OK Slough, Fakahatchee Strand Preserve, Collier-Seminole State Park, Blackwater River, swamp walk, Picayune Strand State Forest, Marco Island-Faka Union Canal boat trip
(posted from Collier County (East Naples), FL library)
(this post covers 4-10 March, 2008)
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Monday, 10 March-
I stayed up late updating the blog and didn’t get to bed until after midnight. I had a wonderfully quiet night at the “Tee Canal” campground and woke early. As I rose and looked out the window, I could see something odd about the campsite number sign. It took me a minute to get my glasses but then I saw a beautiful red-shouldered hawk perched on the sign, only about thirty feet away. I slowly opened the door, thinking it would take off at the merest hint of someone nearby but it remained in place, just looking at me, as if curious. I took some photos and walked in a half-circle around it and it still didn’t budge. I went back to my routine and that was interrupted a few minutes later by a loud ruckus—now there were two of them! They perched near each other across the canal for twenty minutes or so, then came swooping right by the van, alighting in a nearby tree. Incredible!
I rigged up some temporary nav lights for the boat using Wal-mart battery-operated ones but I’m unhappy with the arrangement—it’s too likely they will give me problems. I’m not quite sure what to do about this. It’s easy enough to say I’ll only boat during daylight hours but you never know…
I decided to go back to Marco Island, launch the fishing boat there and see if I can navigate to the lower end of the Blackwater River—the area I had been boating a few days ago. It’s a nice day, temps in the low 80’s, a ten-knot breeze from the south-east--- the basic direction I want to go. At least if I break down the wind will be pushing me back the direction I came. Also- that wind will make for a nice ‘downhill’ (downwind) run late in the day.
Before leaving the Picayune Strand State Forest, I stopped at the forestry office and talked with the chief ranger. The basic work of plugging the canal between the Picayune and the Fakahatchee is mostly complete but it left a series of ponds. The idea was to eradicate it completely but the state project ran short of funding so they turned the canal into a line of small ponds. When money becomes available they will finish the job.
I asked the ranger about the trucks hauling cabbage palms out of the state forest. I saw four or five big flat trailers loaded heavily with bound-up cabbage palms. This turns out to be a timber sale. As the canal blocks do their job, the water table will rise. Cabbage palms don’t like wet feet and will die—thus the timber sale. The ranger said he’d give me a cabbage palm if I like. He said he’d sign the permit, I’d just have to remove the tree.
The ranger (Bill? Bob?) is a big fan of the Florida panther and he gave me an excellent booklet with great pictures not only of the panthers but also of their tracks, their scat, comparison drawings and photos of tracks and scat of bobcats, dogs, coyotes, and bears. We would have loved to have this brochure last year. Labashi was frustrated with the lack of detail in the ‘Scats and Tracks of the Southest’ book she had bought (actually only one of three or four we’ve bought over the last two years).
After the ranger station I headed out via Everglades Blvd to Golden Gate Blvd and then down 951 toward Marco Island. While still going through Naples I stopped at the Wal-mart and bought even more gear for the boat, this time five open crates for storage of the spare gas cans and water container.
Of course I had to stop at the new Marco Island Starbucks on the way through so that put me at the launch ramp at 1400. I paid my $5 launch fee and was on the water by 1430.
I first went out the main channel, just to turn around and see how it lines up with the big condos. You could of course just point in the general direction of the condos but there are some shoals to avoid. But I found if you can see between the two biggest condos, you are pretty much in line with the channel. If one of the buildings overlaps the others, you are headed for shoals.
I then headed east for Coon Key Light. It was more or less at the end of the channel into Marco Island when coming from the east and a point of departure to plan the course to Turtle Key and the entrance to the Blackwater.
I settled into motoring along at about 7-8 miles per hour, a comfortable pace against the waves. If I’d speed up the boat would jump from wave to wave, landing with a WHUMP and throwing salt spray all over my glasses.
I had no real problems figuring out the course though one marker was entirely missing from the GPS BlueCharts. But I eventually found Coon Key Light and marked it as a waypoint, then pointed the boat due East until I began to pick up land on my port side and I could put the cursor on the land-form and it would identify the Key name and I could follow along on the paper chart.
I decided I’d go on past the Blackwater and go to the Faka Union Canal (which leads to another launch ramp I know.) The entrance to the Faka Union runs alongside Panther Key and I had seen camping symbols on Panther Key (as well as White Horse Key and Hog Key) on the water-proof version of the chart for the area. So the mission for the day was to look for camping areas even though my charts don’t show them. It soon became obvious that the camping areas were about the only areas not covered by thick mangroves. I didn’t see anything that looked like a great camping spot on Panther Key (the beach was sloped too steeply) but saw what I believe is the ‘right’ place on Hog Key... but there was a head-boat parked right there and I’m sure the fishermen wouldn’t appreciate me coming so close.
But at White Horse Key I found three guys camping on a beautiful open spit of beach, two small motorboats nearby. I stopped and chatted with the friendly guys as they built their evening campfire. They were curious about me too and it turns out they are very familiar with the tee-canal campground I was in last night. It’s amazing how quickly we became comfortable chatting and how much we had in common. One of the boats was a Foldboat and here was another big fan of Foldboats (the jury is still out for me). The other boat was a Gheenee, a largish fiberglass square-stern canoe. I’ve seen a lot of them down here. This one had a 25-horse motor that looked way too big for it.
As darkness seemed to be coming on quickly I said my goodbyes and roared off for Marco Island. It took me about two and a half hours out and an hour and fifteen back. I watched the needle on the little three-gallon gas tank and it was way out at Coon Key Light that the needle stopped swinging and just pointed to empty. I had another tank so wasn’t worried about running out of gas but wanted to see how long it would last. Surprisingly I made it the whole way back to the launch ramp. After loading the boat I peeked in the tank—there was barely enough gas to wet the inner bottom of the tank. I had to be within minutes of running out.
I varied the throttle quite a bit—fairly slow (7-8 mph) going out but double that and more coming back. The best estimate I could come up with regarding fuel usage was about a gallon per hour for this boat-motor combination and for this trip I did better—I was out almost four hours on the three-gallon tank.
After loading up the boat I drove to a new mall area not far from the library. I ordered a pizza from an upscale Italian restaurant but could only finish half of it. The taste was super, I just don’t have room for that much food.
After my pizza I sat in the Publix parking lot blogging, then went to the library to connect up to wi-fi, talk to Labashi and send in my update.
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Sunday, 9 March-
My cold is still hanging on after all this time. I wanted to go into Naples today but started out with Marco Island. I stopped at Cobraxas Park, where I had heard there’s a $5 launch ramp. There I met a sea-kayaker who owns a local kayak shop and we talked about the relative merits of his Current Designs Juka and my (also Current Designs) Sirocco. He had been out playing in the waves while wearing a waterproof helmet-cam and was stoked to see the footage.
I picked up a few necessities and was studying the map in the Winn-Dixie parking lot and was thinking I’d go into Naples to the Starbucks and perhaps ride my bike there. But as I pulled out of the lot, there was a new Starbucks across the street. After my fix, I toured the nearby Isle of Capri community because the kayak-guy had said it’s great kayaking territory. I’ll have to drop in and ask more about where to launch from, etc...
The as I approached the turn-off for Naples, I came upon a new Wal-mart. I’ve been planning to buy spare gas cans and a water container so did that this afternoon. I was also surprised to learn that it would be okay to stay overnight in the lot—something I had heard was forbidden in all Naples-area Wal-marts.
By this time it was getting later in the day and I wanted some time in the Picayune Strand State Forest. I gassed up the van, boat, and spares in Naples and drove to the Everglades Blvd entrance to the Forest. I drove down and across the Picayune to the Fakahatchee Strand entrance, then parked the van and boat at a key vantage point and looked for panthers, bobcats, or bears—this was the area where the motorcyclists had seen the panther and where we had seen a bobcat last year.
Just a dark a car slowly came down the Stewart Road and stopped alongside. A young German guy said he knew he could go back across the Fakahatchee to a hard road but also thought there was another way out of the state forest which would bring them closer to their goal—Naples. I told the guy he only had one turn to make but he had to make the right one and began checking the GPS to figure out where he should turn. I then decided it would be better if I just back-tracked the few miles to the key intersection and pointed the way; I was ready to pack it in for the night anyway.
I led them to the right intersection and chatted for a few minutes about Germany. They were very relieved to be headed for civilization, particularly now that darkness had fallen.
At the key intersection they turned north and I turned south to a campground we had stayed at last year. There I met camp-hosts Orville and Betty from northern Ontario. When I showed them Mocha Joe’s front license plate (reading “Northland Ford—The Pas and Flin-Flon”, we became instant old-buddies. Orville is 76 and losing his memory. He must have asked three times which campsite I selected and kept repeating and repeating. But I also learned he owns two airplanes, including a Super-Club clone he built from scratch. He has been flying bush planes for over 40 years. Interesting, interesting guy. Can’t remember my name or where I parked but he knew all the planes I could name.
