This is the log of a 7-night solo kayak-sailing trip through the southern portion of the Florida Everglades. My boat, Hazel, is a Folbot Greenland II, my sail a Balogh 32 sq. ft. batwing, my outriggers the Balogh BOSS setup.
The Everglades is one of my very favorite places. If it’s not on your to-do list, it should be! Unless, of course, you hate long sandy beaches, mangrove mazes, alligators, dolphins, ibises, spoonbills, sunsets over open water, sunrises over swamps....
The trip began in the Flamingo area of Everglades National Park. Flamingo is at the southern tip of Florida, at the end of the road. Go any further and, one way or another, you’ll have wet feet. Straight ahead is Florida Bay; to the left is Snake Bight; to the right are the swamps and rivers and bays of the Everglades. Behind you is a single 40-mile road with Everglades on both sides. You are THERE!
Bright and early the day before my trip, I went to the Flamingo rangers’ station to buy a back-country camping permit. Given the scarcity of dry land, campsites must be reserved ahead of time. I signed up for 2 nights of camping on the beaches along the Florida Bay coast, 1 night at a campsite located on a rare patch of actual solid ground, and 4 nights of chickee camping. Chickees are raised wooden platforms ranging in size from 10 ft. by 10 ft. to 15 by 15, plunked down right over the water, right there in the middle of the Everglades, complete with roof and chemical toilet. Some are single platforms, others are doubles: two platforms connected by a walkway. Sleeping over the water, listening to dolphins puff and who-knows-what jump and splash – there’s nothing quite like it!
My planned route was: from Flamingo Marina out into Florida Bay, northward up the coast to Ponce de Leon Bay, inland to Oyster Bay, across Whitewater Bay, down the tangle of rivers and bays on the eastern side of Whitewater Bay, and back to Flamingo Marina via Tarpon Creek, Coot Bay and Buttonwood Canal.
The map below is a composite of aerial photos likely taken on different days and at different tides, hence the splotchiness.
DAY ONE (goal -- Flamingo Marina to East Cape Beach -- 10 miles): I launched from the Flamingo Marina into Florida Bay, sailing before a lovely 15-knot breeze. I had taken my time packing Hazel, and didn't leave until noon, knowing that the wind, which was blowing just as forecast, would have me to East Cape Beach in no time. Right. The wind promptly died. At 1 PM the GPS showed an average speed of .9 (that's point niner) knots, with 8 nautical miles to go and sunset at 6:30 PM. Uh oh. Glad I brought a flashlight. And an anchor. I decided that at 3 PM I would remove sail and amas and buckle down to serious stroking. You guessed it, at 3 PM the wind came in strong, but from dead ahead. Paddling against the breeze was slower than sailing, so I settled down for a long beat to windward, still glad of that flashlight. Made it to the beach just before nightfall. Nobody there but me and the critters crackling in the woods. Stars as thick as... soup.
DAY TWO (goal -- East Cape Beach to Northwest Cape Beach -- 10 miles): Not about to make the same mistake and risk an after-dark arrival, I launched early, 8 AM. Today the wind stayed strong and on my beam; I arrived at Northwest Beach before 11 AM. I was alone the whole day -- just me and a resident flock of terns who stood together on the beach, perfect weathervanes. The solitude was restorative and splendid.Solitude, except ... at night there were strange lights up the way, around the point. Hmmm. To be continued....
DAY THREE (goal -- Northwest Cape Beach to Graveyard Creek -- 11 miles): In the morning I forgot about the previous night's lights and indulged in the luxury of getting dressed standing up (i.e. outside my tent). Wouldn't you know -- gentleman callers coming up the beach and me with trou around my ankles. Oh well. Turns out a group arrived late last night, out for an early morning stroll.... Pleasantries were exchanged. I launched early again, sailed into Graveyard Creek in Ponce de Leon Bay around noon. But the Graveyard Creek camping area lacked the solitude to which I had become addicted; 3 speed boats were already there, with many boisterous guys lugging coolers back and forth. It's a 4-tent site, so there was plenty of room for me. But after the quiet of the beaches, I couldn't bring myself to join the partiers. So I ignored my Graveyard Creek permit and sailed on with the incoming tide, into Ponce de Leon Bay, up the Shark River complex (where the whorls of the tidal current are solid entities that one bumps into and bounces off of), and into Oyster Bay, taking a chance that the Oyster Bay chickee, for which I did not have a permit for that night, would be free. It was not. Cool -- no dry land to sleep on -- adventure beckoned!So I spent a happy, if buggy, night moored to a mangrove island, watching stars and moon through my mosquito netting, listening to fish jump beside me and creatures prowl through the arched roots of the mangroves. (Remind me to upgrade to no-see-em netting next time....)
DAY FOUR (goal -- Oyster Bay chickee): Arrived at 7 AM, after paddling all of 500 yards from my illegal overnight berth in the mangroves. Two separate groups of dolphins played near the chickee all afternoon, hunting and dancing in the current, but not commingling.On the other platform of the chickee was the amazing Rodney, who had bought his first kayak 4 months previously at age 65, and was now on his **return** trip along the Wilderness Waterway from Flamingo to Everglades City. He was routinely logging 20-mile days. Every night he would pull his fully-loaded kayak up onto the chickee single-handed. Rodney's company was a lovely way to ease out of solitude and back into the society of humans.
