by Rachel L. Miller

Six-twenty in the morning. As I part the heavy, striped hotel room curtains, my eyes struggling to acclimate to even the smallest traces of light, I realize the sun has not even begun its upward crawl from the horizon. The Homosassa River, which projects a gleaming blue in the light of day, is now five alternating shades of gray, just shadows dancing on the rippling water. Spanish moss, dangling from the trees on the riverbank, is swaying ever so slowly in the pre-dawn breeze. I watch until I realize that my eyelids are growing heavy, that the lazy back-and-forth motion is quickly lulling me back to sleep.

Not that it would take much at this point, mind you.

But as appealing as my rumpled bed (still warm, I'm sure) may seem, my scheduled adventure for today is much more so.

I sure hope the manatees aren't having such a difficult time waking up this morning. After all, they are the reason I'm forcing myself out of bed and into a (gasp!) bathing suit at this early hour.

The Homosassa River, as seen from a dock at the Homosassa Riverside Resort in Citrus County. Regulatory speed zones have been established in the river areas where manatees live to protect the animals from boats.

Why so early? Those in the know (aka Citrus County, Fla. locals) swear that the best time to dive with the manatees is the early morning, when there are more manatees in the area and before crowds of people appear (which happens in the late morning hours and especially on the weekends).

So as we arrive at the Plantation Inn Dive Shop in Crystal River after a scant drive up Highway 19, I'm ready to learn how to snorkel. I'm ready to get in the water (which, since the river is spring-fed, is at a constant temperature of about 72 degrees) and start my adventure. I'm ready to see a West Indian manatee, up close and personal. The only thing for which I'm not completely prepared is the wetsuit.

Oh yes. The wetsuit which all those entering the water are required to wear (I rented all of my equipment at the shop -- you can bring your own). Upon first inspection, it seems completely harmless. Just a bluish-purple accessory that will keep me warm in the water.

And then I start to pull it on over my bathing suit. Cold. Cold. Ouch, it's tight. Cold. Did I mention it's still wet? With teeth chattering, I zip up the front. As soon as I start to adjust to the cool, sinfully snug neoprene wrapped around my flesh, I catch a glimpse of myself in the locker room mirror.

Oh Lord.

I am a manatee.

All I need are my flippers and I'm convinced the other snorkelers will be snapping photos of me floating by in the crystal clear water instead of the real manatees.

Honestly, there are no words to describe what a wetsuit does to an imperfect female body. Sure, if you're a size 2 model, fear not -- you're going to look lovely. But if you're a normal woman with a womanly body, you're in for a shock. I explain the wetsuit phenomenon to my friends like this: Look in the mirror. See those problem areas that are so easy to hide in winter garb? The round belly, the love handles, the dimples of cellulite in your thighs -- imagine they are all 5 times worse. And that they are on display for everyone else to notice as well.

It's a lot like that.

So the sooner I get in the water, the better. And since we only have to take the boat a few minutes to King Spring in the Crystal River, my wish is granted.

As our boat arrives at the blissfully empty dive site, the anticipation aboard the vessel is bordering on electric. We're antsy, wanting to begin this once-in-a-lifetime experience. And since we've already been briefed on the rules of human/manatee encounters (touch only with one hand, don't follow, poke, trap a manatee, make excessive noise, and don't enter a manatee sanctuary area), we're ready to go.

Before I know it, I've got my flipper-clad feet dangling over the edge of the boat, my snorkel in my mouth and my mask fitted on my face. I'm trying to slide delicately into the water without a splash (it might scare away manatees), but it's quite tricky as the edge of the boat is a few feet above the water. I end up making a small splash (which sounds more like a deafening roar to me) and I start my adventure with reddened cheeks.

Learning how to snorkel, I soon discover, is pretty much trial and error. You breathe the wrong way (i.e. through the nose) and you fog up your mask and inhale a few drops of water. So you change your tactic and become extremely conscious of breathing in and out of your mouth. Just when I feel as if I've gotten the hang of it, I turn to my left and spot a manatee just a few feet away.