I finally got back to the van around 2130 and blogged for a few hours before hitting the hay.
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Saturday, 8 March-
Today was swamp-walk day. I had learned of this swamp walk from Mike Owen at the Fakahatchee Strand State Preserve. I showed up a 0930 for the 1000 walk, thinking I might have to explain myself since I hadn’t been able to get a slot and I was just there hoping for a cancellation. But that wasn’t a problem. Ranger John Elting explained they try to keep it to 11 people but a few more or less doesn’t make a real difference.
John and Ranger Bill _____ organized the group and talked a bit about the Fakahatchee Strand and it’s importance. Then Bill brought out the Unimog, a military-surplus flat-bed truck with benches bolted to the bed. I happened to be standing next to fellow-participant ‘Rob’ who leaned over and said ‘I’ve done that before and it’s not pretty—you can ride with me if you want’. That turned out to be a terrific option. Rob and I hit it off immediately. He’s a codes-enforcement officer for West Palm Beach (yeah, the ritzy people) but is as down-to-earth as they come.
After a twenty-minute drive into the depths of the Fakahatchee, we parked and began a quarter-mile walk up the road. John and Bill were looking intently for something and it turned out to be a pink ribbon— the start of our trail for today.
We had been told to wear long pants and tie-up shoes. Back at the parking lot we had asked about loading up with insect repellent but John said he hadn’t seen a mosquito in a year and a half. I couldn’t believe that given the very healthy crop of mozzies at my campsite just 40 minutes away but it did turn out to be true—we didn’t see a mosquito all day.
The eleven of us ducked into the swamp and from there it was a single-file walk for the next four hours. The first half-hour was relatively dry—just a soaked foot here and there—but then we entered the slough. In the slough we were walking in a foot to two feet of water for much of the time, constantly scanning the trees. Along the way John and Bill provided commentary about the orchid plants we were seeing… including ‘Rigid’, Nocturnal’, ‘Dirty’, ‘Ribbon’, and ‘Ghost’ orchids as well as several other varieties of air plants (epiphytes).
Our walk was casual and low-key so it was a bit of a surprise to realize we were lost about two hours in. I think what happened is our attention was diverted by seeing a large turtle shell (with some turtle-parts still attached) right near a turn-off. We continued down the slough past the end of the ribbons and it was another 20 minutes before we all realized we hadn’t seen a ribbon lately. I enjoyed participating with the rangers in a cross-slough search to connect up with the ribbon trail but that all proved fruitless and we had to backtrack to the turtle shell and see our mistake.
We had brought along snacks for lunch and broke near a gator-hole for lunch while John talked more about the gators and Bill found some excellent examples of orchids for us.
After our late lunch we connected up with a tram-trail and headed out. One of our group picked out (saw) a baby cottonmouth along the trail and we had an impromptu talk on cottonmouths. And we kept a close eye out for Mother Cottonmouth in that area.
By 1600 we had circled back to the parking area and drove back to the ranger station. But I had a problem. At lunch I had discovered I had dropped my sunglasses somewhere between the turtle shell and the gator-hole. So after saying my goodbyes, I drove Mocha Joe back to the parking area, fired up the GPS, and went looking for my sunglasses.
The new GPS did fine in the heavy understory, never losing a signal. I marked off three waypoints, each at a confusing intersection or turn as I followed the tracks of our group backwards. As it drew on 1700 I came to the end of anything I could discern as a trail and now it was all just pools of water. And that’s where I ended up giving up. If I had had a waypoint for the gator-hole (or turtle-shell) I could have continued on. But without that I was walking-around blind. I could backtrack by using my GPS track but once I lost the footprints, I was done—and thinking of rapidly-approaching darkness.
But I do have to say the swamp there was very calming. The end-of-day quiet was upon the swamp and it was very pleasant.
But enough was enough. I high-tailed it out of there by following my GPS track backwards and only once thought I’d be in trouble if the GPS batteries died.
I was out to the dirt road by 1730 and shortly thereafter saw two motorcycles pass by. I took my time loading up and driving out but came upon the motorcyclists about a mile above the ranger station—they had stopped for a break,
I pulled up alongside and there met Rick and Dan from Johnstown, PA. They had been over in the Naples area and the GPS had told them the Jane’s Scenic Road was a shortcut. It didn’t mention it’s dirt and only wide enough for one car to pass.
But Rick and Dan were having a fine day. Dan said they had seen a cougar in the Picayune Strand State Forest, right on the road. When I asked if he was sure it was a cougar/panther and not a bobcat, he said ‘Want to see a picture?” He pulled out a fancy Nikon pro-style digital camera and showed me a spectacular picture of a Florida panther sitting on its haunches in the middle of Stewart Road. They had seen the panther at a distance and stopped to take photos. As they slowly approached after awhile, the panther ambled off the road and into the bush. INCREDIBLE!!!
After saying goodbye to the bikers I drove back to the Tamiami Trail and to the campsite for an extra-hot shower, then went on to the East Naples Library to Skype with Labashi for an hour or so beore heading back to the campsite.
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Friday, 7 March-
Today seemed like ANOTHER boating day. I decided I’d like to go out a dead-low tide and today was to be a windy one--- 10-15 knots in the morning, 15 to 20 in the afternoon. I knew I could hide in the mangroves of the Blackwater River all day and not have to worry about the wind but I also wanted to venture out into the Ten Thousand Islands to see how the boat did. Our fishing boat is a low-freeboard bass-style jon-boat and I could see it getting pooped (filled with a wave from the back) if the right combination of waves and wind was out there. On the other hand, any exposure to waves would be relatively short—I could hide in the lee of an island and pick more rugged conditions to try (or not!)--- perfect for seeing what this boat will do.
My trip down the river was routine though I did manage to hit an unseen sand bar and unexpectedly shut down the engine. But it started right up, no harm done.
My theory of hiding in the lee of islands had a bit of a setback with the marked channel took me across a very exposed little bay with a strong wind from the port side. The boat handled it fine but it became clear I had better pay attention.
Once down out of the river, I realized the waves weren’t bad at all. The wind was blowing directly up the incoming tide, knocking down waves if anything. I bet it would be a different story with this wind coming in against the tide… I’d have steep-sided standing waves and the predicted 20-knot winds would give the boat a beating.
But I had it good today. I slowed down as I motored directly into the wind and did have some wind-blown spray of I allowed the bow to point off a bit. But after an hour or so of fun, I found a nice, big lee-protected bight and shut down the engine to have lunch. I had noticed a difference in water color in this area and now that I was close could see that most of the bight was clear, green water while the wind-driven water was downright muddy-looking. I happened to look right just before turning into this bight and saw a wonderful sight--- a ray, most likely a sting ray—came out of the water and skimmed along for a few feet, seeming to catch the wind just right for a little recreational sailing.
While lunching I noticed a fin following the demarcation line between the clear and roiled water--- a dolphin apparently fishing the line, i.e., watching for fish blundering out of the murk into sudden clear water. After following the demarcation line across the bight, the dolphin circled back close to the boat... very cool.
After lunch I checked the gas tank and thought I’d better not take a chance in running it too close—I’d better head back. The trip up the river was uneventful save seeing swallow-tail kites again at marker 23.
I started today’s trip earlier and end earlier so after taking the boat back to my campsite, I headed for Everglades City for the afternoon. I wanted to see the Rod and Gun Club, which is a land mark and is mentioned several times in Randy Wayne White’s Doc-Ford-series books. I enjoyed seeing the old-time-rich-guy areas--- the inn reception area, the bar, and the famous veranda overlooking the Barron River. But I was also a little put out by being completely ignored. There were only a few people eating on the veranda but otherwise the place was empty and what few employees came through seemed very intent on their chores and having no time for me.
I had hoped to get a drink but the bar wasn’t open and nothing seemed to be happening on the veranda, so I left.
I stopped at the Cuban café in Chokoloskee but only long enough to learn they had closed 15 minutes ago. (Who closes at 1500 on a Friday?)
I moved on to a coffee house we had visited last year—the Big House Coffee House. But now it had been sold and had been re-christened “JT’s Gallery”. I had a good key-lime tart and a decent iced-mocha while chatting with the new owners—Pittsburgh transplants Lundy and (I didn’t get his name!).
After touring the waterside areas looking for interesting things, I returned to the Rod and Gun Club after 1700, looking for a mojito and dinner. But my waiter surprised me-- he had never heard of a mojito. So I went for SoCo and Coke—sorry no SoCo (but at least he had heard of it). How about Crown and Coke? Nope. Jack and Coke—finally.
I ordered one of the specials on the board as I entered only to learn the board had not been changed since lunch and that was no longer available. I finally said I’d just have a bowl of clam chowder. And that was poor. It tasted like all the ingredients for a decent chowder had just been put together and nuked on the spot.
