Strange Twists in a Geographic Life
- James Gaddis
- Mar 12
- 12 min read
Updated: Apr 14
In May 2022, I was hired by the Office of Park Planning in the Central Office of the Florida Park Service. During my initial job interview with the planning manager and bureau chief, I let my prospective bosses know up front that I was formally requesting a heavy mapping workload if hired. I promised that I would go out of my way to learn ESRI’s ArcGIS program as quickly as possible. At that point, I had not touched a GIS (Geographic Information Systems) program since using ESRI's ArcMap during my undergraduate studies at Florida State University in 2009 and would need to learn the newer software program, ArcGIS Pro, from scratch.
To reassure my interviewers, I shared that I was a lifelong map addict and enjoyed memorizing geographic information as a kid; for example, when I was in second grade, I became highly competitive with a classmate named Ryan with a set of flashcards that highlighted a single U.S. state on a blank map, with state names and capitals on the back. Within a few weeks of multiple competitive sessions against Ryan, I had mastered U.S. geography basics. By sixth grade, I had memorized the capitals of all world countries and within a couple of years, I had memorized the U.S. Interstate Highway system. My ability to recall this information on a dime became a bit of a novelty and a popular party trick in high school.
After I was hired into the Office of Park Planning, I struggled to contain my excitement as an IT staffer installed ESRI's ArcGIS Pro software onto my new work computer on my first day on the job. I had this great feeling like everything was falling into place and coming full-circle. My first assignments were highly enjoyable; they included helping another planner write the Cultural Resources section for a Unit Management Plan update for Bald Point and Ochlockonee River State Parks, while also having the honor of developing a Unit Management Plan Amendment for William "Billy Joe" Rish Recreation Area, a newly acquired 100-acre park on Cape San Blas designed for persons with disabilities to enjoy the beach.
The amendment I was developing for Rish Recreation Area, in consultation with my planning manager, was my first opportunity to learn ArcGIS Pro basics and familiarize myself with the extensive geographic data collections maintained by the Florida Park Service and Florida Department of Environmental Protection (DEP). I quickly learned how to navigate the trove of park data within our main geodatabase. Shapefiles within the geodatabase represented park structures, trails, walkways, natural communities, boundaries, and other elements for the entire system of 175 parks. In developing simple maps for Rish Recreation Area, a small parcel of land, I learned how to symbolize (stylize) and balance these elements appropriately, depending on the map theme.
Meanwhile, my planning manager had long dreamed of packaging park management plans into well-organized districtwide plans, which were divided into individual "park chapters.” Ambitious by his very nature, he wanted to start with the largest district in the system with the most state parks: District 2 of the Florida Park Service, which encompassed the northeast corner of Florida in a triangular shape from Crystal River in the southwest, to Fernandina Beach in the northeast, to the Aucilla River in the northwest. As he described these plans to me, I realized that I had joined the Park Planning team at just the right time. The majority of the 45 parks in District 2 required site visits, updated maps, and well-written management plan updates, which included goals and objectives for preserving and maintaining the natural and cultural resources that made each park special and worthy of protection. Travel, cartography, and writing, three of my favorite pastimes, were all packaged into one job.
In early June 2022, after only a couple of weeks on the job, I was lucky enough to join my team on site visits to Mike Roess Gold Head Branch State Park and Olustee Battlefield Historic State Park in Northeast Florida. As our group was shuttled between different areas of interest in the parks, I listened intently to the group discussions between Central Office, District 2 Office, and park staff. Biologists, park managers, rangers, other park specialists, and central office staff described issues, told stories, and educated our team on best management practices while we took notes in the suffocating North Florida summer heat and humidity. I listened to expert natural resource managers with decades of experience speak about their prescribed fire application methods and decision-making processes, which were dictated by temperature, precipitation, wind direction, and other environmental factors. As a bonus, a prescribed fire was underway on the rolling sandhill at Gold Head, being expertly managed in the background as our group toured facilities, visitation areas, and the park's ubiquitous CCC-era infrastructure.
