The Salty Side of the Everglades by Canoe

Greetings all.  This cold weather has my mind thinking of warmer places.  And your baja posts have inspired me to write this article on a recent trip to Florida.  Enjoy and stay warm.

“You want to do what?”  Bryan asked.  He had been in Ft. Lauderdale only about a year – sent there by his employer: The US Army.  And he had not even heard of Flamingo. 

So it took him by surprise when his friend, many miles away in Portland, Oregon, called and suggested they rent a canoe there, at the edge of the everglades and one of the most isolated places in Florida.  And then paddle ten miles further west, to camp on a lonely stretch of beach called East Cape.

“And help me understand.  Why?”  Bryan inquired.  “I don’t know.”  I answered.  “It’s just something I want to do.”  “Okay. Why not.” Bryan answered.  And with that, the adventure began to take shape.

I had been studying several maps of the Everglades National Park, allowing a plan to show itself.  One good one is at http://www.everglades.national-park.com/ever1.htm and another at http://www.nps.gov/ever/planyourvisit/upload/evermap.pdf .  I learned that a marina exists in Flamingo which is now only a skeleton of what it was before the hurricane season of 2005, when mother nature decided it had grown too big.  Large boats could no longer navigate the channel and the resort rooms were condemned, ruling out most of the reasons why normal people would visit the place.  But the canoes survived.  And so did the business of canoe rentals, which was enough reason for me to drive two hours from Miami to the simple and natural remains of Flamingo, Florida.

One drawback of our sport is the inability to take our most important piece of equipment with us when we travel by airplane.  I knew that.  Still, when a February conference in Miami showed up on my business travel radar, I could only think of how I might get out on the water in a small boat.  “I want to be hot.”  I told Bryan.  He had spent a few years stationed in Tacoma, WA so he knew what I was talking about.  “And I want to be far away from everyone else.”  Too many episodes of Survivorman influencing my psyche I guess.  A canoe rental was the easiest and least expensive option.  Reservation information can be found at http://www.flamingolodge.com.

Aside from a tent, everything else I needed fit into my checked luggage.  A travel fishing rod and reel, small tackle box, and some fishing knowledge from a few sites like  http://www.fishingflamingo.com/blog/category/fishing-reports/ and http://www.floridasportsman.com/4cast/so/ as well as http://www.evergladeskayakfishing.com/article-crocs.htm.  Note the word “crocs” in the last link - a recurring theme that caught my attention whenever camping in the everglades is written about – which is why a small first-aid kit was also on my packing list.  In fact, my research revealed that the Everglades is the only place in the world that crocodiles and alligators live in the same place – great.  I also packed other basics including rain gear, bug spray, flares, a chart, park registration instructions, long pants and shirt, binoculars, hat, sunscreen, sunglasses and of course, Ipod and portable speakers.  I even managed to stuff a sleeping bag and pillow into my duffle.  Food and beverage would be purchased at the last minute, along with an inexpensive cooler and ice.  Bryan’s responsibility was the tent.  “My neighbor has a new two man tent he’ll lend me.”  Bryan mentioned.  And so I packed, unpacked, repacked and studied charts and maps, because anticipation is half the fun.

The conference setting at the Doral Country Club was as cushy as it gets, but ironically, I was chomping at the bit to be uncomfortable in the middle of nowhere.  So I endured the seminars, skipped the closing ceremonies and finally headed south on A1A on a sunny Friday afternoon.  After food and beverage shopping, I visited the Homestead Library for a few minutes of internet access.  Checking email, I learned that Bryan was delayed returning from his own work trip to Panama, but no matter how late, he promised to make our rendezvous point at the Flamingo campground.  The latest weather forecast was good, with a winter heat wave expected for the weekend over the Florida peninsula.  Finally, with Homestead in the rear view mirror of my rental car, I headed into Everglades National Park, and out of cell phone range.

I had plenty of time, so while I drove through the park, I stopped at a couple of the “river of grass” walkways built over the fragile ecosystem which allow everyday people to get closer to the swamp – first at Pa-Hay-Okee overlook, and then at Mahogany Hammock.  I recommend both.  Next stop was the ranger station in Flamingo.  Wilderness camping in Everglades National Park requires a permit.  Find out more by reading http://www.nps.gov/ever/upload/WildernessTripPlanner.pdf.  The ranger was friendly and helpful, with plenty of good advice for the paddle to East Cape. 

I set up camp, sans a tent, at the Flamingo campground walk-in sites right on the water’s edge, and enjoyed a perfect sunset and cold beer.  A flashlight and book kept me busy after dark.  The campground was almost empty, so the approaching headlights around midnight gave Bryan’s arrival away easily.  He plopped his neighbor’s borrowed tent down in its unopened box on the ground.  I opened it and rolled out a three foot by six foot mat with accompanying tent.  I quickly looked back into the box for the rest of the tent…it was empty.  Here is an important lesson when camping with a borrowed tent.  “Two man” tent must refer to the number of people who made it, or the number of people who should put it up, or something else, because it most definitely does not mean two men can sleep in it.  No worries though, because a warm breeze kept the bugs away and I happily slept under the stars that night.

Canoe check out the next morning was quick and easy.  Fully loaded, we paddled hard out of the harbor and hugged the shoreline west toward East Cape.  And thus valuable lesson number two showed its ugly self:  Don’t hug the shore when canoeing in flats on an outgoing tide.  The good news is the tide range is small with a slow rate, so we had plenty of time to ponder how we ended up dragging ass in so many square miles of 6 inch water.  And so we spent a long time half floating, half dragging, planting oars and pulling ourselves over mud way too soft to step in.  Our arms burned when we finally floated west again in deeper water…just in time for the redfish to go crazy.

