Outdoors
Everglades: Land of rivers and bays
Decisions, decisions. Equipped with experience or not, a journey through the Everglades, complete with twists and turns, is simply no picnic (First of two parts).
By TERRY TOMALIN, Times Outdoors Editor
Published April 13, 2004
EVERGLADES CITY - The channel markers that led from the Barron River to the start of the Wilderness Waterway stopped abruptly in the middle of Chokoloskee Bay.
"What do we do now?" I asked my companions as we sat idle in 18 inches of water. "Where did all the water go?"
The volunteer at the Everglades National Park ranger station said we should have no problem finding our way to the mouth of the Lopez River, which marks the beginning of the 99-mile inland route from Everglades City to Flamingo.
"Just go slow," she said. "There are a lot of twists and turns."
I had paddled these waters several times - once in a canoe and several times by sea kayak. On one trip, I had made it all the way from Chokoloskee to Flamingo in 24 hours. How difficult could the same journey be in a 21-foot bay boat with a 200 horsepower engine?
"Am I missing something?" I asked my friend Jason Lusk. "Or is this the channel to nowhere."
An experienced boater and avid angler, Lusk had spent his share of time in the backcountry of Florida Bay. But as we studied the nautical chart together, he was equally perplexed by our situation.
"It looks like it just ends right here," he said. "... in the middle of the bay."
We could see Marker 130, the first in a series of more than 100 aids to navigation that led paddlers from Everglades City to the park headquarters at Flamingo, 100 yards away. We could get out and push the boat the length of a football field, I thought to myself. But we were less than one hour into a three-day trip. There would be ample opportunities to get wet.
So I broke out the chart and studied the fine print concerning the Wilderness Waterway more closely.
"The entire route can be traversed in a minimum of six hours by outboard motor, or in seven days by a canoe," the note read.
There was one small caveat, however: "Navigation of the route is not advisable for boats over 18 feet in length, or for boats with high cabins and windshields, because of the narrow channels and overhanging foliage in some areas."
The original plan had called for us to motor down the inland rivers and bays south toward Flamingo then camp for the night on a chickee, or a platform styled after the old Seminole Indian dwellings. In Flamingo, which has everything a camper needs, including fresh water, food and lodging, we would refuel. Then, we would run back up the outside through the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico, camp on one of the small barrier islands and return home.
But as I looked at the chart more closely, the tiny type flashed warnings like a neon sign.
"Numerous snags. Local knowledge necessary to avoid numerous bars."
Even though the chart showed water depths of 8 feet or more in all the rivers, I decided to rethink our adventure.
"Change of plans," I said. "We are going to backtrack, follow the channel out and then run south in open water."
We could still make our permitted campsite at Rodgers River Bay chickee by early afternoon, I thought, which would give us plenty of time to fish. The sheltered rivers and bays of the Wilderness Waterway are a haven for snook, redfish and trout, as well as a nursery area for many sea-going species, including grouper and snapper.
Following the channel markers in the direction from which we had come, we spotted a sightseeing boat leaving the park headquarters and heading out Indian Key Pass.
"They have to know where they are going," Lusk said. "Let's follow them."
This main channel is used by commercial fishing boats and cruisers heading south from Naples. They all stop at Everglades City, because once you turn south at Indian Key, there is nothing except mangroves and mud flats all the way to Flamingo.
Powerboaters, sailors, canoeists and kayakers must carry everything they need - food, water, fuel and medical supplies - because cell phones and VHF radios don't work in the bush. Once you leave port, you are on your own. Many would-be adventurers have spent long, sleepless nights with mosquitoes and raccoons their companions, waiting for a ranger or fishermen to pass by as they lay stranded on a sandbar.
The charts for this region are not reliable. Water levels vary greatly with wind and tide. Shoaling at the mouths of the small creeks, rivers and bays can make navigation particularly difficult. And the very nature of mangrove islands - they can come and go with passing storms - means that at times, you can't trust your eyes.
With this in mind, we brought along several different aids to navigation, the most important being our console-mounted global positioning system (GPS). This relatively inexpensive ($1,200) piece of marine electronics, when used in conjunction with a "map chip," would triangulate our position with the help of satellites and make it virtually impossible for us to get lost.
The GPS would be especially important running through the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico, because once we were a mile or more from shore, it would be almost impossible to see the small indentation in the mangroves that marked the mouth of the Baron River, the path to our campsite.
We followed a fishing boat past Indian Key then turned southeast and opened up the throttle. In a 2-foot chop and following sea, the 21-foot Sea Pro cruised effortlessly at 30 mph.
"We better start looking for our turnoff," I told Lusk, who was sharing the responsibility of navigation.
"You think we have come that far?" he said.
Then I noticed a wide bay off the port bow.
"That's Shark Point over there," I said, remembering the place from a long, sleepless night I once spent there with mosquitoes and raccoons my only companions.
So we turned around and headed back the way we came. The map on our GPS unit had been "zoomed" too far out, giving us only a macroview of our surroundings. We got back on track and soon found ourselves idling into the mangrove maze at the mouth of the Broad River.
Now, with the GPS "zoomed" in to give us a microview of our surroundings, we could clearly identify every island and oyster bar. Twice, we shut the motor off to keep from fouling the engine when we ran aground in the mud. But we found the main channel and proceeded at half speed.
"Wait a minute," I said after running several miles. "There should have been a channel marker off to our right."
We stopped, rechecked the GPS and quickly realized that we had gone up the mouth of the wrong river. We had zoomed too far in, which gave us only a microview of our surroundings.
Heading back the way we came, we found the right river and cruised deep into the heart of Everglades National Park, seeking our campsite for the night, the Rodgers River Bay chickee.
"The map says it is over there," Lusk said, pointing north.
"But the ranger said it is over there," I said, pointing west.
We debated for a moment, then I reminded my friend of that cryptic note at the top of the chart: "Local knowledge is necessary."
We headed west and 20 minutes later pulled up alongside the wooden platform upon which we would set up our tent.
"That's it?" asked my nephew, Luke Sherman. "We're sleeping on that?"
The Boston University freshman turned down spring break in Cancun and came to Florida to see the Everglades.
His father, an advertising man from New York, had only one question before allowing his first born to follow his crazy uncle: "What are the chances that he'll be eaten alive by an alligator?"
"Slim," I told my brother-in-law. "Gators usually drown their prey then let it rot before feeding."
That night, as we kicked back and settled in under a full moon, a lone 8-foot gator appeared and slowly made his way to our chickee. The beast had obviously seen its share of campers and was probably looking for a handout. My nephew, who had never seen an alligator in the wild, looked to me for reassurance.
"He looks hungry," I said, smiling. Luke backed away from the water. "But don't worry. I promised your dad that you won't be eaten alive."
Tomorrow: Stranded with no hope in sight.
[Last modified April 13, 2004, 01:05:40]
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