After a full day of discussion and notetaking, our team went out to dinner in nearby Keystone Heights, then returned after nightfall to the park for overnight stays in park cabins along Little Lake Johnson. Along the winding park road, isolated remnant flames illuminated the dark sandhill landscape as the prescribed burn petered out shortly after dusk. Subsequent visits to other parks in Northeast Florida offered one indelible memory after another, from climbing to the top of the carillon tower in Stephen Foster Folk Culture Center State Park, to bushwhacking on Fort George Island, to watching manatees devour lettuce from inches away at Ellie Schiller Homosassa Springs State Park (I plan on writing much more about my travels through the Florida State Parks system in future blog posts).
When I was not traveling around the state exploring and documenting issues in the parks, I was back at my desk in Tallahassee working on maps of the parks for inclusion in park management plans. Cartography was my true passion, and I was determined to innovate, think outside the box, and quickly build strong mapmaking skills. To aid me in my quest, my bureau chief went to bat for me repeatedly, and I will always remain grateful to him for the effort he showed in this endeavor. He not only encouraged and boosted my creativity; he also aggressively pushed for the tools I required to maximize my potential as a cartographer. In 2023, he secured a high-RAM laptop that allowed me to take my work home and develop new mapping concepts that could be useful for the Florida Park Service. This also allowed me to explore my passion after hours.
My first weekend and evening skill-building project was an elevation map of the southernmost Japanese Home Island of Kyushu. I wanted to choose a mapping setting with complex elevation, a heavily indented coastline, and numerous offshore islands. It was this early mapping project that opened my eyes to the value of working with annotation feature classes, which allow the ArcGIS user to have complete control over customized precision map labeling. It also taught me geoprocessing basics, namely mosaicking and clipping operations. The Mosaic geoprocessing tool allows the user to stitch and seamlessly blend multiple image tiles together to create a new larger image in the form of a graduated color ramp that corresponds to elevation or bathymetry. The Clip Raster geoprocessing tool allows the user to remove the portion of this new image that overspills a vector coastline polygon. This first project resulted in a completed physical map of Kyushu, which depicted mountain ranges, prominent summits and their heights, cities, islands, capes, and bodies of water, all with labels styled, scaled, and positioned exactly where I wanted them.
After completing the Kyushu project, I finished subsequent side projects in which I created similarly themed maps of the Himalayas and Tanzania. I also created a 3-foot-by-4-foot poster of Michigan, my favorite vacation spot, depicting the highway system, network of conservation lands, lighthouses, and some topographical elements. I spent dozens of hours working on these maps, all after hours while holding down two jobs, as I maintained a side hustle stocking shelves at a local retailer. However, the skills I acquired in making these maps were indispensable and allowed me to make a real impact with the Florida Park Service.
As I continued to build my mapping skills, I was always looking to find new and innovative ways to map out Florida State Parks. I had been admiring a U.S. National Park Service map in an Everglades National Park visitor brochure that happened to be in my office, which depicted primary park infrastructure overlain upon natural communities within the park. As the Florida Park Service produced “base maps” showing park infrastructure and then separate natural community maps showing the distribution of park ecosystems and disturbed areas, park planners continually toggled between the two maps in the conference room trying to figure out spatial relationships between natural communities and park infrastructure, and how any changes to or expansion of park infrastructure would affect park ecosystems. Inspired by the Everglades National Park map, I worked after hours on a map prototype utilizing infrastructure-heavy Gold Head Branch State Park as a test case. In addition to significant infrastructure, Gold Head Branch had an interesting mosaic of natural communities; mostly sandhill, but also smaller patches of mesic flatwoods, basin marsh, and baygall in the lower elevations near the lakes. Gold Head was also situated in Northeast Florida's Trail Ridge, at a relatively high elevation (a whopping 200 feet) and situated in gently rolling hills. Adding raw hillshading beneath these elements resulted in the final map (which may be found in the approved Northeast District Management Plan) displaying an almost-three dimensional quality that really complemented the distribution of the natural communities and infrastructure:

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