An introduction; as always, the weather directs our destiny
Geologically speaking, the Everglades are young at 5000 years of age. In fact, the Egyptians were building the
great pyramids while the Everglades were being formed. Is it the youthfulness of this region what makes the
Everglades so unique? Or is it the series of events that led up to the formation of the Everglades such as the
post-glacial warming that raised the water level at a rate of 6 feet per century, or the accumulation of solidified
calcium carbonate turning into limestone to form the rock base of south Florida? Is it the flourishing tropical flora
and fauna that gives the Everglades their true character? Or, maybe there is a human quality in the uniqueness
of the Everglades such as the fact that the entire United States had already been mapped while the Everglades
remained an inhospitable wilderness mystery. The first reasonable account of the Everglades was in 1840 when
Colonel William Harney led his troops through the Everglades in search of Indians, those people that knew the
Everglades intimately.
The Everglades are unique, there is no doubt about that. But I believe that what gives the Everglades their most
distinct character is the exposure to two distinct weather patterns. During the warm summer month period,
tropical trade winds are most influential bringing with them lots of moisture; and also the newsworthy hurricanes.
But during the drier winter months, particularly December through February, the hot humidity is replaced by
several temperate westerly cold fronts, which can come in every week or more. These do not get much
attention outside of south Florida. Thus, it is during these temperate winter months that the Everglades lights up
as a popular paddling destination, especially for those northerners escaping the freeze.
There is no better way to experience the Everglades than to spend several days at a time paddling through
them. First noticeable is the endless water that meets the endless sky, only slightly separated by a thin green
line of mangroves. The sky changes by the minute and this is so magically reflected in the water surrounding
your canoe. In your mesmerized state and unconscious, rhythmic moving of arms and torso, you may begin to
notice that all around you is an endless scene of life. Punctuating your day of repetitive paddling are scenes of
various combinations of flocks or single birds flying overhead, dolphins coming up to take in air, manatee noses
peeking out now and then, and bait fish jumping. And don’t forget that amidst the thickness of the mangrove
forest that you often pass by closely, animals are crawling, slithering, crouching, running, climbing, or flying. Also
under your hull is a crazy and violent life known only to marine animals; this is where the food chain runs long.
Such is the power of the Everglades that becomes more evident as the days draw on.
Something will eventually awaken you from your dream state that lingers with the quietness of a calm day when
cumulus clouds form playful oblong shapes above you, calming you as you paddle through clear, smooth water.
The sun is hot but it feels good on your skin as you sweat and rehydrate throughout the day. Your muscles feel
tired, but strong. You want to take your time and soak it up, you body has craved this warmth for too long.
Perfect conditions lead you to your destination; perhaps a campsite that sticks out of the water and is no bigger
than a small bedroom. It will be a comfortable home for one night, welcoming you into the next perfect day.
And then it happens. One day, you are confronted by a mean spirited Everglades that you did not expect. Like
a split personality, the dark side appears out of nowhere and you are jolted from the pleasure you had been
enjoying while in the company of serenity and warmth. The clouds begin to accumulate in the western sky and
you are amazed at how black and large they are as they roll angrily across the sky. You find the water now to
be very choppy and restless, and those winds are beating you down with every stroke of the paddle. It was not
like this yesterday when the water looked like an unused ice rink! The bay you studied on your chart earlier
looked so small but now it never ends as you cut slowly into sustained 15-knot winds. Hours later you make it to
your campsite; a bit worn down but feeling relieved that you are dry and the dark clouds have quickly passed
leaving you with cooler temperatures. You wished you had left your previous campsite earlier as the evening
darkness overcomes you while you set up your tent.
You are only 2 days into a 9-day paddle adventure and anything can happen. And it does. Before your last day
of the trip, a serious front, the previous one was just a sample, is expected to reign down on the area. This time,
it will bring 30+ knot winds from the northwest. It will rain very hard, but that will last no more than a couple
hours. The winds will eventually settle at a brisk 15-20 knots sustained, gusting to 25 knots. The temperatures
will no longer reach 70 degrees during the day. Night temperatures will be low 40s, high 30s. Short, but
dramatic, fronts come and go, but you do not want to be caught in a bay or the Gulf when it hits the fan. The
Everglades can change so often on a dime during one long visit.
This was a trip we had to get out of our system, the circumnavigation of Whitewater Bay and exploration of
Rookery Branch. There are a few ways of doing this trip and we did not know exactly how it would be done until
a few days before we started. We had a good idea of the route; but from that, we could alter it based on
weather forecast. The weather always dictates our trips out here. Contingency plans are necessary to
planning. A few days prior to the trip, the forecast indicated that the winds would move in a clockwise manner
beginning from the southeast on day 1, clocking entirely around and ending as westerly winds on our last day. In
the middle of the trip, we expected a cold northerly front to come down. The first day had the potential to be the
windiest at expected 15-20 knots coming directly out of the east and eventually shifting from the south. We did
not want to traverse Whitewater Bay on that day. So we played it safe and routed ourselves into protected
waters. If we got lucky, we could ideally have the winds pretty much behind us the entire trip. The itinerary with
approximate mileage (90 in total) was:
Hells Bay Traihead to Hells Bay chickee 7 miles
Hells Bay chickee to South Joe chickee 11 miles
South Joe chickee to Oyster Bay chickee 10 miles
Oyster Bay chickee to Canepatch 13.5 miles
One day exploring Rookery Branch near Canepatch 10.5 miles
Canepatch to Watson River chickee (through the labyrinth) 15.5 miles
Watson River chickee to Roberts River chickee (through the cut off) 7.5 miles
Roberts River chickee to Lane Bay chickee 5.5 miles
Lane Bay chickee to Hells Bay Trailhead 9.5 miles
Day 1 – hundreds of coots, lots of wind and a beautiful Hells Bay evening
Hells Bay Trail begins at the park’s main highway. It’s about 9 miles from the Flamingo marina and typically
during this time of year, there are several cars parked near the launch site. Today, our car would join the ranks of
4 others owned by paddlers who might be out for several days or maybe only one. The launch site is a small
dock with a smaller area near it where a couple canoes can be loaded from the water’s muddy edge. The water
level was very high, flush with the dock’s surface. I had never seen it so high. There has been a tremendous
amount of freshwater runoff this year and we would clearly see its effect inside Rookery branch in a few days.
The first 3 miles of the trip is long and tedious through the narrow Hells Bay Trail that eventually opens up into
wider passages. On your waterproof chart or aerial map, you will not see any trace of the trail. This trail was
routed decades ago by gladesmen who came in to the Hells Bay area (use to be known as the Bill Ashley
jungles) to fish and hunt. Later, the park made use of the route (and some of their campsites) and marked it with
PVC pipes, many of which are numbered. You begin at number 1 and end at number 174 near by Hells Bay
chickee, 7 miles away.
