PART 3 - THE GULF
January 16th - Day 27
The Gulf of Mexico at last! It could not have been a better day to start this new phase of the journey. Gentle west winds made the 19 mile crossing to Cedar Key seem easy, the sun was obscured by clouds and temperatures were mild all day.
As I paddled past the last island on the river mouth, however, I got a taste of what’s to come as I head down the west coast of Florida. My rudder began to scrape the sea floor, which continued even after I was over a mile from shore. The tide was receding, and I was concerned I might get stuck. I put my hand under the hull and estimated that the depth was about a palm deep but filled with rocks. I pointed the boat out to the horizon towards the deeper water, and for about 10 minutes I repeated a mantra out loud, “Please no oyster beds, please no oyster beds, please no oyster beds.” I escaped without issues but there will be a lot more of these shallows from now until St. Petersburg.
I was approached by a pod of dolphins. They followed me for about 15 minutes, breaching the water almost close enough to touch. They must have been curious about this elongated fish with black a belly, huge golden dorsal fin and tiny flippers. I paddled hard to try and outrun them, but they easily kept pace with me, and eventually left me in the dust.
Cedar key is a more touristy version of Suwannee. The waterfront reminded me of St Marys; there are shops, restaurants and lots of people out on the street.
I’ve been a bit spoiled lately. Of the past 3 nights, I have slept in a bed on 2. Today is the third time in 4 days. A front is moving through and soon it will get cold and rainy. I may have to take a rest day to wait it out.
January 17th, 18th, and 19th - Days 28, 29, and 30
January 17 - Day 28
The weather has decided where I’ll be tonight. It’s Cedar key. This morning I intended to get a very early start. I left most things packed the night before and got up well before dawn. A little after sunrise I was ready to go with everything packed in the kayak on the beach. There was just one problem; the wind shifted to the East of Northeast and was blowing with strength. The forecast called for 10 to 20mph winds; but to me it seemed to be closer to 25 to 30mph, or more. I felt hesitant to get going. Could I make 20 miles with this head wind? I was aiming for a boat ramp on an East of Southeast bearing, however, with the drift I would have to aim at least due East to get there. I felt uneasy. While I pondered what to do, a couple on their morning stroll walked past me. “You’re going out in that?” said the man with amazement, I didn’t know if he meant the kayak or the weather.
“I’m deciding if I should.” I replied not sounding at all confident I knew what to do.
“It looks rough out there, but with a pro kayak like that, you must be an expert. You know what to do.” He said as he walked away. Being called an expert did not fill me with any confidence; If there was one thing I wanted now, it was expert advice, even if it was to tell me what I already knew.
I decided to give it a go. "I can turn around at any time and ride back with the wind," I thought. I cleared a path on the sand from the shells and rocks, got a smooth push off into the water and set off.
The start was easy. I headed East and paddled nonstop. I could see I was making some progress against the land, but eventually as the land dropped back it became very difficult to gauge how far I’d gone. The waves got bigger, the headwind got stronger, and everything looked the same whichever direction I looked. Head waves are even worse than head winds. They are not consistent, sometimes conditions were smooth, but every so often a big set would hit me and completely kill the forward momentum. The worst, however, was that it eventually became impossible to know if any forward progress was being made; I would look at the horizon time and again, and it would look just the same. Did I move, or did I not? The uncertainty really wears down on the mind.
After about 3 hours the inevitable came to pass. I had to pee. I kept one of my wide mouth water bottles under the bungee cord inside the cockpit for this exact reason as there would be no place to stop in the crossing. However, with the waves rolling in and crashing over the deck, pulling open the spray skirt was not a wise thing to do. I pointed the boat downwind, to try and be more stable, but that immediately began to give away all the distance I had fought so hard for. Relaxing enough to do it in the bottle in these conditions was impossible. I peed in the kayak. When I looked back towards Cedar Key, the futility of my efforts became apparent. I could still read the letters on the town's water tower plain and clear. I checked the GPS, and in 3 hours I managed to cover just 4 miles. The decision was not if I should keep going, but when I will want to cut my losses. Better not be a gambler who tries to win it all back as he plows deeper into the hole, I thought. I started to paddle back, and in less than 40 minutes I arrived at the boat ramp I landed yesterday.
Perhaps if I didn’t have all the gear to carry, or if the winds were Northeast rather than East of Northeast, I might have had a better reach and made it. But turning back was the better choice. In the afternoon the head winds increased even more, and it was even hard to walk on the street, let alone paddle. From the look of the forecast the winds will only change to the North on Monday, so I’ll spend the weekend here.
January 18 - Day 29.
Winds were light, there was bright sunshine and it would have been a great paddling day; however, the north wind is pushing a huge cold front ahead of it, forecast to hit tomorrow. I am not keen to sit a whole day inside my tent in some remote boat ramp with the rain pounding hard and the temperature dropping to near freezing.
I had some housekeeping to take care of. First, I washed my kayak at the hotel swimming pool early in the morning when no one was around; it’s always a good idea to take the salt off the boat whenever possible, especially off the hinges that keep the sections together.
Second, since Amazon couldn’t deliver the air mattress, I’ve decided to try and fix the one I have. I filled it with air and dipped it into the bathtub to see if there were any punctures; there were 5 pinpricks which were almost invisible. This really angered me. I’ve only used the mattress inside the tent, and the tent has a footprint to protect the floor from sharp rocks and twigs, but it seems that even the slightest edge is enough to puncture this mattress. I bought a stick of superglue and cut a few clips from the foot of the shower curtain to use as a cover for the holes. I’m waiting for the glue to harden now. Fingers crossed it will work.
