An introduction; as always, the weather directs our destiny
Geologically speaking, the Everglades are young at 5000 years of age. In fact, the Egyptians were building the great
pyramids while the Everglades were being formed. Is it the youthfulness of this region what makes the Everglades so
unique? Or is it the series of events that led up to the formation of the Everglades such as the post-glacial warming that
raised the water level at a rate of 6 feet per century, or the accumulation of solidified calcium carbonate turning into
limestone to form the rock base of south Florida? Is it the flourishing tropical flora and fauna that gives the Everglades
their true character? Or, maybe there is a human quality in the uniqueness of the Everglades such as the fact that the
entire United States had already been mapped while the Everglades remained an inhospitable wilderness mystery. The
first reasonable account of the Everglades was in 1840 when Colonel William Harney led his troops through the
Everglades in search of Indians, those people that knew the Everglades intimately.
The Everglades are unique, there is no doubt about that. I believe that what gives the Everglades special character is its
exposure to two distinct weather patterns. During the warm summer month period, tropical trade winds are most
influential bringing with them lots of moisture; and also the newsworthy hurricanes. But during the drier winter months,
particularly December through February, the hot humidity is replaced by several temperate westerly cold fronts, which
can appear every week or more. These do not get much attention outside of south Florida. Thus, it is during these
temperate winter months that the Everglades lights up as a popular paddling destination, especially for those northerners
escaping the freeze.
There is no better way to experience the Everglades than to spend several days at a time paddling through them. First
noticeable is the endless water that meets the endless sky, only slightly separated by a thin green line of distant
mangroves. The sky changes by the minute and this is so magically reflected in the water surrounding your canoe. In
your mesmerized state and unconscious, rhythmic moving of arms and torso, you may begin to notice that all around
you is an endless scene of life. Punctuating your day of repetitive paddling are scenes of various combinations of flocks
or single birds flying overhead, dolphins coming up to take in air, manatee noses peeking out occasionally, and bait fish
jumping. And don’t forget that amidst the thickness of the mangrove forest that you often pass by closely, animals are
crawling, slithering, crouching or climbing. Also under your hull is a crazy and violent life known only to marine animals;
this is where the food chain runs long. The power of the Everglades becomes more evident as the days pass.
With the quietness of a calm day, the cumulus clouds form playful oblong shapes, delighting you as you paddle through
clear, smooth water. The sun is hot but it feels good on your skin as you sweat and rehydrate throughout the day.
Your muscles feel tired, but strong. You want to take your time and soak it up, you body has craved this warmth for too
long. Perfect conditions lead you to your destination; perhaps a campsite that sticks out of the water and is no bigger
than a small bedroom. It will be a comfortable home for one night, welcoming you into the next perfect day.
And then it happens. One day, you are confronted by a mean spirited Everglades that you did not expect. Like a split
personality, the dark side appears out of nowhere and you are jolted from the pleasure you had been enjoying while in
the company of serenity and warmth. The clouds begin to accumulate in the western sky and you are amazed at how
black and large they are as they roll angrily across the sky. You find the water now to be very restless and those winds
are beating you down with every stroke of the paddle. It was not like this yesterday when the water looked like an ice
rink! The bay you studied on your chart earlier looked so small but now it never ends as you cut slowly into sustained
20-knot head winds. Hours later you make it to your campsite; a bit worn down but feeling relieved that you are dry and
the dark clouds have quickly passed leaving you with cooler temperatures. You wished you had left your previous
campsite earlier as the evening darkness overcomes you while you set up camp.
You are only 2 days into a 9-day paddle adventure and anything can happen. And it does. Before your last day of the
trip, a serious front (the previous one was just a sample) is expected to reign down on the area. This time, it will bring
30+ knot winds from the northwest. It will rain very hard and that could last for hours. The temperatures will no longer
reach 70 degrees during the day. Night temperatures will be low 40s, high 30s. Short, but dramatic, fronts come and
go, but you do not want to be caught in a bay or the Gulf when it hits the fan. The Everglades can change so often on
a dime during one long visit.
This was a trip we had to get out of our system, the circumnavigation of Whitewater Bay and exploration of Rookery
Branch. We had a planned route; but from that, we could alter it based on weather forecast. The weather always
dictates our trips out here. Contingency plans are necessary when planning. A few days prior to the trip, the forecast
indicated that the winds would move in a clockwise manner beginning from the southeast on day 1, clocking entirely
around and ending as westerly winds on our last day. In the middle of the trip, we expected a cold northerly front to
come down. The first day had the potential to be the windiest at expected 15-20 knots coming directly out of the east
and eventually shifting from the south. We did not want to traverse Whitewater Bay on that day. So we played it safe
and routed ourselves into protected waters. If we got lucky, we could ideally have the winds pretty much behind us the
entire trip. The itinerary with approximate mileage (90 in total) was:
Hells Bay Traihead to Hells Bay chickee 7 miles
Hells Bay chickee to South Joe chickee 11 miles
South Joe chickee to Oyster Bay chickee 10 miles
Oyster Bay chickee to Canepatch 13.5 miles
One day exploring Rookery Branch near Canepatch 10.5 miles
Canepatch to Watson River chickee (through the labyrinth) 15.5 miles
Watson River chickee to Roberts River chickee (through the cut off) 7.5 miles
Roberts River chickee to Lane Bay chickee 5.5 miles
Lane Bay chickee to Hells Bay Trailhead 9.5 miles
Day 1 – hundreds of coots, lots of wind and a beautiful Hells Bay evening
Hells Bay Trail begins at the park’s main highway. It’s about 9 miles from the Flamingo marina and typically during this
time of year, there are several cars parked near the launch site. Today, our car would join the ranks of 4 others owned
by paddlers who might be out for several days or maybe only one. The launch site is a small dock with a smaller area
near it where a couple canoes can be loaded from the water’s muddy edge. The water level was very high, flush with
the dock’s surface. I had never seen it so high. There has been a tremendous amount of freshwater runoff this year
and in a few days we would clearly see its effect inside Rookery branch.
The first 3 miles of the trip is long and tedious through the narrow Hells Bay Trail that eventually opens up into wider
passages. On your waterproof chart or aerial map, you will not see any trace of the trail. This trail was routed decades
ago by gladesmen who came in to the Hells Bay area (use to be known as the Bill Ashley jungles) to fish and hunt.
Later, the park made use of the route (and some of the gladesmen campsites) and marked it with PVC pipes, many of
which are numbered. You begin at number 1 and end at number 174 near Hells Bay chickee 7 miles away.
The water levels were so high that there was no recognizable trail other than the frequent PVC marker. Sometimes, the
markers were not obvious and we would begin down the wrong path. The water meanders around mangroves and at
any given point, you could wander off into one of 2 or more different directions. Experienced trail hikers and paddlers
know that you should never lose site of the last marker before finding the next one. And so we worked our way through
the trail that seemed to go on forever. It typically takes 1 ½ hr to get out of the narrows of the trail into the more open
end that is near Lard Can campsite, only a mere 3 miles away. Getting that tediousness behind us and finally into more
open waters, I began to feel that the trip had begun.
Loaded with about 150 lb of water, food, gear, clothing and miscellaneous stuff, I had no trouble paddling my Wenonah
Vagabond. It’s a recreational canoe more than a touring type; nevertheless, I find it to handle well. The trick is to place
the heaviest stuff right behind the seat. This included a 7-gal hard-sided water container and the 2 food buckets.
Together, they comprised over half the cargo weight. I used my carbon ZRE bent shaft paddle the entire trip, but I
carried a spare wooden straight shaft. Other than my butt getting a bit sore and my back a little stiff, it was a joy to
paddle the boat for 9 days.
The temperatures were moderate today and the sky mostly overcast. It felt good for a change to not have the sun
beating down on us. There would be plenty of sun on this trip so I enjoyed the reprieve as we headed into the Hells Bay
area where we came onto a very large raft of American coots. Coots swim like ducks but they are not ducks. Their
sooty feathers are interrupted by a brilliant white short beak and deep red eyes. There were about 50 of them in this
flock and of course they started swimming away as soon as I appeared no less than a few hundred feet away. We had
a leisurely day so I pulled out the telephoto and attempted to get closer. The open bay was catching the brunt of the
strong winds and the water was choppy and moving fast. I paddled cautiously around them and if I got too close they
would take off to a more distant point only a hundred or so feet away. The flapping wings and skittering feet across the
water was loud and boisterous. Rarely did I see one get more than a couple feet above the water. They were here to
stay as this was a perfect feeding spot for them; shallow and grassy. The wind made it impossible to photograph the
birds well, so after 15 minutes, I moved on.
