Trip report - Everglades Canoeing
January 23-28,1995
This canoe trip was our first in the south, and also our first trip with a commercial outfitter/guide. We flew from Rochester to Ft. Myers and were met at the airport by Sue Bell and Jan Whittaker of Pack Paddle, Ski Inc. We drove about 90 minutes south and checked in to a room at the Rod and Gun Club in Everglades City, arriving in mid-afternoon. The original building is a historical landmark, little changed since the days when it was frequented by Ernest Hemingway and his cronies. The front of the building faces the Barron River, since for many years there was no road and the only access was by water. Today, the river bank is lined with a mixture of yachts from around the world and commercial fishing boats. The hotel, and the "city" still have a rustic sleepy feeling.
After unpacking, we walked through the few blocks of town and then a mile or so down the road to the National Park ranger station. Only a few old buildings have survived the hurricanes. This entire area has been under water several times in this century, up to 8 feet of water in the most severe storms. Most of the newer buildings are on pilings, about 8 feet above the ground. Our walk was limited to the few roads, since the town is built on one of the few patches of "high" ground (a foot or two above high tide), and the surrounding land is mostly swamp. At the ranger station, we got our first view of Chokoloskie Bay and the southern edge of the Ten Thousand Islands area. Invisible, a few miles away through the mangrove islands, was the Gulf of Mexico. A large tour boat was docked at the ranger station, and was preparing to leave. We listened to a 15 minute lecture about sea gulls, blaring out over the boats public address system, while we sat and watched an entertaining flock of attractive birds called skimmers. They sat on the end of a pier, all facing the wind in a neat geometric pattern. Occasionally one or a few would take off and skim just inches above the water, searching for food. We were told that they all leave at dusk and spend the night skimming over the Gulf, returning at dawn.
In the evening, we joined Jan and Sue for a good meal at the Rod and Gun Club. This is Sue's first season of leading trips in this area, but she had lived in Florida for a while, and she came down almost a month ago to scout the route and absorb local knowledge. We are on the last of three one week trips she has led this year. The first of the three trips included Dave and Carol Curtis, who had run similar trips here in the past. Sue had already acquired an incredible fund of knowledge about the area. She was rarely at a loss when asked about local history, birds, beasts, or bugs. Jan has been assisting with PPS trips for years, and is a national champion canoe racer. After dinner, we were issued sleeping bags and pads and several waterproof bags in which to pack our gear. We went back to the room to pack and then got a good night's sleep.
At 7:15 the next morning, we transferred our gear into the PPS van and left for the put-in. Breakfast was sweet rolls, purchased the night before, and coffee picked up at a store along the way. At 8:40 we arrived at our put-in, on the east side of the Turner River, just south of the Tamiami Trail bridge. The parking area was so small that we had to unhitch the boat trailer and separately turn the van and the trailer around. Sue, Helen, and I loaded the canoes, while Jan ferried the van back to their campground and ran back. Several anhingas posed for us in a nearby tree. These large, slender, mostly black diving birds often sit with their wings partly extended, providing a unique profile.
At 9:25 we started paddling. Helen and I were in a fiberglass Mad River Explorer. Sue and Jan were in a Kevlar Curtis Northstar. In spite of the short duration of the trip, we were loaded quite heavily, since we had to carry all our fresh water. All the water we would be paddling is tidal, and there are no fresh water sources anywhere in the south Everglades. This has been an unusually wet season, with a substantial flow of fresh water through the Everglades. The Turner River, at our launch point, has a barely noticeable trace of salt. Even the water among the Ten Thousand Islands was quite a bit less salty than the Gulf of Mexico. The tides in this part of the world are only about two feet, but I still find it surprising that there isn't more mixing.