Third, I concluded after looking at my shirtless self in the mirror, that I have lost a significant amount of weight. The Michelin tires around my waist are all gone, and when I lay down, I feel as though a chunk of my stomach has disappeared. I think I lost 15 to 20 pounds and there are still some 400 plus miles to go. These two land days I plan to eat like a bear stocking up for hibernation. I had breakfast at a place that served fried pepperoni rolls with mozzarella cheese and pancakes and honey, enough saturated fat to give a normal man a heart attack on the spot. Then for lunch I ate a double cheeseburger and a fish burger with a side of fries. And for dinner I treated myself to a generous portion of steamed gulf shrimp with a blacked grouper and mashed potatoes. I think I’m past the 6000-calorie mark for today.
I’ve walked through almost every street in town. There were a few things that are of notable interest. I found a small museum that had a huge cast iron crucible from the Civil War used for boiling sea water to make salt for meat preservation. The bowl was 5 feet wide and 4 feet deep and would have sat on a huge fire pit burning some two dozen tree trunks. It would have been a witch’s favorite Christmas present.
The museum was built in part with donations from individuals and organizations. It had a pathway through the grounds where the bricks were inscribed with names of countless donors. Some bricks just had names, others said they were in memory of someone, and some had well wishes to dead relatives. However, a certain David Puzzo was disliked by another individual called Fran Augello who wrote on his brick “I’m with Stupid,” and put an arrow pointing to David Puzzo’s brick. Perhaps they were business rivals, or had a falling out over a woman, or maybe Fran Augello was someone who even in death couldn’t help but pull a random prank for all eternity. We will never know.
The local cemetery has been around for well over a century. Some of the folks buried here were born in the 1800s. There isn’t anything particularly striking about the individual plots; most are just simple plates, but the odd thing is the cemetery shares the space with a frisbee golf course. Every so often there’s a sign that reads, “watch out for flying disks.” I suppose space is tight when you live on an island, but it would still be awkward to hit someone on the head with a frisbee mourning over their dead relatives.
I’ve resupplied my food provisions at the local supermarket. Lately while paddling, my dinners have been canned sardines marinated in Louisiana hot sauce, canned Vienna chicken sausages, and canned pasta from Chef Boyardee. Here, however, the supermarket was stocked with something I had missed since day 4; canned tuna in tomato sauce. Every time I saw it for sale it has been the type that requires a can opener, which I did not bring with me, but here they had the easy peel can type. I’ve bought as many as I can carry. The boat might be a little heavier than usual to wheel it back to the ramp.
Tomorrow I have another full day in town. With the rain I might be confined a bit, but perhaps there are other places to explore.
January 19 - Day 30
I think could have gone today. The front moved through early morning, and by early afternoon the sky was clear with a gentle breeze from the west. It would have made the 20-mile crossing easy, but I felt inertial to change plans a second time. Tonight, I will leave most things in the kayak to save time and be on the water by first light, even if it’s near freezing as the forecast indicates. I’m about 50 miles behind where I should have been by the end of today, but there are enough days to make up, if the weather helps.
I’ve been to enough restaurants in Cedar key to conclude that all the establishments on the waterfront are tourist traps. The views of the water and the pelicans are enjoyable, but the food is subpar. However, a few streets in I found a place called Tony’s that although it has no outward attributes made a fantastic fried fish sandwich, and great shrimp cocktails. It was full both at the lunch and dinner hour, which is a great calling card for a restaurant. I’ll pay them a visit a third time for dinner.
I think my patch work on the air mattress has worked. This morning I pumped it full of air and it seems to be holding firm. Hopefully it lasts until the end now.
I feel like I have been here for ages; last Thursday and my days on the Suwannee River seem like a long-ago memory. I think time passes by more slowly when you’re confined. I am hoping for excellent conditions tomorrow. If things are good, I will try to go 50 miles to a marina on the Weekiwachee River, or if three is enough daylight up the same river to a place called Mary’s Fish Camp. I called in and let them know I might be there late in the evening. If that doesn’t work, not then then I’ll stop at the mouth of the Crystal River near Homosassa, that would still be a respectable 34 miles so either way a full day. I'm concerned with how low the tides can get and with having to be several miles off from shore to avoid the shallows. Hopefully the boat channels will be well marked.
January 20th - Day 31
I was on the water at first light. The early morning makes the sea look different; the water had a dark blue tone like the paint on an artist’s pallet and the shimmering swirls of red and orange in the dawn horizon could have been brush strokes from Van Gogh himself.
As predicted, the north wind was strong. I started in a Southeast heading knowing that the drift would carry me in the right direction. I aimed for the only thing visible in the horizon, the cooling towers of a nuclear power plant. I was very happy I had them as a marker to guide me. For the first 20 miles they were the only thing visible once the land to the north faded under the horizon. The water deepened on the middle of the crossing, the waves picked up and I found myself surfing from one swell to another but having to brace hard to keep on heading; the sail on a strong cross beam reach makes the boat want to weather cock. The GPS showed that on my first 25 miles I averaged 5.67mph!
Late morning after completing the crossing I made a south turn but stayed some 3 miles from shore to avoid the shallows. Even here though the water is only about 4 feet deep at most, and I could see the sea floor almost the entire time. It was all sea grasses, but some stretches had considerable boulder fields which made me uneasy with the thought of scraping a sharp rock at high speed.
When I was level with the channel markers that go to Homosassa, I checked the time and saw that it was not yet 2pm. I decided to aim for the original target, the marina on the Weekiwachee River. With a straight downwind run, paddling got more relaxed, but I kept the same quick pace, and arrived at the Marina before 5pm. I didn't see very many good places to camp, and no bathroom on site which would have made disposal of nature's refuse somewhat awkward; I headed upriver to Mary’s Fish Camp.
I stepped off the kayak and could barely bend my legs. I didn’t land anywhere the entire day. I made my way towards the camp reception where a lady was at the counter. “Hi, I spoke with Mary on the phone yesterday to let her know I would arrive by day’s end. Is there still a place for me?”
“You Did?! Mary’s been dead for over a decade,” she said in a spooky voice. “We do have a shed where you can spend the night. Hopefully you have something dry to change into. It's going to freeze tonight.”