In the meantime, Vivian fished and caught a beautiful snapper and a small out-of-season snook. She spared the
snapper's life; after all, there was no need to waste a fish when we already had plenty of food. By 1 pm our feet were
planted on the chickee. We were alone and decided to set up the tent. The winds had picked up to a stiff 15-20 knots
and we struggled to get the tent upright. Vivian rigged up a tarp to cut the wind during our dinner. Shortly after arriving,
a couple in a rented double canoe came in for a lunch break on the other platform. No sooner did they get themselves
comfortable but more paddlers arrived. This time, it was a young couple that would be spending the night.
The couple stopping for lunch soon got back in their boat to paddle the remaining few miles to Lane Bay chickee. We
learned from them that they had a difficult time getting a permit the day before; seems the chickees were all booked.
We were so lucky to get our sites! Later, we met the couple next door, Carla and Oron from San Francisco. They were
spending their last night of a 5-night trip that started on the cape, led them down Shark River to Oyster Bay, Joe River
and eventually to Hells Bay. What a great trip and they planned it well having used Johnny Molloy’s book, Paddlers'
Guide to Everglades National Park. We all enjoyed a beautiful evening as the winds died down comfortably. The sky
was mostly blue and the sunset behind us lit up the surrounding bay. Quite beautiful the scene with magnificent
quietness of the Everglades surrounding us. It was interrupted once by the loud flapping of the coots crossing the
water. Soon, the stars were out and we made our way into the warm tent for a peaceful first night on the water.
Day 2 & 3 – Whitewater Bay on Christmas Day; the long Joe River
Yesterday, I felt the work-related stress leave my body and mind, marking the beginning of a transition into the new
year. This was going to be a fantastic trip and as always, I was eager to get back on the water this early morning and
see what new adventures awaited us. As always, we are on the water by 7 am. This is the most beautiful time to
paddle the Everglades. Almost always calm, the water reflects the red and yellow patterns of the rising sun. Birds
come alive and as we left the chickee, we watched a bald eagle fly over the bay. Dark clouds were already forming on
the west sky, and the glow of the easterly sunrise gave Vivian’s boat a dazzling shine on the water. The golden glow
continued as we passed through the East River that leads us languidly to Whitewater Bay.
Once in the bay, the rain clouds were upon us and I decided to cover myself with my spray skirt to keep my legs dry.
The one thing I miss about my touring kayak is the warmth under the spray skirt on those days when it can get chilly
and wet; and regardless of temperature, staying dry can make all the difference in comfort. Despite its openness, the
canoe does keep me dry, but only when it is not raining. Initially, I was not going to bring the deck covers which
connect to my boat with several riveted snaps. I imagined the difficulty of trying to snap up the deck cover while
hanging over a chickee. But after some thought, I decided that since I am as long as a day, it would not be a serious
problem and having the deck covers can be a nice addition to the paddle. Besides, I could stash them away easily at
any time.
The rain left as quickly as it came, leaving us with mild windy conditions. Soon, the dark clouds were rolling away
behind us as we followed the left shoreline toward Tarpon Creek entrance. From there we would head up the wide Joe
River where our second night’s chickee, South Joe River, awaited us. This was Christmas Day and the very large
Whitewater Bay was empty of boats. We seemed to be the only people out here enjoying the rare peacefulness of not
hearing powerboats over this vast body of water.
The sun was hot and we were feeling tired, despite the moderate distance traveled. Vivian and I were both recovering
from a mild cold and did not feel 100% at the beginning of the trip. We headed to the chickee which faces east. The
winds, now coming out of the west, were not as strong as yesterday, so putting up the tent was not a test. Soon, our
paddling friend Alex appeared in his yellow kayak. Tonight, he would share our double chickee. Clouds continued to roll
over us and after dark, we received a good rain that lasted no more than 10 minutes. On the chickee, we were
completely protected from it. Two advantages of the chickees are, they are relatively clean (no mud or sand) and they
have a cover to keep you and your tent dry. Even without rain, everything gets wet out here from the heavy dew.
Always use your tent fly!
The next day, we head out early again, greeted by a sky that was mostly cloudless. The morning would start off coolish
but would soon warm up nicely. The paddle up the Joe River was uneventful other than a few birds here and there, an
occasional powerboater passing by and those strong northwest winds. We headed out into the openness of Oyster Bay
and passed a river entrance where several white birds were congregating. I guessed they were white ibises and
wondered why they were gathering in that particular spot. The winds were likely combining with the incoming tide to
send water into the river. My thought is that if the birds are there, the fish are there.
Oyster Bay chickee sits in a protected area between 2 islands. It butts up against the mangroves and with the
northwest winds, we were almost completely isolated from any breeze. As a result, the no-see-ums were there to greet
us, even before dusk. Johnny Molloy warns us in his book of this chickee being notorious for bugs. He is spot on as
always. Soon we have 3 canoeist camp neighbors (Alex had left us to head over to Watson River chickee). The bugs
never got too out of hand, but I was wishing for more breeze. After the sun finally sunk below the mangrove canopy,
the air became brisk and that was enough to make the bugs disappear. We watched the tide go out slowly by noting
the increasing distance between the boats and the chickee platform. We wanted to be on the water by our usual time
tomorrow, which meant that we would be dealing with a very low tide. This was not going to be pretty. I decided to
load as much gear into my boat while I could this evening and minimize the loading for when the canoe would be at
least one more foot lower. To bed early, we thought of our paddle tomorrow that would take us to Canepatch.
Day 4 & 5–chickee gymnastics, houseboat in the backcountry, Canepatch and the 7 fishermen
I’m going to pause for a moment and talk about chickees. There are some things you should know about them if you
are going to camp on one:
Without question, canoes are easier than kayaks for loading and unloading from a chickee. But when the distance
between the boat hull and the chickee platform is greater than 5 feet, even loading a canoe can be a test of agility and
balance. And so it was for us on the morning we left Oyster Bay chickee. I stood on the edge of the platform and
assessed the situation. The boat was at least 5 feet away. I tried sitting on the edge and stretching my legs to the
boat, but no luck. The distance was closer to 6 feet. I braced myself and turned around and held the edge of the
chickee platform as I lowered my body toward the middle of the boat. I was facing the chickee as I lowered myself and
eventually made landing. Once my feet were in the boat, my eyes were level with the chickee platform. I very
carefully got my balance by positioning my feet evenly across the hull bottom and lowered myself down into the seat.
Next, Vivian handed me what I needed to pack into the bow; I did this while kneeling and leaning as far forward as
possible. After that, I sat myself on the hardsided water container that was directly behind the seat and turned myself
around so I was sitting facing the stern, placing my feet over the gunwales. Vivian then handed me my stern cargo. I
got back into my seat and she handed me the large pelican case with my camera equipment that sets in front of me.
Once in my boat, it was now Vivian’s turn. Like me, she had loaded as much as possible the night before, but she still
had plenty to load. She had her boat tied off in front of the ladder, making it easier for her to get into the boat. Even so,
the water was still below the last oyster-encrusted rung. I paddled over to her boat where she then handed me her
bags and gear. One by one, I loaded her stuff into her boat. Finally, we are both on the water. Thankfully, we had
decided to put away the deck covers the day before. On land, we can load our boats in 10 minutes; but today, it took
us almost 45 minutes. This is chickee gymnastics at its best.
As the sun rose behind a cloudy sky, we paddled the open waters of Oyster Bay into the Shark River. Vivian began
catching several lizard fish at the mouth of the river with the incoming tide, 3 of them within a couple minutes. Soon,
we were at the Shark River chickee where Alex was awaiting us, having just paddled through the labyrinth. The 3 of us
headed up the long Shark River that leads to Avocado Creek and Canepatch campsite. Shark River slough is a major
Everglades flow way. Twenty miles wide and narrowing to about 6 miles southward into the park, it flows into several
tidal rivers in the coastal area, including the Shark River. The area we were heading into receives the major water from
the slough combined with the tidal effects from the gulf waters. Rookery branch is a popular area for fishing. During the
colder months, snook run up into these backcountry waters to escape the cold gulf temperatures. Saltwater fish adapt
and become freshwater fish; an amazing adaptation.
