THERE IS A wonderful 12 mile off-road bike loop on the refuge. I ride it often, and it always affords me some quality thinking time. It is mid-afternoon, and one of the first truly hot days we’ve had in this peculiar winter and spring. Sand gnats, akin to Vermont’s nosee ums, seem to find every inch of bare skin, even with the breeze generated by the ride. They must lurk in the air for my arrival along the trail, and pounce.

A long, dark snake skitters off the service road in front of me. I make a mental note to study up on snakes. The Indigo Snake should be here, but no one has seen it to verify its place on the refuge critter list. Perhaps I missed an opportunity.

From the copious winter rains, the Cypress woods remain flooded. Refuge service roads are, in fact, levees, raised high enough that they seldom flood. But the woods glisten with sparkly water. Few animals go undetected in the liquid alarm system around me. In and out of the afternoon shade I ride, a staccato of cool and warm, with accompanying perfume from some early-blooming trees and vines. I begin to reflect on our volunteer efforts over the past six months.

A Great Blue Heron watches warily along the refuge trail. Photo by Christine Barnes, The Northfield News The top favorite experience for both Gordon and me was working with the Whooping Cranes in the reintroduction project with Operation Migration. Being in the presence of one of the world’s rarest birds, and one so huge and elegant, was an experience like no other. The people who surround this recovery effort are so dedicated and such models of personal commitment that they are an inspiration. We are proud to have played a part in this drama, first working with the young cranes in Wisconsin prior to their ultralight-led migration, then caring for them as they made their way into the wild on their independent return north this spring.

Our experience with the cranes led us to give many presentations to school children and senior citizens, teaching about the cranes’ journey from extinction, and also encouraging greater awareness of environmental and conservation concerns. In additional to the crane presentations, we participated in approximately twentyfive environmental education programs for school students that reaches over 10,000 students annually.

As I ride along a bend in the road, the water on both sides of the levee becomes more creek-like. A Great Blue Heron rises out of the grassy water’s edge in alarm, unseen by me, but obviously, I did not pass un-noticed. How many other eyes are watching me along the way? Every so often I hear “plop, ker-splash” in the water adjacent to the levy. Before I can see the perpetrator, I have passed on by.

I reflect on other highlights. Gordon has a wonderful way with people: he uses his talents as a “roving ranger”, drawing visitors in to his talks at the lighthouse, along the refuge roads, and at the visitor center. He charms audiences as a lighthouse keeper, in full uniform from the early 1900s. His interest and background in history provide him with an easy repertoire of fascinating yarns which interest both young and old. He especially loves to stand at the dark, dank base of the lighthouse stairs and scare the poor children with a ghost story or two. Wild shrieks followed by gales of laughter – and he has won the day.

Some of the biology projects I worked on were very interesting: preparing native Wiregrass seed for viability analysis and later distribution in a recovery area on the refuge; preparation of materials for Wood Duck boxes in anticipation of 35 new sites when we return in the fall; in anticipation of nesting, preparation of 25 Bluebird boxes on a trail we set up last year; culling occasional and rare birds from the visitors’ wildlife sightings list to document possible population shifts on the refuge.

An enormous alligator wheels off the bank just ahead of me and flops noisily into the water. I startle. Once again, I am the last to know. I bump along on my bike, now well into the 12 mile loop. Great Egrets rise and drift high across the road. I see them a second time in the shadows they cast before me.

With a pang of sadness, I realize our time here is coming to a close, the end of a third year at St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. As always, it has been rich and rewarding, and we will miss this magnificent place and the people who so ably manage and advance its mission.