So I was about to write off the Rod and Gun Club entirely when an interesting thing happened. My waiter, Scott (who reminded me of Gomer Pyle) apologized and said he had only been working there a few days. And if he had his choice, he’d go back to his real profession—gator wrestling. I was speechless at first but when Scott came back with another drink (one I hadn’t ordered) I asked what is the most important thing you need to know as a gator-wrestler. He thought a second and said “Well, you know they work for tips--- fingertips, that is. Always know what you’re doing with your fingertips”. For some reason, that broke the ice. A bit later Scott told me his specialty is kissing a gator on the mouth. I asked how he does it. He said “Well what you DON’T do is approach a gator on your hands and knees—they will rip you apart.” He went on to describe the specialty he developed as wriggling up to the gator from behind until you get even with it’s snout, then planting a kiss on the side of the snout. He said Indian gator wrestlers had seen him do it and couldn’t believe it. And once in the middle of his ‘act’, the gator flopped his head up on Scott’s cheek—and went to sleep. Scott says he can now get a gator to do that at his will and that’s part of his act. He says he has offered to teach the Indian gator wrestlers how to do that but they want no parts of it.
With an act like that, why the heck is he waiting tables, you ask? Scott said his former employer had closed down and is in the process of re-organizing. He believes he’ll be back wrestling gators by next year and is just filling in with the waiter job.
So, OK, I’m a sucker for a story. The good news is my drink and chowder ‘only’ cost me $14 but I left him a $4 tip.
I drove back across to Chokoloskee to look around some more, particularly at the boats coming in to the launch ramp. Afterwards I tried the ‘World Famous Oyster House’, thinking all I want is a shrimp cocktail. But they had fresh hush-puppies so I had a side of those too.
Afterwards I drove back to Collier-Seminole and slept very soundly, dreaming of gators.
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Thursday, 6 March-
Today seemed like a boating day. At the Collier-Seminole ramp I found the tide had just hit dead-low and since I wasn’t familiar with the sandbars of the Blackwater River, I thought I’d work on the boat in the marina parking lot until the tide came up a bit. I finally got around to installing a traditional compass and also a good marine-quality holder for the GPS.
While I was working a couple parked nearby, donned head-nets and started toward the salt-marsh trail. The guy said something like: “We’re going for treasure” and he just had the look of a geocaching geek. When they came out I introduced myself as a fellow geocacher and had a nice, long conversation with ‘Pirate’ and ‘Wench’, two former Pittsburghers who now live in Naples and spend much of their free time geocaching.
I launched the boat and started my exploration of the canal and the Blackwater River. My GPS BlueCharts showed the wildly-snaking river banks but did not show depth readings until far down the river. And within a quarter-mile the mangroves closed in to the point where I would have had a tough time passing another boat. And since the tide was out the mangrove roots were much more exposed and seemed all the more ominous. This is the stuff bad dreams are made of. In the darkest places all I would have needed was to have a snake to drop into the boat and I’d have gone screaming back to Mommy.
Actually it was very cool. The mangroves had an odd octopus-look to them but the bank is actually very clean and uncluttered underneath and the trees are reaching toward each other from the opposite banks, forming mangrove tunnels in the narrower side-passages.
I motored out for about an hour before reaching the main part of the river and the first marker on my BlueChart. The bay soon opened up and I ran from marker to marker, the GPS helping me spot the next marker by showing me graphically about where it should be. At marker 2, that was the end of the river--- I was in the Ten Thousand Islands.
For the next two hours I wandered about at a fairly low speed, matching up the visual display on the GPS with the paper chart and, most importantly, with the real thing. I began to discern differences between the islands—some appeared to be 100 per cent mangrove, others mostly mangrove but with stone or sand beaches and driftwood. As I ventured away from Marker 2 I set waypoints for my return, yet kept trying to pick out visual references in case the GPS died.
I soon saw Turtle Key off in the distance and a camping area nearby, occupied by a few tents. I wanted to go look but thought the campers might resent others approaching their little slice of Eden so I stayed well offshore until past their sight line. It didn’t matter much, for I soon turned retraced my waypoints to the river entrance and headed back.
I made it back to the launch ramp by 1630 or so and took my good old time packing up the gear. I asked one of the rangers if it would be possible to hook up a hose to a spigot somewhere and flush the saltwater residue from the engine. He told me of a secret spigot hidden near a particular light pole. That was perfect. I only carry a ten-foot hose but the placement of the spigot allowed me to back the boat in close and it worked out great. That’s one thing I learned in my visit to the Honda dealer a few weeks ago—the el-cheapo ($4.17 at Wal-mart!) ear-muffs-style flush attachment works fine for this engine.
That evening I decided to go to the campground’s screen-house to work on the blog. I unknowingly arrived just a few minutes before the start of the weekly ice-cream social but it didn’t take me long to get into it. A buck-a-dip, have as much as you want—so long as what you want is strawberry, vanilla, or Neopolitan. Toward the end of the social hour, in came my neighbors in the campsite across the street. I had seen their license plate said Hanover, PA and had introduced myself briefly but now we had a chance to talk. Charlie and Joanne are from Gettysburg and we did the normal chit-chat about the weather, how long we’re down for, etc. But then the conversation took an interesting turn. Charlie (a retiree from NOAA) and Joanne have made the mainland Mexico trip—three trips, in fact. And they did it in a group. The trip is planned out closely by a commercial travel company and they supply a ‘wagon-master’ (trip leader) and a ‘tailgunner’ (someone to follow up at the back of the pack). They spoke enthusiastically of all three trips. The weren’t particularly fond of the 7 a.m, wake-up call but they liked the early stops which allowed them to explore on their own a bit (usually walking or biking) in the latter part of the day.
With our late start and long talk about the Mexico trips we closed the place and I put off my blogging till another day.
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Wednesday, 5 March-
I woke refreshed at the OK Slough. We had some rain overnight, actually a bit of a gully-washer but only for 20 minutes or so. I set out promptly but then curiosity got the better of me just a few miles down the road. Abutting the massive OK Slough property is another Wildlife Management Area, this one called “Spirit of the Wild”. As I drove by I noticed it looked quite different from the Slough.
I drove in to the check-station and there met Leonard, a local old-timer who has lived all his life here but did get to see some of the world in his former career as a truck-driver. Leonard told me “they don’t pay me hardly nothin’---- but then again I don’t DO nothin’ a’tall —so it’s actually a pretty good deal”. A Cracker optimist, he is.
Spirit of the Wild is another old cattle ranch and until this year the land was leased (to ‘Albritten’, I think he said) but their lease ran out and there are no cattle this year. I liked my drive around the ranch. The stone roads pretty much follow canals, though Leonard said the state has filled in many of the old farmer-dug canals. Water levels are low and Leonard believes there will be a cycle of high water levels. He believes the state is foolish to fill the small farmer-dug canals. As a young man he had seen nearly the whole ranch area covered in water and when the cycle goes the other way, Leonard believes the state is going to wish it had those canals back.
My mid-day drive didn’t yield much as far as wildlife—two deer, a little turtle caught half-way across the road as I came along, and interesting birds, particularly a yellowish one (a meadowlark?) which seemed to challenge the van. It made several swoops at the van before it lit nearby, apparently in anger. I have no idea what that was about.
By lunchtime I was on my way again. Leonard had suggested I see Trafford Lake if I wanted to take a boat ride; it had been recently dredged of its overwhelming load of vegetation. I did go to the lake and look around but it was dark-water and the day was very hot and I didn’t see a point to it. But maybe there’s a world-record largemouth in there (actually I’m a little too far south for that, I think).
I continued south through Immokalee and decided I wasn’t going to pay $3.34 for a gallon of gas—I’d wait for Everglades City where I thought there might be some competition.
Not far south from Immokalee is the Florida Panther Preserve. As I drove down 29 I marveled at the multi-million dollar panther (and other wildlife) crossings. As I drove along a sign said ‘Panther Crossing, Next Seven Miles’, then ‘There are only about 30 panthers remaining” and “Please drive CAREFULLY”. Then I crossed four or five of these massive bridges/underpasses (cars go over, panthers and bears go under). Each crossing has a half-mile or so of fence along the road to direct the wildlife toward the opening (I remember talking to someone about these last year and he said someone had set up a motion-sensitive camera at one and had indeed caught photos of panthers, bears,
I soon saw the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve coming up and remembered the visitor center had been closed before so I’d check. Sure enough the sign out front said Closed. But when I tried the door it opened and my fate was set for the next two hours.
There I met Mike Owen, state biologist for the 87,000-acre Fakahatchee Strand. I first thought Mike needs to take a chill-pill. He is so animated it’s a little disconcerting at first. But I soon caught on to the fact that here’s a national treasure—a guy who lives and breathes the biology of sloughs—and specifically strand sloughs. The Fakahatchee Strand is like a large, very-gently-sloped riverbed. The sloughs are pools of water, each very slowly draining toward the Everglades. This marshy area is the northern-most extension of--- get this--- THE AMAZON so far as the types of orchids to be found here. Mike calls it (jokingly) ‘the Florida Amazon’. If I understand correctly, the idea is that hurricanes bring seeds of orchids and (other plants of course) north into Florida, perhaps even much further north. But they survive only in the Slough.