Vivian expected some quality fishing and I expected to see many birds. We were staying at Canepatch for two nights
and tomorrow was going to be an exploration day. The area around Canepatch includes the Rookery Branch which
historically is a wading bird rookery. The area is a significant ecological transition point. This transition begins where
various creeks reach like arteries and capillaries from tidal mangrove swamps into the freshwater marshes. The
openness of the creeks and the interplay between fresh and salt water depends largely on alligators. Aquatic life that
moves through the creeks depends on the openness of these creeks. And where there is aquatic life, there are wading
birds. The interdependence between animals is never so evident as it is in the backcountry of the Everglades. For
these reasons, this is a popular fishing area and Canepatch is a popular campsite for fishermen.
Along the Shark River we saw a large houseboat heading toward us. Houseboats were not uncommon in these parts
some 80 yrs ago, give or take. Wealthy people took long vacations out here on their houseboats that contained black
servants and piano-playing women. That was back in the day when the Audubon Society and the wardens they hired
violently clashed with the plume hunters. The Everglades teetered on destruction in those days. But, thanks to several
strong voices, the Everglades became protected land and water. A man came out on the deck of the boat and greeted
us. He was a volunteer ranger for the park while he and his wife spend winters patrolling the area on their boat the
Swamp Lily. The man’s name was John Buckley and he was doing some wildlife surveying. We learn from Ranger
Buckley that 7 fishermen were staying at Canepatch and he had a bit of concern in his voice when he told us this. Said
he would run up there later and check things out for us.
We paddled the final 1 ½ miles through the narrow Avocado Creek where Canepatch is located. Two powerboats pass
by and we met our camp neighbors up close, all young male 20-somethings. Canepatch is a relatively large campsite,
not as big as Watsons Place, but much bigger than Camp Lonesome. Our fishermen neighbors were set up on the far
end of the site, but extending themselves into the middle of the large campsite. All 7 of them slept in one very large
tent and there were 7 camp chairs surrounding the remains of a campfire. Snacks, beer and soda cans and whiskey
bottles were strewn about, giving the resident vultures a variety of choices. I also noticed a boom box amongst the
chairs. “Great, bet we’ll have country music tonight!” I thought.
We set up our tents with plenty of room on the other side of this beautiful campsite that is surrounded by sugar cane,
and guava and lemon trees. We ate dinner and relaxed as dusk approached. Just before dark, our neighbors arrive in
their two boats. Earlier, we had secured our 3 boats on the end of the dock leaving their powerboats plenty of space.
They came on land and greeted us one by one. No sooner did they arrive that another boat pulled up to the dock. It
was our friend Ranger Buckley and he had another ranger with him. After checking our permit, he proceeded to talk
with the boys and although I could not hear the conversation, I understood the gist of it. Basically, he was giving them a
good lecture.
We talked some with our two ranger visitors and learned that there were no fish back in here now. Seems all the fresh
water had overtaken the area, levels were high and the fish were scattered, nowhere to be found. Same with the
alligators and birds. After the rangers left, we talked with a couple of the fishermen and they were having no luck in
here and went all the way out to the gulf before catching one snook. Well, that cinched it. There would be no bird
photography tomorrow.
All’s well that ends well. Our fishermen neighbors turned out to be pretty nice guys; respectful, quiet and the best yet,
no country music! They were in bed shortly after we were, so we enjoyed a peaceful night on Canepatch. The next
morning we wanted to be on the water by 7 am and since the guys tied one boat’s bow to the other’s stern, they had
left us plenty of dock space that we could leave without disturbing them. We headed down Rookery Branch on a very
cloudy day. The entire morning consisted of paddling through a canal-like waterway. Eventually we took a detour into a
smaller creek. To our disappointment, we saw very little wildlife. I noticed several woodstork flying over head, and we
had one nosey alligator near the campsite dock, which we named "Patches". A few weeks earlier, some paddlers
photographed a large Burmese python that was in the water near the dock. Fortunately, we had no python encounters
at the campsite, but we did find a beautiful racer snake in the brush near our tent. When we arrived back at Canepatch,
our fishing neighbors had packed up and left, a day earlier than planned. We had the entire campsite to ourselves. All’s
well that ends well.
Day 6 & 7 – Watson and Roberts River, navigating the labyrinth, a cold front
Both nights on Canepatch were chilly, dropping well below 50 degrees. The next night on Watson River chickee would
be colder than that now that the sky held absolutely no clouds. Our paddle from Canepatch to Watson River chickee
would be our longest day, routing through the twisty labyrinth that leads back to Whitewater Bay. It remained brisk
throughout the day despite the constant sun. I navigated the labyrinth using only my Top Spot marine chart and
compass. Only one time did it get confusing that I needed to check with Vivian who now uses a Garmen 60csx GPS. I
can navigate my way around some convoluted areas of the Everglades well enough with paper map and compass but I
am quickly seeing the limitations of these marine charts. This was duly noted as we paddled a simple route from Hells
Bay chickee to the East River. My marine chart was lacking detail and it got confusing. Now with precise mapping
software, I see myself opening up to the world of GPS, finally.
We arrived at Watson River chickee wearing 2 layers of clothing and by the time we started dinner a few hours later we
each had 3 layers on. It was just me and Vivian again on this single chickee; Alex had to paddle back over to Oyster
Bay chickee where he would experience an even lower tide than we did with his kayak. After some soup and tea,
Vivian decided to get in her boat and fish around the area. She caught some trout in the cold air of the early evening.
Meanwhile, I stayed on the chickee and relaxed while enjoying the beautiful view. To my left was the openness of
Whitewater Bay and on the right, the more closed-in entrance to one of the small bays near Watson River.
As always, the Everglades generously offer small gifts frequently to us. During the early morning hours on Watson
River chickee, we received one of those gifts. Around 4 am, we both awoke to the familiar sound of feeding dolphins.
That distinct blowing sound as they come up for air is like music to me. They sounded as if they were right next to the
chickee. Inside our warm tent, we unzipped the door and stuck our heads out into the cold morning air. The nearly full
moon illuminated the water and we could see everything. It was calm and quiet except for the sounds of 3 adult
dolphins that were busily working the mangrove shoreline feet away from our boats and chickee. The wake created by
the powerful animals made our boats rock as they captured the fish that were moving with the tidal flow of the great
bay waters. We could see their sleek bodies darting quickly through the water. Soon, I heard one of them make 3
distinct, staccato-like blows. Immediately after that, they stopped feeding and swam away toward the open bay. The
moon’s reflection fell on the openness of the water as the dolphins swam through it like a scene from a cheesy,
inspirational poster. We never once thought about the cold but when we got back inside the tent and zipped it closed, it
felt good to be back in the warmth. What a gift that was and well worth the chill.
The next day we met up again with Alex who would stay on Roberts River chickee with us for his last night out. The
man had to traverse Whitewater Bay 4 times to meet up with us on this trip! We logged 90 miles, but Alex can add
another 20 or so to that number. Now we are three paddlers heading toward North River. In this area of the
Everglades, the rivers run through short mangrove swamps intermingled with marsh grass. There are lots of smaller
creeks that can lead you into small ponds and more creeks where you can easily lose your way if you are not careful.
We explored a couple of the little feeder creeks hoping to find some birds, but no luck. Yesterday as we passed through
the labyrinth, we did come into a large flock of white ibises, about 50 of them. The birds are in here, I do see them
flying overhead frequently, singly and in small flocks. But to come into an area of feeding wading birds was impossible
with the high water levels.
While paddling today, I felt a bit sore from sitting mostly and not being able to walk much. I was looking forward to
getting to our campsite and simply relaxing my back in a chair. The Roberts River chickee is situated on the river so that
a beautiful sunset can be enjoyed. On this evening, we also watched the full moon come up over the east sky, first
peeking over the mangrove canopy and then working its way up the sky. The roof on our platform was being renovated
and mostly absent, providing us a constant view of the rising moon. It was chilly, but not nearly as cold as last
evening. After a beautiful sunset that displayed like a colorful inkblot with its reflections on the water, we enjoyed some
wine and conversation. A splendid evening, we listened to the mating barred owls in the trees and an occasional loud
cackling of a great white egret hidden somewhere in the mangroves behind the chickee. Soon, we would be heading
home with one more night left in the Everglades.