That was good enough for me, even if Mary’s ghost was haunting the place. Today was the longest day yet (I keep saying that...) 53 miles! A personal record for me for the most distance in one day. I was exhausted.
January 21st - Day 32
I felt cold even while paddling. For some reason it was difficult to hold my downwind heading under sail. The waves and the wind didn’t quite align. It must be the refraction from the seabed. I remember from my high school physics class that when the water depth becomes shallower, the wave will slow down, and if the depth change is angled to the direction of the wave, the wave will bend towards the shallows. So here my course was Southwest to follow the coastline, but the wind came from the north, and that made the swells curve to the Southeast; the result was It felt like I was riding a rebellious mule. Anything other than holding on was next to impossible; I gave up trying to use the pee bottle as that would have required 3 hands; one to hold the bottle, one to aim, and one to hold the paddle. The bottle was the least important, so the wee wee went in the cockpit. Fortunately, there was enough water in there already.
Eating and drinking was tough too. I had to point the boat into the wind while I grabbed things as quickly as possible. At those moments the full force of the wind would hit me, and I felt the cold cut like a knife. Eventually I decided that sailing was just not worth it today and stowed away the sail. My boat handling then improved considerably.
I stopped early to have time to set up camp with daylight. It was awfully cold. I was shivering as I walked on to the beach, and instead of performing my usual ritual to unload the gear, I hastily grabbed the dry bag with clothes and went to find some protection from the wind to dry off.
I stopped at Howard Park, a small island with a wide manicured sandy beach connected to the mainland by a causeway. Once dry, everything felt wonderful, I found a tent location away from the wind, there was a clean restroom, a beach shower to wash things, and a small table to sit, eat dinner and enjoy the sunset. Then when the park ranger showed up and things did not go so well. “Everybody has to leave by sundown,” he said.
I remembered my first night when the Miami police told me I had to pack up my stuff and get out of my island. Tonight, it would be infinitely worse. The forecast was for the temperature to drop down to freezing, and the wind was blowing well above 25 miles per hour. I pleaded with him and explained the situation. I had arrived by kayak, and this was an emergency stop because of the cold weather and going back out after sunset in the dark would mean death from exposure. But he wouldn’t budge, “I’ll be fired if you stay the night and someone finds out.”
"Who on earth would come here at night to check?" I thought. Given the situation, I wasn’t going to risk my life for someone’s minimum wage job, so I decided to fake my departure. I made a show of getting everything in the boat, put my wetsuit back on, and paddled out into the water, and stayed a little off from the beach until I saw he had driven away in his pickup truck. I then paddled to the north of the island, where it seemed I wasn’t visible from the road and landed again. The only issue, however, was that on the north side I was completely exposed to the wind, and with barely any twilight left, it was almost impossible to see what I was doing, but I dared not turn on my headlights in case someone would see me. I got the tent up, but the rainfly was impossible to tie down. The pegs kept flying off and I could barely hold the tent poles in place even with all the gear inside to weigh it down. The only solution was to get inside the tent, dress in all my layers, and wrap myself and the sleeping bag with the rain fly for warmth. That just about worked, it was enough for me to fall asleep, dreaming of how wonderful it would be when the sun came up the next day.
January 22nd - Day 33
My tent’s bug mesh tent works like a very fine sand filter. In the faint moon light, I poked my head out of the rainfly cocoon and saw that everything inside the tent was covered with a fine white dust. It was awfully cold; I felt a blast of chilled wind on my nose and covered my head back up. Problems to deal with in the morning, I thought.
At around 7am there was an engine noise. At first, I thought it was a boat passing by, but then lights shone in my direction. I realized it was a beach combing tractor scooping up the sand. That jolted me awake like a shot of adrenaline. I frantically started to pack up all the gear whichever way possible before anyone saw me or my tent. I could organize things later. I tried to act like a regular tourist, taking an early morning stroll. None of the workers bothered me, and I made no effort to talk to anyone, lest someone ask me what I was doing here this early, and how I got here without land transportation.
I had the best kayaking day so far. Not that the cold was any help, I used my thicker wetsuit which had been dead weight until now, but once I paddled to the ocean side of the barrier islands I had the wind and the swells pushing me due South, I surfed from one wave to another for some 25 miles linking every acceleration down the face of one swell to the crest of the one in front. The GPS indicated that at one point I hit 10 mph and was regularly exceeding 9. I felt like a bluefin tuna; even a dolphin would not keep up with me for this long.
Up in the sky I saw a US coast guard plane that seemed to be flying in low circles around me. I’m not sure what it was doing, at one point it came just 500 feet above me and I could clearly see the letters USCG on under the wing. For a moment I was worried. Maybe the Inreach GPS banged about in the day hatch and activated the SOS signal. It’s a big red button on the side of the device so that if needed, I just need to smack it. That would be a costly misunderstanding. Eventually as I kept going South, the plane stayed behind. Perhaps they were doing drills as out on the horizon there was something that looked like a military ship.
Tonight, I have better accommodations than yesterday. My Colleagues from the office in Miami put me in touch with the staff at the St Petersburg wastewater treatment plant which is right by the ocean. I talked to the plant manager over the phone to coordinate my arrival time and he came to pick me up on a gas-powered golf cart underneath the I-55 overpass. It was a tricky spot to unload with a lot of sharp oyster beds, but with two people it was doable. I sat on the back of the cart and towed the kayak on my dolly as we slowly drove to the plant site along a bike path.
Jonathan, the plant manager, was a good fellow to have a drink with. He too is an avid kayaker, and owns a 17-foot Valley, which he paddles to and from Egmont Key. “You’ve got to be careful with the tide there, it rips fast, and if the wind is roughing it, you’ll have some large swells too.” He warned me.
Staying at the plant was a welcome difference from yesterday, I slept on the floor under the desk of someone’s office, by the secondary clarifiers, but it was cozy and warm, and best of all they had a warm shower too.
