Return to Circle B Bar Reserve: A Search for Spoonbills

After experiencing the Rabbit Marsh Run Trail, I went back to Circle B Bar Reserve the next morning. Part of the renowned Great Florida Birding Trail, the Reserve has a way of making you feel like you’ve only scratched the surface—no matter how much you’ve already seen.

This time, I set out along the Shady Oak Trail (0.7 miles), linking up with the evocatively named Alligator Alley (1.2 miles), and looping back via Heron Hideout (0.3 miles).  A modest distance on paper. In practice, it turned into a slow-moving expedition punctuated by frequent stops, nervous scanning for alligators and snakes, and the occasional self-inflicted scare as a squirrel darted from the grass near the path.

Shady Oak Trail winds through a classic Florida oak hammock—live oaks arching overhead, their limbs draped in Spanish moss that sways even in the faintest breeze. The morning fog lingered low, slipping between tree trunks and pooling over the grasses, turning the forest into something ethereal. Spider webs were revealed—intricate, beaded with dew, like delicate constellations suspended at eye level.

Shady Oak Trail

This stretch is known to host barred owls, and I could hear their unmistakable, echoing calls somewhere in the canopy. As I walked, I scanned every hollow and shadowed branch, spotting plenty of promising tree cavities—but the owls themselves remained hidden, their presence felt but not seen.

Then I reached Alligator Alley. Running along the northwest edge of Lake Hancock, bordered by cypress trees on the right and marsh on the left, the trail quickly lived up to its name. 

There were some alligators in the lake and marsh, with a few wading birds brave enough to fish in their vicinity.  As the sun began to burn through the fog and warm the water, alligators started to rise—slow, silent shapes materializing at the surface. What had looked like still water moments before became crowded with prehistoric eyes and ridged backs—and visible teeth.  Huge bull alligators and small pods of young alligators.

There was evidence of their movements back and forth from the lake across the trail to the canal. Fresh scrape marks cut across the sandy path. It was a vivid reminder that I was walking along an active commuter route.

Turtles shared the areas with the alligators, including a soft-shelled turtle—new to me. Squirrels darted across the path at high speed, repeatedly triggering my already heightened “IS THAT A SNAKE?” reflex. I’m proud to report I only jumped dramatically every single time.

Alligators and turtles

At a lakeside viewing pier, two wood storks stood quietly in the fog. 

Nearby, an anhinga searched for food, with its body submerged and then perched on a log with its wings spread wide, drying them.

Anhinga

Wading birds walked along the cypress and grasses in the lake, many successfully fishing. A white ibis cautiously shared space with an alligator.  A great blue heron walked in the water and then took to flight.  White herons shared the shoreline searching, and finding fish. Common gallinule hunted in the algae covered marsh.

A tree full of turkey buzzards added a slightly ominous touch—nature’s cleanup crew just waiting for someone to make a poor decision. And yet, despite all this wildlife abundance, the roseate spoonbill—the bright pink celebrity I was searching for—continued to elude me.  Other photographers I met along the way reported sightings nearby but I never found them.

Although the walk was just over two miles, it took several hours thanks to frequent stops for wildlife watching, photography, and, most importantly, checking every 20 feet to confirm I was not about to step into a reptilian ambush. Early morning brought a peaceful quiet to the reserve, the kind that makes you forget—briefly—that you are not at the top of the food chain.

For those who prefer their nature with a little less adrenaline, there’s a tram tour available—ideal for anyone who enjoys wildlife but prefers a safer distance between themselves and anything with teeth.

All photos were taken with a Nikon Z6III and a Tamron 70-300mm lens—which, conveniently, allowed me to appreciate the alligators from a very respectful, very intentional distance.