Days 8 & 9 –warmth again, into Lane Bay for new years eve and to Hells Bay and back
We were off the chickee by 7 am and what a glorious float down the river it was. I hung back behind Vivian and Alex to
photograph as much as possible. By the time I arrived at the head of the river, the sun was high above. We passed a
section of mangrove shoreline punctuated with some bare tree trunks and branches, providing a good spot for an osprey
nest. I did not see any birds and was not sure if it was active. With my wide angle lens, I continued taking photos,
thinking there would be no birds to photograph. But then an osprey parent came flying in with a branch. The morning
light was spectacular on the bird’s wings as it circled around the nest. It did not come directly into the nest and I suspect
it was disturbed by my presence, being only 50 ft or so from the base of the tree. I wished I had my telephoto lens out
as I watched the bird come in for a landing, where the other parent was sticking its head out to greet its mate. There
was likely a chick or an egg about to hatch.
I decided since we had such low mileage today that I would stick around for awhile. Nesting parents are quite active
flying in and out with nest material, so I figured it was likely I could get some shots. The tidal current was strong, but
there was a large felled tree in the water that I was able to get on one side of and stay still. I called Vivian to tell her
what I was doing and she was busily fishing at the mouth of the river. Both occupied with our passions, I was content
to hang out for awhile. I envisioned a sweet shot from this angle and closeness and since I was perfectly still, it could
not have been better. With telephoto lens in lap, I waited. The no-see-ums started coming out but I ignored them. The
birds were nervous and they made their high-pitched tweets frequently. They knew I was there. The branch-carrying
parent flew out of the nest over to a nearby tree. There it sat for 5, 10, 15 minutes, nervously preening and watching.
The other osprey was out of sight inside the nest. This was not going to work as I expected. That bird was not going
anywhere until I left. So I did. You win some, you lose some.
Soon we were rounding the point where Roberts and Lane Rivers connect and we headed up Lane River toward our
chickee on Lane Bay. Since we arrived early after only 6 miles, we set up camp and got back out for some exploring.
The area of Lane and Hells Bay is intriguing to me. Look on a map at the area and you will see a doily pattern of land
and water, only there is no recognizable pattern at all. The intricacies of the water ways are breathtaking and
navigationally the most challenging of places to paddle. But it begs to be explored. When staying on Pearl Bay last
year, we discovered some hidden creeks that led into hidden bays behind the chickee where hundreds of white pelicans
were feeding during the day. The water was thick with fish. One passage way led to another and then another and
another. It is endless back in here.
I was exhausted today for some reason. Last year on a 9-day trip, I took one day to rest rather than paddle and on this
trip, I never really took that rest. Each day of this trip included at least 5 hrs of paddling. I was feeling it this time. I
needed some energy so we ate our lunch first, and I swigged down some Gatorade. I was good to go. By now, the
southeast winds were strong and Lane Bay was choppy. In the middle of the bay was a large felled tree with several
little branches sticking out, perfect for royal terns to perch. Except for an occasional osprey, these were the only birds I
could photograph today and it was not easy with the winds. I played with the birds for awhile and paddled around the
bay a little. Meanwhile, Vivian was catching one snook right after the other nearby. This trip ended up being a relatively
good fishing trip for her after all, despite the barrenness of Rookery Branch.
Enjoying the early evening, we were on the chickee preparing for our new year’s eve dinner and to help us celebrate the
new year, a little brandy. The sky was mostly cloudy now and a nasty front was heading our way by tomorrow noon.
We planned to get an early start and beat the storm. We toasted the new year, hours before it rang in, and thanked the
Everglades for yet another great year of paddling. These trips help to wash away the year’s stress and worries, and
rejuvenate us for the next year. Now we are ready for whatever may come our way.
The winds had died down completely by evening and in the morning, the stillness was welcoming for our last day of
paddling. The air was warm again, and fortunately, the bugs were not a problem on this chickee. Efficient with packing,
we get on the water at 6:30 am. It is too dark for me to see my map and compass, necessary equipment in this area.
Instead of wearing my headlamp, I decided to follow Vivian who had her GPS fired up and ready to lead us out of the
maze of water and mangroves.
The sun was not yet seen over the tree canopies, but the sky was beginning to show colors. I got out the camera
knowing darn well I would need to use a slow shutter speed. It’s doable with the image stabilizer inside the Sony
camera. I have printed shots that I took on the water at 1/60, so I knew the limits pretty much with this camera. As we
paddled slowly over the glassy water of Lane Bay, the same bay that was rough yesterday, the sky was beginning to
demonstrate strong and colorful patterns of yellows, reds, and blues. We had only 7 ½ miles to paddle today, so I took
my time and shot as many photos as I could. I noticed some large flocks of American coots again as we paddled
toward Hells Bay. Hundreds of birds were seen. The full moon cast a strong light on the water, helping me to navigate
along, although Vivian had the lead.
It did not take long for the sun to appear and by the time Hells Bay chickee was in sight, we were in well lit bays. Soon,
we would pass Pearl Bay chickee and then Lard Can camp as we made our way back into the long and tedious Hells
Bay Trail. The first and last part of our trip, the trail seemed to never end. But finally, we arrive at the park’s main road
where the trail begins. The sounds of the passing cars were rudely abrupt to my ears. I was thrown a bit by their speed
and power as I walked to my nearby car. On land and clearly back in “civilization”, I only wanted to get back out there.
But we had much to do today including visiting some friends camping at the Flamingo campground. They would still be
out here as the 30+ knot wind storm blew over only 2 hours after we got off the water. Our drive home was interrupted
by the fast storm that blew the palm trees horizontally and brought driving rain. We thought about some paddlers we
knew that were still out there, hopefully not caught in the open gulf or large bays when it passed over. The storm did
not last, but it left behind high sustained winds and very cold temperatures for several days. We wanted to be back out
there, but at the same time, we were grateful we were not. Such is the Everglades.
Geologically speaking, the Everglades are young at 5000 years of age. In fact, the Egyptians were building the great
pyramids while the Everglades were being formed. Is it the youthfulness of this region what makes the Everglades so
unique? Or is it the series of events that led up to the formation of the Everglades such as the post-glacial warming that
raised the water level at a rate of 6 feet per century, or the accumulation of solidified calcium carbonate turning into
limestone to form the rock base of south Florida? Is it the flourishing tropical flora and fauna that gives the Everglades
their true character? Or, maybe there is a human quality in the uniqueness of the Everglades such as the fact that the
entire United States had already been mapped while the Everglades remained an inhospitable wilderness mystery. The
first reasonable account of the Everglades was in 1840 when Colonel William Harney led his troops through the
Everglades in search of Indians, those people that knew the Everglades intimately.
The Everglades are unique, there is no doubt about that. I believe that what gives the Everglades special character is its
exposure to two distinct weather patterns. During the warm summer month period, tropical trade winds are most
influential bringing with them lots of moisture; and also the newsworthy hurricanes. But during the drier winter months,
particularly December through February, the hot humidity is replaced by several temperate westerly cold fronts, which
can appear every week or more. These do not get much attention outside of south Florida. Thus, it is during these
temperate winter months that the Everglades lights up as a popular paddling destination, especially for those northerners
escaping the freeze.
There is no better way to experience the Everglades than to spend several days at a time paddling through them. First
noticeable is the endless water that meets the endless sky, only slightly separated by a thin green line of distant
mangroves. The sky changes by the minute and this is so magically reflected in the water surrounding your canoe. In
your mesmerized state and unconscious, rhythmic moving of arms and torso, you may begin to notice that all around
you is an endless scene of life. Punctuating your day of repetitive paddling are scenes of various combinations of flocks
or single birds flying overhead, dolphins coming up to take in air, manatee noses peeking out occasionally, and bait fish
jumping. And don’t forget that amidst the thickness of the mangrove forest that you often pass by closely, animals are
crawling, slithering, crouching or climbing. Also under your hull is a crazy and violent life known only to marine animals;
this is where the food chain runs long. The power of the Everglades becomes more evident as the days pass.
With the quietness of a calm day, the cumulus clouds form playful oblong shapes, delighting you as you paddle through
clear, smooth water. The sun is hot but it feels good on your skin as you sweat and rehydrate throughout the day.
Your muscles feel tired, but strong. You want to take your time and soak it up, you body has craved this warmth for too
long. Perfect conditions lead you to your destination; perhaps a campsite that sticks out of the water and is no bigger
than a small bedroom. It will be a comfortable home for one night, welcoming you into the next perfect day.
