Her alarm sounded at 4:30 a.m., as it does every day. Settling in with the early morning silence and a fresh cup of coffee, 46-year-old Sarah Gledhill got to work. She reviewed policy drafts, responded to emails, and assessed candidates for an open position. At 7 a.m., she joined her family for scrambled eggs with spinach and avocado toast.

Gledhill hopped in her white Honda Pilot to take her 11-year-old son Gibson to school. With a few minutes to spare before her older son Fisher, 14, left for his bus, she rushed back home to say goodbye.

In a pair of bootcut jeans, trail shoes, a long-sleeved khaki button up and forest green hat stitched with the Florida Wildlife Federation logo, she headed to the Ocklawaha River.

The pontoon boat’s motor hummed as she and fellow environmental advocates hopped on. Traveling west on the river, the wind lifted the tip of Gledhill’s dark brown ponytail. Her tinted sunglasses hid soft, blue eyes, fascinated as they scanned what was once a flourishing cypress wetland.

Gledhill made sure to wave at every passing boat that morning on the Ocklawaha. Even when fishermen looked frustratingly at the group of sightseers, she cut the tension with her warm smile.

It was Gledhill’s first time back on the river in a decade, and her first time since becoming Florida Wildlife Federation’s CEO and president in 2023.    

She is the first woman to lead the 90-year-old organization.

“It’s very humbling,” said Gledhill. “And it comes with a lot of responsibility, most importantly responsibility to younger women coming into this field because it still is dominated by men.”

The three-hour boat tour led by Captain Karen Chadwick only reinforced Gledhill’s resolve to help restore the Ocklawaha – returning the river to its natural flow while securing public boat ramps, fishing piers and economic development for the community. This is now a 50-year fight spearheaded by the late scientist and environmental advocate Marjorie Harris Carr. 

“It was a stark reminder of how quickly we as humans can alter a system,” Gledhill said. “But a hopeful reminder that we can also restore a system.”

Days like this, where she enjoys time out on the lands and waters she fights to conserve, are rare.

“There is no typical day,” said Gledhill.

“A typical day is putting out fires,” she said. “And a typical day also prevents something else that needs to be done. It never stops.”

On her 50-minute drive back home to St. Augustine from the river, she spoke with Tampa Bay Times reporter Max Chesnes about a recent conservation success in Tallahassee – the Florida Legislature was in session regarding state forest and wildlife management areas to go through a 30 day public notice process if there are any plans for management change. Then, she quickly jumped on a phone call regarding Florida panther recovery efforts. At 4 p.m. she talked to the federation’s auditor. She then rearranged her week’s schedule, adding a last-minute trip to Tallahassee after receiving word that the Tributaries of the St. John’s River Bill (SB 1066), promoting Ocklawaha restoration, was set for the Senate floor.

The bill was pulled from the agenda by the time she arrived at the state capitol later that week.

The Beginning

Gledhill’s love of nature and drive to speak up for change began at Waynesville Middle School in North Carolina.

After a weekend spent on the Appalachian Trail in the eighth grade, Gledhill was captivated.

“I fell in love,” she said. “I was immediately hooked just by the simplicity of it [nature]. But the irony is, as simple as it was, how impactful the experience could be.”

A year prior, her school principal had called seventh-grade Gledhill into his office. He asked that she represent the student body to petition the school board. The school needed funding for a broken window.

She prepared a speech, stood at a podium and faced an array of uninterested adults in suits. The school board denied her request, but she left with a smile on her face.

Gledhill had discovered her passion for public advocacy.

It really does take everybody involved working on these issues, using their different strategies for us to get there at the end of the day. So, we need all of us, even if we’re disagreeing, to be at the table.

Sarah Gledhill

It wasn’t until University of Florida political science professor William Kelso steered her into urban and regional planning that she realized she could connect her love of championing causes with that of wildlife. He saw her knack for balancing the built and natural environments.

Gledhill completed her bachelor’s degree in political science in 2001. She stayed on to earn her master’s in urban and regional planning in 2003.

After graduation, she began her career at the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy in Tallahassee. The nonprofit happened to share an office space with the Florida Wildlife Federation. That’s how the federation’s then-CEO, Manley Fuller, discovered Gledhill.