The water levels were so high that there was no recognizable trail other than the frequent PVC marker.
Sometimes, the markers were not obvious and we would begin down the wrong path. The water meanders
around mangroves and at any given point, you could wander off into one of 2 or more different directions.
Experienced trail hikers and paddlers know that you should never lose site of the last marker before finding the
next one. And so we worked our way through the trail that seemed to go on forever. It typically takes 1 ½ hr to
get out of the narrows of the trail into the more open end that is near Lard Can campsite, only a mere 3 miles
away. Getting that tediousness behind us and finally into more open waters, I began to feel that the trip had
begun.
Loaded with about 150 lb of water, food, gear, clothing and miscellaneous stuff, I had no trouble paddling my
Wenonah Vagabond. It’s a recreational canoe more than a touring type; nevertheless, I find it to handle well. The
trick is to place the heaviest stuff right behind the seat. This included a 7-gal hard-sided container and the 2 food
buckets. Together, they comprised over half the cargo weight. I used my carbon ZRE bent shaft paddle the
entire trip, but I carried a spare wooden straight shaft. Other than my behind getting a bit sore and my back a
little stiff, it was a joy to paddle the boat for 9 days.
The temperatures were moderate today and the sky mostly overcast. It felt good for a change to not have the
sun beating down on us. There would be plenty of sun on this trip so I enjoyed the reprieve as we headed into
the Hells Bay area where we came onto a very large raft of American coots. Coots swim like ducks but they are
not ducks. Their sooty feathers are interrupted by a brilliant white short beak and deep red eyes. There were
about 50 of them in this flock and of course they started swimming away as soon as I appeared no less than a
few hundred feet away. We had a leisurely day so I pulled out the telephoto and attempted to get closer. The
open bay was catching the brunt of the strong winds and the water was choppy and moving fast. I paddled
cautiously around them and if I got too close they would take off to a more distant point only a hundred or so feet
away. The flapping wings and skittering feet across the water was loud and boisterous. Rarely did I see one get
more than a couple feet above the water. They were here to stay as this was a perfect feeding spot for them;
shallow and grassy. The wind made it impossible to photograph the birds well, so after 15 minutes, I moved on.
In the meantime, Vivian fished and managed to catch a beautiful snapper and a small out of season snook.
Since we brought plenty of food, she spared the snapper’s life. By 1 pm our feet were planted on the chickee.
We were alone and decided to set up the tent. The winds had picked up to a stiff 15-20 knots and we struggled
to get the tent upright. Vivian rigged up a tarp to cut the wind during our dinner. Shortly after arriving, a couple in
a rented double canoe came in for a lunch break on the other platform. No sooner did they get themselves
comfortable but more paddlers arrived. This time, it was a young couple that would be spending the night.
The couple stopping for lunch soon got back in their boat to paddle the remaining couple miles to Lane Bay
chickee. We learned from them that they had a difficult time getting a permit yesterday; seems the chickees
were all booked. We were so lucky to get our sites! Later, we met the couple next door, Carla and Oron from
San Francisco. They were spending their last night of a 5-night trip that started on the cape, led them down
Shark River to Oyster Bay, Joe River and eventually to Hells Bay. What a great trip and they planned it well
having used Johnny Molloy’s book, Paddlers' Guide to Everglades National Park. We all enjoyed a beautiful
evening as the winds died down comfortably. The sky was mostly blue and the sunset behind us lit up the
surrounding bay. Quite beautiful the scene with magnificent quietness of the Everglades surrounding us. It was
interrupted once by the loud sound of the coots flapping across the water. Soon, the stars were out and we
made our way into the warm tent for a peaceful first night on the water.
Day 2 & 3 – Whitewater Bay on Christmas Day; the long Joe River
Yesterday, I felt the work-related stress leave my body and mind, marking the beginning of a transition into the
new year. This was going to be a fantastic trip and as always, I was eager to get back on the water this early
morning and see what new adventures awaited us. As always, we are on the water by 7 am. This is the most
beautiful time to paddle the Everglades. Almost always calm, the water reflects the red and yellow patterns of
the rising sun. Birds come alive flying about and as we left the chickee, we watched a bald eagle fly over the
bay. Dark clouds were already forming on the west sky, and the glow of the easterly sunrise gave Vivian’s boat
an awesome shine on the water. The golden glow continued as we passed through the East River that leads us
languidly to Whitewater Bay.
Once in the bay, the rain clouds were upon us and I decided to cover myself with my spray skirt to keep my legs
dry. The one thing I miss about my touring kayak is the warmth under the spray skirt on those days when it can
get downright chilly and wet; and regardless of temperature, staying dry can make all the difference in comfort.
Despite its openness, the canoe does keep me dry, but only when it is not raining. Initially, I was not going to
bother bringing the deck covers which connect to my boat with about 16 riveted snaps. I imagined the difficulty
of trying to snap up the deck cover while hanging over a chickee. But after some thought, I decided that since I
am as long as a day, it would not be a serious problem and having the deck covers can be a nice addition to the
paddle. Besides, I could stash them away easily at any time.
The rain left as quickly as it came, leaving us with mild windy conditions. Soon, the dark clouds were rolling
away behind us as we followed the left shoreline toward Tarpon Creek entrance. From there we would head up
the wide Joe River where our second night’s chickee, South Joe River, awaited us. This was Christmas Day and
the very large Whitewater Bay was empty of boats. We seemed to be the only people out here enjoying the rare
peacefulness of not hearing powerboats over this vast body of water.
The sun was hot and we were feeling tired, despite the moderate distance traveled. Vivian and I were both
recovering from a mild cold and did not feel 100% at the beginning of the trip. We headed to the chickee which
faces east. The winds, now coming out of the west, were not as strong as yesterday, so putting up the tent was
not a test. Soon, our paddling friend Alex appeared in his yellow kayak. Tonight, he would share our double
chickee. Clouds continued to roll over us and after dark, we received a good rain that lasted no more than 10
minutes. On the chickee, we were completely protected from it. Two advantages of the chickees are, they are
relatively clean (no mud or sand) and they have a cover to keep you and your tent dry. Even without rain,
everything gets wet out here from the heavy dew. Always use your tent fly!
The next day, we head out early again, greeted by a sky that was mostly cloudless. The morning would start off
coolish but would soon warm up nicely. The paddle up the Joe River was uneventful other than a few birds here
and there, an occasional powerboater passing by and those strong northwest winds. We headed out into the
openness of Oyster Bay and passed a river entrance where several white birds were congregating. I could only
guess, but they were probably white ibises. I wondered why they were gathering in that particular spot. The
winds were likely combining with the incoming tide to send water into the river. My thought is that if the birds are
there, the fish are there.
