McINTOSH -- Great blue herons launch out of tall grass, and fierce gators
scatter like barnyard hens as frog hunter Allen "Cajun" Perry roars through
the backwaters of Orange Lake south of Gainesville.
"It's beautiful out here. That's why I'd rather be on my airboat than doing
anything else," says Perry, 68, who supplements his Social Security by
gigging and selling leopard frogs by the pound.
The rugged retired welder with a white Fu Manchu mustache covets the
solitude of north-central Florida's remote wetlands. But in recent weeks
Perry has left the lake time and again to defend airboating, which he
considers "a part of Florida," from its increasingly vocal critics.
Perry and other airboaters throughout the state are concerned that their way
of life is threatened by a growing contingent of hard-drinking, hard-driving
recreational riders whose earsplitting antics are provoking homeowners and
lawmakers.
"The problem isn't guys like Cajun who do it as a way of life. It's the rich
yuppies buying high-performance $50,000 airboats so they can pump them full
of gas and drink on the lake all weekend," said Robbie Shidner, owner of
South Shore Fish Camp in Citra.
Shidner, who owns a 12-passenger airboat, recently banned from his camp an
airboater who came thundering in at 11 p.m.
"They aren't members of clubs or people making a living. They are jerks who
don't know any boating etiquette," he said.
State of airboats
Florida's backwater hunters and fishermen were among the first to fit
airplane-type propellers aboard flat-bottom boats so they could glide
through the state's shallowest marshes, bogs and swamps. But like
Harley-Davidson motorcycles ridden by CEOs and CPAs, airboats are moving
upstream and enjoying wider popularity.
There are now at least 23 airboating clubs in the state and about 40
nationwide. Members typically range from those who build their own airboats
out of spare parts for less than $2,000 to others who spend $30,000 or more
for state-of-the-art showboats, according to Airboat World magazine
Editor Terri Latner in Ocala.
"Everybody thinks airboaters are a bunch of low-class, redneck people, but
that's not the case anymore. In our club alone we have three attorneys,"
noted Bob Hoover Jr., president of the Citrus County Airboat Alliance, which
has 175 family memberships.
"It's not cheap either," he added. "If you want to buy a new boat, you'll
start about $18,000, and at $3.75 a gallon for aviation gas, you can blow
$100 in a weekend real fast."
GTO Performance Airboats in Ocala, which has annual sales of nearly $10
million and a new assembly plant, offers a wide range of airboats and can
cater to more affluent customers with customized models for as much as
$80,000, salesman Keith Sherouse said.
There are now at least 15 major airboat manufacturers in Florida. Most will
add any bell or whistle desired -- including elaborate stereo and navigation
systems, live-bait tanks, microwaves or built-in coolers -- for affluent
airboaters slumming in the swamp.
Somewhere amid the traditional and newer airboaters are the troublemakers
who race full-bore day and night without a thought to the racket they raise,
grouse critics, who are no longer restricted to crotchety snowbirds who've
raised noise issues in the past after moving onto waterfront sites.
"I'm as much a Cracker as anyone, but the airboat noise has gotten worse.
Some of it's because other places have tightened up regulations on them, so
they're moving here," said Fred Wood, 67, owner of the 113-year-old Wood &
Swink General Store in Evinston near Orange Lake.
Trudy Dickinson, 74, of Lake Panasoffkee, south of Inverness, created a Web
site, noairboatnoise .com, after airboats racing on the Withlacoochee River
caused her blood pressure to rise to dangerous levels.
"This type of unmuffled noise isn't just an annoyance or a threat to your
ears," the retired teacher said. "The sound vibrations at those decibels
affect the entire body."
Sound travels
Airboat-noise complaints, like those about personal watercraft, have
followed population growth and the increased development in waterfront areas
from South Florida up the peninsula into the center of the state, said
Richard Moore, boating-law administrator for the state Fish and Wildlife
Conservation Commission.
