St. Marks to Key West Photo Album

 Here's what some of you have been waiting for...pictures from the journey. 

St. Marks to Key West Photo Album

Indelible Sensations

A journey this long leaves a number of indelible impressions. 

• The sound of a blackbird singing, and a mockingbird cycling through his full repertoire. 
• The crashing splash of a pelican, and a dolphin blowing out and then breathing in.
• The sewage-like smell of mangrove muck.
• The sound of oysters scrapping the bottom of the boat.
• The tug of the muck as your foot sinks deep into it.
• The gritty feel of sand on the paddle.
• The callous bumps on palms and fingers.
• Paddling in concrete against wind and current or in butter with the wind and current.
• The braking tug of shallow water.
• The rising and falling of the boat, or the bow shifting back and forth, as waves pass under.
• The utter effortlessness of the body riding the bouncing boat. 
• The acid sting of no-seeums.
• The sandy footprints of raccoons all over the boat in the morning.
• The skin searing in the intense radiation of the sun.
• The spacelessness of no horizon.
• The springiness of the wooden paddle as the stroke begins and then ends.
• The pleasant tiredness of physical activity.
• Boredom on land, and the desire to paddle.
• Getting hot and sweaty stuffing the bow bag into the boat.
• The explosion of sound and water as a manatee panics.
• The joyous feel when the paddling technique is just right.

Road's End: Key West from the water

Today we circumnavigate Key West, seeing the entire island from just offshore, and end the paddling segment of this adventure.

The impact of humans on this island is immense. Barrier walls have doubled or tripled the size of the island, paving over the shallow "wasteland". Bottomless straight channels connect landings with deeper water farther out, but isolate the underwater populations on the disconnected shallow shelves. Causeways connect the islands, but stop the water flow. Gone are the mangroves, which are the solar collector at the bottom of the entire food chain. But then, the no-seeums are gone too!

Much of the area is military. We seen a constant stream of jets from the Boca Chica Navy base, but nothing from the Sigsbee base. Instead, the Sigsbee base seems largely covered with the RVs of retired veterans. The Coast Guard controls much of the harbor on the far west tip, with their large ships and prominent RESTRICTED AREA signs, but also has an area for veteran RVs.

The closer we get to the point, the heavier the traffic becomes. Sail boats, motor boats, yachts. Fishing boats and lobster boats. Old clipper replicas. Giant cruise ships at the dock. Barges heading into the industrial area. Swarms of jet skis. Fran calls them yellow jackets because they swarm and are annoying. They are surprisingly hazardous for kayakers, apparently unaware they are creating wakes as large as those of boats so rarely slowing down.

We see lots of people. People working on boats, walking on piers, dining at waterfront restaurants, playing at the beach, sunbathing at expensive resorts, and trying out paddle boards. We paddle past the official marker of the Southernmost Point of the US, and watch the hordes queued for photos, quite a contrast to us bobbing along in the water.

Today's paddling is a good recap of the trip. We have some calm seas and calm wind. We also get the full meal deal with 15 mph head wind, 6 foot swells, 2 knot current, and the heavy boat traffic and choppy wakes from the jet skis.

Last night Fran felt the same anticipation she felt the night before we set out. Is this ending? We land at the farthest rocky point at 12:21 PM. We count 700 miles and 70 days, but it has not sunk in yet. We eat our packed lunch at Fort Zachary Taylor Park, engaging in brief conversation of a few curious vacationers, but moving out onto the quiet jetty for some stillness. We then continue to circumnavigation back to our campsite and celebrate with Doritos and beer for dinner.

Flying: Boyd's Key West Campground

Yesterday we faced a mild current coming up Tarpon Creek, but it increased to a roar during the night. Fortunately it was back to slack this morning. We broke camp fast and furious to escape the bugs, who left us alone as soon as we were on the water.

We are now horses headed to the barn. We flew over perfect snorkeling near Geiger Key without stopping. We passed families in boats playing on shallow sand bars. Nine weeks of perfecting technique and conditioning came together and we easily sustained four knots.

Our first impression approaching Key West was a bit startling.

