"What we represent here in 'Clamelot' is the real Florida," Sue, the self-proclaimed 'Estuarine Queen' says with pride, "And because of the decline in water quality, we're watching a part of our history slip away."

Based on research Russel and Rob are conducting at places like Manatee Springs, the reasons that history is slipping away are as diverse as they are complex. Non-point source pollution from fertilizer run-off, development, and agricultural and cattle farms hundreds of miles upstream are introducing dangerous levels of nitrates and other pollutants into the river. Downstream at the mouth of the Suwannee, these nutrients can disrupt the delicate balance of fragile wetland communities by encouraging algae blooms which smother native vegetation, reduce dissolved oxygen in the water, and introduce toxins that kill sensitive invertebrates which are the primary food source for many fish species.

Complicating matters further, says Rob, is something called lag time. In many places within the Floridan aquifer, water can remain underground for decades before being discharged from the springs into the river. As a result, the nutrients and pollutants that are reaching the aquifer today might not reappear and impact downstream ecosystems like the Suwannee estuary until the year 2030.

"Lag time is one of the most important things to understand if we're going to protect the habitats downstream from the springs," Rob explains. "A lot of the algae blooms and other problems we're seeing here today are the result of what went into the aquifer twenty years ago."

The issue of lag time also raises another important point about large-scale watershed preservation. Protecting a spring-fed river system as massive as the Suwannee isn't as easy as protecting an individual spring. Along its 245-mile journey to the sea, the Suwannee flows through two states and eight Florida counties. As a result, for most people who live around the upper headsprings that feed the river, the oyster and clam beds of Suwannee Bay might as well be as far away as Long Island. Yet, that's precisely the disconnect that scientists like Russel and Rob are trying to address through their work. And, after spending the day with them their message is clear: the springs and the rivers they feed connect everyone together.

By the time we reach the town of Suwannee at the mouth of the river in the late afternoon to meet with marina owner and freshwater activist George Anderson, the sun is burning red over the oyster reefs just offshore through the cloud veil of an approaching front. Hundreds of miles downstream from the Suwannee's source in the Okefenokee swamp, the river here is deep and dark, discharging over ten billion gallons of water a year through a serpentine savannah of tidal marshes and shallow, grassy flats. It's a fitting end to water's journey. Though there's not a spring in sight, everything around us—the oyster reefs, the fish, the grasses, and the people of Suwannee itself—are dependent upon abundant, clean water flowing from Florida's springs.

"The reason the oyster bar is here and the oysters are so good," George explains, "is because the river's good. Man, animal, fish—all of us depend on it. And all of us depend on clean water."

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