Boat repair: St Petersburg

We get a slow start due to low water and a headwind again, but we meet Russell at 11a.m. in War Veterans Park.

He has an employee buy some heat shrink to bring to us. Unfortunately there is no electricity. We had assumed there would be something in the restrooms, but nada. No heat no shrink. 

But Russell is determined to help us with our long expedition. He sends his employee out for silicon (he doesn't want to tap into the silicon I am carrying).

We pull the skeg cable out and encounter a problem.  With most boats, Russell pulls the cable out from the skeg box. With our Wilderness Systems Tempest it turns out it needs to be pulled the other direction so it jams. We spend a while figuring and futzing and then head off to the local Wilderness Systems supplier. Nada. They have lots of stuff but not the parts we need.

New plan. We'll detach the cable from the skeg, and reuse the existing cable by feeding from the cockpit. Oops, we need an allen wrench. I actually had that item planned for my repair kit but dropped it when I decided not to carry a spare skeg cable.

We're off driving again, this time for an allen wrench. Did I mention that Russell actually has a business to run, an expedition to get ready for, and a wife home alone on her wedding anniversary? But the skeg is now not functional and he insists that he doesn't want to leave us worse than we started.

A plan is coming together, except the cable won't slide through the tube. We need some slipease. Russell made me promise not to say what kind of lubricant he or his employee had in their car, but it worked great and we soon had a functional skeg again.

The heat shrink idea spawned a new idea. I wrapped the tube gap with electrical tape. Well see how that works.

Russell is now hours overdue. He gives us contact info for another good shop (and Wilderness Systems dealer) further down the coast in Naples.

We all regret the timing. Any other day Russell would have put us up at his house so we can swap stories while we wait for parts.  He insists that we stop by on our way north.

We have another evening paddle, again with phenominal sunset and birds. We get to the island to camp just as the day trippers are leaving and inherit a campfire.

We think of an irony. We camp in a little island patch of wilderness and bird sancuary surrounded by city. But actually this little patch is a manmade island from dredging spoils and all of the natural land is covered with development.

Eine Kleine Nachspaddle: Indian Beach

We began the day again with a 15 mph headwind. We wanted to make time because we have a package to pick up today and last time that took forever. Two hours and four miles later we are in Clearwater, and an hour later we are back on the water and the wind has dropped to 10 mph, which is negligible. We even restocked the peanut butter. Good stuff.

Except Fran's boat leaks.

Headwinds: Dunedin

We woke to find the tide had been higher than we expected, nearly reaching the boats. We slept on a rare plot that stayed dry. In fact we are surrounded by pine trees killed by the salt of rising oceans. Yes, global warming is real.

The new moon produced the extreme high, followed by an extreme low. The whole basin around our island is uncovered. It is soft muck the we can't walk in so we wait until the tide comes in. By then the wind starts to pick up.

There is an Art to Walking in the Mud: Anclote Keys

There is an art to walking in the mud flats left by low tides. We've had tons of practice, but we have another chance to perfect the skill as we launch today. If you keep walking, you don't sink too deeply. But if you pause, say to load something in the hatch, you're stuck. Literally stuck up to the tops of your boots and oozing down inside between your toes, stuck in the cold muck that won't let you go. You have to slowly pull your heel up and wait until you hear a gentle pop swoosh, then you're free to walk another step. And you walk hundreds of steps to load a kayak...an eternity of mud.

After the boats are loaded we are free to enjoy the beauty of the rising sun.  The shore birds - heron, ibis, egret, wood stork - are out in full force catching the breakfast. At least the mud holds treasure for them. We paddle out through the bay, dodging the thankfully exposed and visible oyster beds.

Is This a Paddle or a Hike? Port Richey

We are low on stove fuel. We thought the remaining canister was full but it turns not to be. No worries; we can stop at Port Richey and walk one mile to a Wal-Mart. I'll get some more socks and other food too.

Did I mention our socks stink? It has become quite horrible.

Sun! Hope Bayou

Hope Bayou, Werner Boyce Salt Springs State Park.
 

We woke to sunshine and very low water. Oyster Bars surround us in every direction. With the water low we plot out the bearings for a course to wend through them.

We have nicknamed them Evil for all of the gelcoat damage they have done. I'm sure the boats are ready for more repairs.