Mike showed me replicas of ghost orchids, very pretty delicate little white flowers. They are pollinated only by a giant moth (with a six-inch wingspan) (Sorry, I forgot the name of the moth!)
Mike is a talker and the more he talked the more fascinated I became. I asked how they decide where they are going to work in such a large area. He pulled out a map which shows the ‘trams’, old logging railroad beds (and then, of course, he had to pull out the historic photos of the narrow-guage rails laid on round, untreated ties, the men working away, and the engine used to do the heavy work). He also explained that three months ahead of the cypress-fellers, a crew of ‘groovers’ cut a circle around the tree and through the cambium layer. The tree would ‘drain’ for three months before the cutting crew came in, making the job of hauling the old-growth cypress that much easier. And why the cypress? It was a World-War-Two thing. Early in the war the mine-sweepers had to have cypress hulls because the mine-detecting technology had not yet progressed to the point where it could be mounted in a metal hull. Later, degaussing techniques changed this but by that time the old-growth cypress was largely cut and gone. Mike’s face lit up as he described what the Fakahatchee Strand would have looked like if there had not been a World War Two and the need for old-growth cypress.
Oh, yeah. I was explaining how they decide how where to work. Mike showed me how the old tram lines had been grids themselves so the whole Strand is overlaid with a gridwork. He and a work team of a few people, six or seven at most, will decide to go look at a particular area and then use the grid system both to locate the start and stop points and also to log the results. They enter the area via the ditches along the tram lines. The tram lines themselves are of course mini-hammocks and are overgrown with all kinds of nasty stuff. But the tram lines were created by digging a ditch on both sides of the tram line and piling up the dirt in the middle. So the rangers travel in the water-filled ditch—so long as they can. In practice, some travel on one side of the tram line, some the other. When one side becomes clogged, they switch and, of course, sometimes have to find a way around. Eventually they come to a slough and enter to explore it, the team spreading out across the slough to document. Along they way they are identifying, measuring, and logging everything from the plant and wildlife found to the depth of the slough, the apparent maximum depth of this slough (there’s a high-water mark on cypress knees, for example)...and some complicated stuff.
Now think of this--- Mike started poring over the map (old topo maps, by the way, show the tram lines!) and pulled over his calculator. He started with the typical grid the team would work and determined they cover about four acres a day. And he just loved the idea that he can go to a new grid every work day and not cover the entire park in his career. Mike is a 14-year employee of the State Park system and plans to put in the rest of his 30 right here at the Fakahatchee Strand. Then he’s thinking of doing something like research on freshwater dolphins in the Amazon upon retirement.
I asked Mike some practical questions like ‘what do you do to avoid problems with snakes?’. Mike says cottonmouths are actually pretty rare. With six or seven guys working that four acres, one might see a cottonmouth. And part of the reason is water temperature. The water in the slough is pretty cold, particularly in the winter season, and cottonmouths don’t like cold. In his 14 years Mike says he has only seen one cottonmouth strike—and it was 15 feet away. He was working his way through a slough and his ‘wake’ from walking apparently startled a sleeping cottonmouth on a floating log about 15 feet away. The cottonmouth’s immediate reaction was to strike at the empty air (Mike was impressed he knew which direction to strike from the wave). Otherwise, the few he as seen are always going the other way or quite docile. His advice was simple—keep your stick out in front of you and pay attention to where you’re going. The ‘stick’ by the way is a length of white PVC used mostly for balance and pushing aside foliage.
I asked if they wear snake-chaps and Mike says they simply aren’t needed. Everyone wears long pants and lace-up boots (like GI boots).
Mike told me of a swamp-walk this weekend. I tried it later on and learned that one is full (and costs $40) but ‘Pam’ said I might drop by Saturday morning—there are often last-minute cancellations.
After the whirlwind couple of hours with Mike, I drove on to Everglades City and the Everglades Visitor’s Center there. I spoke with ranger Gail who I had talked to from home a few months ago. She was very helpful in laying out some options.
I then drove on to Chokoloskee and found the local launch-ramp guy charges $20 to allow you to use his ramp. When I asked about a multi-day trip, it comes out to $20 for the launch and retrieval plus $10 a day parking fee. That seems high. I’ll have to look around. I know I can launch the kayak at the visitors’ center but I don’t know what other options I have for the fishing boat.
I spent the evening downloading the ‘BlueCharts’ (the marine charts) of the area to the GPS. That took about two hours and when finished I couldn’t see any of the detailo—none of the marks or depth readings! I eventually learned that the map for South Florida land navigation was over-laying the marine chart. You have to turn off the land-map to see the marine chart. That seems cheesy. When I turned it off, I see my campsite in the Collier-Seminole State Park is just shown as open marshland—which is not all that far from the truth come to think of it!
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Tuesday, 4 March-
I had Farle’s Prairie campground to myself last night and slept very deeply—likely because of the NyQuil. My cold is still giving me fits. Actually, I don’t feel that badly overall, I just can’t quit coughing.
We had a cloudy morning at Farle’s and I didn’t feel like hiking, paddling, or boating today, so I decided it’s time to head south. I thought I’d just drive and see how it goes. I knew I didn’t want either coast and I wanted to point more or less at one side or the other of the Everglades. That meant I could drive well down the center of the state and only make a decision later in the day.
The drive turned out to be a pleasant one and I began to see signs of the ‘real Florida’ I love. Above Lake Wales I began to see the massive orange groves and finally to smell the wonderful perfume of orange blossoms—even with my cold. The trees are heavy with fruit and the roads have massive truckloads of oranges and grapefruits. These are 40 or 45-foot open trailers with extra-high metal-mesh sides. The fruit is just loose in them. I’d imagine you wouldn’t want to fall into one; you’d just sink to the bottom and not be able to climb out—and it would take quite awhile to eat your way out, if you were so inclined!
I made a couple of shopping stops for small items but more or less just kept rolling. Finally, I saw the OK Slough Wildlife Management area wasn’t far and I have fond memories of it from last year. I made it to the ranger station before they closed and learned we’re in Spring Turkey season this week. But the turkey hunters have to be out of the woods by 1300 (if I remember correctly) so I’d have the Slough pretty much to myself for the evening and I’d be moving on in the morning anyway.
The first thing I saw in turning into the WMA was a turkey—a big old blue-head. It was perfectly positioned as a greeter. As I sat there at the entrance kiosk it trotted out from my left onto the road and then went down the road as if inviting me to follow. I did but it was soon too far away for me to pick up on the camera.
There were two RVs in the campground this time, probably hunters but I didn’t take time to ask. I picked out a spot well away from their generators and dropped the boat, then went exploring. I first drove to the end of the Wild Cow Grade to look for panther tracks. We had seen our first panther tracks here last time but I believe the smaller ones I saw this evening were bobcat tracks. The primitive campground back here is closed during hunting season but it reminded me that Labashi and I had camped there (in Mocha Joe) hoping to hear a panther scream in the night. If it had, we wouldn’t have slept again, but it would have been worth it.
After Wild Cow Grade, I drove the Mustang Grade and started around the smaller and sandier Mustang Loop. But I soon saw large, deep-looking pools of water across the road and thought better of it. I could certainly spend a night back here without a problem but it would be a major pain getting a tow truck in here to pull me out tomorrow.
I jockeyed back and forth on the narrow road to turn and started out only to meet an oncoming Tonka-toy pickup. But the two locals were friendly and told me I had made a good decision to turn around—it gets worse the farther you go. We had made it around this loop last year but it had been a much drier year—we hadn’t seen any standing across the road.
I then finished up the Mustang grade and came back out to the campground but it was just a perfect time to see something—about 20 minutes before dark. I drove back out to the hard road and circled back across the Patterson-Wild Cow Connector and about half-way across I needed my headlights.
For the evening I had seen three turkeys (the one by the entrance and two far down on Wild Cow Grade), two deer, five hawks (and these had a habit of being kicked up close to the van and only flying into a nearby tree), a silly rabbit which must have been mesmerized by my headlights. It just kept dodging madly back and forth out in front of me and when I’d stop, it stopped--- in the middle of the road! After a few minutes of the game, it found an exit ramp into the bush.
Oh, yeah, I also saw a MASSIVE wild hog. It was jet-black and had that very-aggressive razor-back look. But it was also very dead. That one was along the hard road near the western boundary of the park. The ranger told me it had been hit the day before yesterday and remarked “yeah, we get about three of them a week”. Can you imagine groggily zooming along the deserted, arrow-straight, boringly-smooth, extra-wide road in that area and suddenly hear (and feel) a WHAM and see that big fella rolling up your hood?
Somehow I made it back to the campground and spent an evening finishing off ‘Fifty Years A Hunter and Trapper’ (E.L. Woodcock’s adventures hunting and trapping central PA from 1867 to 1912) and read a little about largemouth bass. The next world’s record is predicted to come from central or north Florida, by the way… at least according to the InFisherman guys.
