Everglades By Angelo Monaco
I
t started with me standing on the bank of the Barron River trying to figure out if I was up to the challenge. I was committed to a trip down the river, through a part of the Everglades and then through the 10,000 Islands along Florida’s Gulf coast. Since passing sixty, I felt I needed just once to take an epic adventure in the wilderness, and this was my chance. Perhaps to most the trip was not at all epic, but I am a lousy sailor and my boat is Rosie, a badly maintained, 40-year-old, Potter 15. So navigating down the river with the mast down and using only current and tide for propulsion was a frightening endeavor. Even more challenging was once we cleared the bridges we would then sail through the Ten Thousand Islands and out into the Gulf of Mexico. I was hoping Rosie’s slight draft would keep us from getting stuck in the shallow channels between the islands. If that did happen, it would be very hard to get unstuck. While I had brought along a gas-powered engine, (actually a converted leaf blower), it was unreliable and I hoped to travel as far as I could without ever turning it on. Since irresponsible development and a disregard for its natural importance had already shrunk the Everglades below fifty percent of its original size, I also did not want to add to the destruction. I vowed to leave the locations I visited exactly as I found them. That meant bringing out every bit of trash I created and any I found upon arrival. So, provisioning involved meals that required a can opener to prepare, mass quantities of water, and trash bags. We had rolled into Everglades City the previous night at 11:30 PM. A town of 400 along the Barron River, it was clear that other than the mosquitos, (some the size of small, fat children and just as hungry) no one was awake. Each time we stepped out of the truck the mosquitoes drove us back inside. So, we cranked up the windows tight and slept until sunrise.
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April 2020 S O U T H W I N D S
The following morning, contradicting the material that I read online, the National Parks employee pointed upriver to a commercial launch site and shrugged his shoulders when we asked about registering to camp within the park. So, we launched unregistered and set off down the river. The vista was gorgeous, and Rosie glided down the river propelled only by nature and a few prayers. With the river current and tide in our favor and no other boats in sight we floated down the river and carefully slid under the bridges with very little room to spare. As the broadness of Chokoloskee Bay came into sight we glided under one last bridge. We tied off alongside the quay at the Visitor’s Center and quickly raised the mast and installed the sails. With the mast up we glided back out into the channel and with a good wind behind us we flew toward the Gulf “wing and wing”. Watching those sails fill up and the wake bubbling behind the boat, it now seemed like the trip was a brilliant idea and not the “idiot’s folly” my wife had dubbed it. Our first stop upon leaving the Barron River and traversing Chokoloskee Bay was supposed to be Indian Key but we quickly flew past that island and continued out of the channel and into the Gulf. Heading north we sailed past Picnic Key and Tiger Key and since we did not want to stop, we kept sailing to just outside the northern boundary of the National Park to Camp Lulu Key. We anchored there. Almost immediately the biodiversity of the area began to display itself. Snook were leaping out of the water, and all manner of birds were nesting or flying in sight. A can of something warmed over Sterno was a hearty enough dinner and the sunset was absolutely beautiful. The evening did present some challenges. Following the various suggestions regarding keeping bugs out of my tent I sprayed the screens and doors with repellant, and despite little chance of rain, I covered the mesh top with my rain fly and sprayed that as well. My mate chose not to use his rain fly so he could look at the night sky. The last thing he said to me before I fell asleep was how beautiful the stars were. Two hours later I was awoken by his screams about being eaten alive. I tossed him some repellant and some antihistamine and stayed “zipped up” until daylight. www.southwindsmagazine.com