Oyster Bay chickee sits in a protected area between 2 islands. It butts up against the mangroves and with the
northwest winds, we were almost completely isolated from any breeze. As a result, the no-see-ums were there
to greet us, even before dusk. Johnny Molloy warns us in his book of this chickee being notorious for bugs. He
is spot on as always. Soon we have camp neighbors (Alex had left us to head over to Watson River chickee), 3
canoeists. The bugs never got too out of hand, but I was wishing for more breeze. When that sun got below the
mangrove canopy, the air became nippy and that was enough to make the bugs disappear. We watched the
tide go out slowly by noting the increasing distance between the boats and the chickee platform. We wanted to
be on the water by our usual time tomorrow, which meant that we would be dealing with a very low tide. This
was not going to be pretty. I decided to load as much gear into my boat while I could this evening and minimize
the loading for when the canoe would be over 1 foot lower. To bed early, we thought of our paddle tomorrow
that would take us all the way to Canepatch.
Day 4 & 5–chickee gymnastics, houseboat in the backcountry, Canepatch and the 7 fishermen
I’m going to pause for a moment and talk about chickees. There are some things you should know about them if
you are going to camp on one:
Without question, canoes are easier than kayaks for loading and unloading from a chickee. But when the
distance between the boat hull and the chickee platform is greater than 5 feet, even loading a canoe can be a
test of agility and balance. And so it was for us on the morning we left Oyster Bay chickee. I stood on the edge
of the platform and assessed the situation. The boat was at least 5 feet away. I tried sitting on the edge and
stretching my legs to the boat, but no luck. The distance was closer to 6 feet, my height or more. I braced
myself and turned around and held the edge of the chickee platform as I lowered my body toward the middle of
the boat. I was facing the chickee as I lowered myself and eventually made landing. Once my feet were in the
boat, my eyes were level with the chickee platform. I very carefully got my balance by positioning my feet
evenly across the hull bottom and lowered myself down into the seat. Next, Vivian handed me what I needed to
pack into the bow; I did this while kneeling and leaning as far forward as possible. After that, I sat myself on the
hardsided water container that was directly behind the seat and turned myself around so I was sitting facing the
stern, placing my feet over the gunwales. Vivian then handed me my stern cargo. I got back into my seat and
she handed me the large pelican case with my camera equipment that sets in front of me.
Once in my boat, it was now Vivian’s turn. Like me, she had loaded as much as possible the night before, but
she still had plenty to load. She had her boat tied off in front of the ladder, making it easier to get into the boat.
Even so, the water was still below the last oyster-encrusted rung. I paddled over to her boat where she then
handed me her bags and gear. One by one, I loaded her stuff into her boat. Finally, we are both on the water.
Thankfully, we had decided to put away the deck covers the day before. On land, we can load our boats in 10
minutes; but today, it took us almost 45 minutes. This is chickee gymnastics at its best.
As the sun rose behind a cloudy sky, we paddled the open waters of Oyster Bay into the Shark River. Vivian
began catching several lizard fish at the mouth of the river with the incoming tide, 3 of them within a couple
minutes. Soon, we were at the Shark River chickee where Alex was awaiting us, having just gone through the
labyrinth. The 3 of us paddled up the long Shark River that leads to Avocado Creek and Canepatch campsite.
Shark River slough is a major Everglades flow way. Twenty miles wide and narrowing to about 6 miles
southward into the park, it flows into several tidal rivers in the coastal area, including the Shark River. The area
we were heading to receives the major water from the slough combined with the tidal effects from the gulf
waters. Rookery branch is a popular area for fishing. During the colder months, snook run up into these
backcountry waters to escape the cold gulf temperatures. Saltwater fish adapt and become freshwater fish; an
amazing adaptations.
Vivian expected some quality fishing and I expected to see many birds. We were staying at Canepatch for two
nights and tomorrow was going to be an exploration day. The area around Canepatch includes the Rookery
Branch which historically is a wading bird rookery. The area is a significant ecological transition point. This
transition begins where various creeks reach like arteries and capillaries from tidal mangrove swamps into the
freshwater marshes. The openness of the creeks and the interplay between fresh and salt water depends largely
on alligators. Aquatic life that moves through the creeks depends on the openness of these creeks. And where
there is aquatic life, there are wading birds. The interdependence between animals is never so evident as it is in
the backcountry of the Everglades. For these reasons, this is a popular fishing area and Canepatch is a popular
campsite for fishermen.
Along the Shark River we saw a large houseboat heading toward us. Houseboats were not uncommon in these
parts some 80 yrs ago, give or take. Wealthy people took long vacations out here on their houseboats that
contained black servants and piano-playing women. That was back in the day when the Audubon Society and
the wardens they hired violently clashed with the plume hunters. The Everglades teetered on destruction in
those days. But, thanks to one strong voice among several, a book titled The River of Grass was published in
1946 and set the record straight. The Everglades became protected land and water. A man came out on the
deck of the boat and greeted us. He happened to be a volunteer ranger for the park while he and his wife spend
winters out here patrolling the area on their boat named Swamp Lily. The man’s name is John Buckley and he is
doing some wildlife surveying out here. We learn from Ranger Buckley that 7 fishermen were staying at
Canepatch and he had a bit of concern in his voice when he told us this. Said he would run up there later and
check things out for us.
We paddled the final 1 ½ miles through the narrow Avocado Creek where Canepatch is located. Two
powerboats pass by and we met our camp neighbors up close, all young male 20-somethings. Canepatch is a
relatively large campsite, not as big as Watsons Place, but much bigger than Camp Lonesome. Our fishermen
neighbors were set up on the far end of the site, extending themselves into the middle of the large campsite. All
7 of them slept in one very large tent and there were 7 camp chairs surrounding the remains of a campfire.
Snacks, beer and soda cans were strewn about, giving the resident vultures a variety of choices. I also noticed a
boom box amongst the chairs. “Great, bet we’ll have country music tonight!” I thought.
We set up our tents with plenty of room on the other side of this beautiful campsite that is surrounded by sugar
cane, and guava and lemon trees. We ate dinner and relaxed as dusk approached. Just before dark, are
neighbors arrive in their two boats. Earlier, we had secured our 3 boats on the end of the dock leaving their
powerboats plenty of space. They came on land and greeted us one by one. No sooner did they arrive that
another boat pulled up to the dock. It was our friend Ranger Buckley and he had another ranger with him. After
checking our permit, he proceeded to talk with the boys and although I could not hear the conversation, I
understood the gist of it. Basically, he was giving them a good lecture.
We talked some with our two ranger visitors and learned that there were no fish back in here now. Seems all the
fresh water had overtaken the area, levels were high and the fish were scattered, nowhere to be found. So were
the alligators and birds. After the rangers left, we talked with a couple of the fishermen and they were having no
luck in here and went all the way out to the gulf before catching one snook. Well, that cinched it. There would be
no bird photography tomorrow.