This first part of the trip is through a vast expanse of sawgrass, outside the national park. We have been warned to watch out for commercial airboats, which can come roaring past on narrow cuts through the grass. We heard some in the distance, but they never came close. We inspected a blade of sawgrass, and it is appropriately named. Each leaf is several feet long, and has a triangular cross section. Each of the three edges is covered with sharp, curved, teeth, which can indeed act like a saw - easily cutting flesh. I wouldn't want to try to walk through this stuff. The Turner River is actually a man-made canal for the first few miles. The bank is lined with a thin fringe of cattails, a recent immigrant to the Everglades. Behind the cattails, the sawgrass extends as far as we can see, broken only by occasional islands of trees. The water was very clear, and we assume that the very slow steady flow allows all silt to settle out quickly. Sue enforced the "wear your lifejackets" rule unmercifully. Although understandable on a commercial trip, it was nevertheless annoying in the warm, protected, water, especially since Helen's jacket didn't fit very well, chafing as she paddled. Our greatest danger in a capsize probably was getting eaten, not drowning, and it's unlikely that the jackets would be very helpful with this.
After a few miles, the grass gave way to mangroves. Sue and Jan, in the lead canoe, made an abrupt turn and disappeared down a narrow passage into the mangroves. The mangroves soon closed in overhead, and we had to duck low, drifting through a dark tunnel. The unusually high water level made it quite difficult to get through in a few spots. Occasional breaks in the canopy allowed shafts of sunlight to come through, providing unexpected spotlights. Often, these spotlights illuminated dense and diverse collections of air plants, festooning the mangrove branches. We were a bit early for the blooms, and saw only a few early examples of the brightly colored (mostly red and orange) flowers.
As we paddled further, the river gradually became wider. We stopped for lunch at 1:15, on a sandbar along the shore, with entertainment provided by several ibis. This was the first dry land we saw since leaving the launching point in the morning. Given the scarcity of opportunities for stepping out of the canoe, PPS had advised women to bring "urinary directors". Helen was pleased to find one easy and convenient to use. Soon after lunch, we turned off the Turner River into Hurddles Creek, which led to a series of bays and creeks tending generally southeast. As we crossed the Lopez River, we began to see the numbered markers of the 99 mile Wilderness Waterway which extends from Flamingo City to Everglades City. These markers are often topped by interesting black and white birds with conspicuous Groucho Marx eyebrows - the royal tern. During the preceding, inland, part of the trip, we saw no other people. Now, on the waterway, we began to see occasional power boats -- usually fishermen. A short distance later, we paddled into Sunday Bay, the first really open water of the trip, After paddling north a half mile or so, we found a well hidden chickee which was our destination for the night, arriving about 3:30 p.m. On the open water, we quickly had discovered the importance of wide brimmed hats and sunglasses - both for seeing well in the glare, and for protecting our northern skin from the intense sun. We were rarely in shade, except when on the roofed chickee.
The National Park Service provides these chickees, raised wooden platforms, at many sites in the park, for the benefit of backcountry campers. The name comes from an open sided Indian shelter. The modern version is located in open water, a few feet above the water and well away from the buggy mangroves. Sunday Bay has a double chickee - two covered, open sided platforms about 15' square, joined by narrow wood walkways leading to a shared outhouse.
This chickee could have been hard to find on our own - accurate navigation would be required, since the many little mangrove islands all look alike. Traveling with a guide is a new experience for us. Most of the time, we just enjoyed the scenery and relaxed, assuming that Sue would get us to our destination. We did carry our own maps and compass, and occasionally watched the map carefully, so that when we come back on our own for a longer trip, we'll feel comfortable about finding our way through the maze.
An hour or so after we arrived, a solo sea kayaker arrived at the adjoining chickee. He planned to travel the entire Wilderness Waterway and then cut across Florida Bay to paddle the outer portion of the Florida Keys. Since these chickees, a few shell mounds, and a few sand beaches on the barrier islands along the Gulf are the only possible places to pitch a tent, the Park Service requires that a detailed trip plan be filed for any backcountry travel, and provides a reservation for a campsite for each night. The capacity of a chickee is very limited. Our two tents nearly filled the platform, leaving barely room to move around and to prepare dinner. The previous two PPS groups had each been a total of eight people - which filled both sides of this double chickee, with the tents rubbing against each other and no floor space empty.
After returning from this trip, we heard a talk by another solo canoeist who got lost in this area and was unable to find the chickee where he was supposed to spend the night. He paddled half the night, then slept in his canoe in a huge swarm of mosquitoes. There is literally no place to set foot on dry land. Even where the land is slightly above water, the maze of interlocking aerial mangrove roots makes it impassable. An enclosed hammock might be a worthwhile emergency shelter.