January 23rd - Day 34
I had a terrible headache this morning. It’s almost certainly due to the air mattress. My patch fixes seem to have been in vain. It still leaks air when I lay on it, and I again woke up several times to blow air into it. I’ve ordered a new one which my friend Jay, who lives in Naples, said he could receive it. I’ll grab it from him somewhere along the way. Still I will only see him on Tuesday; that will mean another 5 nights of bad sleep.
I passed by Desoto Park this morning. The park beach is where the Everglades Challenge Kayak Race from Tampa to Key Largo starts. It dawned on me that I am only about 350 miles from being done. Thirty-four days ago, that would have seemed an insurmountable amount of distance, but now it feels close. I started to think about the things from daily life I’ll have to do when I come back home; drive to work, pick the projects I’m doing at the wastewater plant, prepare my taxes, work around the house, wax the kayak hull (I’ve done my best to not look at the scratches down below the water line, everything was so beautiful and smooth a month ago), and the other errands from daily life. Just like starting the journey was a change, ending the journey will be a change as well. My mother said she hopes I’ll keep the weight off this time, lay off the Nutella, and maybe limit the lunches at the Chipotle Mexican grill to just once a week. Darn, right now I would easily pay $30 to get a chicken burrito from Chipotle. The sardines aren’t appetizing anymore.
Passing Desoto Park is the Tampa Bay mouth crossing. It’s about 5 miles punctuated by Egmont Key in the middle which is about a mile long. Normally there should be a great view of an enormous suspension bridge to the East called the Skyway that straddles the bay from end to end. I think it’s the largest bridge in Florida; the two pillars are easily over 500 feet tall, and container ships can pass under the road deck with ease. Today though the bridge was enveloped in a thick fog and haze and there was nothing to be seen in that direction, save for a large ship I had to give the right of way.
The water in the crossing was choppy, the tide was flooding in from the West, and the wind was from the Northeast. Just as Jonathan had warned me, when those opposing forces meet at the north end of Egmont Key, they become the ingredients for some ferocious tidal rapids and a long conveyor belt of standing swells that break in place. If the wind wasn’t pushing me along, I doubt I could have made it past the breaker point and would have taken a long detour inside the bay. I paddled desperately and felt I was moving blazing fast against the water, but a look at the lighthouse tower revealed I was only crawling along, and barely making headway. It’s a very strange feeling; normally when paddling downwind with the sail, the apparent wind can feel almost nonexistent, here however, the moment I entered the counter tidal current the tail wind felt like a gust propelling me forward, but in reality, it was me slowing down. Once I reached the middle of the island, the current slacked, and there was an eddy of sorts where I could catch my breath. I soon reached the south end of the island, where the tide was also flowing fast and the swells were roughing the waters, though not quite as badly. I paddled West much sooner than before and had some margin of safety to drift East and still cross the channel with a little room to spare.
The next 20 miles to Lido beach were uneventful. The Northeast wind slacked a little and the waves died down, but there was still enough push on the sail to keep me moving. I got a call from a work colleague whom I talked over for 20 minutes about one of my projects. She was preparing an updated proposal scope and I dictated a good chunk of the information she needed, though I had to dig the facts deep in my memory. I think that if I do a longer journey than this one, I may start to think I paddle for a living.
January 24th - Day 35
Winds shifted to Southeast, so I switched from paddling in the ocean to the gulf intracoastal waterway to avoid the headwind. After all the excitement of the swells, tidal rapids and gusting winds since leaving Cedar Key, paddling in the safety of the intracoastal felt monotonous. I passed by mangrove islands, multitudes of houses with wide lawns, crossed under a few draw bridges and dodged boat traffic from both directions. There was, however, one very good thing; in the Atlantic side I always kept an eye out for any private boat ramps I could make a rest stop as these almost always have a freshwater hose to wash motor boats. They are a great opportunity to get a quick bath to wash off the salt and sweat. Today I found two.
I camped on a small island in the mouth of Venice Inlet which turned out to be a very popular spot. Over the course of the evening several boaters stopped by to drink beer, play country music, and catch up on local gossip. I had some island neighbors for the night too, a group of local high school kids set up camp and started a fire on the opposite end of the island. I was impressed that one of the boys who mustn’t have been more than 16 but was in complete command of his small power boat and could maneuver it whichever way he needed to avoid the rocks in the tight jetty entrance. He barked out orders to the other kids who dutifully did as he said.
The other people were a party of old guys and their wives admiring the sunset, I noticed one of them had a hat and shirt with the name “The Snake Island Republic,” and a logo of a snake smoking a cigarette. I knew from the map that this was the name of the island we were on. “Many years ago, when Venice Inlet was dredged, the sand was piled on to a small sandbar which then became this little island, we call Snake Island,” he said. Subsequent dredges added to the size of the island; eventually some vegetation took hold and a few jetty rocks were added to keep the sand in place.
“No one really knows where the name came from as there are no snakes here, but it stuck.”
The place is so popular on weekends, that it has become the place for boaters to party, drink, and play loud music much to the annoyance of one particular neighbor who calls the cops to disperse the crowd. The old man with the snake island shirt pointed me to the house on the back side of the inlet, “that’s where the asshole lives. He’s a rich dude from up north who one day decided to buy a house here, and now thinks he can tell everyone what to do. The high school kids have been camping here for years and making campfires but now the city has been imposing all sorts of rules. See that sign? No fires, no alcohol, and no fuckin’ swearing! Who is going to enforce that?”
Fortunately for me, things didn’t get too rowdy and I didn't have to find out; I would have hated to be kicked out from my third island.
January 25th - Day 36
A firm breeze from the Northwest made me devour the next 25 miles. There weren’t any distinct landmarks to help me keep pace. I kept scanning the horizon to try and find two inlets between the barrier islands that would help me know how far I’d gone. The first one would mean I had covered half the distance, and the second would be the gap to Cayo Costa Key.