Each casual office conversation further impressed Fuller, eventually leading him to hire her. She built FWF’s northeast Florida office in St. Augustine from the ground up in 2004.

“I think it was one of the best decisions I made during my time in the Florida Wildlife Federation,” said Fuller. “Her work was always superlative.”

Her ability to gather everyone in the same room, have an open conversation — and target the issue rather than the person — makes her leadership stand out, he said.

“The people on the other side of the table that you might be having a disagreement with are just like you,” said Gledhill. “They’re going to go home. They have a family. They have friends and like to do other things besides work. Treat them as a human being and focus on the issue.”

Gledhill credited Fuller with this level-headed approach. She views him as a mentor and strives to emulate his disarming and issue-focused leadership style.

That philosophy also shapes how Gledhill engages with the new generation of environmental leaders. She remains involved with her alma mater, serving on a panel earlier this year at the UF law school’s 2026 Public Interest Environmental Conference. Alongside fellow environmental leaders Julie Wraithmell, Susannah Randolph, and Jenifer Rupert, Gledhill observed that although they may disagree on strategies, each leader wants what’s best for natural Florida.

“It really does take everybody involved working on these issues, using their different strategies for us to get there at the end of the day,” she said. “So, we need all of us, even if we’re disagreeing, to be at the table.”

The Federation was founded in 1936 by hunters and anglers. Amid a lack of oversight on natural lands, these communities were seeing wildlife disappear, water quality degrade, and habitats shrink.

Back on the Ocklawaha, as sightseers disagreed on duck hunting’s place on the river, Gledhill recounted this rich history. 

Having been with the FWF for almost 20 years, she values her role as head of a statewide advocacy organization in such a diverse state.

“I am not a hunter,” Gledhill said. “However, I represent a lot of other faces in Florida. I do not dismiss hunting. I do not dismiss fishing.”

FWF Digital Communications Manager Federico Acevedo said that Gledhill never dismisses employees either. Her leadership style is empowering.

“Compared to my old organization, the difference is black and white,” said Acevedo. “She is very good at instilling confidence.”

Linda Crider, retired UF urban and regional planning professor, described Gledhill as forceful yet kind, neutral and politically astute, resembling Carr. As a student, Crider said she could already see Marjorie Harris Carr’s drive and spirit in Gledhill. 

“She was one of my best students, very best, because she was inquisitive and energetic, always looking for positive solutions and on the positive side of things,” said Crider. “She was very people oriented.”

Carr, a pioneering wildlife scientist and conservationist, co-founded Florida Defenders of the Environment to help stop construction of the Cross Florida Barge Canal, a ship channel that would have cut through Florida from the Gulf of Mexico to the Atlantic Ocean. Carr’s leadership helped stop the canal in 1971. But not before the project dammed and drowned part of the Ocklawaha River. 

Carr accomplished this in a time when women were still not largely accepted in many professional fields. 

“In Marjorie Harris Carr’s case, she had a happy marriage, for over 50 years to Archie Carr, five children and the legacy of helping to prevent a monstrosity in the form of the Cross Florida Barge Canal, with her name going over the I-75,” said historian Peggy Macdonald, author of the biography “Marjorie Harris Carr: Defender of Florida’s Environment.”

The Marjorie Harris Carr Cross Florida Greenway now stretches across the state in a 110-mile protected conservation and recreation corridor.

Macdonald reflected on the ongoing debate of “women can’t have it all,” regarding a successful professional career and family life.

“At a time when women were barred from professional sciences, she nonetheless managed to have it all,” Macdonald said.

A Step in the Right Direction

Among a long list of priorities this legislative session, Gledhill continued Carr’s fight to restore the Ocklawaha. On March 4 in Tallahassee, the effort moved one step closer to success.

Accompanied by Digital Communications Manager Acevedo, Gledhill entered the House of Representatives gallery just as the Pledge of Allegiance began. Much to their surprise, the St. John’s River bill (HB 981) was first on the docket.

Rep. Wyman Duggan introduced the bill. Only one representative, Judson Sapp, opposed in debate.

Rep. Lindsay Cross rebutted, applauding Duggan for bringing forth the bill and sharing her excitement to vote yes.

The floor opened to a vote. The bill passed 107 – 3.