All’s well that ends well. Our fishermen neighbors turned out to be pretty nice guys; respectful, quiet and the best
yet, no country music! They were in bed shortly after we were, so we enjoyed a peaceful night on Canepatch.
The next morning we wanted to be on the water by 7 am and since the guys tied one boat’s bow to the other’s
stern, they had left us plenty of dock space that we could leave without disturbing them. We headed down
Rookery Branch on a very cloudy day. The entire morning consisted of paddling through a canal-like waterway.
Eventually we took a detour into a smaller creek. To our disappointment, we saw very little wildlife. I noticed
several woodstork flying over head, and we had one nosey alligator near the campsite dock, which we named
"Patches". A few weeks earlier, some paddlers photographed a large Burmese python that was in the water
near the dock. Fortunately, we had no python encounters at the campsite, but we did find a beautiful racer
snake in the brush near our tent. When we arrived back at Canepatch, our fishing neighbors had already packed
up and left. We had the entire campsite to ourselves. All’s well that ends well.
Day 6 & 7 – Watson and Roberts River, navigating the labyrinth, a cold front
Both nights on Canepatch were quite chilly, dropping well below 50 degrees. The next night on Watson River
chickee would be even colder now that the sky held absolutely no clouds. Our paddle from Canepatch to Watson
River chickee would be our longest day, routing through the twisty labyrinth that leads us back to Whitewater
Bay. It remained brisk throughout the day, despite the constant sun. I navigated the labyrinth using only my
Top Spot marine chart and compass. Only one point did it get confusing that I needed to check with Vivian who
now uses a Garmen 60csx GPS. I can navigate my way around some convoluted areas of the Everglades well
enough with paper map and compass but I am quickly seeing the limitations of these marine charts. This was
duly noted as we paddled a simple route from Hells Bay chickee to the East River. My marine chart was lacking
detail and it did get confusing. Now with precise mapping software, I see myself opening up to the world of
GPS, finally.
We arrived at Watson River chickee with 2 layers of clothing on and by the time we started dinner a few hours
later we each had 3 layers on. It was just me and Vivian again on this single chickee; Alex had to paddle back
over to Oyster Bay chickee where he would experience an even lower tide than we did with his kayak. After
some soup and tea, Vivian decided to get in her boat and fish around the area. She managed to catch some
trout in the cold air of the early evening. Meanwhile, I stayed on the chickee and relaxed while enjoying the
beautiful view. To my left was the openness of Whitewater Bay and on the right, the more closed-in entrance to
one of the small bays near Watson River.
As always, the Everglades generously offer small gifts frequently to us. During the early morning hours on
Watson River chickee, we received one of those gifts. Around 4 am, we both awoke to the familiar sound of
feeding dolphins. That distinct blowing sound as they come up for air is like music to me. They sounded as if
they were right next to the chickee. Inside our warm tent, we unzipped the door and stuck our heads out into the
cold morning air. The nearly full moon illuminated the water and we could see everything. It was calm and quiet
except for the sounds of 3 adult dolphins that were busily working the mangrove shoreline feet away from our
boats and chickee. The wake created by the powerful animals made our boats rock as they captured the fish
that were moving with the tidal flow of the great bay waters. We could see their sleek bodies darting quickly
through the water. Soon, I heard one of them make 3 distinct, staccato-like blows. Immediately after that, they
stopped feeding and swam away toward the open bay. The moon’s reflection fell on the openness of the water
as the dolphins swam through it like a scene from a cheesy, inspirational poster. We never once thought about
the cold but when we got back inside the tent and zipped it closed, it felt good to be back in the warmth. What a
gift that was and well worth the chill.
The next day we met up again with Alex who would stay on Roberts River chickee with us for his last night out.
The man had to traverse Whitewater Bay 4 times to meet up with us on this trip! We logged 90 miles, but Alex
can add another 20 or so to that number. Now we are three paddlers heading toward North River. In this area of
the Everglades, the rivers run through short mangrove swamps intermingled with marsh grass. There are lots of
smaller creeks that can lead you into small ponds and more creeks where you can easily lose your way if you are
not careful. We explored a couple of the little feeder creeks hoping to find some birds, but no luck. Yesterday as
we passed through the labyrinth, we did come into a large flock of white ibises, about 50 of them. The birds are
in here, I do see them flying overhead frequently, singly and in small flocks. But to come into an area of feeding
wading birds was impossible with water levels as high as they were.
While paddling today, I felt a bit sore from sitting mostly and not being able to walk much. I was looking forward
to getting to our campsite and simply relaxing my back in a chair. The Roberts River chickee is situated on the
river so that a beautiful sunset can be enjoyed. On this evening, we also watched the full moon come up over
the east sky, first peeking over the mangrove canopy and then working its way up the sky. The roof on our
platform was being renovated and mostly absent, providing us a constant view of the rising moon. It was chilly,
but not nearly as cold as last evening. After a beautiful sunset that displayed like a colorful inkblot with its
reflections on the water, we enjoyed some wine and conversation. A splendid evening, we listened to the mating
barred owls in the trees and an occasional loud cackling of a great white egret hidden somewhere in the
mangroves behind the chickee. Soon, we would be heading home with one more night left in the Everglades.
Days 8 & 9 –warmth again, into Lane Bay for new years eve and to Hells Bay and back
We were off the chickee by 7 am and what a glorious float down the river it was. I hung back behind Vivian and
Alex to photograph as much as possible. By the time I arrived at the head of the river, the sun was high in the
sky. We passed a section of mangrove shoreline that was punctuated with some bare tree trunks and branches,
providing a good spot for an osprey nest. I did not see any birds and was not sure if it was active. With my wide
angle lens, I continued taking photos, thinking there would be no birds to photograph. But then an osprey parent
came flying in with a branch. The morning light was spectacular on the bird’s wings as it circled around the nest.
It did not come directly into the nest and I suspect it was disturbed by my presence, being only 50 ft or so from
the base of the tree. I wished I had my telephoto lens out as I watched the bird come in for a landing, where the
other parent was sticking its head out to greet its mate. There was likely a chick or an egg about to hatch.
I decided since we had such low mileage today that I would stick around for awhile. Nesting parents are quite
active flying in and out with nest material, so I figured it was likely I could get some shots. The tidal current was
strong, but there was a large felled tree in the water that I was able to get on one side of and stay still. I called
Vivian to tell her what I was doing and she was busily fishing at the mouth of the river. Both occupied with our
passions, I was content to hang out for awhile. I envisioned a sweet shot from this angle and closeness and
since I was perfectly still, it could not have been better. With telephoto lens in lap, I waited. The no-see-ums
started coming out but I ignored them. The birds were nervous and they made their high-pitched tweets
frequently. They knew I was there. The branch-carrying parent flew out of the nest over to a nearby tree.