Florida was in the grip of an unusually cold weather system. We heard frost warnings when we checked the weather radio. As the sun got lower, we began to wish we had brought our winter hat and gloves. Fortunately, I had my heavy Polartec jacket and pants (I almost left it home, never expecting to use it in Florida). Helen put on just about every piece of clothing she brought, under a full suit of Goretex rain gear, and managed to stay above the shivering point. The "20 degree" sleeping bags we were provided were just barely warm enough, even with a couple of layers of clothing. The cool breezy chickee would normally be a blessing but on this cold night, a dry land site would have been warmer.
As usual on our backcountry trips, we were asleep shortly after dark and awoke shortly after daylight. Breakfast was at 8:00 and we started paddling about 9:30. We paddled southeast through a series of bays, typically a mile wide, connected by narrow shallow passages through the mangroves. Wildlife was abundant. We saw several large alligators sunning themselves on tiny patches of mud among the mangrove roots. For the most part, we stayed far enough away to leave them undisturbed. Once, we drifted close enough to alarm one, but we saw none of the warning displays that had been described to us. The alligator just slipped quietly into the water and disappeared. Dolphins were common. They come into shallow water to feed, and we saw one herding fish up against a mangrove bank, by vigorously splashing in a semicircle. In some cases they were in water so shallow that they could not fully submerge - leaving dorsal fin continually exposed, and pushing a visible mound of water ahead of them as they swam. They seemed undisturbed by our canoes, often swimming quite close to us. Dolphins are notoriously curious and friendly, and Sue tried to attract them closer by rhythmically tapping on her canoe -- with no noticeable effect.
Sometimes, when we were out in the middle of these wide bays, we could easily imagine that we were in our familiar Algonquin Park canoeing haunts. From a distance, the mangroves didn't look much different than northern trees. The red mangroves, back from the shore on dryer land, can grow quite tall, and the black mangroves along the water aren't that different from the dense glossy leaved bushes which often line the northern shores. A great blue heron, feeding on a mud bank at low tide, added to the familiar image. Then we would come in closer to the shore and the familiarity would disappear as tangles of aerial mangrove roots became visible. The large old red mangroves were devastated by hurricane Andrew. Many were down or badly disfigured, and shattered dead specimens were usually visible inland.
The trees were often festooned with groups of ibis, egret, cormorants, or pelicans. We saw several occupied osprey nests, and an osprey dove to catch a fish about 50 yards in front of our canoe. Anhingas and vultures were also quite common. Manatee are common in this area, but they are shy creatures and about all we could hope to see was the tip of a nose. We didn't see even that.
We stopped for lunch at 11:15, at a decrepit cottage, dating from before the national park was established. It was on pilings well above the water, with raised decks on all sides. Someone had built a campfire on one of the decks, burning a large hole through the deck and its support beams. On the mud nearby was a dead alligator with its tail missing. It was still quite chilly, and we huddled on the sunny side of the building, trying unsuccessfully to simultaneously stay out of the wind and in the sun.
After lunch, we turned south down the Chatham River, often a narrow twisty passage through the mangroves. We reached our destination for the night, Watson's Place, at 1:30 p.m. - a short day, but we didn't have the option of continuing since there was no place else to stay. Watson's Place is one of the really famous sites in the Everglades. It is a large shell mound, about 40 acres in extent, level on top and about five feet above sea level. It is composed almost entirely of oyster shells, with occasional shells of other types. the origin of these mounds is still somewhat in dispute, but the most popular explanation is that they were formed over a long period of time, around 2000 years ago, by Indians who stopped to acquire shellfish and discard the shells Mr. Watson and his wife settled in this very remote spot in the early 1900's, apparently because he was wanted for serious crimes at various other places in the country. He turned the entire 40 acres into a successful sugar cane plantation, and built an impressive two-story house. The large iron kettle used to boil the cane, some farm machinery, a cistern, and the house foundations are still visible. He was implicated in the disappearance of a number of his farm workers, and was eventually murdered by a crowd of local people at Chokoloskee. The Park Service maintains the site as a campground - one of a very few places that can accommodate a substantial number of tents. When we arrived, one older couple was already there, with a huge motorized canoe, a large screen room, folding table, comfortable chairs, etc. They indicated that they had been coming here annually for many hears, settling in for a week or so of fishing and relaxation, having obtained a special exemption from the usual rule of no more than three nights at a site.
