It’s Not for Everyone—Preface

Maybe it was the viewing after viewing of Woody’s open boat whitewater videos, or Bill Mason’s Path of the Paddle. Maybe it was the love of teamwork and watching the sheer poetry of tandem paddling. Maybe it was a secret desire to correct the mistakes of youth and prove an obedient partner. Or maybe it was the realization that you didn’t have to kneel in a flatwater canoe. Or the desire to have gear room for longer trips.

For whatever reason, I surprised both Woody and myself last October by suggesting that we buy a flatwater tandem canoe for our wilderness camping trips. We got a great deal on a brand new 16’ royalex Mad River Explorer from the good folks at the Coal River Canoe Livery, and I spent the next two months worrying that my worsening knee condition coupled with the kind of trips we wanted to take would prove it a foolish purchase.

It’s Not for Everyone—Part One

December 16, unseasonably balmy, up atop the car goes the canoe; but unlike our boating buddies heading to the Buckhannon, we were heading for the Everglades. Christmas vacation in the Everglades — it’s not for everyone.

Wilderness trip permits in the Everglades can only be obtained 24 hours in advance of your start date. They cannot be reserved in advance. And it’s just as well, because weather, water, and tides determine to a large extent where you go. We had hoped to start our trip with a paddle to East Cape on the Gulf Coast, one of the few places you can camp for more than one night. But a cold front was coming in, with high winds and moderate chop on the bay. We’d been blown back twice before in our kayaks, so we knew not to try it in a high profile canoe. However, cold temperatures and wind were just what we needed for another trip we’d been wanting to do — the 7.7 mile mosquito-rich West Lake/Alligator Creek Canoe Trail.

West Lake had been closed for repair until just recently. As we pulled up to the boat ramp, we could see waiting stacks of new shingles on the roof, but even though it was 10 a.m., there were no roofers or visitors in sight — only the ranger waiting for takers for his guided boardwalk talk. We quickly unloaded the canoe and headed down the ramp. So used to the head-first approach of kayaks was I, that I had the bow at water’s edge before Woody directed me to turn to get the boat parallel for loading the gear. About half way through the turn, my foot crossed that slippery line where lake laps pavement and SPLAT, I was down. The worst had happened. I’d twisted my knee. I’d also sprained my little finger and hit my cheekbone hard on the pavement, a result of not wanting to let go of that brand new canoe. But nothing broken, no blood, and apparently no cartilage shredded. God is good.

The boat ramp is actually on a large Walden-like pond that obscures West Lake, which is accessed through a small channel to the right. We were still loading gear when a couple of Ohio boys arrived for a day of fishing on West Lake. We warned them about the ramp, but to no avail. The tall one headed the bow of the canoe straight down to the water’s edge and SPLAT, was down on his derričre, and up again in a flash as if he thought he could keep his feet from getting wet. He was still muttering about his wet shoes as they headed out around the corner to the passage into the lake.

Directly we headed out, too, only to pass them in the channel coming back. “That’s a BIG lake out there!” the tall one exclaimed. Yes it is. It’s a long lake, a little over 3 miles, running east and west, and more than a mile across north and south. The trail starts at the northwest entrance and follows the west and south shoreline almost to the far east end. Since the wind was to our back, we opted more or less for a straight line down the center to the other end. It took us about an hour to reach the buoy that marked the channel from West Lake into Long Lake. Without the buoy the passage would be hard to find, as no opening in the mangrove thicket is apparent until you are on top of it, and you must duck under the branches to enter the canoe-wide entrance. This tunnel-like short passage was an interesting contrast to the wide-open lake.

We followed a 2’ baby gator out into the light and wind on Long Lake. A compass bearing would have been helpful on Long Lake for a shorter paddle, but we ended up following the south shore since the wind had shifted to the south. That route, however, keeps the only marker out of sight for a mile. After that first mile, the lake narrows down for another half mile until it enters Mangrove Creek.

Mangrove Creek is a lovely intimate setting with trees hanging out over the water and birds everywhere---anhinga, and green-back heron, and belted kingfishers, and tricolored heron, and wood stork. It feeds into a very shallow lake, The Lungs, which at our passing was filled with birds all around--- roseate spoonbills, wood storks, herons, egrets, white pelicans, and osprey. The extreme shallowness and the stiff head wind made for a hard paddle down the north handle and into the west body of The Lungs.

Half way down the west shoreline of The Lungs is an unobtrusive weathered post marking the entrance of Alligator Creek. Unlike the Hell’s Bay Canoe Trail, there are few markers on this trail and they all, with the exception of the one on Long Lake, blend quietly into the background, contributing to the wilderness experience.

Alligator Creek was every bit as intimate as Mangrove Creek and more so for its twists and turns through the mangrove lined swamps and marshes. There were fewer birds here and everywhere was evidence of its namesake---matted down spots along the bank, narrow sloughs leading back through the trees into the swamps, big splashes as we’d round a bend. Staying firmly in the center of the stream seemed wise and I was careful to do so.

On these narrow water-ways through the mangroves, the bow is just as responsible for maneuvering as the stern, and Woody approved of my initiative here. So when, as he propelled us around a turn, I yelled, “WHOA, BABY!” and started to back-paddle, he did too. We narrowly averted a head on collision with an 8’ alligator that had just surfaced in the middle of the creek as we rounded the bend. My initial reaction had been to freeze and take in the moment, with thoughts of, “This is so cool, man!” But it quickly became apparent that evasive action was required. I think that realization came to the gator and me at the same time---at about 6 feet, because just as I yelled and slapped my paddle in for the pull back, with a mighty swish of his powerful tail he did a turning dive and covered us---me, mostly---with foamy swamp water. Being in the stern and this being up close and personal, all Woody got to see was the water coming at us. Although we were paddling down stream, the closer we got to the mouth of Alligator Creek the more swift the current reversal became, and soon we were surrounded by an upstream flow of foam from the shallow bight into which the creek empties. We thought that indicated high tide but we learned later from the rangers that Garfield Bight is so shallow and so engulfed by Shark and Porcupine Points, that it was more likely caused by the very strong winds that were actually blowing water into the bight and forcing it up stream.

What with the upstream wind, current, disgusting foam, and my by now throbbing swollen knee, we decided to take out at the campsite rather than paddling the few hundred feet to the bight for a look-see, a decision we regretted later for the loss of setting perspective. At the take-out for the campsite we were greeted by the resident gator who was lying in the warm shallow water of the landing spot. Fortunately for us, the air was quite cool now and the bank and campsite had lost its appeal. We had heard many stories of campers having to vie with the gators for the spot, but the beast graciously withdrew as we approached. Also withdrawn somewhere were the vast hordes of mosquitoes that normally inhabit this spot.

The campsite was one of the few ground sites in the Everglades. The cleared packed marl area could have held 3 or 4 tents. A primitive site with no facilities, it was located on the edge of a coastal prairie that was ringed and dotted with black mangrove and covered with thick brushy growth, some succulent, some woody, but all foot tangling. With my bum knee, I wished I’d taken Woody’s interest in a camp commode more seriously.

We had camp set up by 3:30 PM and sat around enjoying the beautiful afternoon. The front passed through at 4:00 PM, bringing a brief shower, a lovely rainbow, and brisk wind from the north. After dinner the sky cleared, there was no moon, and with the openness of this site, we were treated to a great starry night. The morning dawned sunny, breezy, and cool---a perfect day for paddling the 7.7 miles back. The north wind on West Lake sent whitecaps across the bow and gave us a good workout. Back at the boat dock the roofers were up laying the shingles, the first people we’d seen since the Ohio boys yesterday morning.