I reached the first inlet without incident, the tide was near slack, but the second that separates Cayo Costa Key from Boca Grande Island was treacherous and shallow. The wind and the draining tide whipped up waves and breakers. I saw the foam pile from about a quarter mile away, and at first was unconcerned, but the sea and the horizon can be deceiving. On closer inspection I quickly lowered the sail before jumping bow first like a fighter into the melee of the wind and waves to reach shore. I’ve concluded that the Taran has very good steering and stability in rough and confused waters if I power through the confused washing machine sea with strong paddle strokes, but with the sail deployed it would have been suicidal as a capsize would be impossible to right back up. I was again reminded of the time I dislocated my shoulder but felt confident without the instability of the sail to distract me in these conditions.
Swells broke right on shore, the beach was steep, and the landing awkward. I tried to jump out quickly, but was overtaken by a wave, and the cockpit filled up into a crispy soup of sea water and crushed seashells. When I turned the boat upside down, I looked at the stern, I saw what could have been a huge headache. It seems this morning I got distracted from my boat packing routine and forgot to tighten the bungies for the spare paddle. They stayed in place through all the swell, surf, and tempest tossing of the inlet crossing but hung on by a thread . Not once did I ever think to look back and check and would have never noticed if the sea had taken them.
My arrival was greeted by four campers on an afternoon stroll. I saw them from some distance and noticed that they stopped walking and were looking attentively at me, and I landed not far from where they stood. “We thought you were in some kind of distress. It looks rough out there. You want cider? We’re catching the ferry to head back to Punta Gorda.” I would have said no to beer, as the alcohol would have knocked me out given how thirsty I was, but cider would do well.
Once I had drained the water off the cockpit, unloaded most things and dragged the kayak above the high tide mark, I walked up a footpath leading into the island past where the trees grew like a green wall behind the dune grasses. I soon found the thing I was looking for; beach showers to wash off the salt. The men’s bathroom also looked very clean, and I made good use of it.
The footpath ended on the cul de sac of a dirt road. From there an offshoot led into a campground, while the road receded further into the island. The four campers who greeted me at the beach let me know that this was the way to the ferry and to the Ranger Station. I had no desire to walk across the island, but one of the campers let me know that there was a camp store that sold Mars bars, Twix and M&Ms, and I felt inspired with more than sufficient motivation to make the half mile walk at double pace.
At the camp store I met the rangers who were a husband and wife. They live on the island year-round and go back to the mainland only once every 8 days. The Ranger was a man in his 60s who had an impressive physique. He was broad shouldered and over 6 feet tall and had the physical presence of a mountain. His skin was baked brown from the sun but was tough like the bark of an oak tree, and he had a coarse authoritative voice that with his lack of any smile would have commanded a battalion of young soldiers to do what he said without asking questions. He could have played the rogue general in the movie The Rock with Nicholas Cage in Alcatraz. "We are only taking cash for camping," he barked. That was a problem; I had only two five dollar bills and a few coins. When I started the journey I had taken about $200 with me, but over the course of time I ended up spending it in some of the most remote spots that would only take cash for services. One of my one of my dollar wise, pound foolish moments however, was in Brandford back in the Suwannee River. The hotel owner there offered me a $10 dollar discount if I paid cash rather than credit card. I should have replenished the reserves. The camping fee was $20 per night.
"Oh I'm so sorry. I thought I had more on me. Any chance I can give you what I have?" I said sheepishly embarrassed.
"No."
"Oh just give it to him for what he has. He's on a kayak, and we have two camp slots. He ain't going nowhere tonight."
That response came from Range's wife, a minuscule lady whose stature didn't reach my shoulder, but who spoke with the authority of a queen bee.
"Ok," said the ranger, sounding more sheepishly than me all of the sudden. It seemed his wife knew where his pressure points were like a rice farmer plowing his paddy with a buffalo. She was quite a talker and spoke at twice the normal speed. She told me that sea turtles come to nest here in their hundreds, and during the season they cover the beach with nest markers. On the ocean side there’s a lagoon that was breached by hurricane Irma, and only now had the sea deposited enough sand there to close the gap. “You would not believe what the place looked like after the storm trampled through here. Barely a leaf was left; everything looked brown and dead. But in just two years it all grew back. It’s amazing how nature recovers if you leave it alone.”
I thanked her many times for taking care of me. It was another cold night in the tent, but better than what the alternative might have been.
January 26th and 27th - Days 37 and 38
The wind died down, but I had a long way to pull the boat to the water. The ranger’s wife had come to see me off and offered to help carry the kayak. I was skeptical that she could really do it as the boat is quite heavy and her arms were thin and skinny, but she was much stronger than she looked, and I was the one who called for a break halfway to switch arms.
When I launched, my rudder became stuck and would not deploy. I paddled back on the beach, much to the confusion of some onlookers seeing me off. When I had a look, I saw the spring box was filled with tiny shell fragments. They must have gotten in there yesterday when the waves filled my cockpit. I wiggled it down by hand, but it screeched and crackled like gears in a rusty clock. That would do for now, but the thought of having mechanical problems with the kayak really bothered me. I did the utmost to avoid the temptation to test it again, lest it be stuck, and I be left rudderless a mile out from shore.
As I paddled southwards towards Sanibel island, I began running through my plans for the next few days. The wind would be shifting to the South tomorrow, so distance wise, tomorrow would be a short day, and I would not be meeting with Jay to pick up the new mattress until Tuesday, two days from now somewhere near Naples. When I reached the northernmost point on Sanibel island, I checked the GPS and saw that Naples was only 35 miles away, and would be about 25 miles when I reached the broad south side of the island. From there I would need to paddle another 15 miles with no help from the wind to reach the campsite on the mainland. That, however, was really an unnecessary detour, just for a place to camp. I rechecked the weather for Tuesday, which confirmed that the winds will switch back to the North. “Maybe I should take a rest day,” I thought. I let the idea cook in my head, and the more I thought about it the more it appealed to me. That would be 2 nights I don’t have to sleep on the deflated mattress, will eat good food for dinner and breakfast, can check on the rudder, and hose out all the sand in the cockpit. Eventually it wasn’t even a gut feeling that made me conclude this was the right decision. My bowels told me to stop overthinking it; I pulled out the phone and credit card from the front day hatch and started looking for the nearest hotel on the beach. I can ignore my good judgement, and even my gut feeling, but never my bowel movements.