=== end of post =========
(posted from Collier County (East Naples), FL library)
(this post covers 4-10 March, 2008)
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Monday, 10 March-
I stayed up late updating the blog and didn’t get to bed until after midnight. I had a wonderfully quiet night at the “Tee Canal” campground and woke early. As I rose and looked out the window, I could see something odd about the campsite number sign. It took me a minute to get my glasses but then I saw a beautiful red-shouldered hawk perched on the sign, only about thirty feet away. I slowly opened the door, thinking it would take off at the merest hint of someone nearby but it remained in place, just looking at me, as if curious. I took some photos and walked in a half-circle around it and it still didn’t budge. I went back to my routine and that was interrupted a few minutes later by a loud ruckus—now there were two of them! They perched near each other across the canal for twenty minutes or so, then came swooping right by the van, alighting in a nearby tree. Incredible!
I rigged up some temporary nav lights for the boat using Wal-mart battery-operated ones but I’m unhappy with the arrangement—it’s too likely they will give me problems. I’m not quite sure what to do about this. It’s easy enough to say I’ll only boat during daylight hours but you never know…
I decided to go back to Marco Island, launch the fishing boat there and see if I can navigate to the lower end of the Blackwater River—the area I had been boating a few days ago. It’s a nice day, temps in the low 80’s, a ten-knot breeze from the south-east--- the basic direction I want to go. At least if I break down the wind will be pushing me back the direction I came. Also- that wind will make for a nice ‘downhill’ (downwind) run late in the day.
Before leaving the Picayune Strand State Forest, I stopped at the forestry office and talked with the chief ranger. The basic work of plugging the canal between the Picayune and the Fakahatchee is mostly complete but it left a series of ponds. The idea was to eradicate it completely but the state project ran short of funding so they turned the canal into a line of small ponds. When money becomes available they will finish the job.
I asked the ranger about the trucks hauling cabbage palms out of the state forest. I saw four or five big flat trailers loaded heavily with bound-up cabbage palms. This turns out to be a timber sale. As the canal blocks do their job, the water table will rise. Cabbage palms don’t like wet feet and will die—thus the timber sale. The ranger said he’d give me a cabbage palm if I like. He said he’d sign the permit, I’d just have to remove the tree.
The ranger (Bill? Bob?) is a big fan of the Florida panther and he gave me an excellent booklet with great pictures not only of the panthers but also of their tracks, their scat, comparison drawings and photos of tracks and scat of bobcats, dogs, coyotes, and bears. We would have loved to have this brochure last year. Labashi was frustrated with the lack of detail in the ‘Scats and Tracks of the Southest’ book she had bought (actually only one of three or four we’ve bought over the last two years).
After the ranger station I headed out via Everglades Blvd to Golden Gate Blvd and then down 951 toward Marco Island. While still going through Naples I stopped at the Wal-mart and bought even more gear for the boat, this time five open crates for storage of the spare gas cans and water container.
Of course I had to stop at the new Marco Island Starbucks on the way through so that put me at the launch ramp at 1400. I paid my $5 launch fee and was on the water by 1430.
I first went out the main channel, just to turn around and see how it lines up with the big condos. You could of course just point in the general direction of the condos but there are some shoals to avoid. But I found if you can see between the two biggest condos, you are pretty much in line with the channel. If one of the buildings overlaps the others, you are headed for shoals.
I then headed east for Coon Key Light. It was more or less at the end of the channel into Marco Island when coming from the east and a point of departure to plan the course to Turtle Key and the entrance to the Blackwater.
I settled into motoring along at about 7-8 miles per hour, a comfortable pace against the waves. If I’d speed up the boat would jump from wave to wave, landing with a WHUMP and throwing salt spray all over my glasses.
I had no real problems figuring out the course though one marker was entirely missing from the GPS BlueCharts. But I eventually found Coon Key Light and marked it as a waypoint, then pointed the boat due East until I began to pick up land on my port side and I could put the cursor on the land-form and it would identify the Key name and I could follow along on the paper chart.
I decided I’d go on past the Blackwater and go to the Faka Union Canal (which leads to another launch ramp I know.) The entrance to the Faka Union runs alongside Panther Key and I had seen camping symbols on Panther Key (as well as White Horse Key and Hog Key) on the water-proof version of the chart for the area. So the mission for the day was to look for camping areas even though my charts don’t show them. It soon became obvious that the camping areas were about the only areas not covered by thick mangroves. I didn’t see anything that looked like a great camping spot on Panther Key (the beach was sloped too steeply) but saw what I believe is the ‘right’ place on Hog Key... but there was a head-boat parked right there and I’m sure the fishermen wouldn’t appreciate me coming so close.
But at White Horse Key I found three guys camping on a beautiful open spit of beach, two small motorboats nearby. I stopped and chatted with the friendly guys as they built their evening campfire. They were curious about me too and it turns out they are very familiar with the tee-canal campground I was in last night. It’s amazing how quickly we became comfortable chatting and how much we had in common. One of the boats was a Foldboat and here was another big fan of Foldboats (the jury is still out for me). The other boat was a Gheenee, a largish fiberglass square-stern canoe. I’ve seen a lot of them down here. This one had a 25-horse motor that looked way too big for it.
As darkness seemed to be coming on quickly I said my goodbyes and roared off for Marco Island. It took me about two and a half hours out and an hour and fifteen back. I watched the needle on the little three-gallon gas tank and it was way out at Coon Key Light that the needle stopped swinging and just pointed to empty. I had another tank so wasn’t worried about running out of gas but wanted to see how long it would last. Surprisingly I made it the whole way back to the launch ramp. After loading the boat I peeked in the tank—there was barely enough gas to wet the inner bottom of the tank. I had to be within minutes of running out.
I varied the throttle quite a bit—fairly slow (7-8 mph) going out but double that and more coming back. The best estimate I could come up with regarding fuel usage was about a gallon per hour for this boat-motor combination and for this trip I did better—I was out almost four hours on the three-gallon tank.
After loading up the boat I drove to a new mall area not far from the library. I ordered a pizza from an upscale Italian restaurant but could only finish half of it. The taste was super, I just don’t have room for that much food.
After my pizza I sat in the Publix parking lot blogging, then went to the library to connect up to wi-fi, talk to Labashi and send in my update.
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Sunday, 9 March-
My cold is still hanging on after all this time. I wanted to go into Naples today but started out with Marco Island. I stopped at Cobraxas Park, where I had heard there’s a $5 launch ramp. There I met a sea-kayaker who owns a local kayak shop and we talked about the relative merits of his Current Designs Juka and my (also Current Designs) Sirocco. He had been out playing in the waves while wearing a waterproof helmet-cam and was stoked to see the footage.
I picked up a few necessities and was studying the map in the Winn-Dixie parking lot and was thinking I’d go into Naples to the Starbucks and perhaps ride my bike there. But as I pulled out of the lot, there was a new Starbucks across the street. After my fix, I toured the nearby Isle of Capri community because the kayak-guy had said it’s great kayaking territory. I’ll have to drop in and ask more about where to launch from, etc...
The as I approached the turn-off for Naples, I came upon a new Wal-mart. I’ve been planning to buy spare gas cans and a water container so did that this afternoon. I was also surprised to learn that it would be okay to stay overnight in the lot—something I had heard was forbidden in all Naples-area Wal-marts.
By this time it was getting later in the day and I wanted some time in the Picayune Strand State Forest. I gassed up the van, boat, and spares in Naples and drove to the Everglades Blvd entrance to the Forest. I drove down and across the Picayune to the Fakahatchee Strand entrance, then parked the van and boat at a key vantage point and looked for panthers, bobcats, or bears—this was the area where the motorcyclists had seen the panther and where we had seen a bobcat last year.
Just a dark a car slowly came down the Stewart Road and stopped alongside. A young German guy said he knew he could go back across the Fakahatchee to a hard road but also thought there was another way out of the state forest which would bring them closer to their goal—Naples. I told the guy he only had one turn to make but he had to make the right one and began checking the GPS to figure out where he should turn. I then decided it would be better if I just back-tracked the few miles to the key intersection and pointed the way; I was ready to pack it in for the night anyway.
I led them to the right intersection and chatted for a few minutes about Germany. They were very relieved to be headed for civilization, particularly now that darkness had fallen.
At the key intersection they turned north and I turned south to a campground we had stayed at last year. There I met camp-hosts Orville and Betty from northern Ontario. When I showed them Mocha Joe’s front license plate (reading “Northland Ford—The Pas and Flin-Flon”, we became instant old-buddies. Orville is 76 and losing his memory. He must have asked three times which campsite I selected and kept repeating and repeating. But I also learned he owns two airplanes, including a Super-Club clone he built from scratch. He has been flying bush planes for over 40 years. Interesting, interesting guy. Can’t remember my name or where I parked but he knew all the planes I could name.
I finally got back to the van around 2130 and blogged for a few hours before hitting the hay.
