A Refuge Where Wonderful Things Happen - J.N. "Ding" Darling National Wildlife Refuge, Sanibel Island, FL - Brief Article

National Wildlife, April-May, 2001 by Mark Wexler

Fifteen years ago, a local resident discovered a female American crocodile living on a lush, sparsely populated barrier island along the Lee Island Coast in southwest Florida. Considered among the nation's most endangered reptiles, crocodiles rarely range north of the Everglades and Florida Keys, so this animal clearly was unusual. To protect her, researchers relocated the croc' to a state park about 50 miles south. Six months later, however, the persistent creature found her way back to Lee County waters and eventually settled in the J.N. "Ding" Darling National Wildlife Refuge on Sanibel Island, where she has lived ever since.

"We know by her markings that it's the same crocodile," says Refuge Manager Lou Hinds. "Apparently, she likes it here." The 12-foot reptile is not alone.

Spanning 6,300 acres-more than half of subtropical Sanibel-the Ding Darling refuge is part of the largest undeveloped mangrove ecosystem in the United States. It is an untamed, enchanting place where a mix of habitats converge: sea grass marshes, mudflats, white-sand beaches, hardwood hammocks, and seemingly endless mangrove islands. Such diversity attracts an equally diverse mix of birds, making the refuge one of the nation's premier birding hot spots.

More than 230 species-from endangered wood storks, roseate spoonbills, ospreys and white pelicans to painted buntings, yellow-crowned night herons, black-necked stilts and oyster catchers-spend all or part of the year there. The refuge also has a large population of alligators, 50 other species of reptiles and amphibians, and 32 different mammals. "This was once one of America's best-kept secrets," says Hinds. But that was then.

These days, few, if any, of the country's 500-plus federal wildlife refuges welcome as many visitors as Ding Darling. In a given year, more than 800,000 people flock there to see the extraordinary variety and numbers of animals. "During late winter, we can easily have 2,000 visitors a day," says Assistant Refuge Manager Layne Hamilton.

And therein lies the conundrum.

"How do we handle so many people and still protect the habitat?" she muses. The short answer is that visitation is limited primarily to a five-mile, shell-paved circular drive and two adjacent walking trails, where the birds and other creatures are remarkably accessible. Canoeing also is permitted in certain areas, but most of the refuge is inaccessible.

The long answer, says Hinds, is that the refuge staff "couldn't meet the challenges of running this place without help from the residents of Sanibel and the other volunteers who come here daily to census wildlife and educate visitors."

Indeed, the history of the refuge is inexorably tied to the story of the people who have made Sanibel and neighboring Captiva Island their homes. Though best known for the millions of seashells that blanket their beaches, the islands' greatest resources may be the hard-headed, resident mavericks who have for decades eschewed the development ethic that pervades much of Florida.

One of those mavericks was Pulitzer Prize-winning political cartoonist Jay Norwood "Ding" Darling, who lived for many years on Captiva during the winter months. In the early 1940s, he learned that the land where the refuge is now located was about to be sold by the state to developers for 25 cents an acre. An outspoken conservationist who created the Duck Stamp program in 1934 and founded the National Wildlife Federation two years later, Darling used his clout to squelch the deal and convince the state to lease the land to the U.S. government. In 1945, a refuge, which eventually would bear Darling's name, was established on Sanibel.

Three decades later, residents decided that the time had come to control their own destiny. In the mid-1970s, they created the independent city of Sanibel and banned street lights and construction of any buildings taller than 45 feet. They also established the Sanibel-Captiva Conservation Foundation, which has protected hundreds of acres of land adjacent to the refuge.

"Because of such foresight, the way you see the island today is hopefully how it will look forever," says Darling's grandson, Kip Koss, a Floridian who worked recently with other conservationists to build a privately funded, $1.5 million education center at the refuge-the first such volunteer effort of its kind at any U.S. refuge. "Wonderful things happen," he observes, "when committed people become involved with a wonderful place."

For more information, see www.leeislandcoast.com.