I settled on the Sundial Beach Resort. Hotels here on Sanibel Island are really expensive. At $226 per night and staying two nights plus taxes, this was one of the more reasonably priced ones. When night came, I again repeated the ritual of washing my kayak in the hotel swimming pool. Some vigorous splashing also removed most of the pesky sea shells jamming up my rudder. It seems to be working fine now.
I spent the afternoon and the next day walking and giving my legs a good stretch. I found a UPS store which allowed me to return the bad mattress before the deadline and get a refund. There wasn’t much of a town however, if there was one, it must have been well hidden as all I saw were other hotels and vacation homes. My next stop was a small supermarket with an attached restaurant that served breakfast. I had both pancakes with maple syrup and a bacon croissant sandwich. I’ve enjoyed these occasional gastronomic indulgences in this journey; When paddling 8 hours per day seven days a week no food is caloric enough to put on weight.
Late in the day as I was walking back to the hotel room, I had to cross a busy road that runs along the length of the island. There was no traffic light nor cross walk to cross, so it required some waiting for a breach in the traffic in both directions, while also being quick footed when the opportunity arose. As I waited, I noticed an elderly lady carrying a lot of packages who also planned to walk across. I offered to carry some of her things, and she was glad to receive help. When the opening appeared, I ran across quickly, but while doing so one of my sandals was caught under my foot and the toe strap ripped. It must have been on its last legs; having carried me through a good number of years of heavy use plus the 25-mile portage to St George I cannot say they were poor quality and was sad to lose them. The experience reminded me of the tale of the Argonautica I read in highschool. In it, Jason crosses the river Anaurus while carrying Hera, who is disguised as an old woman, on his back and loses one his sandals in the water, marking him as the man to undertake the quest for the Golden Fleece. Perhaps the elderly lady came as a way to mark me for a great journey much greater than this one. One day perhaps....
Tomorrow I will have an early start, and a very long day. On Wednesday winds change back to the south and I will need to be past Marco Island to have a good angle on the wind to reach Chokoloskee. If all goes well, I might even break the 1000-mile mark. I’m at 948 as of now.
January 28th - Day 39
At 6:00 am I departed. Paddling at night here isn’t like in Miami. There were very few city lights and once I was pointed into the horizon, all I saw was darkness.
The coastline makes a very wide arc and it’s possible to save up a few miles by cutting across from Sanibel and aiming right for where Marco island should appear on the horizon, however, that puts me far from land and in deep water where the wind can build up the swells. Three hours into the crossing the north breeze picked up and turned the sea into a confused washing machine. I was hitting the swells at a slight angle far from perpendicular so every time I rode down the face of a wave, I had to brace hard to keep my heading straight. I peed again in the kayak; no third hand for holding the bottle.
At midday things became dead calm. I’ve noticed that there is a daily pattern to the wind in the Gulf of Mexico. Early in the morning the sea is warmer than the land, so the air rises over the ocean and pulls the wind from the shore. As land warms up, the wind slowly dies until the land and sea are at the same temperature and the wind disappears completely. Then, as the land becomes warmer than the ocean the wind reappears but from the opposite direction as the air now rises over the land. Finally, in the late afternoon when the land once again cools, the wind disappears again. It’s a daily repeating cycle only scrambled when a cold front moves through. In the lull, I was now moving solely through my own effort as I waited for the wind to pick back up. I looked as far as I could see down the horizon to catch a glimpse of a building or something that might tell me how far I’d have to go, and every time a new structure would appear, I would wonder if it was Marco Island.
Before I set off, I had texted Jay to let him know approximately when I would catch up to him. We agreed to meet just north of Marco Island at the Capri Fish house. When I arrived, he was there waiting for me with a delicious snack of deep-fried alligator tail, and baked cookies from his wife. He was the first familiar face I’ve seen on the journey.
I first met Jay last year while looking for someone to fix the insertion point for my kayak’s rudder line. His workmanship was impeccable; not a mark was left of the deck to indicate where the old hole used to be, and the rudder now works flawlessly. Subsequently I asked him to do the installation of the Falcon Sail, and the electric bilge pump and battery I have behind the foot pegs, which when all told, required some 20 holes to be drilled on the deck. It takes a lot of courage and nerves of steel to stick a power drill to a kayak let alone one that isn't yours. He has that in spades.
Jay handed me the new air mattress, much to my great happiness of not sleeping on the bare ground anymore, and we talked for about 15 minutes before I set off again. I had already covered 38 miles, but there was still a ways to go before the sun set.
I checked the news while in the tent tonight before going to sleep and was taken back. There was a 7.7 magnitude earthquake somewhere between Jamaica and Cuba under the ocean, and tremors were felt as north as Miami. Being on the water all day I felt nothing; friends from work mentioned they felt a little shaking but assumed the tenants upstairs were moving the furniture around, which they do often from time to time. It was fortunate the tremor was a side slip rupture, so there was no risk of a tsunami. I can barely imagine what might happen if a giant wave crosses the Gulf of Mexico; the Florida continental shelf is so shallow that the pull back from the wave would expose many miles of sea floor, before sending the wall of water halfway through the Everglades. At Cedar Key I had noticed a plot of land for sale where the sign noted there was no risk of flooding; the ground had been surveyed at 12 feet above sea level, which for Florida that's quite high. Fish would be swimming there high above high above the trees in a tsunami. In a kayak, I wonder what would happen to me; maybe my little boat would be small enough that the wave would just roll under me and I would be carried either far out to sea, or across the Everglades to Miami. I’ve paddled in Oregon where a tsunami is sometimes a passing thought, but it ever crossed my mind to think of it in Florida.
