In Florida Mother Nature runs wild with naked abandon like a child who doesn’t know better. The Ocala National Forest is one of the rare places she is allowed to go unpunished. Half of it had been public domain land, meaning it belonged to nobody; high, dry, porous sand undesirable for agriculture, we got it. The earliest national forest east of the Mississippi it now comprises 382,000 acres of pine trees, lakes, springs and the freedom to wander amongst them like a natural person. Best to take advantage. Tall pines are mighty nice and airy to camp under.

Clear, spring-fed lakes add a new dimension to bas fishing.

Like happiness a large swath of woods means different things to different people. If a cold front is beating a frosty path to Central Florida, I can call a friend of mine and chances are he’ll be beyond the reach of modern communications. For some reason foul weather gets him and his childhood pal loading up their tent and sleeping bags and heading out to experience it somewhere in the forest.

Me, I’d rather watch Oprah than camp in bad weather. But fall through spring, when the atmosphere and bugs are on mostly good behavior, my family might suddenly need an innoculation of pine sap, cicada chatter, lightning bugs and great fishing. In an hour the canoe’s on the van and we’re on our way out of town.

Florida’s springs are reason enough to live on this planet. They pump the clearest water on the surface of the earth; but clear is an inadequate term for these springs. If invisible had a color, you would find it here. They are gorgeous, captivating, liberating. I absolutely can’t get enough. Alexander, Salt and Silver Glen springs are my favorites. These are just different ways to spell snorkeling, fishing, swimming and generally feasting on the great outdoors. With their broad sandy shallows and beaches, Alexander and Silver Glen are perfect for putting babies in sparkling water and for anyone to learn the splendors of snorkeling. Surrounded by shallow water, Salt Springs has several beautiful chimneys whose depths can be plumbed by looking or diving down. Schools of giant mullet, actually pretty underwater, are abundant, along with vibrantly colored blue crabs. A boat is necessary to fish downstream of the spring and many people angle for the mullets, using various corn meal and dough concoctions. At the fabulously transparent Silver Glen, a snorkeler can hang out with striped bass and ladyfish.

Anybody who never snorkeled and thinks it’s not worth doing would change his opinion while gliding across the blue hole in the earth a hundred feet from the beach where Alexander pumps out 70 million gallons per day of God’s mouthwash. We don’t have to envy the eagle. Snorkeling is an easy, safe and cheap way for people to fly. Unlike birds that can swim the air, we require water for buoyancy. The sensation is much the same in our absolutely air clear springs. It can even be scary cruising over a dropoff from shallow water, like you’d just run off a cliff and should, by all rights, fall to your death. Instead, you soar.

After a morning of absorbing the underwater delights of Alexander, it’s great to head to the bridge on the same road. This is excruciatingly easy access to Alexander Springs Run, a great place to wade out and angle for sunfish, take a swim, snorkel, throw in a canoe or just check out the abundant life. My boys go wild investigating everything; the possibilities are so exciting and the discoveries so amazing compared to the stifling, boring predictability of the city. Ten-year-old Sam can’t help looking up at me from his exploring and saying with a goofy grin, “I just love nature.”

You’ve seen those “FISH NAKED” bumper stickers? Take it from me, that advice is seriously flawed. Before kids Michele and I camped at Halfmoon Lake, on dirt Forest Road 579D with no facilities, just pitch your tent where you want to. In the morning I got up, grabbed my fishing rod and casually waded in about stomach deep tossing artificial worm around the cattails. I got a strike and boy did it hurt. It’s amazing how loud a bluegill can make you yell. I’ve been grateful ever since I wasn’t educated by a mudfish or gar.