There it sat for 5, 10, 15 minutes, nervously preening and watching. The other osprey was out of sight inside the
nest. This was not going to work as I expected. That bird was not going anywhere until I left. So I did. You win
some, you lose some.
Soon we were rounding the point where Roberts and Lane Rivers connect and we headed up Lane River toward
our chickee on Lane Bay. Since we arrived early after only 6 miles, we set up camp and got back out for some
exploring. The area of Lane and Hells Bay is intriguing to me. Look on a map at the area and you will see a
doily pattern of land and water, only there is no recognizable pattern at all. The intricacies of the water ways are
breathtaking and navigationally the most challenging of places to paddle. But it begs to be explored. When
staying on Pearl Bay last year, we discovered some hidden creeks that led into hidden bays behind the chickee
where hundreds of white pelicans were feeding during the day. The water was thick with fish. One passage
way led to another and then another and another. It is endless back in here.
I was exhausted today for some reason. Last year on a 9-day trip, I took one day to rest rather than paddle and
on this trip, I never really took that rest. Each day of this trip included at least 5 hrs of paddling. I was feeling it
this time. I needed some energy so we ate our lunch first, and I swigged down some Gatorade. I was good to
go. By now, the southeast winds were strong and Lane Bay was choppy. In the middle of the bay was a large
felled tree with several little branches sticking out, perfect for royal terns to perch. Except for an occasional
osprey, these were the only birds I could photograph today and it was not easy with the winds. I played with the
birds for awhile and paddled around the bay a little. Meanwhile, Vivian was catching one snook right after the
other nearby. This trip ended up being a relatively good fishing trip for her after all, despite the barrenness of
Rookery Branch.
Enjoying the early evening, we were on the chickee preparing for our new year’s eve dinner and wine, and to
help us celebrate the new year, a little brandy. The sky was mostly cloudy now and a nasty front was heading
our way by tomorrow noon. We planned to get an early start and beat that storm. We toasted the new year,
hours before it rang in, and thanked the Everglades for yet another great year of paddling. These trips help to
wash away the year’s stress and worries, and rejuvenate us for the next year. Now we are ready for whatever
may come our way.
The winds had died down completely by evening and in the morning, the stillness was welcoming for our last day
of paddling. The air was warm again, and fortunately, the bugs were not a problem on this chickee. Efficient
with packing, we get on the water at 6:30 am. It is too dark for me to see my map and compass, necessary
equipment in this area. Instead of wearing my headlamp, I decided to follow Vivian who had her GPS fired up
and ready to lead us out of the maze of water and mangroves.
The sun was not yet seen over the tree canopies, but the sky was beginning to show colors. I got out the
camera knowing darn well I would need to use a slow shutter speed. It’s doable with the image stabilizer inside
the Sony camera. I have printed shots that I took on the water at 1/60, so I knew the limits pretty much with this
camera. As we paddled slowly over the glassy water of Lane Bay, the same bay that was rough yesterday, the
sky was beginning to demonstrate strong and colorful patterns of yellows, reds, and blues. We had only 7 ½
miles to paddle today, so I took my time and shot as many photos as I could. I noticed some large flocks of
American coots again as we paddled toward Hells Bay. Hundreds of birds were seen. The full moon cast a
strong light on the water, helping me to navigate along, although Vivian had the lead.
It did not take long for the sun to appear and by the time Hells Bay chickee was in sight, we were in well lit bays.
Soon, we would pass Pearl Bay chickee and then Lard Can camp as we made our way back into the long and
tedious Hells Bay Trail. The first and last part of our trip, the trail seemed to never end. But finally, we arrive at
the park’s main road where the trail begins. The sounds of the passing cars were rudely abrupt to my ears. I
was thrown a bit by their speed and power as I walked to my nearby car. On land and clearly back in
“civilization”, I only wanted to get back out there. But we had lots to do today and before heading home, we
needed to stop into the Flamingo campground and visit several friends who were camping. They would still be
out here as the 30+ knot wind storm blew over only 2 hours after we got off the water. Our drive home was
interrupted by the fast storm that blew the palm trees horizontally and brought driving rain as we drove down
home. We thought about some paddlers we knew that were still out there, hopefully not caught in the open gulf
or large bays when it passed over. The storm did not last, but it left behind high sustained winds and very cold
temperatures for several days. We wanted to be back out there, but at the same time, we were grateful we were
not. Such is the Everglades.
Geologically speaking, the Everglades are young at 5000 years of age. In fact, the Egyptians were building the
great pyramids while the Everglades were being formed. Is it the youthfulness of this region what makes the
Everglades so unique? Or is it the series of events that led up to the formation of the Everglades such as the
post-glacial warming that raised the water level at a rate of 6 feet per century, or the accumulation of solidified
calcium carbonate turning into limestone to form the rock base of south Florida? Is it the flourishing tropical flora
and fauna that gives the Everglades their true character? Or, maybe there is a human quality in the uniqueness
of the Everglades such as the fact that the entire United States had already been mapped while the Everglades
remained an inhospitable wilderness mystery. The first reasonable account of the Everglades was in 1840 when
Colonel William Harney led his troops through the Everglades in search of Indians, those people that knew the
Everglades intimately.
The Everglades are unique, there is no doubt about that. But I believe that what gives the Everglades their most
distinct character is the exposure to two distinct weather patterns. During the warm summer month period,
tropical trade winds are most influential bringing with them lots of moisture; and also the newsworthy hurricanes.
But during the drier winter months, particularly December through February, the hot humidity is replaced by
several temperate westerly cold fronts, which can come in every week or more. These do not get much
attention outside of south Florida. Thus, it is during these temperate winter months that the Everglades lights up
as a popular paddling destination, especially for those northerners escaping the freeze.
There is no better way to experience the Everglades than to spend several days at a time paddling through
them. First noticeable is the endless water that meets the endless sky, only slightly separated by a thin green
line of mangroves. The sky changes by the minute and this is so magically reflected in the water surrounding
your canoe. In your mesmerized state and unconscious, rhythmic moving of arms and torso, you may begin to
notice that all around you is an endless scene of life. Punctuating your day of repetitive paddling are scenes of
various combinations of flocks or single birds flying overhead, dolphins coming up to take in air, manatee noses
peeking out now and then, and bait fish jumping. And don’t forget that amidst the thickness of the mangrove
forest that you often pass by closely, animals are crawling, slithering, crouching, running, climbing, or flying. Also
under your hull is a crazy and violent life known only to marine animals; this is where the food chain runs long.
Such is the power of the Everglades that becomes more evident as the days draw on.
Something will eventually awaken you from your dream state that lingers with the quietness of a calm day when
cumulus clouds form playful oblong shapes above you, calming you as you paddle through clear, smooth water.