And then it happens. One day, you are confronted by a mean spirited Everglades that you did not expect. Like a split
personality, the dark side appears out of nowhere and you are jolted from the pleasure you had been enjoying while in
the company of serenity and warmth. The clouds begin to accumulate in the western sky and you are amazed at how
black and large they are as they roll angrily across the sky. You find the water now to be very restless and those winds
are beating you down with every stroke of the paddle. It was not like this yesterday when the water looked like an ice
rink! The bay you studied on your chart earlier looked so small but now it never ends as you cut slowly into sustained
20-knot head winds. Hours later you make it to your campsite; a bit worn down but feeling relieved that you are dry and
the dark clouds have quickly passed leaving you with cooler temperatures. You wished you had left your previous
campsite earlier as the evening darkness overcomes you while you set up camp.
You are only 2 days into a 9-day paddle adventure and anything can happen. And it does. Before your last day of the
trip, a serious front (the previous one was just a sample) is expected to reign down on the area. This time, it will bring
30+ knot winds from the northwest. It will rain very hard and that could last for hours. The temperatures will no longer
reach 70 degrees during the day. Night temperatures will be low 40s, high 30s. Short, but dramatic, fronts come and
go, but you do not want to be caught in a bay or the Gulf when it hits the fan. The Everglades can change so often on
a dime during one long visit.
This was a trip we had to get out of our system, the circumnavigation of Whitewater Bay and exploration of Rookery
Branch. We had a planned route; but from that, we could alter it based on weather forecast. The weather always
dictates our trips out here. Contingency plans are necessary when planning. A few days prior to the trip, the forecast
indicated that the winds would move in a clockwise manner beginning from the southeast on day 1, clocking entirely
around and ending as westerly winds on our last day. In the middle of the trip, we expected a cold northerly front to
come down. The first day had the potential to be the windiest at expected 15-20 knots coming directly out of the east
and eventually shifting from the south. We did not want to traverse Whitewater Bay on that day. So we played it safe
and routed ourselves into protected waters. If we got lucky, we could ideally have the winds pretty much behind us the
entire trip. The itinerary with approximate mileage (90 in total) was:
Hells Bay Traihead to Hells Bay chickee 7 miles
Hells Bay chickee to South Joe chickee 11 miles
South Joe chickee to Oyster Bay chickee 10 miles
Oyster Bay chickee to Canepatch 13.5 miles
One day exploring Rookery Branch near Canepatch 10.5 miles
Canepatch to Watson River chickee (through the labyrinth) 15.5 miles
Watson River chickee to Roberts River chickee (through the cut off) 7.5 miles
Roberts River chickee to Lane Bay chickee 5.5 miles
Lane Bay chickee to Hells Bay Trailhead 9.5 miles
Day 1 – hundreds of coots, lots of wind and a beautiful Hells Bay evening
Hells Bay Trail begins at the park’s main highway. It’s about 9 miles from the Flamingo marina and typically during this
time of year, there are several cars parked near the launch site. Today, our car would join the ranks of 4 others owned
by paddlers who might be out for several days or maybe only one. The launch site is a small dock with a smaller area
near it where a couple canoes can be loaded from the water’s muddy edge. The water level was very high, flush with
the dock’s surface. I had never seen it so high. There has been a tremendous amount of freshwater runoff this year
and in a few days we would clearly see its effect inside Rookery branch.
The first 3 miles of the trip is long and tedious through the narrow Hells Bay Trail that eventually opens up into wider
passages. On your waterproof chart or aerial map, you will not see any trace of the trail. This trail was routed decades
ago by gladesmen who came in to the Hells Bay area (use to be known as the Bill Ashley jungles) to fish and hunt.
Later, the park made use of the route (and some of the gladesmen campsites) and marked it with PVC pipes, many of
which are numbered. You begin at number 1 and end at number 174 near Hells Bay chickee 7 miles away.
The water levels were so high that there was no recognizable trail other than the frequent PVC marker. Sometimes, the
markers were not obvious and we would begin down the wrong path. The water meanders around mangroves and at
any given point, you could wander off into one of 2 or more different directions. Experienced trail hikers and paddlers
know that you should never lose site of the last marker before finding the next one. And so we worked our way through
the trail that seemed to go on forever. It typically takes 1 ½ hr to get out of the narrows of the trail into the more open
end that is near Lard Can campsite, only a mere 3 miles away. Getting that tediousness behind us and finally into more
open waters, I began to feel that the trip had begun.
Loaded with about 150 lb of water, food, gear, clothing and miscellaneous stuff, I had no trouble paddling my Wenonah
Vagabond. It’s a recreational canoe more than a touring type; nevertheless, I find it to handle well. The trick is to place
the heaviest stuff right behind the seat. This included a 7-gal hard-sided water container and the 2 food buckets.
Together, they comprised over half the cargo weight. I used my carbon ZRE bent shaft paddle the entire trip, but I
carried a spare wooden straight shaft. Other than my butt getting a bit sore and my back a little stiff, it was a joy to
paddle the boat for 9 days.
The temperatures were moderate today and the sky mostly overcast. It felt good for a change to not have the sun
beating down on us. There would be plenty of sun on this trip so I enjoyed the reprieve as we headed into the Hells Bay
area where we came onto a very large raft of American coots. Coots swim like ducks but they are not ducks. Their
sooty feathers are interrupted by a brilliant white short beak and deep red eyes. There were about 50 of them in this
flock and of course they started swimming away as soon as I appeared no less than a few hundred feet away. We had
a leisurely day so I pulled out the telephoto and attempted to get closer. The open bay was catching the brunt of the
strong winds and the water was choppy and moving fast. I paddled cautiously around them and if I got too close they
would take off to a more distant point only a hundred or so feet away. The flapping wings and skittering feet across the
water was loud and boisterous. Rarely did I see one get more than a couple feet above the water. They were here to
stay as this was a perfect feeding spot for them; shallow and grassy. The wind made it impossible to photograph the
birds well, so after 15 minutes, I moved on.
In the meantime, Vivian fished and caught a beautiful snapper and a small out-of-season snook. She spared the
snapper's life; after all, there was no need to waste a fish when we already had plenty of food. By 1 pm our feet were
planted on the chickee. We were alone and decided to set up the tent. The winds had picked up to a stiff 15-20 knots
and we struggled to get the tent upright. Vivian rigged up a tarp to cut the wind during our dinner. Shortly after arriving,
a couple in a rented double canoe came in for a lunch break on the other platform. No sooner did they get themselves
comfortable but more paddlers arrived. This time, it was a young couple that would be spending the night.
The couple stopping for lunch soon got back in their boat to paddle the remaining few miles to Lane Bay chickee. We
learned from them that they had a difficult time getting a permit the day before; seems the chickees were all booked.
We were so lucky to get our sites! Later, we met the couple next door, Carla and Oron from San Francisco. They were
spending their last night of a 5-night trip that started on the cape, led them down Shark River to Oyster Bay, Joe River
and eventually to Hells Bay. What a great trip and they planned it well having used Johnny Molloy’s book, Paddlers'
Guide to Everglades National Park. We all enjoyed a beautiful evening as the winds died down comfortably. The sky
was mostly blue and the sunset behind us lit up the surrounding bay. Quite beautiful the scene with magnificent
quietness of the Everglades surrounding us. It was interrupted once by the loud flapping of the coots crossing the
water. Soon, the stars were out and we made our way into the warm tent for a peaceful first night on the water.
Day 2 & 3 – Whitewater Bay on Christmas Day; the long Joe River
Yesterday, I felt the work-related stress leave my body and mind, marking the beginning of a transition into the new
year. This was going to be a fantastic trip and as always, I was eager to get back on the water this early morning and
see what new adventures awaited us. As always, we are on the water by 7 am. This is the most beautiful time to
paddle the Everglades. Almost always calm, the water reflects the red and yellow patterns of the rising sun. Birds
come alive and as we left the chickee, we watched a bald eagle fly over the bay. Dark clouds were already forming on
the west sky, and the glow of the easterly sunrise gave Vivian’s boat a dazzling shine on the water. The golden glow
continued as we passed through the East River that leads us languidly to Whitewater Bay.
Once in the bay, the rain clouds were upon us and I decided to cover myself with my spray skirt to keep my legs dry.
