This young photographer uses river snorkeling to raise awareness around Blue Ridge waterways.
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Photo and caption by Loughran Cabe
Bluehead Chub. Directly below a footbridge on the Appalachian Trail in Virginia, a male bluehead chub (Nocomis leptocephalus) is in the process of building a nest mound, a giant pile of thousands of pebbles in which a female chub will lay her eggs. Each spring, male chub spend days on end collecting stones with their mouths and carefully piling them together, a behavior which is fascinating to watch. Numerous other species have also evolved to spawn in the chub’s mound, and will swarm in the hundreds over the mounds.
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Caption and photo by Loughran Cabe
Three Dace. Mountain redbelly dace, rosyside dace and blacknose dace swarm over a bluehead chub mound in a tiny mountain stream. The mountain redbellies and rosysides are here to spawn, but the blacknoses are here to eat the eggs they lay. Active chub mounds are essentially buffets for a number of species, which gather to eat both the freshly laid eggs and the fish.
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Caption and photo by Loughran Cabe
Candy Darter. Two male candy darters spar over territory and spawning opportunities with any nearby females. Described as one of the most beautiful fish in the world, male candy darters develop deep iridescent blue, white and bright orange colorations each spring. Unfortunately, they are federally endangered due to the introduction of variegate darters, which outcompete and hybridize with them.
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Caption and photo by Loughran Cabe
Greenbreast Darter. The greenbreast darter (Nothonotus jordani) is a charming little fish (only an inch or two long). This male spent a long time rooting around in the shallows of a pool on the Conasauga River, allowing closeups of his beautiful bluish-green face and throat.
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Caption and photo by Loughran Cabe
Central Stoneroller & Mountain Redbelly Dace. These two species are both gathered to spawn on a nest mound built by a chub in a river in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. The stoneroller will dig a small pit nest of its own into the mound, while the dace simply spawn in a swarm, releasing thousands of eggs which will become lodged in the carefully placed pebbles of the mound.
Loughran Cabe was raised in an outdoorsy family in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley and had an over-the-top love for nature—but when he discovered river snorkeling around age 15, something clicked.
Caption and photo by Loughran Cabe
Loughran Cabe: “This is my passion.”
“I’d been fishing and swimming all my life, but this was different,” says Cabe, who just turned 20. With the right conditions, you can strap on a diving mask, dip your head into a Blue Ridge stream and spot 30 to 50 species of fish alone. “It’s like a different world. The water is so clear you can see the sunlight dancing in the riffles. There’s so much life, so many colors: It’s like a magic trick.”
Cabe was hooked. But when he talked about the wonders of what he’d seen, people seemed skeptical: Wasn’t snorkeling meant for coral reefs?
“It’s like that old conservation saying, ‘You can’t care about what you don’t know about,’” says Cabe. Online research led him to a small community of enthusiasts using underwater photography to showcase freshwater ecosystems on social media. “I thought, ‘So this is what I need to do.’”
Cabe reached out to experts like Tennessee-based documentarian Casper Cox for tips.
Caption and photo by Loughran Cabe
Cambarus longulus. This crayfish is part of a unique population in which many individuals have a color mutation, causing them to be bright crimson. Crayfish are a generally underappreciated group within the southeast, with numerous undescribed species present in our rivers, streams and ditches.
“It was crazy how welcoming they were,” says Cabe. “Here I was, this kid and total novice, and [the pros] were taking the time to answer all of my dumb questions.”
With their guidance, Cabe bought a cheap underwater casing and borrowed his mom’s old DSLR camera. He dug out a vintage wetsuit that belonged to his dad—a Washington and Lee biology professor—and hit the water.
Time, practice and obsessive tweaks led to big results. Friends, family and teachers were blown away. Area nature camps reached out about volunteer teaching opportunities. Mentors encouraged him to join organizations like the Native Fish Coalition and publish photos in magazines like Virginia Wildlife. The enthusiastic reception inspired Cabe to pursue a conservation-related degree at Oberlin College.
“This is my passion,” he says. “There’s this whole facet of nature that almost nobody pays attention to. My goal is to get people interested in the beauty and importance of these waterways and, ultimately, convince them they’re worth protecting.”
The story above first appeared in our July / August 2024 issue. For more like it subscribe today or log in with your active BRC+ Membership. Thank you for your support!