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SWAT Team to the Rescue

Conducting research on Gopher Tortoises (Gopherus polyphemus) in Florida for 33+ years provided me with a wealth of information about inherent impacts on this threatened species. Not unexpectedly in a state that averages around 6000–7000 new residents per week and many thousands of tourists, anthropogenic impacts are extremely common. Unfortunately, the list is long and the toll staggering, for example, development, agriculture, mining, thickly planted pine plantations, forestry machinery, human predation (although now illegal), vehicles, and dogs.

But Florida also has a number of natural environmental factors that can affect this burrowing turtle: predation (especially on eggs and juveniles), hurricanes, fires, floods, and a lesser known one, sinkholes. As I traveled around the state to assess regional and localized impacts on Gopher Tortoises, sinkholes really didn’t cross my mind. Yet, it’s an understatement to say that Florida is famous for its sinkholes, which have swallowed roads, pools, homes, and even people. It doesn’t take much extrapolation to reason that wildlife, too, can run into problems with these deep depressions. Why Florida? Much of the Sunshine State is karst terrain, that is, largely underlain by limestone. Rainfall, especially acidic rain, can percolate down and dissolve the stone, creating caverns and underground spaces.

This prelude sets the stage for an unusual tortoise rescue that took place in August 2000 west of Gainesville, Florida. A local resident out walking her dog in an abandoned field stumbled on a sinkhole partially obscured by saw palmetto (Serenoa repens) and dogfennel (Eupatorium capillifolium). To her surprise and dismay, she spied a Gopher Tortoise at the bottom of the approximately 30-ft-deep × 20-ft-wide hole. Her first instinct was to get food to the tortoise, so she dumped lettuce and cabbage leaves into the abyss. She considered trying strawberries but thought they would attract too many ants. She also called a local wildlife rehabilitator who then called the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, and that is where I came into the story. I quickly coordinated with my colorful colleague, Ray, who just happened to have a tortoise research and conservation area not far from the site of the trapped tortoise. When Ray and the lady who discovered the stranded tortoise peered into the hole, the tortoise did not move. Even tossing small sticks down upon it did not elicit any movement. After observing this atypical situation for a while, they both deemed the unfortunate creature a fossil, as in way dead. There was really no way to know when this large tortoise tumbled into the sinkhole and how long it had been there.

Almost a week later, the lady was again walking her dog and decided to take a quick look, tossing more sticks into the sinkhole. This time, the tortoise moved! She immediately called the wildlife rehabilitator who then called me. I coordinated directly with the witness to this dilemma and arranged to meet her at the site. My field notes were succinct regarding the sinkhole: deep and creepy. But the tortoise was indeed alive, and now I needed to figure out how to retrieve the poor animal quickly and safely from its predicament. I conferred with several local firemen from this small community, and they suggested that I contact our county fire and rescue guys who had some experience rappelling. Alas, all their rappellers were out West fighting wildfires. I made numerous phone calls and scrambled to try to find someone who might have rappelling expertise and could be available as soon as possible. Running out of options, I explained this challenging scenario to one of our wildlife officers, Captain Cook (really!), who had a brainstorm. He called the county sheriff’s office because he knew that their SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics) team had just returned from advanced rappelling school, where they had descended the Alltel Stadium in Jacksonville. Now this was a case of propitious timing. Captain Cook made the valid point that the SWAT team members could use more practice. Heretofore, the sheriff’s department had rescued a few cats—and even some escaped cows—but this was a critter of a different color, so to speak.

We needed to shift this undertaking into high gear, so I rushed back from my ongoing tortoise field research two hours away and met the deputies at the sinkhole on a hot summer afternoon exactly one week after the tortoise had first been seen. In my field journal, I noted that this was a good team effort, if not somewhat of a three-ring circus. Our rescue crew consisted of the three SWAT team members and the sheriff’s office spokesman, three local firefighters, the lady who discovered the tortoise and her friend, a newspaper reporter and his photographer, a TV news cameraman, and myself. Initially, they wanted to try lowering an open-ended cage on a rope. I got the door hitting him right on the butt, exclaimed one of the deputies. Alas, this tortoise was having no part of that cage that swung near its shell. It was time for Plan B. With the help of the local firefighters, one of the deputies rappelled into the deep sinkhole. He quickly recovered the tortoise, placed it in a burlap sack, and sent the rescued reptile upward bound on a rope. The hero deputy was then expeditiously hauled back to the surface: most folks don’t want to spend much time in a creepy Florida sinkhole.

Now it was my turn to take the reins of this operation. As the state’s tortoise research biologist, I would be responsible for assessing this animal’s condition and finding it a more appropriate location. It was a good-sized adult male, who may have been out foraging, or looking for love, when he tumbled into something much deeper and perilous than his burrow. Late summer is the time when males can get a wee bit frantic trying to find available and willing females with which to mate. I knew that the tortoise was dehydrated, so I placed him in a shallow plastic tub and poured in an inch or two of water. This now fortunate tortoise, named Lucky by the deputies and lady who discovered him, took gulp after gulp of water and seemed to enjoy the soak. We watched in fascination as his eager drinking stretched the folds of skin on his neck. The spokesman for the sheriff’s office officially declared that Operation Tortoise 2000 is a success, and the local newspaper ran a story about the rescue, complete with photos of the SWAT team in action and, of course, of Lucky. The newspaper story noted: When it was all over, Lucky just needed a good, long drink.

My buddy Ray was thrilled to hear about the rescue but also chagrined that he thought the poor tortoise had succumbed. I assured him that it must have been difficult to discern a tortoise’s condition from 30 ft above. We were both thankful that Lucky had survived. I’ve always said that tenacity and perseverance are admirable tortoise traits. It also helped that tortoises are relatively well equipped to go without food or even water for some period of time; they are adapted for long stints underground. But this wasn’t the safe haven of his burrow, and even the heartiest can take only so much.

I had Lucky checked over by a veterinarian who had experience working with tortoises. Lucky had a few abrasions from his ordeal but, once rehydrated, seemed to be no worse for wear. He was also tested for upper respiratory tract disease and was deemed negative. Although there was at least one burrow near the sinkhole, there was no way I was going to release him back in that field fraught with danger. Moreover, this field was rumored to be slated for eventual development. Fortunately, my colleague Ray welcomed Lucky into his vast and well-managed tortoise sanctuary. Gopher Tortoises are renowned for being long-lived, so Lucky may still be roaming through those sandhills characterized by towering longleaf pines (Pinus palustris) and brilliant green turkey oaks (Quercus laevis). And hopefully, he is avoiding deep holes unless he digs them or takes over another gopher’s burrow. One might say it’s a jungle out there in the Florida sandy lands: every tortoise for himself, unless of course you need the help of a SWAT team.