Tailing redfish are a fisherman’s dream. And the waters around Flamingo were boiling with them.  So while Bryan rowed, I cast…and cast…and cast.  Whatever they were eating, it did not look like my offering.  And ten miles is a long way to go in a canoe, so I finally had to admit defeat to the redfish and continue rowing.  If you really want to catch fish, consider a local guide, or at least give yourself more time to fish.

After what felt like ten miles, we rounded a modest corner and headed more north. “Must be East Cape” I said, and we pulled up on a muddy shore.  ‘It doesn’t look like the pictures.”  I complained.  We dug out the chart and handheld GPS and they told us we were only halfway there.  “Should we just camp here?” we pondered.  But I knew the answer.  You do not travel this far to come up five miles short.  We paddled on with sore arms, this time with the GPS on. 

Turning north around the real East Cape, the drag noise of the reel surprised me when the fish hit.  I forgot I had let line out while we paddled…canoe trolling.  I let Bryan reel in the small Jack Cravalle – our only fish of the trip.  A few paddle strokes more and a fantastic beach opened up before us.  Any doubts dissolved instantly as we slid ashore on a wide deserted beach in paradise.  And hot too…in February…almost ninety.  The damp cold of Oregon in my bones finally thawed as I lay exhausted, under a makeshift canopy…with cold beer…good music…good friend…and sunset.  It was heaven, and it lasted for at least a good ten minutes. 

Smack…we didn’t really notice at first…thwack…then more often…then swelling on our legs and necks…then swarms of them.  And so lesson number three emerged from the inland swamp as the sun set.  A heat wave in February brings out Florida bugs just like its summertime.  “Find the bug spray.”  One of us yelled.  “Build a fire.”  The other yelled.  We stood in the smoke soaked in bug spray.   The no-see-ums did not care and their onslaught continued.  “We have no choice.  Let’s put up the one-man, two-man tent.”

“Are you all the way over on your side?”  I asked.  “I’m crammed up against the side of this stupid tent.  Are you all the way over?”  Bryan asked.  “I’m all the way over.”  I answered.  “Can you reach the Ipod.”  “I think so.”  “What time is it?”  “Only seven-thirty.”  “Well that’s just greaaaat.”  “What is that noise?”  “It’s coming from over there.”  “Shine your flashlight.”  “It’s a raccoon, attacking our cooler.”  “Yell at it.”  “Heeeyyyyy.”  “It didn’t work.”  “Go chase it.”  “No way.  I’ll get eaten alive by bugs.”  “Got any food?”  “No, but the raccoon does.”  “Well…at least we’ve got music.”

12 hours later, the sun finally made its reappearance.  With swollen bladders and empty stomachs, we lay trapped still, staring in awe at a sight, which apparently is not often seen, revealed by the morning light. The mesh of the tiny tent was alive with a billion no-see-ums.  “Watch this.”  Bryan amused himself.  “If you flick them off, they just go to the other side.  But they always come back to my side.  How come there are so many more on my side anyway.”  I managed to find some humor in our situation and answered.  “Because I taste bad I guess. Don’t they go away when the sun comes up?  Otherwise, we can see-um.”

And so we waited…and so did they.

“It’s no good.  We’ve got to make a break for it.”  I suggested.  “Okay.  We’ll just stuff everything into the canoe and paddle straight offshore.”  Bryan added.  With that, we pulled our hooded sweatshirts tight around our faces, unzipped our holding pen, and ran around like Benny Hill stuffing things into the center of the canoe.  The tent, sleeping bags, Ipod, beer bottles, bits of broken up cooler with bite marks on them, pdfs, paddles, fishing gear, pillows, all crammed in with no regard for dryness, neatness or searchability…and all the time being bitten by rule breaking bugs in broad daylight.  Then we paddled hard and fast…straight away.  Clearly some of the dreaded no-see-ums broke off the chase and buzzed back home as we began to make headway, but amazingly, many more stayed with us and swarmed our heads as we paddled, until they were obviously too far to head back, in which case they might as well take one last bite and die happy.  Finally, over the course of the next 30 minutes, the last of the swarming menaces was gone, yet the evidence lived on in the form of horrible bites and thousands of small, dead no-see-ums covering the canoe floor at our feet.  Hated, yet at the same time, impressive in their determination.

The wind was at our backs for the ten mile paddle back to the marina.  The casts were half-hearted as I really just enjoyed gliding over the water, finally bug free and hot again.  And the fish knew I didn’t really mean business that day so they saved me the trouble of releasing them.  The staff welcomed us back and check-in/clean up was easy and quick.  In no time I was headed back to Miami and the reality of everyday life back in the Northwest.  Driving home from PDX in the rain, I looked at the hundreds of bites on my arms and smiled, wondering how the noseeums would perform on my home turf.

All in all, I highly recommend a visit to Flamingo, Florida.  I’ve spent many expensive days fishing the northern Bahama hotspots in huge battlewagons, which is worthwhile in its own right, yet the remote, un-crowded, beautiful and fishy isolation of a simple canoe near Flamingo cannot be beat for pure value. 

 

Bravo!

Great story !!

Nice.

I could use some heat, right about now.