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Saturday, 8 March-
Today was swamp-walk day. I had learned of this swamp walk from Mike Owen at the Fakahatchee Strand State Preserve. I showed up a 0930 for the 1000 walk, thinking I might have to explain myself since I hadn’t been able to get a slot and I was just there hoping for a cancellation. But that wasn’t a problem. Ranger John Elting explained they try to keep it to 11 people but a few more or less doesn’t make a real difference.
John and Ranger Bill _____ organized the group and talked a bit about the Fakahatchee Strand and it’s importance. Then Bill brought out the Unimog, a military-surplus flat-bed truck with benches bolted to the bed. I happened to be standing next to fellow-participant ‘Rob’ who leaned over and said ‘I’ve done that before and it’s not pretty—you can ride with me if you want’. That turned out to be a terrific option. Rob and I hit it off immediately. He’s a codes-enforcement officer for West Palm Beach (yeah, the ritzy people) but is as down-to-earth as they come.
After a twenty-minute drive into the depths of the Fakahatchee, we parked and began a quarter-mile walk up the road. John and Bill were looking intently for something and it turned out to be a pink ribbon— the start of our trail for today.
We had been told to wear long pants and tie-up shoes. Back at the parking lot we had asked about loading up with insect repellent but John said he hadn’t seen a mosquito in a year and a half. I couldn’t believe that given the very healthy crop of mozzies at my campsite just 40 minutes away but it did turn out to be true—we didn’t see a mosquito all day.
The eleven of us ducked into the swamp and from there it was a single-file walk for the next four hours. The first half-hour was relatively dry—just a soaked foot here and there—but then we entered the slough. In the slough we were walking in a foot to two feet of water for much of the time, constantly scanning the trees. Along the way John and Bill provided commentary about the orchid plants we were seeing… including ‘Rigid’, Nocturnal’, ‘Dirty’, ‘Ribbon’, and ‘Ghost’ orchids as well as several other varieties of air plants (epiphytes).
Our walk was casual and low-key so it was a bit of a surprise to realize we were lost about two hours in. I think what happened is our attention was diverted by seeing a large turtle shell (with some turtle-parts still attached) right near a turn-off. We continued down the slough past the end of the ribbons and it was another 20 minutes before we all realized we hadn’t seen a ribbon lately. I enjoyed participating with the rangers in a cross-slough search to connect up with the ribbon trail but that all proved fruitless and we had to backtrack to the turtle shell and see our mistake.
We had brought along snacks for lunch and broke near a gator-hole for lunch while John talked more about the gators and Bill found some excellent examples of orchids for us.
After our late lunch we connected up with a tram-trail and headed out. One of our group picked out (saw) a baby cottonmouth along the trail and we had an impromptu talk on cottonmouths. And we kept a close eye out for Mother Cottonmouth in that area.
By 1600 we had circled back to the parking area and drove back to the ranger station. But I had a problem. At lunch I had discovered I had dropped my sunglasses somewhere between the turtle shell and the gator-hole. So after saying my goodbyes, I drove Mocha Joe back to the parking area, fired up the GPS, and went looking for my sunglasses.
The new GPS did fine in the heavy understory, never losing a signal. I marked off three waypoints, each at a confusing intersection or turn as I followed the tracks of our group backwards. As it drew on 1700 I came to the end of anything I could discern as a trail and now it was all just pools of water. And that’s where I ended up giving up. If I had had a waypoint for the gator-hole (or turtle-shell) I could have continued on. But without that I was walking-around blind. I could backtrack by using my GPS track but once I lost the footprints, I was done—and thinking of rapidly-approaching darkness.
But I do have to say the swamp there was very calming. The end-of-day quiet was upon the swamp and it was very pleasant.
But enough was enough. I high-tailed it out of there by following my GPS track backwards and only once thought I’d be in trouble if the GPS batteries died.
I was out to the dirt road by 1730 and shortly thereafter saw two motorcycles pass by. I took my time loading up and driving out but came upon the motorcyclists about a mile above the ranger station—they had stopped for a break,
I pulled up alongside and there met Rick and Dan from Johnstown, PA. They had been over in the Naples area and the GPS had told them the Jane’s Scenic Road was a shortcut. It didn’t mention it’s dirt and only wide enough for one car to pass.
But Rick and Dan were having a fine day. Dan said they had seen a cougar in the Picayune Strand State Forest, right on the road. When I asked if he was sure it was a cougar/panther and not a bobcat, he said ‘Want to see a picture?” He pulled out a fancy Nikon pro-style digital camera and showed me a spectacular picture of a Florida panther sitting on its haunches in the middle of Stewart Road. They had seen the panther at a distance and stopped to take photos. As they slowly approached after awhile, the panther ambled off the road and into the bush. INCREDIBLE!!!
After saying goodbye to the bikers I drove back to the Tamiami Trail and to the campsite for an extra-hot shower, then went on to the East Naples Library to Skype with Labashi for an hour or so beore heading back to the campsite.
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Friday, 7 March-
Today seemed like ANOTHER boating day. I decided I’d like to go out a dead-low tide and today was to be a windy one--- 10-15 knots in the morning, 15 to 20 in the afternoon. I knew I could hide in the mangroves of the Blackwater River all day and not have to worry about the wind but I also wanted to venture out into the Ten Thousand Islands to see how the boat did. Our fishing boat is a low-freeboard bass-style jon-boat and I could see it getting pooped (filled with a wave from the back) if the right combination of waves and wind was out there. On the other hand, any exposure to waves would be relatively short—I could hide in the lee of an island and pick more rugged conditions to try (or not!)--- perfect for seeing what this boat will do.
My trip down the river was routine though I did manage to hit an unseen sand bar and unexpectedly shut down the engine. But it started right up, no harm done.
My theory of hiding in the lee of islands had a bit of a setback with the marked channel took me across a very exposed little bay with a strong wind from the port side. The boat handled it fine but it became clear I had better pay attention.
Once down out of the river, I realized the waves weren’t bad at all. The wind was blowing directly up the incoming tide, knocking down waves if anything. I bet it would be a different story with this wind coming in against the tide… I’d have steep-sided standing waves and the predicted 20-knot winds would give the boat a beating.
But I had it good today. I slowed down as I motored directly into the wind and did have some wind-blown spray of I allowed the bow to point off a bit. But after an hour or so of fun, I found a nice, big lee-protected bight and shut down the engine to have lunch. I had noticed a difference in water color in this area and now that I was close could see that most of the bight was clear, green water while the wind-driven water was downright muddy-looking. I happened to look right just before turning into this bight and saw a wonderful sight--- a ray, most likely a sting ray—came out of the water and skimmed along for a few feet, seeming to catch the wind just right for a little recreational sailing.
While lunching I noticed a fin following the demarcation line between the clear and roiled water--- a dolphin apparently fishing the line, i.e., watching for fish blundering out of the murk into sudden clear water. After following the demarcation line across the bight, the dolphin circled back close to the boat... very cool.
After lunch I checked the gas tank and thought I’d better not take a chance in running it too close—I’d better head back. The trip up the river was uneventful save seeing swallow-tail kites again at marker 23.
I started today’s trip earlier and end earlier so after taking the boat back to my campsite, I headed for Everglades City for the afternoon. I wanted to see the Rod and Gun Club, which is a land mark and is mentioned several times in Randy Wayne White’s Doc-Ford-series books. I enjoyed seeing the old-time-rich-guy areas--- the inn reception area, the bar, and the famous veranda overlooking the Barron River. But I was also a little put out by being completely ignored. There were only a few people eating on the veranda but otherwise the place was empty and what few employees came through seemed very intent on their chores and having no time for me.
I had hoped to get a drink but the bar wasn’t open and nothing seemed to be happening on the veranda, so I left.
I stopped at the Cuban café in Chokoloskee but only long enough to learn they had closed 15 minutes ago. (Who closes at 1500 on a Friday?)
I moved on to a coffee house we had visited last year—the Big House Coffee House. But now it had been sold and had been re-christened “JT’s Gallery”. I had a good key-lime tart and a decent iced-mocha while chatting with the new owners—Pittsburgh transplants Lundy and (I didn’t get his name!).
After touring the waterside areas looking for interesting things, I returned to the Rod and Gun Club after 1700, looking for a mojito and dinner. But my waiter surprised me-- he had never heard of a mojito. So I went for SoCo and Coke—sorry no SoCo (but at least he had heard of it). How about Crown and Coke? Nope. Jack and Coke—finally.
I ordered one of the specials on the board as I entered only to learn the board had not been changed since lunch and that was no longer available. I finally said I’d just have a bowl of clam chowder. And that was poor. It tasted like all the ingredients for a decent chowder had just been put together and nuked on the spot.