The one thing I miss about my touring kayak is the warmth under the spray skirt on those days when it can get chilly
and wet; and regardless of temperature, staying dry can make all the difference in comfort. Despite its openness, the
canoe does keep me dry, but only when it is not raining. Initially, I was not going to bring the deck covers which
connect to my boat with several riveted snaps. I imagined the difficulty of trying to snap up the deck cover while
hanging over a chickee. But after some thought, I decided that since I am as long as a day, it would not be a serious
problem and having the deck covers can be a nice addition to the paddle. Besides, I could stash them away easily at
any time.
The rain left as quickly as it came, leaving us with mild windy conditions. Soon, the dark clouds were rolling away
behind us as we followed the left shoreline toward Tarpon Creek entrance. From there we would head up the wide Joe
River where our second night’s chickee, South Joe River, awaited us. This was Christmas Day and the very large
Whitewater Bay was empty of boats. We seemed to be the only people out here enjoying the rare peacefulness of not
hearing powerboats over this vast body of water.
The sun was hot and we were feeling tired, despite the moderate distance traveled. Vivian and I were both recovering
from a mild cold and did not feel 100% at the beginning of the trip. We headed to the chickee which faces east. The
winds, now coming out of the west, were not as strong as yesterday, so putting up the tent was not a test. Soon, our
paddling friend Alex appeared in his yellow kayak. Tonight, he would share our double chickee. Clouds continued to roll
over us and after dark, we received a good rain that lasted no more than 10 minutes. On the chickee, we were
completely protected from it. Two advantages of the chickees are, they are relatively clean (no mud or sand) and they
have a cover to keep you and your tent dry. Even without rain, everything gets wet out here from the heavy dew.
Always use your tent fly!
The next day, we head out early again, greeted by a sky that was mostly cloudless. The morning would start off coolish
but would soon warm up nicely. The paddle up the Joe River was uneventful other than a few birds here and there, an
occasional powerboater passing by and those strong northwest winds. We headed out into the openness of Oyster Bay
and passed a river entrance where several white birds were congregating. I guessed they were white ibises and
wondered why they were gathering in that particular spot. The winds were likely combining with the incoming tide to
send water into the river. My thought is that if the birds are there, the fish are there.
Oyster Bay chickee sits in a protected area between 2 islands. It butts up against the mangroves and with the
northwest winds, we were almost completely isolated from any breeze. As a result, the no-see-ums were there to greet
us, even before dusk. Johnny Molloy warns us in his book of this chickee being notorious for bugs. He is spot on as
always. Soon we have 3 canoeist camp neighbors (Alex had left us to head over to Watson River chickee). The bugs
never got too out of hand, but I was wishing for more breeze. After the sun finally sunk below the mangrove canopy,
the air became brisk and that was enough to make the bugs disappear. We watched the tide go out slowly by noting
the increasing distance between the boats and the chickee platform. We wanted to be on the water by our usual time
tomorrow, which meant that we would be dealing with a very low tide. This was not going to be pretty. I decided to
load as much gear into my boat while I could this evening and minimize the loading for when the canoe would be at
least one more foot lower. To bed early, we thought of our paddle tomorrow that would take us to Canepatch.
Day 4 & 5–chickee gymnastics, houseboat in the backcountry, Canepatch and the 7 fishermen
I’m going to pause for a moment and talk about chickees. There are some things you should know about them if you
are going to camp on one:
- The platform boards often have a ½ -1 in gaps between them; it’s almost inevitable that you will lose something
through the cracks. Bring a piece of plastic or something to lay on the platform where you can place your little
things such as cooking utensils. - Tent stakes are useless on a chickee. Bring ropes to tie to your fly or tent for those windy nights.
- Secure your boat in a way that the current will carry it away from the chickee. This is to avoid a couple things;
sharp oyster shells that cover the support beams and ladders, and wedging the boat under the platform on a rising
tide. The winds do shift so be aware of the forecast and plan accordingly. - Rope your boat to the platform from both bow and stern and leave some slack if the water levels are high. If you
are in a tidally influenced area, the water levels will change and if you tie the boat too tight with high water levels,
you’ll find your boat suspended over the water at low tide. - Bring toilet paper! You never know what’s in store when you arrive at the chickee (or any campsite for that
matter).
Without question, canoes are easier than kayaks for loading and unloading from a chickee. But when the distance
between the boat hull and the chickee platform is greater than 5 feet, even loading a canoe can be a test of agility and
balance. And so it was for us on the morning we left Oyster Bay chickee. I stood on the edge of the platform and
assessed the situation. The boat was at least 5 feet away. I tried sitting on the edge and stretching my legs to the
boat, but no luck. The distance was closer to 6 feet. I braced myself and turned around and held the edge of the
chickee platform as I lowered my body toward the middle of the boat. I was facing the chickee as I lowered myself and
eventually made landing. Once my feet were in the boat, my eyes were level with the chickee platform. I very
carefully got my balance by positioning my feet evenly across the hull bottom and lowered myself down into the seat.
Next, Vivian handed me what I needed to pack into the bow; I did this while kneeling and leaning as far forward as
possible. After that, I sat myself on the hardsided water container that was directly behind the seat and turned myself
around so I was sitting facing the stern, placing my feet over the gunwales. Vivian then handed me my stern cargo. I
got back into my seat and she handed me the large pelican case with my camera equipment that sets in front of me.
Once in my boat, it was now Vivian’s turn. Like me, she had loaded as much as possible the night before, but she still
had plenty to load. She had her boat tied off in front of the ladder, making it easier for her to get into the boat. Even so,
the water was still below the last oyster-encrusted rung. I paddled over to her boat where she then handed me her
bags and gear. One by one, I loaded her stuff into her boat. Finally, we are both on the water. Thankfully, we had
decided to put away the deck covers the day before. On land, we can load our boats in 10 minutes; but today, it took
us almost 45 minutes. This is chickee gymnastics at its best.
As the sun rose behind a cloudy sky, we paddled the open waters of Oyster Bay into the Shark River. Vivian began
catching several lizard fish at the mouth of the river with the incoming tide, 3 of them within a couple minutes. Soon,
we were at the Shark River chickee where Alex was awaiting us, having just paddled through the labyrinth. The 3 of us
headed up the long Shark River that leads to Avocado Creek and Canepatch campsite. Shark River slough is a major
Everglades flow way. Twenty miles wide and narrowing to about 6 miles southward into the park, it flows into several
tidal rivers in the coastal area, including the Shark River. The area we were heading into receives the major water from
the slough combined with the tidal effects from the gulf waters. Rookery branch is a popular area for fishing. During the
colder months, snook run up into these backcountry waters to escape the cold gulf temperatures. Saltwater fish adapt
and become freshwater fish; an amazing adaptation.
Vivian expected some quality fishing and I expected to see many birds. We were staying at Canepatch for two nights
and tomorrow was going to be an exploration day. The area around Canepatch includes the Rookery Branch which
historically is a wading bird rookery. The area is a significant ecological transition point. This transition begins where
various creeks reach like arteries and capillaries from tidal mangrove swamps into the freshwater marshes. The
openness of the creeks and the interplay between fresh and salt water depends largely on alligators. Aquatic life that
moves through the creeks depends on the openness of these creeks. And where there is aquatic life, there are wading
birds. The interdependence between animals is never so evident as it is in the backcountry of the Everglades. For
these reasons, this is a popular fishing area and Canepatch is a popular campsite for fishermen.
Along the Shark River we saw a large houseboat heading toward us. Houseboats were not uncommon in these parts
some 80 yrs ago, give or take. Wealthy people took long vacations out here on their houseboats that contained black
servants and piano-playing women. That was back in the day when the Audubon Society and the wardens they hired
violently clashed with the plume hunters. The Everglades teetered on destruction in those days. But, thanks to several
strong voices, the Everglades became protected land and water. A man came out on the deck of the boat and greeted
us. He was a volunteer ranger for the park while he and his wife spend winters patrolling the area on their boat the
Swamp Lily. The man’s name was John Buckley and he was doing some wildlife surveying. We learn from Ranger
Buckley that 7 fishermen were staying at Canepatch and he had a bit of concern in his voice when he told us this. Said
he would run up there later and check things out for us.