January 29th - Day 40
Today, a tsunami would have been the most out of place thing I could imagine. It was the calmest so far; I rounded off the tip of Cape Romano island and could see fishermen's buoy traps almost a quarter mile away.
There are very strange structures at the Cape’s end. They resemble the remains of flying saucers that crash landed into the sea. If ever they were that, there is not much left of the alien technology for trash pickers to strip out. Only the shell of the ancient flying aircraft remains perched at odd angles on stilts, and their graffitied domes seem ready to collapse into the water. Day fishermen are fond of them; two boats were casting lines for fish that swim between the ruins, and the pelicans were diving all around with great enthusiasm.
The bay south of the cape is known as the 10 thousand islands. I think there may be many more than that. For some 30 miles of coast there is a maze of mangrove marshes that make transiting from the ocean to the bay more difficult than finding one’s way through the streets of a medieval town. Even with a GPS it can be disorienting; I checked the map and looked around but the path was not always obvious. Thankfully there is a guiding force to find the way; the tide creates a river between the bay and the ocean, so where the current is strongest is the path to follow. I soon got through and I had a clear view of both Everglades City and its little sister island town of Chokoloskee where I pointed to.
I landed on the East of town where there was a small beach. It was someone’s private property, though no one was around, and I quickly got the boat and gear on the dolly and walked out to the nearest road before anyone noticed. I made my way to the Chokoloskee Parkway Marina Motel. Some four years ago I spent a night here on new years when paddling across the Everglades. It seems the place is frozen in time. I was greeted by an old lady at the reception desk who sat behind a wall decorated with a collage of pictures from happy fishermen holding their catch. One of the pictures was a little disturbing; a fisherman was clearly lacking the tips from two of his fingers. “You got a new kayak. What happened to the red one?”
“Oh, you remember me?” I said surprised. “I still have it. It’s at home hanging from my carport garage.”
“Yes, I remember you, you’re one of the few who don’t fish off your kayak.”
“Indeed, I do not,” I said laughing.
I next headed to the Havana Café which is the only place to eat in town. It’s popular with the paddlers from the Water Tribe who stop here on the way to Key Largo. The place existed since 2005 but was almost wiped out during hurricane Irma. “There was so much mud and debris everywhere even the key knobs were jammed up,” said the waitress. “The bridge was impassable for days and the power was out for weeks. For a while we were on our own. We’ve been hit bad before, but nothing like Irma. Thank goodness for the China guys; when relief started coming through, they were some of the first volunteers. They helped haul off trash, clean the mud, played music, and were giving out prepaid debit cards. I’d thought they’d make us into Buddhists but thank god they were here.” I didn’t want to spoil her thoughts, but if they were receiving aid from the Chinese Government, chances are they were Atheists.
Walking back, I came across a small girl of about ten who was driving a motorized golf cart. She stopped and asked if I had seen her blue parakeet, which had escaped from its cage. I told her I didn't. I didn't think much of it until not much later I saw the little blue bird dive down in front of me chased by a black raven. It perched not far on top of a tree limb. When the girl drove by again, I pointed to her where the bird was, and she asked me to climb the tree and fetch Mr. Blueberries and stick him back in his cage. Needless to say, this was a completely hopeless effort; I got up on the tree, but the bird kept hopping higher like a monkey. A passer who saw the awkwardness of what I was doing suggested I call the fire department. It was at that moment a random strange old lady with a hunchback, walked out from her trailer near the tree and started barking in a redneck accent, "You better not do that. If you do, they’ll have your number and you'll be “involved”. Trust me; you don't want to be "involved" in Chokoloskee; I've been here for 55 years, and I'm still one of the newcomers. Don’t get “involved" here."
She turned around, walked back into her trailer home, and didn't not say another word, but I felt she must have stayed watching me from the window. I felt spooked like I had just seen a ghost. "That was some weird shit," I thought. In that time, the Mr. Blueberries flew off, probably chased by the ravens, and the girl went chasing after it in her golf cart. That was the last I saw them.
January 30th - Day 41
Last night it rained hard. I forgot to cover the kayak cockpit and it filled up with water, leaned forward on the dolly, and kicked on the electric bilge pump which must have run for a good part of the night. I found out because I woke up with the sound of a really loud thunder bolt and decided to check on the boat outside and to my surprise saw the bilge pump spewing water like a fountain. Immediately I leaned the boat back to stop the pump, but who knows how long it ran for. Hopefully there is still plenty of battery, because charging it is a hassle. I haven’t used the electric bilge pump until now other than to check it from time to time. It’s a safety precaution in case I fail to roll back up in bad conditions and have to do a wet exit; hopefully I won’t need it for the remaining days.
I put in a lot of miles today to make the most of the Northwest wind. Tomorrow it will again switch to the South and the going will get slower, unless I can round Cape Sable and start heading East by tomorrow.
From Chokoloskee there are no towns until Key largo. The coast is almost all mangrove islands, shallow river mouths, and a few beaches where camping is possible. I had planned to stop at a beach called Graveyard Creek some 34 miles south from Chokoloskee, but when I got there the place was a tangled mess of mangrove roots, coral rocks, and soggy mud. I don’t know why it’s marked as a campsite on the National Park’s website. I decided to go another 10 miles to where I knew from a previous experience the beach was wide and sandy. That meant arriving right with the sunset, and to my surprise, given the recent cold snaps, a huge swarm of famished mosquitoes.
There were two other paddlers camped on the beach when I arrived. They were two brothers from Ohio on a 5-day journey up the Everglades heading North to Chokoloskee. They couldn’t believe I had left from there this morning and wanted to talk about the route. I told them about the bad conditions on the Graveyard Creek and suggested they go as far as Highland Beach tomorrow where I had seen one lonely tent pitched on the white sand when I had passed by a few hours earlier.