The sun is hot but it feels good on your skin as you sweat and rehydrate throughout the day. Your muscles feel
tired, but strong. You want to take your time and soak it up, you body has craved this warmth for too long.
Perfect conditions lead you to your destination; perhaps a campsite that sticks out of the water and is no bigger
than a small bedroom. It will be a comfortable home for one night, welcoming you into the next perfect day.
And then it happens. One day, you are confronted by a mean spirited Everglades that you did not expect. Like
a split personality, the dark side appears out of nowhere and you are jolted from the pleasure you had been
enjoying while in the company of serenity and warmth. The clouds begin to accumulate in the western sky and
you are amazed at how black and large they are as they roll angrily across the sky. You find the water now to
be very choppy and restless, and those winds are beating you down with every stroke of the paddle. It was not
like this yesterday when the water looked like an unused ice rink! The bay you studied on your chart earlier
looked so small but now it never ends as you cut slowly into sustained 15-knot winds. Hours later you make it to
your campsite; a bit worn down but feeling relieved that you are dry and the dark clouds have quickly passed
leaving you with cooler temperatures. You wished you had left your previous campsite earlier as the evening
darkness overcomes you while you set up your tent.
You are only 2 days into a 9-day paddle adventure and anything can happen. And it does. Before your last day
of the trip, a serious front, the previous one was just a sample, is expected to reign down on the area. This time,
it will bring 30+ knot winds from the northwest. It will rain very hard, but that will last no more than a couple
hours. The winds will eventually settle at a brisk 15-20 knots sustained, gusting to 25 knots. The temperatures
will no longer reach 70 degrees during the day. Night temperatures will be low 40s, high 30s. Short, but
dramatic, fronts come and go, but you do not want to be caught in a bay or the Gulf when it hits the fan. The
Everglades can change so often on a dime during one long visit.
This was a trip we had to get out of our system, the circumnavigation of Whitewater Bay and exploration of
Rookery Branch. There are a few ways of doing this trip and we did not know exactly how it would be done until
a few days before we started. We had a good idea of the route; but from that, we could alter it based on
weather forecast. The weather always dictates our trips out here. Contingency plans are necessary to
planning. A few days prior to the trip, the forecast indicated that the winds would move in a clockwise manner
beginning from the southeast on day 1, clocking entirely around and ending as westerly winds on our last day. In
the middle of the trip, we expected a cold northerly front to come down. The first day had the potential to be the
windiest at expected 15-20 knots coming directly out of the east and eventually shifting from the south. We did
not want to traverse Whitewater Bay on that day. So we played it safe and routed ourselves into protected
waters. If we got lucky, we could ideally have the winds pretty much behind us the entire trip. The itinerary with
approximate mileage (90 in total) was:
Hells Bay Traihead to Hells Bay chickee 7 miles
Hells Bay chickee to South Joe chickee 11 miles
South Joe chickee to Oyster Bay chickee 10 miles
Oyster Bay chickee to Canepatch 13.5 miles
One day exploring Rookery Branch near Canepatch 10.5 miles
Canepatch to Watson River chickee (through the labyrinth) 15.5 miles
Watson River chickee to Roberts River chickee (through the cut off) 7.5 miles
Roberts River chickee to Lane Bay chickee 5.5 miles
Lane Bay chickee to Hells Bay Trailhead 9.5 miles
Day 1 – hundreds of coots, lots of wind and a beautiful Hells Bay evening
Hells Bay Trail begins at the park’s main highway. It’s about 9 miles from the Flamingo marina and typically
during this time of year, there are several cars parked near the launch site. Today, our car would join the ranks of
4 others owned by paddlers who might be out for several days or maybe only one. The launch site is a small
dock with a smaller area near it where a couple canoes can be loaded from the water’s muddy edge. The water
level was very high, flush with the dock’s surface. I had never seen it so high. There has been a tremendous
amount of freshwater runoff this year and we would clearly see its effect inside Rookery branch in a few days.
The first 3 miles of the trip is long and tedious through the narrow Hells Bay Trail that eventually opens up into
wider passages. On your waterproof chart or aerial map, you will not see any trace of the trail. This trail was
routed decades ago by gladesmen who came in to the Hells Bay area (use to be known as the Bill Ashley
jungles) to fish and hunt. Later, the park made use of the route (and some of their campsites) and marked it with
PVC pipes, many of which are numbered. You begin at number 1 and end at number 174 near by Hells Bay
chickee, 7 miles away.
The water levels were so high that there was no recognizable trail other than the frequent PVC marker.
Sometimes, the markers were not obvious and we would begin down the wrong path. The water meanders
around mangroves and at any given point, you could wander off into one of 2 or more different directions.
Experienced trail hikers and paddlers know that you should never lose site of the last marker before finding the
next one. And so we worked our way through the trail that seemed to go on forever. It typically takes 1 ½ hr to
get out of the narrows of the trail into the more open end that is near Lard Can campsite, only a mere 3 miles
away. Getting that tediousness behind us and finally into more open waters, I began to feel that the trip had
begun.
Loaded with about 150 lb of water, food, gear, clothing and miscellaneous stuff, I had no trouble paddling my
Wenonah Vagabond. It’s a recreational canoe more than a touring type; nevertheless, I find it to handle well. The
trick is to place the heaviest stuff right behind the seat. This included a 7-gal hard-sided container and the 2 food
buckets. Together, they comprised over half the cargo weight. I used my carbon ZRE bent shaft paddle the
entire trip, but I carried a spare wooden straight shaft. Other than my behind getting a bit sore and my back a
little stiff, it was a joy to paddle the boat for 9 days.
The temperatures were moderate today and the sky mostly overcast. It felt good for a change to not have the
sun beating down on us. There would be plenty of sun on this trip so I enjoyed the reprieve as we headed into
the Hells Bay area where we came onto a very large raft of American coots. Coots swim like ducks but they are
not ducks. Their sooty feathers are interrupted by a brilliant white short beak and deep red eyes. There were
about 50 of them in this flock and of course they started swimming away as soon as I appeared no less than a
few hundred feet away. We had a leisurely day so I pulled out the telephoto and attempted to get closer. The
open bay was catching the brunt of the strong winds and the water was choppy and moving fast. I paddled
cautiously around them and if I got too close they would take off to a more distant point only a hundred or so feet
away. The flapping wings and skittering feet across the water was loud and boisterous. Rarely did I see one get
more than a couple feet above the water. They were here to stay as this was a perfect feeding spot for them;
shallow and grassy. The wind made it impossible to photograph the birds well, so after 15 minutes, I moved on.
In the meantime, Vivian fished and managed to catch a beautiful snapper and a small out of season snook.
Since we brought plenty of food, she spared the snapper’s life. By 1 pm our feet were planted on the chickee.