We paddled the final 1 ½ miles through the narrow Avocado Creek where Canepatch is located. Two powerboats pass
by and we met our camp neighbors up close, all young male 20-somethings. Canepatch is a relatively large campsite,
not as big as Watsons Place, but much bigger than Camp Lonesome. Our fishermen neighbors were set up on the far
end of the site, but extending themselves into the middle of the large campsite. All 7 of them slept in one very large
tent and there were 7 camp chairs surrounding the remains of a campfire. Snacks, beer and soda cans and whiskey
bottles were strewn about, giving the resident vultures a variety of choices. I also noticed a boom box amongst the
chairs. “Great, bet we’ll have country music tonight!” I thought.
We set up our tents with plenty of room on the other side of this beautiful campsite that is surrounded by sugar cane,
and guava and lemon trees. We ate dinner and relaxed as dusk approached. Just before dark, our neighbors arrive in
their two boats. Earlier, we had secured our 3 boats on the end of the dock leaving their powerboats plenty of space.
They came on land and greeted us one by one. No sooner did they arrive that another boat pulled up to the dock. It
was our friend Ranger Buckley and he had another ranger with him. After checking our permit, he proceeded to talk
with the boys and although I could not hear the conversation, I understood the gist of it. Basically, he was giving them a
good lecture.
We talked some with our two ranger visitors and learned that there were no fish back in here now. Seems all the fresh
water had overtaken the area, levels were high and the fish were scattered, nowhere to be found. Same with the
alligators and birds. After the rangers left, we talked with a couple of the fishermen and they were having no luck in
here and went all the way out to the gulf before catching one snook. Well, that cinched it. There would be no bird
photography tomorrow.
All’s well that ends well. Our fishermen neighbors turned out to be pretty nice guys; respectful, quiet and the best yet,
no country music! They were in bed shortly after we were, so we enjoyed a peaceful night on Canepatch. The next
morning we wanted to be on the water by 7 am and since the guys tied one boat’s bow to the other’s stern, they had
left us plenty of dock space that we could leave without disturbing them. We headed down Rookery Branch on a very
cloudy day. The entire morning consisted of paddling through a canal-like waterway. Eventually we took a detour into a
smaller creek. To our disappointment, we saw very little wildlife. I noticed several woodstork flying over head, and we
had one nosey alligator near the campsite dock, which we named "Patches". A few weeks earlier, some paddlers
photographed a large Burmese python that was in the water near the dock. Fortunately, we had no python encounters
at the campsite, but we did find a beautiful racer snake in the brush near our tent. When we arrived back at Canepatch,
our fishing neighbors had packed up and left, a day earlier than planned. We had the entire campsite to ourselves. All’s
well that ends well.
Day 6 & 7 – Watson and Roberts River, navigating the labyrinth, a cold front
Both nights on Canepatch were chilly, dropping well below 50 degrees. The next night on Watson River chickee would
be colder than that now that the sky held absolutely no clouds. Our paddle from Canepatch to Watson River chickee
would be our longest day, routing through the twisty labyrinth that leads back to Whitewater Bay. It remained brisk
throughout the day despite the constant sun. I navigated the labyrinth using only my Top Spot marine chart and
compass. Only one time did it get confusing that I needed to check with Vivian who now uses a Garmen 60csx GPS. I
can navigate my way around some convoluted areas of the Everglades well enough with paper map and compass but I
am quickly seeing the limitations of these marine charts. This was duly noted as we paddled a simple route from Hells
Bay chickee to the East River. My marine chart was lacking detail and it got confusing. Now with precise mapping
software, I see myself opening up to the world of GPS, finally.
We arrived at Watson River chickee wearing 2 layers of clothing and by the time we started dinner a few hours later we
each had 3 layers on. It was just me and Vivian again on this single chickee; Alex had to paddle back over to Oyster
Bay chickee where he would experience an even lower tide than we did with his kayak. After some soup and tea,
Vivian decided to get in her boat and fish around the area. She caught some trout in the cold air of the early evening.
Meanwhile, I stayed on the chickee and relaxed while enjoying the beautiful view. To my left was the openness of
Whitewater Bay and on the right, the more closed-in entrance to one of the small bays near Watson River.
As always, the Everglades generously offer small gifts frequently to us. During the early morning hours on Watson
River chickee, we received one of those gifts. Around 4 am, we both awoke to the familiar sound of feeding dolphins.
That distinct blowing sound as they come up for air is like music to me. They sounded as if they were right next to the
chickee. Inside our warm tent, we unzipped the door and stuck our heads out into the cold morning air. The nearly full
moon illuminated the water and we could see everything. It was calm and quiet except for the sounds of 3 adult
dolphins that were busily working the mangrove shoreline feet away from our boats and chickee. The wake created by
the powerful animals made our boats rock as they captured the fish that were moving with the tidal flow of the great
bay waters. We could see their sleek bodies darting quickly through the water. Soon, I heard one of them make 3
distinct, staccato-like blows. Immediately after that, they stopped feeding and swam away toward the open bay. The
moon’s reflection fell on the openness of the water as the dolphins swam through it like a scene from a cheesy,
inspirational poster. We never once thought about the cold but when we got back inside the tent and zipped it closed, it
felt good to be back in the warmth. What a gift that was and well worth the chill.
The next day we met up again with Alex who would stay on Roberts River chickee with us for his last night out. The
man had to traverse Whitewater Bay 4 times to meet up with us on this trip! We logged 90 miles, but Alex can add
another 20 or so to that number. Now we are three paddlers heading toward North River. In this area of the
Everglades, the rivers run through short mangrove swamps intermingled with marsh grass. There are lots of smaller
creeks that can lead you into small ponds and more creeks where you can easily lose your way if you are not careful.
We explored a couple of the little feeder creeks hoping to find some birds, but no luck. Yesterday as we passed through
the labyrinth, we did come into a large flock of white ibises, about 50 of them. The birds are in here, I do see them
flying overhead frequently, singly and in small flocks. But to come into an area of feeding wading birds was impossible
with the high water levels.
While paddling today, I felt a bit sore from sitting mostly and not being able to walk much. I was looking forward to
getting to our campsite and simply relaxing my back in a chair. The Roberts River chickee is situated on the river so that
a beautiful sunset can be enjoyed. On this evening, we also watched the full moon come up over the east sky, first
peeking over the mangrove canopy and then working its way up the sky. The roof on our platform was being renovated
and mostly absent, providing us a constant view of the rising moon. It was chilly, but not nearly as cold as last
evening. After a beautiful sunset that displayed like a colorful inkblot with its reflections on the water, we enjoyed some
wine and conversation. A splendid evening, we listened to the mating barred owls in the trees and an occasional loud
cackling of a great white egret hidden somewhere in the mangroves behind the chickee. Soon, we would be heading
home with one more night left in the Everglades.
Days 8 & 9 –warmth again, into Lane Bay for new years eve and to Hells Bay and back
We were off the chickee by 7 am and what a glorious float down the river it was. I hung back behind Vivian and Alex to
photograph as much as possible. By the time I arrived at the head of the river, the sun was high above. We passed a
section of mangrove shoreline punctuated with some bare tree trunks and branches, providing a good spot for an osprey
nest. I did not see any birds and was not sure if it was active. With my wide angle lens, I continued taking photos,
thinking there would be no birds to photograph. But then an osprey parent came flying in with a branch. The morning
light was spectacular on the bird’s wings as it circled around the nest. It did not come directly into the nest and I suspect
it was disturbed by my presence, being only 50 ft or so from the base of the tree. I wished I had my telephoto lens out
as I watched the bird come in for a landing, where the other parent was sticking its head out to greet its mate. There
was likely a chick or an egg about to hatch.
I decided since we had such low mileage today that I would stick around for awhile. Nesting parents are quite active
flying in and out with nest material, so I figured it was likely I could get some shots. The tidal current was strong, but
there was a large felled tree in the water that I was able to get on one side of and stay still. I called Vivian to tell her
what I was doing and she was busily fishing at the mouth of the river. Both occupied with our passions, I was content
to hang out for awhile. I envisioned a sweet shot from this angle and closeness and since I was perfectly still, it could
not have been better. With telephoto lens in lap, I waited. The no-see-ums started coming out but I ignored them. The
birds were nervous and they made their high-pitched tweets frequently. They knew I was there. The branch-carrying
parent flew out of the nest over to a nearby tree. There it sat for 5, 10, 15 minutes, nervously preening and watching.
The other osprey was out of sight inside the nest. This was not going to work as I expected. That bird was not going
anywhere until I left. So I did. You win some, you lose some.