We came around Boca Chica, a huge Navy base (with a constant roar of jets but no ships!), to see an industrial area with large storage tanks, towers, and shipping facilities. We tried to stay out of the busy channels, but then became stuck in the shallows. As we approached the campground we passed a floating village of harbor people in derelict boats and filthy water. The RV park is a little compound of white people in ritzy RV park; much less well off people of all colors and backgrounds are outside the gate amid junk yards and businesses with bars on windows. There are also modest homes and apartments, small cafes, and tattoo parlors. We are on Stock Island, just 5-6 miles from the final destination at the other end of Key West.

What will the rest of Key West be like?

Ready to be Done: Tarpon Creek

Today we planned just a half day paddle to allow time for snorkeling in Coupon Bay or off Big Munson, but the water was not clear and the sunlight blocked by clouds so we kept paddling. We aimed for a potential campsite on a small key in Newfound Bay. During the day it was quite a friendly but busy scene, with dozens of recreation boats and people standing in circles in the shallow water chatting. We ate lunch, chatted, and found a fine campsite for the night.

At 2:00 PM Fran said "Let's paddle; I'm ready to be done". We can feel the tug of Key West. We flew eight more miles in two hours to Tarpon Creek just below Pirates Cove, feeling great to be paddling. While the slow pace of the past few weeks has allowed more time for viewing nature, we missed the joy of long paddling days.

We were able to ride some waves, which is always fun. At the beginning of the trip I had limited wave riding skill, but now I can catch a ride fairly well if we find swells rather than just chop. All of our paddling skills have improved tremendously on this trip.

Tonight's destination was pretty horrible due to no-seeums. As soon as we stopped they swarmed all over us. We threw up the tent as fast as we could, but felt the burning acid sting of their bites all over our bodies. After sitting in the tent just a few minutes we quickly realized that that would not work either - we were roasting and sweating like pigs in the heat and humidity. I hopped out and took a quick sponge bath to clear some of the stench. We doused ourselves with DEET and took off on a brisk walk to get away, and we were able to out-pace the no-seeums. As long as we kept walking we did not get bit. The sun set and we dashed back into the tent, but it was still too hot inside. Back out for another walk. I alternated back and forth, trying to find relief from the stinging bugs and the sweltering heat. I finally got to sleep at midnight, five hours later.

Mental Space: Notes from Pat and Roger

We invited our paddling partners to share their thoughts as we reach Bahia Honda, the end of their journey. Here's their thoughts...

Preparing for this thru-paddle was an intense mental exercise. There were hundreds of decisions to be made: details of packing, leaving and getting to Florida, planning and arranging the paddling itinerary, what food to take and where to resupply, which exact items to bring (with limited space in the boats you can't bring anything frivolous but you need enough of the right things to be safe and we left items behind at various camps as we discovered their uselessness or mailed things back we no longer needed). Then there was the constant low-level anxiety of oh my god are we actually doing this, how is it going to work out??? Our brains were on overload!

 

But once all the choices were made and we finally dipped a paddle in the water at the put-in a wonderful thing happened. The trip was no longer a mental exercise, our minds crammed full of things that would happen in the future, it was suddenly real and we experienced a time shift to the here and now. There were only a few easy choices to make each day, which of your two or three shirts to put on (usually the dry one), when to stop for lunch, where to put up the tent, what thing to pull out of the bag for a meal, and mental space opened up. The outside world seemed far away, no news to process, oh wow, more mental space. That was the best part of the trip for me. Even if the day was long or challenging in some way there was always mental space to appreciate the beautiful and interesting places we paddled and camped.

 

I learned much from Fran and Rod on this trip. They tend to downplay their skills, but let me tell you they have it together in so many ways! They taught me the importance of clothes lines; how to put dry milk powder right on your cereal and then add the water eliminating the need to mix milk and thus the need of a milk bottle; the incredible strength, durability and usefulness of big blue Ikea bags; how to manage with a broken skeg, and the list goes on. But more than that, back in September they encouraged us to join them on their Florida paddle, helped us make it happen, and were amazing companions throughout. We can't thank you enough, you guys, and we hope the AT hike and RV part of your journey is awesome in every way!