We were alone and decided to set up the tent. The winds had picked up to a stiff 15-20 knots and we struggled
to get the tent upright. Vivian rigged up a tarp to cut the wind during our dinner. Shortly after arriving, a couple in
a rented double canoe came in for a lunch break on the other platform. No sooner did they get themselves
comfortable but more paddlers arrived. This time, it was a young couple that would be spending the night.
The couple stopping for lunch soon got back in their boat to paddle the remaining couple miles to Lane Bay
chickee. We learned from them that they had a difficult time getting a permit yesterday; seems the chickees
were all booked. We were so lucky to get our sites! Later, we met the couple next door, Carla and Oron from
San Francisco. They were spending their last night of a 5-night trip that started on the cape, led them down
Shark River to Oyster Bay, Joe River and eventually to Hells Bay. What a great trip and they planned it well
having used Johnny Molloy’s book, Paddlers' Guide to Everglades National Park. We all enjoyed a beautiful
evening as the winds died down comfortably. The sky was mostly blue and the sunset behind us lit up the
surrounding bay. Quite beautiful the scene with magnificent quietness of the Everglades surrounding us. It was
interrupted once by the loud sound of the coots flapping across the water. Soon, the stars were out and we
made our way into the warm tent for a peaceful first night on the water.
Day 2 & 3 – Whitewater Bay on Christmas Day; the long Joe River
Yesterday, I felt the work-related stress leave my body and mind, marking the beginning of a transition into the
new year. This was going to be a fantastic trip and as always, I was eager to get back on the water this early
morning and see what new adventures awaited us. As always, we are on the water by 7 am. This is the most
beautiful time to paddle the Everglades. Almost always calm, the water reflects the red and yellow patterns of
the rising sun. Birds come alive flying about and as we left the chickee, we watched a bald eagle fly over the
bay. Dark clouds were already forming on the west sky, and the glow of the easterly sunrise gave Vivian’s boat
an awesome shine on the water. The golden glow continued as we passed through the East River that leads us
languidly to Whitewater Bay.
Once in the bay, the rain clouds were upon us and I decided to cover myself with my spray skirt to keep my legs
dry. The one thing I miss about my touring kayak is the warmth under the spray skirt on those days when it can
get downright chilly and wet; and regardless of temperature, staying dry can make all the difference in comfort.
Despite its openness, the canoe does keep me dry, but only when it is not raining. Initially, I was not going to
bother bringing the deck covers which connect to my boat with about 16 riveted snaps. I imagined the difficulty
of trying to snap up the deck cover while hanging over a chickee. But after some thought, I decided that since I
am as long as a day, it would not be a serious problem and having the deck covers can be a nice addition to the
paddle. Besides, I could stash them away easily at any time.
The rain left as quickly as it came, leaving us with mild windy conditions. Soon, the dark clouds were rolling
away behind us as we followed the left shoreline toward Tarpon Creek entrance. From there we would head up
the wide Joe River where our second night’s chickee, South Joe River, awaited us. This was Christmas Day and
the very large Whitewater Bay was empty of boats. We seemed to be the only people out here enjoying the rare
peacefulness of not hearing powerboats over this vast body of water.
The sun was hot and we were feeling tired, despite the moderate distance traveled. Vivian and I were both
recovering from a mild cold and did not feel 100% at the beginning of the trip. We headed to the chickee which
faces east. The winds, now coming out of the west, were not as strong as yesterday, so putting up the tent was
not a test. Soon, our paddling friend Alex appeared in his yellow kayak. Tonight, he would share our double
chickee. Clouds continued to roll over us and after dark, we received a good rain that lasted no more than 10
minutes. On the chickee, we were completely protected from it. Two advantages of the chickees are, they are
relatively clean (no mud or sand) and they have a cover to keep you and your tent dry. Even without rain,
everything gets wet out here from the heavy dew. Always use your tent fly!
The next day, we head out early again, greeted by a sky that was mostly cloudless. The morning would start off
coolish but would soon warm up nicely. The paddle up the Joe River was uneventful other than a few birds here
and there, an occasional powerboater passing by and those strong northwest winds. We headed out into the
openness of Oyster Bay and passed a river entrance where several white birds were congregating. I could only
guess, but they were probably white ibises. I wondered why they were gathering in that particular spot. The
winds were likely combining with the incoming tide to send water into the river. My thought is that if the birds are
there, the fish are there.
Oyster Bay chickee sits in a protected area between 2 islands. It butts up against the mangroves and with the
northwest winds, we were almost completely isolated from any breeze. As a result, the no-see-ums were there
to greet us, even before dusk. Johnny Molloy warns us in his book of this chickee being notorious for bugs. He
is spot on as always. Soon we have camp neighbors (Alex had left us to head over to Watson River chickee), 3
canoeists. The bugs never got too out of hand, but I was wishing for more breeze. When that sun got below the
mangrove canopy, the air became nippy and that was enough to make the bugs disappear. We watched the
tide go out slowly by noting the increasing distance between the boats and the chickee platform. We wanted to
be on the water by our usual time tomorrow, which meant that we would be dealing with a very low tide. This
was not going to be pretty. I decided to load as much gear into my boat while I could this evening and minimize
the loading for when the canoe would be over 1 foot lower. To bed early, we thought of our paddle tomorrow
that would take us all the way to Canepatch.
Day 4 & 5–chickee gymnastics, houseboat in the backcountry, Canepatch and the 7 fishermen
I’m going to pause for a moment and talk about chickees. There are some things you should know about them if
you are going to camp on one:
- The platform boards often have a ½ -1 in gaps between them; it’s almost inevitable that you will lose
something through the cracks. Bring a piece of plastic or something to lay on the platform where you can
place your little things such as cooking utensils. - Tent stakes are useless on a chickee. Bring ropes to tie to your fly or tent for those windy nights.
- Secure your boat in a way that the current will carry it away from the chickee. This is to avoid a couple
things; sharp oyster shells that cover the support beams and ladders and wedging the boat under the
platform on a rising tide. The winds do shift so be aware of the forecast and plan accordingly. - Rope your boat to the platform from both bow and stern and leave some slack if the water levels are high.
If you are in a tidally influenced area, the water levels will change and if you tie the boat too tight with high
water levels, you’ll find your boat suspended over the water at low tide. - Bring toilet paper! You never know what’s in store when you arrive at the chickee (or any campsite for that
matter).
