by KENT MORSE, Special to Escape to SW Florida

We were headed out of the channel, then across the bay to the mangroves on the other side, opposite from where I had encountered the spoonbills. Along the way we saw a yellow crested night heron, and several anhingas with their black snake-like necks and sharp beaks that they use to spear fish, which they then toss around and eventually swallow head first. We saw cormorants and more pelicans.

Then at a convergence of three bodies of water, always productive places, the dorsal fin of a dolphin fishing for mullet rose out of the water a few feet from our boats. This is a wonderful thing to witness in a kayak.

Matlacha, I was told by a local is a french word which means "little water." Another local said it is a Calusa Indian word which means "water up to the chin." Probably it is neither -- everyone is a comedian -- but for our purposes, while the water in the channels may be up to your chin, the majority of paddling around here is in water no more than and usually less than two feet deep. At low tide the tops of crab traps are visible above the waterline. I have never had too much of a problem, but generally it pays to time your excursions at high tide in order to avoid what really is a French word -- portage. This is especially true if you are exploring the various back bays and estuaries.

We crossed a stretch of shallow water and made our way to the channels that wind through the mangroves. As we paused to rest and drink a bit of water on an oysterbed, Mel explained the various species of mangroves and their differing strategies for dealing with living in such a saline environment. He pointed out the tree's neumataphors that project up from the muck and allow them to take in oxygen in an otherwise oxygen poor environment. He spoke of how fish fry hide among the roots till sufficiently developed to brave the open water. And he picked up a king conch and showed how it affixed itself to the oyster and rocked back and forth till the exhausted victim relaxed its muscles and was eaten. All good stuff.

And then it was on to the manatees. We passed though a channel where dozens of vultures roosted in the trees and stood along the banks. Three of these grim birds took flight and swooped just over head.

The channel came to a dead end, the source of the spring whose warm waters drew the manatees to this spot. Ahead we could see their great rounded backs just breaking the water like little islands. We slowly paddled into their midst and then just sat still and watched as these aquatic mammals, some as large as 1200 pounds, rose slowly to the surface to breath through their whiskered mouths, then disappeared into the depths.

The manatee's closest modern relative is the elephant, but somewhere around 55 million to 60 million years ago, their descendants returned to the water. Looking from the kayak, I saw how evolution in an aquatic environment had shaped them, rounding forms and replacing hind feet with a large beaver (or mermaid) like tail.

I should say that this part of the experience had a different quality than the earlier vignette about unexpectedly coming upon roseate spoonbills in a lagoon. There I felt I was entering their world. Here watching the manatees, I was clearly in "our" world as were they.

On one side of us were homes, and a cigarette boat hung from one of the numerous docks that lined the channel. As each manatee rose through the gloom, evidence of encounters with boats was gruesomely apparent. I went from musing about their evolution to considering their fate. The rear flipper of one, which normally would be nicely rounded, was deeply scalloped. On the back of another five hash marks recorded the rotation of a propeller.

I commented on this to Mel -- did any of the 2000-3000 remaining manatees in Florida manage to avoid contact with boats? Precious few, he told me, so few that scientists use these scars to identify individual manatees in much the same way that those studying whales use the natural differences in the coloration of their flukes to identify them. The Florida panther may disappear, but for most of us it will disappear without ever having been seen. The manatee is a different story. We can, with a little effort, see them, and I am afraid that one day the last one will descend into the depths taking the scars of its human encounters with it and simply never be seen again.

I looked over to Barbara, a woman with seven grandchildren of her own. Probably she didn't know what she was getting into when she signed up for this excursion. But here she was watching a mother manatee and calf resting a few feet from her boat. Would that there were more encounters of this sort, less of the other. The manatees' hopes depend on it. There is some reason for hope. The roseate spoonbill made it past its brush with extinction at the hands of plume hunters in the last century and their numbers are increasing.

On the way back Mel regaled us with stories of the Calusa Indians, pirates and Spaniards that once lived and met their fates in this area. And then we chatted about what, apparently, is his real passion -- fishing. Mel is good paddling company, a nice balance of knowledge and humor shared in a comfortable, affable manner.

We began our trip at nine in the morning and were back to the dock by twelve. The cost for this guided tour was only 35 dollars. Gulf Coast Kayak also offers a birding tour and, once a week, a sunset tour.

The kayaks they offer for rent are stable boats, not the sort popularized on extreme sports channels that seem to flip over if you look at them wrong. How stable? On one trip I rented a two person kayak and, as I paddled, my 11 year old nephew stood in the front with a pirate hat on, pretending his water bottle was a spyglass and shouting things like "Sally forth into the mangrove, you scurvy dog." I am not suggesting it, but you get the point.

Whether you avail yourself of a naturalist guide or go off on your own is a personal preference and there are benefits of both. For example, whether guided or not, as you are paddling along the edge of a mangrove in one of the lagoons or back bays you will encounter a wood stork roosting in the mangrove. You will surmise that word stork spends a lot of time in that particular mangrove, particularly when it is defecating. That much is obvious. Less obvious, the naturalist will point out, is that you are witnessing one of the reasons this is such a productive marine environment. As Mel explained on our trip. these leaves will die, fall into the water and form the detritus that will be a source of food for the crustaceans, tube worms and fish fry that live among the mangroves and form the basis of the areas marine food web.

Everyone associated with Gulf Coast Kayaks, including owner Bruce Spies, is genuinely thrilled to share their passion and intimate knowledge of the area. You get the sense that if they were independently wealthy they would be doing exactly what they are doing now for free. Give them a call at 239-283-1125 or check out their website at GulfCoastKayak.com. They come recommended by the Lonely Planet Travel Guide and the National Geographic Ultimate Adventure Sports book.