 

- Pat

 

 

When I heard Rod and Fran describe the kayaking leg of the trip that they were inviting us on I felt some apprehension, but not about the physical aspects or length of time. I had backpacked the Pacific Crest Trail with Rod, known on the PCT as Steady. My concern was that the long hiking trails are well described, well marked, maintained, and there are many other hikers on the PCT.   On the Gulf Coast of Florida there would be residents and boaters, but it was unlikely anyone else would be doing what we were doing. There is a recent book published on the Florida Circumnavigation Trail, but this would be like doing the undeveloped Pacific Crest Trail in 1977, compared to the PCT I did in 2004. 

 

Rod and Fran did an amazing job of locating people who could supply information about the route. Rod even graphed out the likely wind patterns for each area to determine how many layover days would be necessary for days too windy to paddle. I could do the physical part, but had no idea how much food and water to take or what conditions to expect. Thanks, Rod and Fran for the effort you put into planning the trip.

 

- Roger

Chilling Out: Bahia Honda

Bahia Honda is the most popular state park in Florida, with several long beaches on the Florida Straight (Atlantic) side and a great sandy beach and swimming area on the Florida Bay (gulf) side. Throngs of people are walking along the trails or up to the old bridge connecting the keys, sunning on the beaches, picnicking, eating at the café, and renting kayaks. The park is clean, the weather perfect -  a great day in paradise.

We spent much of the day snorkeling amidst the fish, some hard coral, sponges, sea urchins, and lobster. I love being in the water, swimming, floating, drifting. I get cold but do not want to come in, so swim a bit more vigorously to heat up the muscles.

I alternate between just trying to observe, and trying to name everything.

Names seem so satisfying. Why? A name can serve as a short cut to immense knowledge about a particular species, its habits and habitat, and all of its stories. But it can also short circuit our powers of observation, as if to say that now that I know the name I know everything else. The human mind works by conceptualizing and naming, creating associations between sensations, feelings and ideas. Naming is powerful but sometimes leaves us blind to pure observation.

I drift around just watching. Observing. Trying to really see.

Or is it I just that I can't remember the names anyway?

Running out of miles: Molasses Key

We are meeting our ride on March 5, two weeks away. But we have only a few full days of paddling left. Rather than keep paddling to Havana we will reach Key West Feb 26 and then go explore the remote lower Keys on the Gulf side.

My mind is starting to think about the upcoming hiking segment. Our daily paddling mileage is short now. Part of me enjoys the chance to go slow, but part of me is seeing all of the hiking miles ahead and wants to get moving. The paddle is just the first 700 of 4,000 miles.

We have not had warm clear water for swimming and snorkeling - maybe I'd be less restless if I could be playing in the water all day.

Months ago I accepted the choice to paddle slowly and leave a gap in the hike, starting on the Appalachian Trail in Georgia rather than hike from St Marks. I am now second guessing that. Is it too late? Can I somehow still hike from St Marks and make up about a month of time?

And what about those 38 miles in Sarasota that we skipped when I was ill? Can I paddle those and fill in the gap?

Why does that seem important? I made up this Keys to Halifax route, so I can change it and do whatever I want. But the desire to connect all of the footsteps is strong. I left no gaps on my other long distance hikes. Can I leave gaps this time?

Ordinary people stretching the boundaries

We get asked how we can do such an adventure. We get a hundred page views a day on this blog, and email to us expressing how extraordinary this is.

That is puzzling.  We are just ordinary folks.

I know of extraordinary things, like the kayak race around Florida.  That requires athletes with extreme skill. That's not us. I know people who can disappear for weeks into the woods with just a pocketknife. That's not me. Those are extraordinary.

We're ordinary. And that's why you might get inspired by this blog.

Back on the Water: Long Key State Park

We are going crazy sitting in one place. We came in at noon Friday and holed up for the storm Saturday and Sunday. It's now Monday morning. We really want to get moving again; we are sea creatures not landlubbers. As well, Sea Base is now full to capacity and we do not want to impose on their generosity.

The forecast is good - 15 mph from the NE, meaning largely a tail wind. However the Small Craft Advisory remains in effect because of 7-8 foot swells. Close to shore it looks much better. We're going out.

A Helpful, Courteous, Kind port in a storm: BSA Sea Base

The latest storm forecast is for 30 mph winds by Saturday (and gale force gusts), definitely beyond our skill level. Thursday night we made plans for a very early launch to beat the storm and to use the high tide to pass over some shallow banks and shorten the distance.  By 7:30 am we were off. Some rule of twelfths calculations showed that we needed to clear the banks before 9:00 am and clear another shallow by 10:00 am in order to make the straight beeline for the Keys.