This large mound provided an opportunity to explore the local jungle - one of the few places where we could actually walk more than a few steps. Several paths crisscross the mound, leading to the various artifacts. We were told that it is generally inadvisable to walk back into the jungle because of the swarms of bugs. One good effect of the very cold weather was that we saw no bugs at all. Our headnets remained in the bottom of the packs, and the DEET was untouched. I was able to explore extensively, with nothing to worry about except an occasion vine with very sharp thorns. A pair of kayakers showed up at this site shortly after we arrived, making a total of five tents. It was still not crowded - the site could have held several more. Jan, who is currently shopping for her own kayak, immediately inspected their kayaks. In the evening, she borrowed an interesting one and headed out for a long paddle.
While Helen and I relaxed and explored, Sue and Jan prepared dinner -- pasta with pesto cream sauce, fresh bread, fresh green beans, hot cran-apple drink. We're not used to eating this well in the backcountry, but when we're carrying all our water, there is little incentive to take dried foods. It was dark by the time we finished washing dishes, and we were asleep shortly thereafter. Breakfast was wheat pancakes with pear/honey/cinnamon topping, made with fresh pears, washed down with orange juice which still contained ice crystals (we started out with a plastic cooler stuffed with solidly frozen food.) After breakfast, a red-shouldered hawk flew in and sat in a tree overhead watching, then dove into the grass adjacent to the campsite, apparently an unsuccessful attempt to catch breakfast. We were paddling by about 9:45 a.m.
Lunch was on a tiny sand beach just outside the mouth of the Chatham River. We ate cheese, salami, crackers, and bright red blood oranges while looking out over the several miles of open intensely blue water between us and Pavilion Key, where we would spend the night. The winds had been strong the past few days, and Sue had been listening to the weather radio at least once a day, worrying about this passage. But we're in luck, and we have a light cross wind and small chop - no problem. During lunch, Sue relates the story about the name of the key: The key was occupied by a pirate, who captured a duke's beautiful daughter, and built a "pavilion" for her, which became a local landmark.
We had a fast, uneventful paddle across the bay, and arrived at Pavilion Key about 1:30 p.m.. Our destination was obvious from a considerable distance, marked by a plastic outhouse silhouetted against the sky on a white sand spit at the north end of the key. After quickly setting up the tents on the sand, hopefully above the high tide line, we set off for shelling and exploring. The Gulf side of the island has at least a mile of sand beach, the tide was approaching its low, and the shelling was excellent -- a large variety of shapes and colors. Shortly after we arrived, a large group (at least eight) of sea kayakers appeared and set up camp. Fortunately, there is a lot of space and we never felt crowded.
Helen and I set out to circumnavigate the key. The first couple of miles were easy walking, mostly on sand beach, with an occasional short detour through open mangroves when the beach disappeared. As we approached the south end of the key, the beach disappeared completely, and the mangroves increasingly were dead, torn and shredded two years ago by Hurricane Andrew. A substantial part of this end of the island appears to have been eroded away, and the mangroves won't recover for many years. In compensation, the sandbar at the north end seems to be growing, and the long linear rows of mangrove shoots sprouting from exploratory underground roots are marching out across the sand.
As we rounded the south end of the island, the walking became much more difficult, alternating between wading in shallow water over rough oyster-covered rocks, and climbing through mangrove roots. This soon gave way to even worse conditions - absolutely impenetrable mangroves inland, and deep muck under the shallow water. We could see a sand-lined bay ahead, and so struggled on through this for a lot longer than we should have. When we reached the bay, we found a beautiful, secluded, campsite occupied by a couple who arrived on a fairly large power boat. Beyond the bay, the walking conditions deteriorated again. We could now see our destination, perhaps a mile away across a shallow gently curving bay solidly lined with mangroves. It was getting late, with the sun quite low, and we had walked about 75% of the way around the island. We debated on trying to wade or swim across the final mile or so of water, but decided it was probably too shallow to swim and too mucky to wade for most of the way. A very brief excursion inland convinced me that cutting across the long narrow island through the mangroves to the beach, which was probably only a few hundred yards away at this point, was hopeless.