Soon we were rounding the point where Roberts and Lane Rivers connect and we headed up Lane River toward our
chickee on Lane Bay. Since we arrived early after only 6 miles, we set up camp and got back out for some exploring.
The area of Lane and Hells Bay is intriguing to me. Look on a map at the area and you will see a doily pattern of land
and water, only there is no recognizable pattern at all. The intricacies of the water ways are breathtaking and
navigationally the most challenging of places to paddle. But it begs to be explored. When staying on Pearl Bay last
year, we discovered some hidden creeks that led into hidden bays behind the chickee where hundreds of white pelicans
were feeding during the day. The water was thick with fish. One passage way led to another and then another and
another. It is endless back in here.
I was exhausted today for some reason. Last year on a 9-day trip, I took one day to rest rather than paddle and on this
trip, I never really took that rest. Each day of this trip included at least 5 hrs of paddling. I was feeling it this time. I
needed some energy so we ate our lunch first, and I swigged down some Gatorade. I was good to go. By now, the
southeast winds were strong and Lane Bay was choppy. In the middle of the bay was a large felled tree with several
little branches sticking out, perfect for royal terns to perch. Except for an occasional osprey, these were the only birds I
could photograph today and it was not easy with the winds. I played with the birds for awhile and paddled around the
bay a little. Meanwhile, Vivian was catching one snook right after the other nearby. This trip ended up being a relatively
good fishing trip for her after all, despite the barrenness of Rookery Branch.
Enjoying the early evening, we were on the chickee preparing for our new year’s eve dinner and to help us celebrate the
new year, a little brandy. The sky was mostly cloudy now and a nasty front was heading our way by tomorrow noon.
We planned to get an early start and beat the storm. We toasted the new year, hours before it rang in, and thanked the
Everglades for yet another great year of paddling. These trips help to wash away the year’s stress and worries, and
rejuvenate us for the next year. Now we are ready for whatever may come our way.
The winds had died down completely by evening and in the morning, the stillness was welcoming for our last day of
paddling. The air was warm again, and fortunately, the bugs were not a problem on this chickee. Efficient with packing,
we get on the water at 6:30 am. It is too dark for me to see my map and compass, necessary equipment in this area.
Instead of wearing my headlamp, I decided to follow Vivian who had her GPS fired up and ready to lead us out of the
maze of water and mangroves.
The sun was not yet seen over the tree canopies, but the sky was beginning to show colors. I got out the camera
knowing darn well I would need to use a slow shutter speed. It’s doable with the image stabilizer inside the Sony
camera. I have printed shots that I took on the water at 1/60, so I knew the limits pretty much with this camera. As we
paddled slowly over the glassy water of Lane Bay, the same bay that was rough yesterday, the sky was beginning to
demonstrate strong and colorful patterns of yellows, reds, and blues. We had only 7 ½ miles to paddle today, so I took
my time and shot as many photos as I could. I noticed some large flocks of American coots again as we paddled
toward Hells Bay. Hundreds of birds were seen. The full moon cast a strong light on the water, helping me to navigate
along, although Vivian had the lead.
It did not take long for the sun to appear and by the time Hells Bay chickee was in sight, we were in well lit bays. Soon,
we would pass Pearl Bay chickee and then Lard Can camp as we made our way back into the long and tedious Hells
Bay Trail. The first and last part of our trip, the trail seemed to never end. But finally, we arrive at the park’s main road
where the trail begins. The sounds of the passing cars were rudely abrupt to my ears. I was thrown a bit by their speed
and power as I walked to my nearby car. On land and clearly back in “civilization”, I only wanted to get back out there.
But we had much to do today including visiting some friends camping at the Flamingo campground. They would still be
out here as the 30+ knot wind storm blew over only 2 hours after we got off the water. Our drive home was interrupted
by the fast storm that blew the palm trees horizontally and brought driving rain. We thought about some paddlers we
knew that were still out there, hopefully not caught in the open gulf or large bays when it passed over. The storm did
not last, but it left behind high sustained winds and very cold temperatures for several days. We wanted to be back out
there, but at the same time, we were grateful we were not. Such is the Everglades.
| Nine Days Around Whitewater Bay and Exploring the Rookery Branch Area December 2009 |
| All Rights Reserved. Copyright Constance Mier, 2010 |
A brief stop at Lard Can is usually a nice way
to transition from the tedious Hells Bay Trail
into open bays of Hells Bay country. But
today, the water level was high and the
ground very muddy at this relatively unused,
but quite beautiful little campsite.
to transition from the tedious Hells Bay Trail
into open bays of Hells Bay country. But
today, the water level was high and the
ground very muddy at this relatively unused,
but quite beautiful little campsite.
Large flocks of American coots were
abundant through the Hells and Lane Bays
areas.
abundant through the Hells and Lane Bays
areas.
Storm clouds awaited us as we approached
Whitewater Bay from the East River.
Whitewater Bay from the East River.
Early morning in front of South Joe River
chickee. Being on the water early always
pays off for us.
chickee. Being on the water early always
pays off for us.
Here we are at Oyster Bay chickee. Notice
the waterline at the ladder. The next
morning, it was over 1 foot below that.
Photo taken by Alex O.
the waterline at the ladder. The next
morning, it was over 1 foot below that.
Photo taken by Alex O.
Double click to view full size photo.
A houseboat on the Shark River manned by
ranger John Buckley who came out on deck to
greet us. Photo by Alex O.
ranger John Buckley who came out on deck to
greet us. Photo by Alex O.
This is the scene that greeted us when we
arrived at Canepatch. We shared the
campsite with 7 young fishermen during our
first night here. Wow, those powerboaters
sure pack a lot of stuff! Photos by Alex O.
arrived at Canepatch. We shared the
campsite with 7 young fishermen during our
first night here. Wow, those powerboaters
sure pack a lot of stuff! Photos by Alex O.
We got on the water to explore Rookery
Branch on the second day at Canepatch.
We arrived back at camp around noon and
this is what was there to greet us today. No
more powerboaters!
Branch on the second day at Canepatch.
We arrived back at camp around noon and
this is what was there to greet us today. No
more powerboaters!
Here's Alex on Canepatch, we had the entire
campsite to ourselves, just the 3 of us.
campsite to ourselves, just the 3 of us.
Vivian and I on the dock in front of
Canepatch. "Patches" the gator is
somewhere near by in the water. Photo by
Alex O.
Canepatch. "Patches" the gator is
somewhere near by in the water. Photo by
Alex O.
After leaving Canepatch, we head back
toward Whitewater Bay on a clear, cold
morning.
toward Whitewater Bay on a clear, cold
morning.
All dressed in blue, this is Whitewater Bay as
seen after leaving the labyrinth.
seen after leaving the labyrinth.
Our night on Watson River chickee was cold,
but the scene was beautiful.
but the scene was beautiful.
Alex and Vivian paddling on the North River as
we head to Roberts River on another brisk
morning.
we head to Roberts River on another brisk
morning.
The Roberts River chickee, one of my
favorites.
favorites.
A couple views of Roberts River.
Finding time to fish, Vivian catches a jack on
the Lane River. She had good luck throughout
the trip having caught several snook, trout and
snapper.
the Lane River. She had good luck throughout
the trip having caught several snook, trout and
snapper.
Lane Bay with the chickee to the left in the
distance. This is also one of my favorite
chickees set in one of my favorite areas of the
Everglades.
distance. This is also one of my favorite
chickees set in one of my favorite areas of the
Everglades.
Vivian enjoying a glass of wine on our last
night, new year's eve, on Lane Bay chickee.
Our two boxes of wine lasted the entire trip!
night, new year's eve, on Lane Bay chickee.
Our two boxes of wine lasted the entire trip!
I only managed a few bird photos on this
trip,so bringing the telephoto lens wasn't a
complete waste.
trip,so bringing the telephoto lens wasn't a
complete waste.
A few scenes from our last day on the water
that began at 6:30 am. These were all taken
in and around lane Bay.
that began at 6:30 am. These were all taken
in and around lane Bay.
Closer to home, Vivian paddles toward Pearl
Bay. It was a great trip with near perfect
weather. Hours later, a very bad storm swept
over the Everglades. We were in the car by
the time it hit.
Bay. It was a great trip with near perfect
weather. Hours later, a very bad storm swept
over the Everglades. We were in the car by
the time it hit.
That's me on Oyster Bay chickee. Thank
you Alex for your photos.
you Alex for your photos.
To view a slideshow of the trip, click here.
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