Around midday the massive Florida Bay nuclear power plants finally fade to north. They have been visible for a week since rounding Cedar Key, and the orange glow lit the clouds at night.

Birds of Many Feathers: 10 Palms campsite

Coming down the Chassahowitzka River we see one little mud flat in the marsh grass, perhaps just 20 feet square, with many different birds. We count eight different kinds, including great egret, showy egret, green heron, blue heron, Ibis, and a wood stork ruffling his throat feathers. Pretty cool!

South of the river mouth is a maze of creeks and islands. The navigation challenge is fun for a while but we feel good once we get to open gulf. Again we find ourselves well offshore to avoid oysters, which have taken a toll on the kayaks.

Our feet stink.  We can clean them with soap or baby wipes but the stench has built up in the dry suit socks too. We need to find a place we can clean the dry suit, our socks, and our feet all at the same time. Drying the dry suit after washing is probably the biggest challenge. 

As the light fades we see the bright glow of Tampa to south. We will soon be leaving the undeveloped Florida.

Munching the Miles: Chassahowitzka River

Chassahowitzka River

Today's another gray day, as we pass through beautiful places but do not really see them. Unless the sun is bright, the water is dark and hides it's treasures. The area is flat, with marsh grass and meandering streams at the Chassahowitzka delta and some sandbars high enough for trees.

Campsites are scarce in this stretch. We hoped to find something to avoid paddling 5 miles up the Chassahowitzka River to the county park. We bypassed the primitive campsite on the north shore at the mouth since it is in the National Wildlife Refuge, and head upstream.

For the third time Rod has a manatee explode under the boat, creating enough ruckus that a resident upstream a half mile came out onto his dock to see what was going on. This was the most dramatic ride yet, fully lifting the boat out of the water in an explosion of water and mud.

We find a nice primitive camp just a half mile before the county camp, again with an easy landing and no haul. It is private land with a welcome sign inviting us to camp, and asking us not to litter. Excellent.

I reworked the itinerary, since it has had some errors in distance, and the next two nights are in hotels. The databook mentions an unofficial campsite we could aim for instead, and then we could push to Werner Boyce Salt Springs to skip two motels and reduce one day.

Testimonial

I have not read or seen the news for a month.  I know nothing recent about football scores, fiscal cliffs or the Mayan apocalypse.  The wheels are still turning on Wall Street, Main Street and in chain store America.  I am far from the hustle and bustle on a sea journey through a timeless land.

Here I am in a place where life breathes in and out in a predictable pattern, in a slower rhythm.

Peaceful: The Narrows

Matt gave us a tip for a campsite in The Narrows, not too far away. That leaves us time for a leisurely launch and paddle to the manatee springs.

Morning finds us at AJ's restaurant, a great place in the vanishing tradition of Mom and Pop diners. Incredibly well run, the place is bustling. We liked it so much yesterday we're back again. We pound down another huge breakfast.

Kings Bays promotes itself as a destination to see manatees.

And on the seventh day, Fran rested: Crystal River

Okay, it hasn't been seven days without rest and paddling may not compare to creating the universe and everything in it, but Fran's arm and shoulder muscles are sore and her energy reserves declining. Let's do a zero day.

Manatees: Crystal River

Today is a day that we had some trepidation about. Very early in our planning we had seen the Florida nuclear power jetty extending three miles into the gulf, and noted cautions that crossing it can be hazardous in bad weather. We are familiar with the jetties in the Northwest and they are serious hazards to get around. Second only to the Tampa Bay crossing, we have been concerned about this day.

The tide could not be worse.

In a Fog: Crystal River spoil island

The forecast is for morning fog and moderate wind (10 mph).

The route follows the shore of Wacasassa Bay. But the bay is shallow and we want to make up miles, so we talk about plowing straight across seven miles. Fran twitches at the idea of not being able to see land for two hours, but it appears that water never gets more than a few feet deep. We have lots of ways to navigate including two deck compasses, two handheld compasses, a mapping GPS, and electronic NOAA charts with GPS on both the cell phone and tablet. We decide to go for it.

We are flying on instruments.

Paddling like madmen: Kelly Creek

We are now seven days behind the itinerary. We might not make that time up and may have to skip some miles down the road to get back on track at Cayo Costa.

While I acknowledge that possibility, I am hoping somehow we catch up.