Reluctantly, we reversed our course to struggle back the way we came. Our sandals (expensive name-brand Teva-lookalikes) have been threatening to pull off each time we try to lift a foot, after sinking almost knee-deep in the mud, in spite of tightening the straps as much as possible. They are also providing little protection from the ragged rocks covered with sharp and abrasive oyster shells. Then, one side of my heel strap pulled out from its anchor in the shoe sole, and the sandal was flopping loose. I could still walk on it on a level surface, but as soon as I stepped on a tilted rock or root, my foot slid off to the side - not fun. We eventually struggled back around the south point to the sand. But the tide was coming in, and much of the beach had vanished. At least it was solid and generally smooth under foot, even when walking in the water. We hurried, and made it back to camp with half an hour to spare before sundown.
While we sat on the sand and rested, a huge flock of tiny shore birds put on an imitation of a laser light show for us. These birds, which we couldn't identify, are black on top and white underneath. They flew in a tightly packed synchronized flock, wheeling and banking sharply over the water. As they turned one way, their white undersides would all simultaneously become visible, and then as they turned away, the white would disappear and the black tops would appear. They repeated this maneuver over and over, keeping us entertained for quite a while.
Then the sun set, in a clear but violently red sky, in the middle of the entire uninterrupted expanse of the Gulf of Mexico. I took a timed sequence of photos as it went down. Helen saw the fabled green flash just as the last bit of sun disappeared. Darkness descended with the suddenness typical of tropic oceans - always surprising to those of us used to the lingering twilight of northern continental evenings. From our vantage on a sandspit several miles out in the Gulf, many miles from the nearest streetlight, the night sky was spectacular and was fully visible in all directions. Again, there were no mosquitoes, and we sat in the dark, bundled up against the cold, for a long time. We went to sleep to the sound of the Gulf swell lapping on the beach.
In the morning, we awoke to dead silence. When we climbed out of the tent, we found that it was low tide, and the waterline had receded far out away from us, exposing great expanses of silt, sand, and shells. Raccoon tracks were in the sand everywhere, apparently a mother and a baby, with the tiny baby tracks circling several times around each tent, and around every piece of gear in the cooking area. Sue had been warned, and everything edible was well packed in "pickle barrels" (actually five-gallon snap-top buckets which had originally held drywall joint compound).
Our final half-day paddle was from Pavilion Key north across a couple of miles of open water and then through a maze of islands to Chokoloskee. Part way across the open stretch, we were startled to see a large power boat heading straight for us at full speed. It throttled down to an idle shortly before reaching us, and the occupants started waving their arms and pointing. It was a commercial tour boat, trying to give the customers a close-up view of a group of dolphins. They had in fact herded the dolphins straight to our canoes, and we sat and watched them swim around perhaps 50 feet from the canoes, before continuing on our way.
Once among the islands, we followed a marked channel, often quite narrow. Power boats came past us quite frequently. This is apparently the direct (only?) deep water route from the marinas at Everglades City and (via a canal) further inland, out to the popular fishing areas in the Gulf. We arrived at Chokoloskee about lunch time. This is the earliest settlement in this part of the Everglades, and was the site of an Indian trading post, built on one of the few pieces of dry land in the entire area, and having an artesian well - the only fresh water in the area. The old trading post operated until sometime in the 1950's, and is now a museum. There is now a road from Everglades City to Chokoloskee, built on a causeway extending several miles across the shallow water.
While we were eating lunch, our shuttle driver showed up with the PPS van and trailer. After touring the museum, we loaded up the gear and headed back to Everglades City to spend another night at the Rod and Gun Club. We had a good evening meal at the Oyster House, where I was startled when the piece of carrot cake I had ordered for dessert showed up with a lighted candle in the middle. A rousing rendition of "happy birthday" then reminded me of the occasion. Next morning, we picked up donuts and coffee and were driven to the Ft. Myers airport. We were picking up a rental car to drive on to Tampa and Orlando, visiting relatives. Sue and Jan were driving straight back to The Rochester area, since we were the last of their three groups.