Everglades

By Angelo Monaco

It 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.

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.

The next morning after a cup of coffee, with Rosie grounded at low tide, we inflated our kayaks and attempted to circumnavigate the island. We spent about as much time pulling those floats through the shallows as we did paddling them, but the chance to see rays, turtles, crabs, and myriads of fish through the crystal clear water was worth the walk. On the beaches we saw turtle tracks and what looked like the paw prints of a large bobcat or a small puma. Needless to say we chose not to follow the cat tracks. Later that day we sailed Rosie south back into the national park and headed for Jewel Key. This was a 10-mile sail close to the wind with a wicked current working against us. At one point the boat was heeled 10 degrees, and the wind was blowing hard but my GPS was only registering a speed of 1.5 knots. We took hours to get to the Island and tacked too many times but found a beautiful anchorage. We set up camp and watched another gorgeous sunset.

Jewel Key stood out because of the beautiful vegetation and great swimming close to the beach, and also the absence of biting insects. The following day I spent the early morning listening to the crows in a nearby tree debate a Barred Owl further back in the woods. For the first time in my life I actually sat quietly and watched the sunrise. It was amazing. Just as the sun rose, a small stag poked its head out of the woods, looked around, and then trotted back under cover. Later, dolphins were breaking the surface of the water and cackling. I felt like I was watching an old Disney movie. As we packed up, we decided to sail further South to Pavilion Key.

Heading almost due south, we spent the day skimming through relative calm winds trying to coax some speed out of the light breezes. The heat continued to have its effect and we were grateful for overpacking in regard to the supply of water. Though most sources suggested one gallon per-day, per-person, we returned home with less than a gallon of water despite packing nearly twice the recommended amount.

At midday the wind totally quit on us, and as I was dangling my feet overboard, a hammerhead shark broke the water close to the boat. Had I not been screaming like a child I might have gotten a picture of the creature. My mate swore the monster had a pipefish in its mouth. I confess to at first thinking it was someone’s arm.

Pavilion Key was a marvelous anchorage. By far the biggest of the islands we visited, it presented an amazing collection of birds. Pelicans, both brown and white, along with Anhingas, Cormorants, Egrets, Red Shouldered Hawks and the loudest crows all made their appearance in the short time we were on the island. The plant life rivaled any botanical garden I had visited.

Unfortunately, a sudden squall dropped about two inches of rain on our campsite. Though my tent was effective in keeping out insects, it was in the midst of the downpour that I realized I had been putting the rain fly on backwards. Instead of keeping the downpour off me, the rain fly actually directed gallons of water into the back window of the tent.

The next morning, we made the long sail back to the channel at Chokoloskee Bay and our eventual trip up the Barron River. While most of the sailing was slow due to intermittent winds, we eventually picked up strong gusts as we neared the long channel to the river. The sailing for the last part of the day was exhilarating. As we reached the end of the widest portion of the channel, we heard thunder and saw some lightning, so we steered Rosie toward a small island in order to drop the mast and start the engine. With our eyes peeled for lightning we failed to notice that an 8- foot crocodile was lying in the muddy shallows less than 20 feet from the bow of the boat. At that point I was far less concerned about danger from lightning than from the croc. I gave up the idea of taking down the sails and mast and quickly pushed off, caught the wind and put distance between us and the intimidating reptile.

We once again pulled up alongside the quay at the Visitor’s Center and took down the sails and dropped the mast. Timing our return carefully, the tide was again in our favor and we made easy progress up the river. I was in the process of congratulating myself for returning back to port without a mishap when in sight of the launch, we ran over an oyster bed. Rosie shuddered in pain, and a fair amount of uninvited water entered through a hole in the hull.

Disappointed? Not really. The fact that I had actually sailed a boat down a river in the Everglades, threaded it through the 10,000 Islands, and out into the Gulf of Mexico certainly outweighs the 12 or so hours I spent repairing Rosie’s hull.