"It has become more of a vocal issue and something we need to look at real
hard and get good data on," said Moore, overseer of an airboat-noise study
by Florida Atlantic University engineers scheduled to be completed this
week.
Though most airboats have no mufflers, Florida law requires that all vessels
be "reasonably muffled." State statute also allows counties to limit vessel
noise to 90 decibels at 50 feet, but only a handful have chosen to do so, in
part because it's difficult to enforce.
As a result, a hodgepodge of regulations has been imposed. Some counties,
towns and neighborhoods have airboat curfews, bans, no-wake zones or
mandatory-muffler ordinances, while many others have no restrictions at all.
No fans
Growing protests even in less-populated areas such as weed-choked Orange
Lake, long a haven for airboaters, have ignited calls for more-uniform
regulations and tougher enforcement.
Alachua County commissioners recently agreed to hire a consultant to study
airboat noise. That county's most vocal airboating opponent -- in both word
and song -- is Richard "Whitey" Markle, 60, a craggy woodshop lab instructor
at the University of Florida who is also the leader of the Swamprooters, a
folk-bluegrass band.
Markle, whose "Cracker tropical" wood-frame home sits amid his chicken coops
and towering live oaks 150 feet off Orange Lake, said airboats running in
the wee hours of the morning rattle his bed, ruin his sleep and, worse,
interfere with his music-making.
"They are out of control, and their recreational noise is polluting my
bedroom," he said. "If I'm trying to play bluegrass, and the airboats are in
C sharp and I'm in D, it don't work."
Still, during a lull in the clamor, Markle managed to pen a protest tune,
"Song of the Lake."
"It tells airboaters that they need to shut their engines off and listen to
the critters -- the osprey, the blackbirds and hawks -- to hear the true
song of the lake," said Markle, who also authored a UF master's thesis in
urban planning titled Airboat Noise around Orange Lake Fla. as a
Community Planning Issue.
Alachua County Sheriff Steve Oelrich, who lives across the 12,706-acre lake
from Markle, said his deputies will be writing citations, not folk songs, if
airboaters don't throttle back.
"The majority are out on Saturday or Sunday afternoons, and it's real, real
loud. I can hear them not only on Orange Lake but also on Lochloosa Lake
three or more miles away," said Oelrich, who has proposed parking an airboat
outside the County Commission office in Gainesville and revving the engines
to make his point loud and clear.
To the south, Marion County adopted the 90-decibels-at-50-feet statute three
years ago. But Citrus County commissioners voted last month to postpone new
restrictions on airboats pending the FAU study -- vexing 263 Arbor Lakes
residents who signed a petition seeking noise relief.
A baffling problem
At the request of legislators, the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission
ordered the FAU study. After it's done, the commission will need several
months to review it and decide what to do about its recommendations, Moore
said.
In the meantime, concerned airboating clubs in the state are conducting
their own campaigns to fend off tight restrictions, curfews or bans. Most
are urging club members to voluntarily muffle their engines and keep it to a
low roar near populated shorelines.
"We are trying to teach courtesy, and we are slowly getting through the
ranks of our clubs and others," said Hoover, the airboat-club leader. "It's
a matter of changing habits."
Nearly all airboaters don earplugs or other gear to protect their own
hearing, but that practice may also make them less aware of the uproar their
craft create, critics say.
True to his independent nature, "Cajun" Perry has his own unique approach
for tuning out the earsplitting din aboard his homemade boat.
On a recent airboat tour, the McIntosh frogger thoughtfully provided
protective ear guards to two passengers. But he had no headset for himself.
Instead, just before cranking his souped-up 220-horsepower aircraft engine,
Perry plucked out first one of his hearing aids, and then the other.
"I lost my hearing because of welding -- years before I started airboating,"
he insisted.
Wes Smith can be reached at 407-420-5672 or dwsmith@orlandosentinel.com.