So I was about to write off the Rod and Gun Club entirely when an interesting thing happened. My waiter, Scott (who reminded me of Gomer Pyle) apologized and said he had only been working there a few days. And if he had his choice, he’d go back to his real profession—gator wrestling. I was speechless at first but when Scott came back with another drink (one I hadn’t ordered) I asked what is the most important thing you need to know as a gator-wrestler. He thought a second and said “Well, you know they work for tips--- fingertips, that is. Always know what you’re doing with your fingertips”. For some reason, that broke the ice. A bit later Scott told me his specialty is kissing a gator on the mouth. I asked how he does it. He said “Well what you DON’T do is approach a gator on your hands and knees—they will rip you apart.” He went on to describe the specialty he developed as wriggling up to the gator from behind until you get even with it’s snout, then planting a kiss on the side of the snout. He said Indian gator wrestlers had seen him do it and couldn’t believe it. And once in the middle of his ‘act’, the gator flopped his head up on Scott’s cheek—and went to sleep. Scott says he can now get a gator to do that at his will and that’s part of his act. He says he has offered to teach the Indian gator wrestlers how to do that but they want no parts of it.
With an act like that, why the heck is he waiting tables, you ask? Scott said his former employer had closed down and is in the process of re-organizing. He believes he’ll be back wrestling gators by next year and is just filling in with the waiter job.
So, OK, I’m a sucker for a story. The good news is my drink and chowder ‘only’ cost me $14 but I left him a $4 tip.
I drove back across to Chokoloskee to look around some more, particularly at the boats coming in to the launch ramp. Afterwards I tried the ‘World Famous Oyster House’, thinking all I want is a shrimp cocktail. But they had fresh hush-puppies so I had a side of those too.
Afterwards I drove back to Collier-Seminole and slept very soundly, dreaming of gators.
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Thursday, 6 March-
Today seemed like a boating day. At the Collier-Seminole ramp I found the tide had just hit dead-low and since I wasn’t familiar with the sandbars of the Blackwater River, I thought I’d work on the boat in the marina parking lot until the tide came up a bit. I finally got around to installing a traditional compass and also a good marine-quality holder for the GPS.
While I was working a couple parked nearby, donned head-nets and started toward the salt-marsh trail. The guy said something like: “We’re going for treasure” and he just had the look of a geocaching geek. When they came out I introduced myself as a fellow geocacher and had a nice, long conversation with ‘Pirate’ and ‘Wench’, two former Pittsburghers who now live in Naples and spend much of their free time geocaching.
I launched the boat and started my exploration of the canal and the Blackwater River. My GPS BlueCharts showed the wildly-snaking river banks but did not show depth readings until far down the river. And within a quarter-mile the mangroves closed in to the point where I would have had a tough time passing another boat. And since the tide was out the mangrove roots were much more exposed and seemed all the more ominous. This is the stuff bad dreams are made of. In the darkest places all I would have needed was to have a snake to drop into the boat and I’d have gone screaming back to Mommy.
Actually it was very cool. The mangroves had an odd octopus-look to them but the bank is actually very clean and uncluttered underneath and the trees are reaching toward each other from the opposite banks, forming mangrove tunnels in the narrower side-passages.
I motored out for about an hour before reaching the main part of the river and the first marker on my BlueChart. The bay soon opened up and I ran from marker to marker, the GPS helping me spot the next marker by showing me graphically about where it should be. At marker 2, that was the end of the river--- I was in the Ten Thousand Islands.
For the next two hours I wandered about at a fairly low speed, matching up the visual display on the GPS with the paper chart and, most importantly, with the real thing. I began to discern differences between the islands—some appeared to be 100 per cent mangrove, others mostly mangrove but with stone or sand beaches and driftwood. As I ventured away from Marker 2 I set waypoints for my return, yet kept trying to pick out visual references in case the GPS died.
I soon saw Turtle Key off in the distance and a camping area nearby, occupied by a few tents. I wanted to go look but thought the campers might resent others approaching their little slice of Eden so I stayed well offshore until past their sight line. It didn’t matter much, for I soon turned retraced my waypoints to the river entrance and headed back.
I made it back to the launch ramp by 1630 or so and took my good old time packing up the gear. I asked one of the rangers if it would be possible to hook up a hose to a spigot somewhere and flush the saltwater residue from the engine. He told me of a secret spigot hidden near a particular light pole. That was perfect. I only carry a ten-foot hose but the placement of the spigot allowed me to back the boat in close and it worked out great. That’s one thing I learned in my visit to the Honda dealer a few weeks ago—the el-cheapo ($4.17 at Wal-mart!) ear-muffs-style flush attachment works fine for this engine.
That evening I decided to go to the campground’s screen-house to work on the blog. I unknowingly arrived just a few minutes before the start of the weekly ice-cream social but it didn’t take me long to get into it. A buck-a-dip, have as much as you want—so long as what you want is strawberry, vanilla, or Neopolitan. Toward the end of the social hour, in came my neighbors in the campsite across the street. I had seen their license plate said Hanover, PA and had introduced myself briefly but now we had a chance to talk. Charlie and Joanne are from Gettysburg and we did the normal chit-chat about the weather, how long we’re down for, etc. But then the conversation took an interesting turn. Charlie (a retiree from NOAA) and Joanne have made the mainland Mexico trip—three trips, in fact. And they did it in a group. The trip is planned out closely by a commercial travel company and they supply a ‘wagon-master’ (trip leader) and a ‘tailgunner’ (someone to follow up at the back of the pack). They spoke enthusiastically of all three trips. The weren’t particularly fond of the 7 a.m, wake-up call but they liked the early stops which allowed them to explore on their own a bit (usually walking or biking) in the latter part of the day.
With our late start and long talk about the Mexico trips we closed the place and I put off my blogging till another day.
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Wednesday, 5 March-
I woke refreshed at the OK Slough. We had some rain overnight, actually a bit of a gully-washer but only for 20 minutes or so. I set out promptly but then curiosity got the better of me just a few miles down the road. Abutting the massive OK Slough property is another Wildlife Management Area, this one called “Spirit of the Wild”. As I drove by I noticed it looked quite different from the Slough.
I drove in to the check-station and there met Leonard, a local old-timer who has lived all his life here but did get to see some of the world in his former career as a truck-driver. Leonard told me “they don’t pay me hardly nothin’---- but then again I don’t DO nothin’ a’tall —so it’s actually a pretty good deal”. A Cracker optimist, he is.
Spirit of the Wild is another old cattle ranch and until this year the land was leased (to ‘Albritten’, I think he said) but their lease ran out and there are no cattle this year. I liked my drive around the ranch. The stone roads pretty much follow canals, though Leonard said the state has filled in many of the old farmer-dug canals. Water levels are low and Leonard believes there will be a cycle of high water levels. He believes the state is foolish to fill the small farmer-dug canals. As a young man he had seen nearly the whole ranch area covered in water and when the cycle goes the other way, Leonard believes the state is going to wish it had those canals back.
My mid-day drive didn’t yield much as far as wildlife—two deer, a little turtle caught half-way across the road as I came along, and interesting birds, particularly a yellowish one (a meadowlark?) which seemed to challenge the van. It made several swoops at the van before it lit nearby, apparently in anger. I have no idea what that was about.
By lunchtime I was on my way again. Leonard had suggested I see Trafford Lake if I wanted to take a boat ride; it had been recently dredged of its overwhelming load of vegetation. I did go to the lake and look around but it was dark-water and the day was very hot and I didn’t see a point to it. But maybe there’s a world-record largemouth in there (actually I’m a little too far south for that, I think).
I continued south through Immokalee and decided I wasn’t going to pay $3.34 for a gallon of gas—I’d wait for Everglades City where I thought there might be some competition.
Not far south from Immokalee is the Florida Panther Preserve. As I drove down 29 I marveled at the multi-million dollar panther (and other wildlife) crossings. As I drove along a sign said ‘Panther Crossing, Next Seven Miles’, then ‘There are only about 30 panthers remaining” and “Please drive CAREFULLY”. Then I crossed four or five of these massive bridges/underpasses (cars go over, panthers and bears go under). Each crossing has a half-mile or so of fence along the road to direct the wildlife toward the opening (I remember talking to someone about these last year and he said someone had set up a motion-sensitive camera at one and had indeed caught photos of panthers, bears,
I soon saw the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve coming up and remembered the visitor center had been closed before so I’d check. Sure enough the sign out front said Closed. But when I tried the door it opened and my fate was set for the next two hours.
There I met Mike Owen, state biologist for the 87,000-acre Fakahatchee Strand. I first thought Mike needs to take a chill-pill. He is so animated it’s a little disconcerting at first. But I soon caught on to the fact that here’s a national treasure—a guy who lives and breathes the biology of sloughs—and specifically strand sloughs. The Fakahatchee Strand is like a large, very-gently-sloped riverbed. The sloughs are pools of water, each very slowly draining toward the Everglades. This marshy area is the northern-most extension of--- get this--- THE AMAZON so far as the types of orchids to be found here. Mike calls it (jokingly) ‘the Florida Amazon’. If I understand correctly, the idea is that hurricanes bring seeds of orchids and (other plants of course) north into Florida, perhaps even much further north. But they survive only in the Slough.
