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.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
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 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.
Friday, February 8, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
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...
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
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?
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?
Monday, February 4, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, February 1, 2013
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!
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Escape the Wind: White Horse Key
South of the ultra upscale development of Naples and stretching into the Everglades lies a jewel of Florida's Gulf Coast: Ten Thousand Islands. Clusters of small and large mangrove islands provide rookeries for wildlife and navigational challenges for man. One island is indistinguishable from another with mangrove on the landward side and sandy beaches on the gulf side. Waters are full of live shells and crustaceans providing food for flocks of wading birds. In the coves and inlets are ibis, heron egret, and plovers while wood storks and osprey circle overhead. Dolphins, turtles and manatees are seen as they surface for air.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
A fine and pleasant town day: Cannon Island
After the last stressful town day, I was not looking forward to today. We need to stock up for 19 days until the next resupply. At least that means this is the last town stop for a while.
As is often the case, things are worse in your head than in reality. Fran and Pat took a quick $6 taxi to the store and returned with big bags of food. Much faster and easier. Simple.
As is often the case, things are worse in your head than in reality. Fran and Pat took a quick $6 taxi to the store and returned with big bags of food. Much faster and easier. Simple.
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