“It was an extraordinary feeling to see the bill go through that process so smoothly,” said Gledhill. “We had a moment of celebration as we always do, and then immediately shifted to focus now on the Senate.”

The celebration came to an unfortunate end on March 13. As evening neared and the St. Johns River Bill was not on the Senate docket, Gledhill knew it was no longer alive.

“Team, I’m writing to share some disappointing news: Ocklawaha River restoration will not move forward this year as a result of the 2026 legislative session,” Gledhill wrote in a text to her team that Wednesday at 3:56 p.m.

The Federation

Despite being “born and raised in the Federation,” in 2018, Gledhill decided it was time for a change. She left to join the Center for Biological Diversity – once again finding herself applying her skills, knowledge, and creativity to build something new.

Working for a national organization as a Florida field campaigner was her chance to grow as a leader. She worked on coalitions and organized people around issue-based campaigns like phosphate mining, oil drilling in state waters, and national endangered species protections in Florida.

After three years, she returned to the Federation as vice president, and upon the retirement of prior CEO and President Preston Robertson, stepped into the executive role in 2023.

Here, her efforts largely lie in protecting public lands. Staying on top of an issue from its beginning, gathering facts, engaging stakeholders and even opponents, then triggering grassroots efforts has led to countless successes. Gledhill noted saving Black Creek Ravines Conservation Area, and Branan Wildlife Management Area in Clay County twice. She helped stop a 12-mile road proposed to run through a swamp and land swaps in various state forests and campgrounds. 

Life Outside of Work

Although it is a daily struggle to turn off work at home, it is Gledhill’s priority.

A phone-free dinner with her family never fails to “fill her cup.” Watching her children light up with joy playing soccer, running in a track meet, or surfing at Crescent Beach allows her to enter a calmer headspace.

Even at home, Gledhill is still “el jefe,” as her family likes to joke. The nickname started when Fisher began taking Spanish and discovered the word for “boss.”

“She is always bossing us around. But in a good way,” Fisher said. “It was really funny the first time we said it, because she started catching on. And then we just started calling her that from there.”

“She is just a huge leader,” said Fisher. “She leads me to getting great grades in school. She also leads me to push myself in sports and athletics as well.”

And when work gets rough, she listens to her husband of 18 years, Maxwell, play the drums, saxophone, and guitar.

“It’s my form of therapy,” she said, sitting with a smile on her face as if hearing her husband’s music in the distance.

Like Carr, Gledhill seems to “have it all.”

Only Time Will Tell

In the warm sun, a river-soaked dog sprints along the bank. As the dark water begins to rise, each barren stump succumbs beneath the surface. No more alligators can be spotted sunning themselves. No more limpkin are searching for snails.

Chadwick, the boat captain, pulls away from the riverside for the final tour of the 2026 drawdown of the Rodman Reservoir, which allows a rare look at the drowned Ocklawaha River. With a bittersweet grin, Gledhill sends off the pontoon.

The Florida Department of Environmental Protection draws down the reservoir every three to four years in order to manage the built up vegetation and debris. Floridians get to see a glimpse of the wild Ocklawaha and springs that were lost. Then it all fills back up again.

Gledhill walked along the Kenwood Boat Ramp on March 6 one last time.

“Coming back out here, I just didn’t remember how vast it was,” Gledhill said, deep in thought, immersing herself in the river’s atmosphere.

“And, looking at all of those dead drowned trees, it’s truly a graveyard.”

Gledhill got back in her Pilot, seemingly at peace. Her face conveyed a sense of hope that the next time she’d return, the Ocklawaha would be restored.

“I think that with the Ocklawaha bill, we got closer than we ever have, and I’m convinced that we stay the course, and continue to work with newly elected officials and new leadership to help them understand the value Ocklawaha restoration has to the 217-mile system.”

With new legislation incoming and the same determination, Gledhill plans to keep the fight alive through education, storytelling, and outreach.

“It’s just more resiliency and persistence,” Gledhill said.

And with the dam’s life expectancy quickly approaching, Gledhill hopes a solution with recreation and economic benefits to the surrounding areas is brought into legislation, like the bills this year.

“We take a moment to feel the anger and sadness. And then we keep going because wild Florida depends on us, too.”

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Cover: Sarah Gledhill stands in front of the Ocklawaha River during the 2026 drawdown on March 6. Photo by Reagan Poland.