They wanted to talk more, but I was being chewed up by the mosquitoes which were also getting stuck in my hair. Of all the high talk and tales of giant pythons, alligators, panthers and other man-eating predators lurking in Everglades, people seem to forget that the mosquito is the most voracious carnivore of them all.
I ate dinner inside the tent and used one of my empty water bottles for peeing. Number 2 didn’t feel sufficiently urgent given the flies,that it could not wait until the morning.
January 31st and February 1st - Days 42 and 43
January 31 - Day 42
When I unzipped the rainfly, I saw hundreds of irritating mosquitoes buzzing about in the dawn light. This was a perfect opportunity to try out the ThermaCell mosquito repellent. Like a few other items, it has been a dead weight I’ve carried from day 1. Incredibly, it works very well. I switched the thing on with a brand new cartridge and laid it next to the kayak while I ate canned sardines for breakfast, and though the flies were everywhere, they kept their distance and would not bite me. I can only imagine what early explorers of the Florida Everglades would have paid for a device like this.
It was a good thing that I chose to go the extra distance beyond Graveyard Creek yesterday; the winds have shifted to Southeast, and the 20 miles to Flamingo Point were all done in a headwind. I felt lethargic, but fortunately, the water was shallow, and the waves didn’t have a chance to build up.
I rounded the southernmost point in continental Florida, Cape Sable, but sadly there was nothing there to mark the geographic significance of the place. It’s just a beach like any other.
Being near the end of the journey feels strange. There are less than 100 miles to Key Biscayne. This time next week I’ll be back to my old life. I’ve become accustomed to paddling every day and paddling feels like it is my life. It’s a rhythm that will be difficult to reset. A few folks I know have joked that I should watch out for post paddling depression. Apparently, that is a condition amongst members of the Water Tribe.
I am, however, experiencing something here in Flamingo point, something I haven’t in a while; all of the sudden the weather felt really hot. No sleeping bag required for tonight.
February 1 - Day 43
A huge storm came through around midnight. The lightning bolts were like camera flashes in a dark cave; for a moment night became bright as day, followed by a trembling explosion and then complete darkness. Then came wind and rain which pounded my tent like thousands of hard pellets fired from a hundred air guns. The constant banging was deafening and all consuming like static from a television. When the worst was passing through, I decided to put on my rain jacket, pack up the sleeping bag, and put away the GPS, battery and phone. If the tent pegs failed, at least my things wouldn’t be soaked. For a while the wind even blew water from the hundreds of puddles forming outside right under the flap of the rainfly and the tent was soaked.
When morning came, I decided to take a rest day. The forecast called for more of the same thunderous rain in the afternoon. Better be in a wet tent wishing to be paddling, than to be paddling and wishing to be in a wet tent. When I walked outside I realized how lucky I was. If I had pitched my tent just a few feet to either side, I would have been in a puddle a quarter palm deep.
By 10am there was a faint ray of sunshine trying to pierce through the clouds. I took a walk around to see how other campers had fared in the storm. Mysteriously, a blue tent that was a little ways from me last night was not there this morning, and its occupants were nowhere to be seen. I wondered if they packed up during the storm before sunrise. There was a large puddle of water where their tent used to be. I hate to imagine what things were like for them.
There wasn’t much to do today except wait for the day to pass. I walked around the campsite to the RV section to see who else was here. I met a lady from Indiana who said she has been following my journey on Facebook. Her trailer looked like a turtle shell attached to the back of her SUV. She had a 16-foot kayak on her roof rack and had come down to Florida for the winter. Another interesting character I found was a man with a short school bus he converted into an RV. It was the strangest vehicle I have ever looked inside. It had a bunk bed in the back, a wooden wardrobe, a sink, and a piano. The man said he is a musician from New York, and that this is his mobile studio which he drives around the country. He bought the bus on eBay for $2,500. “These old school buses, after they reach a certain age and maintenance becomes a safety issue for the kids, get sold off by school districts for almost nothing. They’re almost begging you to take them away for free.“ I remember that some 12 years ago I rode in an old American school bus down a narrow dirt road in the Peruvian Andes . Making offerings of beer and coca leaves to Pachamama was standard procedure before taking on a steep mountain pass. It ensured the wheels would stay on their axles, so I was told. His “bus” wasn’t doing great; one wheel only had 4 of the 8 nuts and the four left looked much too rusty for comfort. He was waiting on a delivery of new nuts at the park office to drive out without fear of the wheels coming off.
I walked down to the Flamingo Point boat ramp about a mile down the road to kill some time. Last time I was here there was a big restaurant, and an observation deck in a two-store building. However, the place looked abandoned and was encircled by a mesh fence. I assume it must be another casualty of Hurricane Irma.
The convenience store and boat fuel station were still functioning. Since my last time here, the convenience store added a food truck to compensate for the closed restaurant. Their hamburgers left a lot to be desired even for someone whose hunger's been tempered with an arduous paddle through the Everglades. They have a monopoly for at least 40 miles to the nearest competition, so their service is predictably subpar and overpriced. Even so, I paid $10 for a cheese burger, and a good deal more for their chocolate bars and M&M packs.
Rain started coming down hard again in the afternoon. Dinner was chocolate cookies and twinkies as sardines are too messy to eat inside the tent. The news continues to yield dire surprises. Yesterday a kayaker was rescued in the Lopez River near Chokoloskee. Had the headwinds come earlier, I would probably have taken the waterway route and passed through there and maybe seen him. I hate to think how he fared last night through the storm. He was a man of almost 70 from Virginia on a solo trip and had been missing for 12 days. The Park Service only found him after his phone washed up on a river bank and the location record was retrieved. The images from the helicopter showed him floating motionless on the water. When the rescue boat caught up the rangers had a tough time pulling him in. He didn’t look well; maybe he was hypothermic. There were many mysteries to this story however; how did he lose his boat? How did he survive for 12 days? Why did he not try to call for help? The news would not say. It must be a harrowing story, and it made me wonder if I was as well prepared as I thought.