DAY FIVE (goal -- Oyster Bay chickee to North River chickee via Whitewater Bay -- 12 miles): The wind was a beaut -- gusting to 30 knots, per NOAA, as I sailed from Oyster Bay across Whitewater Bay and up the North River. Whitewater Bay is wide and long-fetched and aptly named! With my batwing reefed down to a postage stamp, I zoomed across the Bay. Gray-green waves washed over the bow and broke on the splashboard. The windward ama smacked into wavetops and showered me with salt spray. Hazel bounced along, taking the pounding beautifully, and the batwing did us both proud. What a ride! I was grateful to have a sail -- I doubt if I could have muscled my way across the Bay if I'd had to paddle.
I wish I had pictures of the scene at North River chickee, around 5:30 PM, the time when all sensible swampsters should have their dinner dishes done and be thinking about crawling into their bug-free tents for the night. The North River chickee is a small single platform, 10' X 10', which, in the words of Johnny Molloy’s _Paddlers Guide to Everglade National Park_ (a must-take-along for all Everglades back-country campers), "oozes solitude". Um hmmm. Being, in spite of what you may think, a sensible swampster, I was all set to retire, when I heard -- voices?? Huh? Happy voices, kids joking with each other -- what the.... It was late, and thunderstorms were forecast, "strong cold front" coming through; no traveller caught out without a chickee permit should be doing a whole lot of laughing at 5:30 on such a night. I checked my permit, checked it twice, and the tiny North River chickee was definitely all mine, all 100 sq. ft. of it. But I knew I couldn’t turn these poor off-track trekkers away.Finally the source of the voices appeared: a large green canoe carrying 3 teenage girls came around the bend. Er, OK. Then another large green canoe. And another. And another. Six large green canoes in all. 16 people. Ulp.They were an Outward Bound group, 12 teenage girls and 4 counselors, not interested in the chickee at all -- just wanted to use the outhouse. They spent the night rafted up in a nearby cove -- they have sleeping boards that they lash between their canoes. There was much rain and thunder and lightning during the night, but all came through just fine. They are on a 20-day trek! I was impressed!
DAY SIX (goal -- North River chickee through the Cutoff to Roberts River chickee -- 3 miles):Nice breeze. I had thought that in the maze of rivers on this side of Whitewater Bay I might have to paddle, but the channels were wider than I expected and the wind favorable -- managed to sail all the way.My Roberts River chickee mates were Ben, Mike and Gary, who travel with folding chairs complete with beverage holders. When I heard Mike ask Gary where the cheese grater was, I knew they were out of my league. They produced wonderful pizzas using an Outback Oven. No brownies, though, strange to say. I mean, if you have an oven....After dark an alligator surfaced beside the walkway that connects the two chickee platforms. Head afloat, eyes yellow and slitted, rest of body dangling down into the depths. Note to self: do not sit on chickee with legs hanging over the side.
DAY SEVEN (goal -- Roberts River chickee to Hells Bay chickee -- 8 miles):I left Ben, Mike and Gary preparing to make pancakes, and sailed whooshing down the Roberts River on a swiftly ebbing tide and a 15-kt breeze. Who would take the time to make pancakes with a ride like this waiting?!
Things changed, though, when I turned the corner into the Lane River and had to fight my way against wind and tide, tacking across the 30-foot-wide channel for 2 miles. Too stubborn to paddle -- this was a sailing expedition, dagnabbit!
The real fun began in Lane Bay, trying to find the passage into Hells Bay. Having too much fun sailing, I lost track of where I was and got myself good and turned around. Bow aimed west, looking shrubbery in the face, where there should be nothing but open water.... Yikes. Lost! After a calming peanut-butter sandwich, and a mental admonition to "Always trust your instruments", I buckled down with chart, compass and GPS, and managed to find a, um, creative route into Hells Bay. This was the only portion of the whole trip that I had had to paddle so far; the mangrove tunnel I'd found was so low and narrow that even with mast and outriggers shipped, I was unwittingly gathering more Sierra Stove fuel than I could possibly use.Made it to Hells Bay, finally, where my chickee-mates were again the gourmet trio of Gary, Mike and Ben. Still no brownies, but they invited me over for mango applesauce. Mmmm.
DAY EIGHT (goal -- Hell's Bay chickee to Flamingo Marina -- 13 miles):This was the last day. I was NOT ready to come in, but rules is rules. The permit was expired.
From Hell's Bay, I sailed down the East River and on into Whitewater Bay, where a passing Zodiac took my green sail for a navigational marker and set their course for me. No fooling. They told me so afterwards. Happily, they discovered their error and corrected their unrelenting collision course in time to avert disaster. I sailed on through Tarpon Creek into Coot Bay, then finally shipped the sail rig and paddled the 3 miles down windless Buttonwood Canal to Flamingo.
That's it. All good things must end, as the song says. But there are many more rivers to explore and chickees to visit. The Everglades remains at the top of my to-do list -- I will definitely be back!