A manatee (sometimes called a sea cow) snacking on lettuce and spinach at the "salad bar" of the Homosassa Springs Wildlife Park.

I gasp, which is probably the worst thing I can do in terms of breathing. It throws off my concentration and I end up choking on a mouthful of water. Coughing and flagging down our dive guide, Paul, for assistance.

Paul, being the extremely helpful guide he is, offers to trade my rental gear for his and gives me a few pointers. It's all I need. I'm off and swimming, floating easily with the help of my all-but-forgotten wetsuit.

It's amazing what I see underwater. Large schools of fish are congregating a few feet below me, swimming completely in sync, glistening in rays of early morning sunlight filtering down through the clear water. I can even see cracks and crevasses in the limestone rocks on the riverbed. After five minutes, I see a manatee, swimming gracefully toward me.

This is its natural environment and all I am is a funny-looking visitor.

I stay as still as I can, just gaping in awe as this gorgeous creature sails up to me, its face oddly resembling a Shar-Pei. Curious, it glances at me. I stare back with a smile, frozen in admiration.

A manatee can live to be over 60 years old. Photo courtesy of Homosassa Springs Wildlife Park.

From the boat, the manatee looks like a huge 2,000-pound potato bobbing in the river. But from my current vantage point underwater, I see it in all of its glory. The long, wide body of the manatee is dotted with green algae. It is hairless with the exception of the stiff whiskers on its fleshy lips (hence the resemblance to the Shar-Pei). And it has these small, intelligent eyes that remind me of an old, wise Golden Retriever. Yes, I heard the comparisons between manatees and dogs before -- "they have distinct personalities, just like dogs" or "manatees are playful like puppies" -- and I was quite hesitant to believe them.
But now I do.

And just as quick as the manatee appears, it is gone. The chance encounters continue for an hour or two until I reluctantly admit my body is getting tired. I retreat to the boat, where I warm up with a cup of hot chocolate -- the air temperature is hovering in the 60s at this point, not exactly tropical, so I'm a bit chilled.

A young girl sits across from me, smiling, holding a cup of hot chocolate with both hands. We start up a conversation and she looks up at me. Her dark hair is slicked back, a few long tendrils stuck to the sides of her mouth which is coated with hot chocolate -- there are streaks of it reaching from the corners of her lips all the way to her chin.

But what really stands out is her expression. She's beaming, her eyes sparkling, a grin stretched across from cheek to cheek.

"Did you have fun?" I ask her.

Her eyes widen and she nods.

"I just touched a manatee," she breathes in awe, pronoucing the last word in a hushed, excited tone, as if she's telling me a secret.

And that's when I realize that this is a Florida experience that all children (and kids at heart) should have. It's one thing to hug a person dressed as a fictional mouse in Orlando -- it's quite another to interact with a gentle manatee in its own habitat, to learn respect for a curious and endangered species.

Just one example of great wildlife viewing in Citrus County.

The best part, of course, is that Citrus County is relatively inexpensive, close to a large airport (an hour north of Tampa International Airport) and is easily accessible by Florida's highways.

Businesswomen couldn't ask for a better day trip (or longer excursion if time allows), better food, or better scenery.

My recommendations are to stay at the Plantation Inn in Crystal River midweek (for cheaper rates and a less crowded manatee snorkeling experience), take a pontoon cruise on the river for some great wildlife viewing, and then make a date to snorkel with those cutie-pie sea cows. The Plantation Inn offers the aforementioned activities on-site, as well as golf and tennis.

The Plantation Inn Dive Shop requires that you make a reservation for a snorkeling encounter, so keep that in mind. You wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to meet a manatee!

Did you know that mis-sightings of manatees gave rise to the tales of mermaids? I don't know how in the world that's possible, but I tend to believe maybe it was just someone mistaking my jiggly wetsuit-encased thighs for those of a sleek mermaid. Or so I'll pretend the next time I try to slip into one of those wetsuits.

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