Valentine's Day Shark: Little Rabbit Key

The forecast was for 5-10 mph wind when we started paddling, but was upgraded to 10-15 while we were out there. What we experienced was a 15 mph headwind most of the day, converting a moderate 12 nautical mile trip into an all day affair.

The End of the Continent: Flamingo

Today we reach Flamingo, for us the last point on the continental US, finishing just over 600 miles. Next we cross Florida Bay and paddle in the Keys for the last 100 miles.

The water is murky again today, so no snorkeling or swimming. We have seen very little clear water; perhaps clear water is a summer thing? The last time I tried swimming in shallow murky water I got spooked by a five foot shark that suddenly appeared less than a foot in front of me and brushed against my legs.

Escape! East Cape Sable

Northwest Cape Sable campsite has bugs. Serious numbers of bugs.

Zillions of black gnats are in the grass and immediately cover anything set nearby. The tents are a regular killing field as the bugs cover the tent wall, overheat and fall dead. There are literally piles of them.

Sounds of the Night: Oyster Bay chickee

I sit in the dark on a chickee (tent platform) over the water listening to the sounds of the night.

The familiar splat as fish jump is so much bigger than during the day. The splish and splash of unknown sea creatures break the surface and the silence.

Grunts from shore. The powerful swoosh-slosh, maybe an alligator? The sharp exhale of a dolphin and then the familiar breath. The more relaxed two breaths of the manatee. Hoots and calls. The "kerplunk" of drips under the chickee, like the sound of an indoor water feature. Small, quick sloshes near the mangrove. The sound of waves rippling, though there is no wind.

Everything is magnified. Everything is crisp and clear, though most of it is unknown. The moonless night and the dark mangroves give no hints. The black water under us is alive.

A powerful swosh-slosh. Then another. Then a crashing, banging splash. A panicked tent zipper. "Oh s**t!  My boat flipped over!" Another panicked tent zipper. The sound of everyone scurrying to get flashlights and trying to figure out what happened. Slosh and drip, as Roger pulls a lost bag out of the water. The sound of the hand pump sucking water in and blasting it out over and over and over again. Voices trying to make sense of what happened.

The slow sound of tents zippers, and rustling of sleeping bags. The soft snoring.

The rhythmic knocking of jar of peanut butter inside a gently rocking stern compartment, sounding like a giant bamboo wind chime. A splash. The incessant chirping of cicadas. Another splash. The buzzing of a mosquito.

I sit in the dark on a chickee over the water listening to the sounds of the night.

The Nightmare: Harney River Chickee

This eight mile stretch of water connects the north Everglades to the south. At the beginning it is deceptively wide, but after a few miles it becomes a mangrove tunnel.

It is so named because of the feelings you might have if you were paddling it in the Summer.

Picture this: endless twists and turns, maneuvering a hard to find path between the trees that block your path. You can't see the sun through the trees overhead, but you might see water moccasins dangling from trees and thick clouds of mosquitoes. Every now and then you might glimpse a 20 foot python circling up a tree. As you look closer at that branch you were just about to step onto to stretch your legs, you see the mangrove crabs. From a distance, you didn't see their black figures in the dim light, but there are armies of crabs swarming up from the water. You hear their scratching and clicking as they work their way upward to cover the trees. You might see the huge spiders building webs over the water; huge circular webs that block the only passage through the trees.

The Nightmare is impassable at low tide because the water is too shallow for even a kayak. You might feel like you're in a nightmare if you have to wait for the tides to rise with mosquitoes buzzing while you conjure up images of being lost in here forever with all the fearsome creatures.

Life at Three Miles an Hour: Highland Beach

What does it mean to travel in a kayak at 3 miles per hour at 2 feet above sea level?

For most visitors to Florida this would be very constraining.  How would we get to see all the sights with such limitations?  The speed of cars and airplanes allow us to visit Disney World, the Kennedy Space Center and the nightlife of Miami on a long 2 week vacation.  We might even have time to drive the loop in the Everglades to see some alligators and that fabled sea of grass.

Seeing Florida at 3 miles per hour, why is that even desirable?  Granted, we have allowed ourselves a longer time frame than 2 weeks for our exploration.  Three months allow us to follow the adage:  the one who finishes last wins.  Here's how we answered that question...

