Advil, Tylenol, aspirin and ice are only options to dull a painful molar as the trip must go on.
By TERRY TOMALIN
Published June 22, 2004
[Times photos: Douglas R. Clifford]
Darry Jackson, George Stovall and Terry Tomalin get out of their dugout canoe so it can pass over a sandbar.
George Stovall prepares the dugout canoe for the second day of the trip. A support boat brought the paddlers ice a few hours after the canoe launched.
Part one: Boat proves seaworthy - sort of
Adventurers buttress a dugout canoe, fit it with a sail and mast and take it for a ride in the gulf.
[Times map]
As paddlers sailed past the cooling towers of the Crystal River Power Plant, they thought of how the American Indians might have sailed by this same spot thousands of years ago.
Second of a three-part series.
WITHLACOOCHEE BAY - Nine miles from shore, water pouring over the gunwales of our 24-foot dugout canoe, navigator and steersman Darry Jackson grabbed the global positioning system before it floated away.
"We are going to lose this GPS unit," Jackson said from the stern of the canoe. "The water is getting pretty deep back here."
George Stovall, sitting in front of Jackson, bailed seawater as fast as he could, but he was fighting a losing battle.
"Maybe we should have brought two buckets," I said.
"If you stop paddling, we'd really be in trouble," Stovall said. "If we don't keep this thing moving forward, it might sink."
Our plan was to paddle the Honduran cayuga on a southwesterly course all morning, then raise our sail and run downwind to our campsite at the mouth of Crystal River when the sea breeze kicked in.
We had hoped to prove the "mahogany log," as we had come to call it, could be sailed with a primitive lateen rig. Archaeologists long have wondered whether Florida's early inhabitants used the wind to help them travel the coasts of the peninsula.
Our Central American dugout canoe did not differ significantly in design or construction from the one the Tocabaga used when the Spanish conquistadores arrived on the shores of Tampa Bay.
Historians consider such an endeavor "experimental archaeology." The late Norwegian explorer Thor Heyerdahl made several epic journeys in primitive watercraft to prove pre-Columbian man could have crossed broad expanses of oceans.
But as the water continued to pour over the side, I began to wonder if our experiment was doomed.
"How you guys doing?" support crew chief Chris Cross asked as he pulled beside us in a 21-foot powerboat. "I think if you took a different tack, you would take on a little less water."
We had been making good progress, close to 4 miles an hour, not bad for a human-powered vessel whose design hasn't changed significantly for several millennia.
"There might be enough wind to hoist the sail," I said. "We would probably make better time."
It also would be easier on our arms, and my head, which felt like it was about to explode thanks to a molar that had chosen the most inopportune time to announce it needed medical attention.
I had visited the dentist earlier in the week but had not been able to pinpoint the problem tooth.
"My whole jaw just aches," I told him. He took some X-rays, which looked fine, so he told me to go home and come back when I could be more specific.
Now, midway through the first day of a three-day expedition, I knew which tooth was the culprit, but the nearest dentist's office was probably 30 miles away.
"Hey, did you ever see that movie Cast Away with Tom Hanks?" Stovall asked. "He had a tooth that went bad so he just knocked it out."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said. "Thanks for the advice."
It took a few minutes to rig the sail, but once we did, we were amazed at how well our craft responded. Stovall, who had made the greatest contribution to the journey by designing and building the sail, was at a loss for words.
"How poetic," he said. "Isn't that just beautiful."
With nothing left to do except provide ballast, I crawled toward the bow and lay down in 2 inches of water while Stovall and Jackson sailed the canoe south. No longer slamming head-on into the waves, it cut a clean path across the rollers.
At rest for the first time in four hours, I swallowed another handful of Advil, Tylenol and aspirin and settled back for a nap.
What would a Tocabaga warrior have done in the same situation, I wondered? Probably taken a knife from his belt and cut out the offending tooth. I was tough, but not that tough, I thought to myself.
Who was I kidding? Modern Floridians are wimps compared with the first inhabitants of the Sunshine State. When the air conditioning went out in my truck, I thought I was going to die, yet those warriors had to paddle and run through the hot sun to kill their lunch.
That afternoon, as we sailed pass the cooling towers of the Crystal River Power Plant, Stovall commented on the irony of the situation.
"The Indians might have sailed by this same spot thousands of years ago," he said. "I'm sure they wouldn't recognize the place."
With an hour of daylight left, we entered the mouth of the Crystal River as a long line of boats exited. There was only one piece of high ground suitable for camping, and after making landfall, we realized it was an old shell mound.
The Tocabaga probably chose this place for a village because it offered easy access to the open ocean and sheltered waters of the spring-fed rivers. Hundreds of American Indians probably gathered here to feast on piles of shellfish and thick manatee steaks.
"Great spot," Cross said. "In the morning, it will take us 10 minutes to run up river to the marina and refill the coolers with ice."
Ahhhh, ice. A big chunk probably would take a little of the swelling out of my jaw.
That evening, we sat around our clay-fire pot (the Tocabaga used to carry fire in their canoes), oblivious to the clouds of mosquitoes and no-see-ums because of some insect repellent that was potent enough to melt a hole in the floor of a tent and a butane-powered contraption that kept the biting insects from finding their warm-blooded prey.
After sunset, we walked down the beach to look for shooting stars but ended up staring at the power plant.
"Looks like a city at night," Cross said. "That's a lot of electricity."
Six hours later I awoke with a blinding headache and a tooth that felt like it was about to explode.
"You are awfully quiet this morning," Stovall said.
I paddled on in silence, tears streaming down my cheeks, hoping the support boat would catch up to us quickly so I could put a piece of ice on the tooth.
"Why don't you take some Advil," Stovall asked.
"I have already finished off all my Advil, Tylenol and aspirin," I said. "My stomach is pretty messed up."
About 11 a.m., Cross finally caught up to us.
"Sorry I'm late guys," he said. "But it's Saturday morning, and the marina was full of people trying to buy gas and ice."
The combination of sun, exercise and dehydration had made the pain close to unbearable, so we stopped and I climbed aboard the support boat.
"We have to do something about Terry's tooth," Jackson said.
"I've got a pair of pliers," my friend Casey LaLomia said.
"So do I," Stovall said.
"That settles it," Cross said. "With four guys and two pairs of pliers, we ought to be able to pull that sucker out."
Normally, I would have laughed. But I didn't have the energy.
I just moaned, then lay down on the deck and passed out.
Day 3: Microwave hamburgers, codeine and the mayor of Aripeka.
[Last modified June 22, 2004, 01:00:26]
[Times photo: Douglas R. Clifford]
Chris Cross and Terry Tomalin walked to the beach to look for shooting stars after making camp but ended up staring at the glow from the Crystal River Power Plant. "Looks like a city at night," Cross said.
