In the 1970s I started documenting the underwater world of Florida’s springs. As a biologist/diver I was moved and intrigued by the beauty and size of so many springs rising from the earth. I became fascinated by their remarkable clarity and the abundant diversity of life so clearly visible in their transparent headsprings, rivers and runs.

I thought the world should know these places better. So for years that followed I camped by springs for months at a time, entering their waters day and night in all seasons of the year.

I gained access to the great depths of Wakulla Springs and the immense fossil-laden cave at the source of Silver Springs. I dove big springs and small, entered caves, dove with mermaids, crawled down spring runs at night and drifted spring rivers for miles underwater, all this with camera in hand to document these many realms and the underwater wildlife in them.

Voices more eloquent than mine, photographers better than me and scientists more knowledgeable than most of us have long shown us and told us our springs are changing and why. We know we are pouring excess nitrates into their aquifer source through over-development, poor septic systems and over-fertilization of our fields and lawns.

We know we are pumping too much water from our aquifer, decreasing spring flow and health. The quality of spring water is declining as is the diversity of wildlife in them. And I can show you.

Why should we care about springs? Because simply they are canaries in our coal mine. If not for the sake of preserving freshwater environments unique on our Earth, then we should care for them because for many of us they are the same water we drink. Some spring waters that once gave us the purest water on earth now carry nitrates approaching levels unsafe for human consumption. Springs are changing. And I can show you.

Look at one of the pictures from my book of Crystal River’s headspring, taken in 1978. The water was crystal clear, hundreds of mangrove snappers hung on the limestone ledges of its headspring pool, others hid in the deep recesses of its cavern, thousands of mullet circled its basin, bream and bass mixed with sheepshead and snook. Manatees cruised its chasm. It was a visible fusion of freshwater springs and the sea, a wondrous place.

I was there a few years ago, and those vistas were gone. The water was cloudy and green. If the great schools of fish were there I couldn’t see them. An invasive algae called Lyngbya, fueled by excess nitrates, suffocated the spring and river and replaced the native eel grass with black mats of algae.

The spring was dying. Though protected in the Crystal River National Wildlife Refuge, the historic wintering waters of the manatee had changed.

In recent years local businesses and residents of Crystal River realized the health of their economy and their community depended on the health of their springs.  They began extensive restoration projects to remove the algae and replant the river with native eel grass. Aided by countywide fertilizer application restrictions, it’s working.

I was there again recently. The headspring is changing again. The water is clearing, surrounding eel grass beds are extensive and growing. The fish are returning. It’s far from the wondrous world you see in the photo, but neither is it the dying spring of 2015.