Mike showed me replicas of ghost orchids, very pretty delicate little white flowers. They are pollinated only by a giant moth (with a six-inch wingspan) (Sorry, I forgot the name of the moth!)
Mike is a talker and the more he talked the more fascinated I became. I asked how they decide where they are going to work in such a large area. He pulled out a map which shows the ‘trams’, old logging railroad beds (and then, of course, he had to pull out the historic photos of the narrow-guage rails laid on round, untreated ties, the men working away, and the engine used to do the heavy work). He also explained that three months ahead of the cypress-fellers, a crew of ‘groovers’ cut a circle around the tree and through the cambium layer. The tree would ‘drain’ for three months before the cutting crew came in, making the job of hauling the old-growth cypress that much easier. And why the cypress? It was a World-War-Two thing. Early in the war the mine-sweepers had to have cypress hulls because the mine-detecting technology had not yet progressed to the point where it could be mounted in a metal hull. Later, degaussing techniques changed this but by that time the old-growth cypress was largely cut and gone. Mike’s face lit up as he described what the Fakahatchee Strand would have looked like if there had not been a World War Two and the need for old-growth cypress.
Oh, yeah. I was explaining how they decide how where to work. Mike showed me how the old tram lines had been grids themselves so the whole Strand is overlaid with a gridwork. He and a work team of a few people, six or seven at most, will decide to go look at a particular area and then use the grid system both to locate the start and stop points and also to log the results. They enter the area via the ditches along the tram lines. The tram lines themselves are of course mini-hammocks and are overgrown with all kinds of nasty stuff. But the tram lines were created by digging a ditch on both sides of the tram line and piling up the dirt in the middle. So the rangers travel in the water-filled ditch—so long as they can. In practice, some travel on one side of the tram line, some the other. When one side becomes clogged, they switch and, of course, sometimes have to find a way around. Eventually they come to a slough and enter to explore it, the team spreading out across the slough to document. Along they way they are identifying, measuring, and logging everything from the plant and wildlife found to the depth of the slough, the apparent maximum depth of this slough (there’s a high-water mark on cypress knees, for example)...and some complicated stuff.
Now think of this--- Mike started poring over the map (old topo maps, by the way, show the tram lines!) and pulled over his calculator. He started with the typical grid the team would work and determined they cover about four acres a day. And he just loved the idea that he can go to a new grid every work day and not cover the entire park in his career. Mike is a 14-year employee of the State Park system and plans to put in the rest of his 30 right here at the Fakahatchee Strand. Then he’s thinking of doing something like research on freshwater dolphins in the Amazon upon retirement.
I asked Mike some practical questions like ‘what do you do to avoid problems with snakes?’. Mike says cottonmouths are actually pretty rare. With six or seven guys working that four acres, one might see a cottonmouth. And part of the reason is water temperature. The water in the slough is pretty cold, particularly in the winter season, and cottonmouths don’t like cold. In his 14 years Mike says he has only seen one cottonmouth strike—and it was 15 feet away. He was working his way through a slough and his ‘wake’ from walking apparently startled a sleeping cottonmouth on a floating log about 15 feet away. The cottonmouth’s immediate reaction was to strike at the empty air (Mike was impressed he knew which direction to strike from the wave). Otherwise, the few he as seen are always going the other way or quite docile. His advice was simple—keep your stick out in front of you and pay attention to where you’re going. The ‘stick’ by the way is a length of white PVC used mostly for balance and pushing aside foliage.
I asked if they wear snake-chaps and Mike says they simply aren’t needed. Everyone wears long pants and lace-up boots (like GI boots).
Mike told me of a swamp-walk this weekend. I tried it later on and learned that one is full (and costs $40) but ‘Pam’ said I might drop by Saturday morning—there are often last-minute cancellations.
After the whirlwind couple of hours with Mike, I drove on to Everglades City and the Everglades Visitor’s Center there. I spoke with ranger Gail who I had talked to from home a few months ago. She was very helpful in laying out some options.
I then drove on to Chokoloskee and found the local launch-ramp guy charges $20 to allow you to use his ramp. When I asked about a multi-day trip, it comes out to $20 for the launch and retrieval plus $10 a day parking fee. That seems high. I’ll have to look around. I know I can launch the kayak at the visitors’ center but I don’t know what other options I have for the fishing boat.
I spent the evening downloading the ‘BlueCharts’ (the marine charts) of the area to the GPS. That took about two hours and when finished I couldn’t see any of the detailo—none of the marks or depth readings! I eventually learned that the map for South Florida land navigation was over-laying the marine chart. You have to turn off the land-map to see the marine chart. That seems cheesy. When I turned it off, I see my campsite in the Collier-Seminole State Park is just shown as open marshland—which is not all that far from the truth come to think of it!
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Tuesday, 4 March-
I had Farle’s Prairie campground to myself last night and slept very deeply—likely because of the NyQuil. My cold is still giving me fits. Actually, I don’t feel that badly overall, I just can’t quit coughing.
We had a cloudy morning at Farle’s and I didn’t feel like hiking, paddling, or boating today, so I decided it’s time to head south. I thought I’d just drive and see how it goes. I knew I didn’t want either coast and I wanted to point more or less at one side or the other of the Everglades. That meant I could drive well down the center of the state and only make a decision later in the day.
The drive turned out to be a pleasant one and I began to see signs of the ‘real Florida’ I love. Above Lake Wales I began to see the massive orange groves and finally to smell the wonderful perfume of orange blossoms—even with my cold. The trees are heavy with fruit and the roads have massive truckloads of oranges and grapefruits. These are 40 or 45-foot open trailers with extra-high metal-mesh sides. The fruit is just loose in them. I’d imagine you wouldn’t want to fall into one; you’d just sink to the bottom and not be able to climb out—and it would take quite awhile to eat your way out, if you were so inclined!
I made a couple of shopping stops for small items but more or less just kept rolling. Finally, I saw the OK Slough Wildlife Management area wasn’t far and I have fond memories of it from last year. I made it to the ranger station before they closed and learned we’re in Spring Turkey season this week. But the turkey hunters have to be out of the woods by 1300 (if I remember correctly) so I’d have the Slough pretty much to myself for the evening and I’d be moving on in the morning anyway.
The first thing I saw in turning into the WMA was a turkey—a big old blue-head. It was perfectly positioned as a greeter. As I sat there at the entrance kiosk it trotted out from my left onto the road and then went down the road as if inviting me to follow. I did but it was soon too far away for me to pick up on the camera.
There were two RVs in the campground this time, probably hunters but I didn’t take time to ask. I picked out a spot well away from their generators and dropped the boat, then went exploring. I first drove to the end of the Wild Cow Grade to look for panther tracks. We had seen our first panther tracks here last time but I believe the smaller ones I saw this evening were bobcat tracks. The primitive campground back here is closed during hunting season but it reminded me that Labashi and I had camped there (in Mocha Joe) hoping to hear a panther scream in the night. If it had, we wouldn’t have slept again, but it would have been worth it.
After Wild Cow Grade, I drove the Mustang Grade and started around the smaller and sandier Mustang Loop. But I soon saw large, deep-looking pools of water across the road and thought better of it. I could certainly spend a night back here without a problem but it would be a major pain getting a tow truck in here to pull me out tomorrow.
I jockeyed back and forth on the narrow road to turn and started out only to meet an oncoming Tonka-toy pickup. But the two locals were friendly and told me I had made a good decision to turn around—it gets worse the farther you go. We had made it around this loop last year but it had been a much drier year—we hadn’t seen any standing across the road.
I then finished up the Mustang grade and came back out to the campground but it was just a perfect time to see something—about 20 minutes before dark. I drove back out to the hard road and circled back across the Patterson-Wild Cow Connector and about half-way across I needed my headlights.
For the evening I had seen three turkeys (the one by the entrance and two far down on Wild Cow Grade), two deer, five hawks (and these had a habit of being kicked up close to the van and only flying into a nearby tree), a silly rabbit which must have been mesmerized by my headlights. It just kept dodging madly back and forth out in front of me and when I’d stop, it stopped--- in the middle of the road! After a few minutes of the game, it found an exit ramp into the bush.
Oh, yeah, I also saw a MASSIVE wild hog. It was jet-black and had that very-aggressive razor-back look. But it was also very dead. That one was along the hard road near the western boundary of the park. The ranger told me it had been hit the day before yesterday and remarked “yeah, we get about three of them a week”. Can you imagine groggily zooming along the deserted, arrow-straight, boringly-smooth, extra-wide road in that area and suddenly hear (and feel) a WHAM and see that big fella rolling up your hood?
Somehow I made it back to the campground and spent an evening finishing off ‘Fifty Years A Hunter and Trapper’ (E.L. Woodcock’s adventures hunting and trapping central PA from 1867 to 1912) and read a little about largemouth bass. The next world’s record is predicted to come from central or north Florida, by the way… at least according to the InFisherman guys.
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posted by Bezabor&Labashi | 22:08
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