Captain Bob pulses the engine to scoot the bow of the airboat in the direction of a flock of blackish birds bobbing bewilderedly in between the water lilies.
"These guys crack me up," he says, assuring his seven passengers that he won’t hit any of the birds.
The 425-horsepower Chevy engine kicks on. It drones so loudly I can hear it through a bulky headset. Captain Bob crabs the boat into the wind. We surge forward at a tipsy angle, the propeller whirling ferociously at our backs. We skate the surface of the marsh, thwacking the lilies that rebound behind us, and head for the birds who remain oblivious until we’re nearly on top of them.
The coots scatter across the reservoir, their little feet peddling like mad over the surface of the water, apparently gathering enough speed for takeoff. They’re banging into each other. They’re flapping their wings in wonderfully dramatic chaos. Their sprints leave behind little wakes in every direction.
In this marshland ecosystem known locally as the Garcia Reservoir, the coots are the slapstick comedy troupe in an otherwise elegant theater of egrets, herons and cranes, moving as lithely as ballet dancers and posing with g
raceful symmetry.
I’d never seen a coot before. But this ride was full of first sightings.
Before I met Captain Bob, I pictured him as a fairly hillbilly potbellied man, most likely dressed in flannel or perhaps a Budweiser t-shirt fitted closely around the swollen midriff. He had an alligator tooth strung around his neck.
What other kind of Captain Bob owns an airboat?
Evidently a clean-cut U.S. Coast Guard captain in a button-down shirt and a crisp windbreaker without a suggestion of a potbelly.
Oops.
I thought I was in for an alligator-spotting ride, but Robert Montuoro brought so much more to the trip. He is remarkably knowledgeable about the species that inhabit the Indian River County marshlands and so familiar with the Garcia Reservoir that he knows the hangouts and routines of many animals.
Unlike the other fan boat operators in the area, Captain Bob’s 18-foot yellow boat is equipped with microphone headsets which we used to listen to Bob’s narrations and to communicate with him and each other during the hour-long trip. They also helped shield our ears from the bellow of the engine.
The Garcia Reservoir was once a cattle ranch and vegetable farm owned by a family named Garcia, who drained and channeled the wetlands when they establis
hed themselves there, according to our captain. When their house burned down the Garcias moved on, Captain Bob said. The marshlands have now returned to their original state, though evidence of the ranch remains. Now and then you can spot a lopsided fencepost poking through the water.
Fishermen find the reservoir a gold mine full of bass, bluegills and catfish, which like to congregate in the irrigation ditches that still lay below the water’s surface. But the fishermen have major competition here. The dark-plumed cormorant is a proficient diving bird with a sharp hooked beak and webbed feet. A fairly ugly bird, really. Captain Bob pointed one out with contempt. Cormorants are such capable fishers they’ve been depleting the waters, even hatchery ponds, while increasing their own numbers.
Captain Bob’s attitude lightened when we saw an osprey, one of the most mesmerizing birds in the reservoir. Growing up on Long Island I saw a lot of osprey nest platforms erected in the rural areas on the eastern forks. There’s even an award-winning vineyard called Osprey’s Dominion in Peconic. But I don’t remember ever seeing a single osprey.
But there one was – perched in a sharp angular tree ahead of us. Captain Bob stopped the engine and we coasted forward for a closer look. The o
sprey had a fish in its talons, a fresh one, still flailing its tail. The bird was gorgeous with long finger-like feathers and a sleek head sporting a dark slash of feathers running from its beak to its neck and over its eyes like a mask.
The osprey is a cool bird – an aerodynamic raptor with barbed talons that trolls the air unbeknownst to its prey. But it also pulls at our human heartstrings because it is a creature that mates for life. And get this, ladies: When the female needs to stretch her wings and get out of the nest, the male will sit on the eggs while he awaits her return. For goodness sake, men, you can’t even quell your testosterone long enough to ask for directions!
But there’s machismo in the marshlands, too. Captain Bob brought us into a broad open area of water and slowed down near a sliver of island in the center. The closer we looked the more gators we saw jumbled together soaking in the sun. When mating season begins, Bob said, "These guys aren’t going to be buddies like this anymore."
The reservoir teems with muddy alligators scheming in the cattails and bulrushes. Bob knows the regular ones. He pulled up to one he called "Big Daddy," who had been sick for a while, he said. Big Daddy was indeed a big boy and didn’t flinch when we slid by.
Alligators have slow metabolisms – their blood uses less oxygen which allows them to stay underwater so long, the captain explained. That’s why they lay in the sun after stuffing their bellies – the heat raises their body temperature and aids digestion, Bob said.
The alligators don’t like the rumble of the airboats and usually they slither away when the boats come too close. But one gutsy reptile stood his ground and stared us down -- two beady eyes glinting in the light, unemotional and unmoving.
Captain Bob may not wear a shark tooth, but he’s got character. Nosing the bow near the stubborn gator, his voice came through the headphones: "Man, I’m glad there’s two rows of people in front of me."
Captain Robert Montuoro's Airboat Adventure Tours, Vero Beach, Florida, 772.633.7849. Reservations required.