Leaks Be-Gone: Highland Beach

Yesterday Roger's stern compartment was full of water again, much to his consternation.  Once again considerable effort must go to drying everything out, and he faces that every day now. We dry out the compartment and test it in the water to find the leak.

When we push down, water spouts through the fitting for the skeg cable. A quarter twist on the compression nut and the spout is history. We do not want to over-tighten and create a real problem. A couple of days later the spout recurs, and it gets another quarter twist, never to be seen again.

The leak is vanquished, and Roger is happy.

Sounds of Silence: Highland Beach

The next campsite is just seven miles away so we paddle along the shore and take our time. Roger is in his element, poking around photographing birds.

The water is smooth, even flat, and there is little sound. The paddle is silent as it enters the water and the boat glides past, but trickles as the paddle slices back into the air. The boat is silent, with only occasional slapping sounds when a small wavelet breaks against the bow. I can hear my wet hand squeaking as it slips along the wooden paddle loom, and sometimes the wood becomes a sound board and turns the squeak into a song.

A pelican crashes into the water to catch a fish. A magnificent bird for sure, but is hardly graceful and the sound is that of a sack of potatoes falling from the sky. A bubble in my water bottle adds an occasional burp when it races to the other end. Each sound is captivating against a quiet background.

I reflect on the noise we have adapted to. We hear boat motors and airplanes even miles away. In the San Juans we could hear large barges even around the back of a distant island. In towns the sounds of florescent lights, motors, fans, talking, and cars combine into such a din that I do not hear each one.

City noise adds tension and subtracts attentiveness. The silence of wilderness relaxes and heightens alertness.

The wind has come up just a bit, enough to add the sound of tiny waves cascading and the scattering the sand, and rustling in the tree tops. As night falls the wind and the crashing waves drown out all of the subtle sounds. The heightened aural sensitivity slips away.

It's a Shell Game: Hog Key

"Sanibel Island has nothing on Hog Key for shells!"

On developed islands like Sanibel and Captiva, people tote bags and scour the sand for shells.  These islands are regularly picked over with few whole shells found.  The diversity on these beaches is limited.

It is when you reach the islands where few people come that you find the treasures.

Jeweled Tulip, Florida Fighting Conch, Whelk, Moon, Apple ..., Cone, Angel Wings...  Names roll off the tongue.  Beautiful arrays of shells appear:  spirals of whelk shells on the sand, in straight lines on fence posts.

I am fascinated by the vast differences in color even within one type of shell. Picking up shells on the beach you notice some are old and weathered, some broken.  How old is this shell - could it be hundreds of years old? Could the Calusa who lived here hundreds of years ago have had this for dinner?

Dolphins: Pavilion Key

Coming out off the Lopez River, two Dolphins breach completely right in front of my kayak. Perfectly synchronized, they arc out of the water just a foot or two apart, curve and then re-enter the sea.

They are then joined by a third and do a triple breach for Pat. For Fran, the trio surrounds her boat and churns the water.

We are all in breathless amazement at the experience.

Everglades: Lopez Island

Today the trip begins. We keep using that refrain as we enter into new parts of the journey. Today we paddle into the Everglades.

We paddled out with the current and took a short stop at the historic Smallwood store to buy Coca-Cola in the old six ounce bottles, and hear about the alligators lining the causeway.

Our itinerary follows the Wilderness Waterway for the first day or two. We opt for the more remote and scenic route up Hurdles Creek and through Mud Bay, which we reach near low tide and sure enough we pole a couple of boats across the shallow part.

After lunch at the Calusa Shell Mound, we notice Roger's stern seems to be getting lower in the water. By the end of the day the water is sloshing over the stern and the bow is lifting up in the air. Yikes! We reach camp before we see the Titanic re-enactment, and patch a small hole. We hope that's it.

New Beginning: Everglades Key

We raced into Everglades City Friday afternoon to get to the Post Office. We zoomed up to a nearby kayak dock and met the great guys at Calusa Kayaks, who helped us out a couple of times over the next day. But we reached the Post Office after it closed (at 3pm) and saw that it was closed on Saturday and Sunday. That's a problem since we mailed water containers and charts required for this section!