite the weather, it was a fun day and a cultural highlight of the journey so far.

This unplanned, but enjoyable detour meant a three-and-a-half hour drive back in the dark to Wise, Virginia, for my appointment the following day. I set-off at nine-thirty from London, heading into the blackness, and the mountains, and the forests... 'Sense of trepidation' doesn't really do it justice! The quiteness of the roads was unsettling and, of course, I got lost around Hazard (again!). Ipod rock music invigorated me and provided ample opportunity to practice my awesome singing (while distracting me from the twanging of banjos)! Long Live Rock 'n' Roll!

I arrived back in Wise at midnight alive, relieved, tired and hoarse, but pleased I'd also had another kind of horse experience and spent time with a couple of genuinely decent blokes. Thanks chaps!

"Reforestation Renaissance"

Like a potato bed in a giant gardener's vegetable plot, the eastern USA’s ancient Appalachian Mountains form a series of (almost) parallel ridges and furrows. Long ago they were higher than the Himalayas and their geology and geography has determined the course of human history for centuries, if not millennia.

Yesterday I drove for two hours north-west of Wise, to Hazard, Kentucky, to meet up with Patrick and Jim of the Federal Office of Surface Mining Reclamation and Enforcement. It was another beautiful autumn morning meandering through the kaleidoscope forests. The previous day I had driven through the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia and I was now on the Trail of the Lonesome Pine. Instead of concentrating on driving on the “wrong” side of the road, I was whisked back to childhood Saturday morning TV watching black and white films of Laurel and Hardy singing The Trail of the Lonesome Pine. The juggernaut rapidly filling my windscreen soon brought me back to reality!

Appalachia’s natural resources have contributed immeasurably to the status of contemporary America. The country’s first oil fields were discovered here, high quality hardwood forests clothe the hills and beneath them the coal of fossil forests has powered the country for generations.

The most controversial and environmentally-damaging method of mining Appalachian coal is the brutal technique of mountain-top removal. It involves, literally, exploding the tops of mountains to extract the seams of coal underneath and filling neighbouring valleys with the rock waste. The remaining mountain stumps and in-filled valleys are then bulldozed and compacted to the n-th degree to reduce the risk of instability and landslides. The final environmental insult involves applying a legume-grass seed mix of aggressive species to provide a green quick fix. Ecologically the area, once rich in flora and fauna, becomes an ecological desert of little use to man or beast. These new, man-made topographies cover enormous areas (see Google Earth co-ordinates 37deg 24'16.37"N; 83deg 10'36.07"W) – a single site may spread over 12,000 acres.

Once there was a whole mountain top here

Patrick, as an OSMRE employee, is one of two full-time workers on the Appalachian Regional Reforestation Initiative (ARRI), which is working to return these devastated landscapes back to forests. It includes an impressive partnership of government agencies, academic institutions and forward-thinking mining companies who believe mediocrity is for the mediocre. Going forward with the current industry, the project has ensured 70 million native hardwoods have been planted in a process that involves undoing the compaction and subduing the aggressive weeds. Looking backwards, however, there are approaching one million acres of abandoned minelands that nobody owns and nobody is responsible for. This is the main focus of ARRI’s work today.

Patrick and a 3-year-old American Chestnut

ARRI has formed a key partnership with the American Chestnut Foundation. The American Chestnut is the legendary tree of the eastern US and is culturally iconic. It is now all but extinct because of an imported disease. A breeding programme has developed resistant varieties that are now being returned to the denuded land as part of the ARRI project, and often by groups of well-trained volunteers.

Today, Patrick and I drove to the Star Fire mining complex to meet Chris, a researcher from the University of Kentucky. The weather had turned into something horrible, but we were there to see trees and nothing was going to stop us. This site has several experimental demonstration plots that also serve to show what can be done, at very little cost, to these scarred landscapes. The pictures speak for themselves and tell of the passion and dedication of the people involved with ARRI.

Road of Gold

Organic gold leaf shimmers in the breeze and scatters across my path - a natural signpost to a new seasonal direction. I drive south, the sun in my face, for hour after hour, on a black ribbon through the golden heart of Virginia.

Virginia is shaped like a flying bird. Yesterday I drove 450 or so miles from Washington DC, through the stunning Appalachians, south-west to where the bird's eye would be. The I-81 highway is the main artery in this part of the world, but scratch beneath the tarmac and you'll glimpse the soul of a nation born in forest and forged in war. Forest hems in roads and farms, defining their geography, while every road sign seems to indicate another Civil War battlefield, or memorial to veterans.

I am in Wise, Virginia, heading into Kentucky this morning (still dark) to meet up with the people behind the Appalachian Regional Reforestation Initiative. This is a major initiative to restore native hardwood forests on enormous coal mine sites (more of which later).

Despite initial trepidation the drive has been straight-forward, until the last couple of miles that is, when I take a slight detour: as dusk descends the road narrows, traffic thins, trees grow more intimidating and roadside shacks become more unkempt. Dirt tracks lead off into the woods - strangely inviting, yet tempting Deliverance.

Haven't heard any banjos yet! I'll keep you posted.

No days to go! I'm here!

I've finally arrived after a year of organising and faffing around.

I've just spent the night at an airport hotel near Washington DC Dulles Airport after and 8-hour flight and a hire car nightmare in the UK.

The last couple of days before departure I was blessed with a million good wishes from family and friends (including an underground trip at Cornwall's old Cligga tin mine and a night-time near-death experience clambering up and down the cliffs to get there!). The ladies with whom I work in the mining and environment team at Wardell Armstrong International produced a lovely cake showing my Chasing the Sun route (pictured) and yet more cake at the Eden Project later in the day.

Had a hectic but very touching last Saturday with my girls. Sunday morning, dropped Katie off for her surfing competition (she came third). And then off I went. It's hard to believe that my Churchill Trust trip has finally come around.

On arriving at Washington Dulles Airport, the normal drudgery of camping out for hours to pass through US immigration was lightened somewhat. The smart official called me to his desk, routinely checked my passport and asked where I was going in America. I explained that I was going to be visiting coal mine restoration in the Appalachian coal-fields, his stern face flickered with a smile: "You know, if you hear banjos in those woods, you just run!"

Well, that's where I'm heading today!

Seven Days to Go!

This is my first attempt at blogging, so please be gentle with me!

It's precisely seven days till I set-off on my sojourn to the Americas to explore world class landscape restoration, courtesy of the generosity of the Winston Churchill Memorial Trust. Apprehension is building as is the worry that there is far to much to do between now and then. (And what happens if I'm left in limbo on a Patagonian highway with only a smattering of my appalling Spanish to survive with? Or the bott flies attack?)

Anyway, seven days left of family time till I depart for two months. Maxine, Alice and Katie; thank you for your support and encouragement in allowing me to take advantage of my Churchill Trust Travelling Fellowship.

Thank you too to Cornwall's fabulous Eden Project, my erstwhile employer (for 12 years) - especially Tim Smit and Tony Kendle for assisting me with my Churchill Trust application; and my current employer, Wardell Armstrong International, for their support in getting me to this state of imminent departure.

Stay posted!