Without question, canoes are easier than kayaks for loading and unloading from a chickee. But when the
distance between the boat hull and the chickee platform is greater than 5 feet, even loading a canoe can be a
test of agility and balance. And so it was for us on the morning we left Oyster Bay chickee. I stood on the edge
of the platform and assessed the situation. The boat was at least 5 feet away. I tried sitting on the edge and
stretching my legs to the boat, but no luck. The distance was closer to 6 feet, my height or more. I braced
myself and turned around and held the edge of the chickee platform as I lowered my body toward the middle of
the boat. I was facing the chickee as I lowered myself and eventually made landing. Once my feet were in the
boat, my eyes were level with the chickee platform. I very carefully got my balance by positioning my feet
evenly across the hull bottom and lowered myself down into the seat. Next, Vivian handed me what I needed to
pack into the bow; I did this while kneeling and leaning as far forward as possible. After that, I sat myself on the
hardsided water container that was directly behind the seat and turned myself around so I was sitting facing the
stern, placing my feet over the gunwales. Vivian then handed me my stern cargo. I got back into my seat and
she handed me the large pelican case with my camera equipment that sets in front of me.
Once in my boat, it was now Vivian’s turn. Like me, she had loaded as much as possible the night before, but
she still had plenty to load. She had her boat tied off in front of the ladder, making it easier to get into the boat.
Even so, the water was still below the last oyster-encrusted rung. I paddled over to her boat where she then
handed me her bags and gear. One by one, I loaded her stuff into her boat. Finally, we are both on the water.
Thankfully, we had decided to put away the deck covers the day before. On land, we can load our boats in 10
minutes; but today, it took us almost 45 minutes. This is chickee gymnastics at its best.
As the sun rose behind a cloudy sky, we paddled the open waters of Oyster Bay into the Shark River. Vivian
began catching several lizard fish at the mouth of the river with the incoming tide, 3 of them within a couple
minutes. Soon, we were at the Shark River chickee where Alex was awaiting us, having just gone through the
labyrinth. The 3 of us paddled up the long Shark River that leads to Avocado Creek and Canepatch campsite.
Shark River slough is a major Everglades flow way. Twenty miles wide and narrowing to about 6 miles
southward into the park, it flows into several tidal rivers in the coastal area, including the Shark River. The area
we were heading to receives the major water from the slough combined with the tidal effects from the gulf
waters. Rookery branch is a popular area for fishing. During the colder months, snook run up into these
backcountry waters to escape the cold gulf temperatures. Saltwater fish adapt and become freshwater fish; an
amazing adaptations.
Vivian expected some quality fishing and I expected to see many birds. We were staying at Canepatch for two
nights and tomorrow was going to be an exploration day. The area around Canepatch includes the Rookery
Branch which historically is a wading bird rookery. The area is a significant ecological transition point. This
transition begins where various creeks reach like arteries and capillaries from tidal mangrove swamps into the
freshwater marshes. The openness of the creeks and the interplay between fresh and salt water depends largely
on alligators. Aquatic life that moves through the creeks depends on the openness of these creeks. And where
there is aquatic life, there are wading birds. The interdependence between animals is never so evident as it is in
the backcountry of the Everglades. For these reasons, this is a popular fishing area and Canepatch is a popular
campsite for fishermen.
Along the Shark River we saw a large houseboat heading toward us. Houseboats were not uncommon in these
parts some 80 yrs ago, give or take. Wealthy people took long vacations out here on their houseboats that
contained black servants and piano-playing women. That was back in the day when the Audubon Society and
the wardens they hired violently clashed with the plume hunters. The Everglades teetered on destruction in
those days. But, thanks to one strong voice among several, a book titled The River of Grass was published in
1946 and set the record straight. The Everglades became protected land and water. A man came out on the
deck of the boat and greeted us. He happened to be a volunteer ranger for the park while he and his wife spend
winters out here patrolling the area on their boat named Swamp Lily. The man’s name is John Buckley and he is
doing some wildlife surveying out here. We learn from Ranger Buckley that 7 fishermen were staying at
Canepatch and he had a bit of concern in his voice when he told us this. Said he would run up there later and
check things out for us.
We paddled the final 1 ½ miles through the narrow Avocado Creek where Canepatch is located. Two
powerboats pass by and we met our camp neighbors up close, all young male 20-somethings. Canepatch is a
relatively large campsite, not as big as Watsons Place, but much bigger than Camp Lonesome. Our fishermen
neighbors were set up on the far end of the site, extending themselves into the middle of the large campsite. All
7 of them slept in one very large tent and there were 7 camp chairs surrounding the remains of a campfire.
Snacks, beer and soda cans were strewn about, giving the resident vultures a variety of choices. I also noticed a
boom box amongst the chairs. “Great, bet we’ll have country music tonight!” I thought.
We set up our tents with plenty of room on the other side of this beautiful campsite that is surrounded by sugar
cane, and guava and lemon trees. We ate dinner and relaxed as dusk approached. Just before dark, are
neighbors arrive in their two boats. Earlier, we had secured our 3 boats on the end of the dock leaving their
powerboats plenty of space. They came on land and greeted us one by one. No sooner did they arrive that
another boat pulled up to the dock. It was our friend Ranger Buckley and he had another ranger with him. After
checking our permit, he proceeded to talk with the boys and although I could not hear the conversation, I
understood the gist of it. Basically, he was giving them a good lecture.
We talked some with our two ranger visitors and learned that there were no fish back in here now. Seems all the
fresh water had overtaken the area, levels were high and the fish were scattered, nowhere to be found. So were
the alligators and birds. After the rangers left, we talked with a couple of the fishermen and they were having no
luck in here and went all the way out to the gulf before catching one snook. Well, that cinched it. There would be
no bird photography tomorrow.
All’s well that ends well. Our fishermen neighbors turned out to be pretty nice guys; respectful, quiet and the best
yet, no country music! They were in bed shortly after we were, so we enjoyed a peaceful night on Canepatch.
The next morning we wanted to be on the water by 7 am and since the guys tied one boat’s bow to the other’s
stern, they had left us plenty of dock space that we could leave without disturbing them. We headed down
Rookery Branch on a very cloudy day. The entire morning consisted of paddling through a canal-like waterway.
Eventually we took a detour into a smaller creek. To our disappointment, we saw very little wildlife. I noticed
several woodstork flying over head, and we had one nosey alligator near the campsite dock, which we named
"Patches". A few weeks earlier, some paddlers photographed a large Burmese python that was in the water
near the dock. Fortunately, we had no python encounters at the campsite, but we did find a beautiful racer
snake in the brush near our tent. When we arrived back at Canepatch, our fishing neighbors had already packed
up and left. We had the entire campsite to ourselves. All’s well that ends well.
Day 6 & 7 – Watson and Roberts River, navigating the labyrinth, a cold front
Both nights on Canepatch were quite chilly, dropping well below 50 degrees. The next night on Watson River
chickee would be even colder now that the sky held absolutely no clouds. Our paddle from Canepatch to Watson
River chickee would be our longest day, routing through the twisty labyrinth that leads us back to Whitewater
Bay. It remained brisk throughout the day, despite the constant sun. I navigated the labyrinth using only my
Top Spot marine chart and compass. Only one point did it get confusing that I needed to check with Vivian who
now uses a Garmen 60csx GPS. I can navigate my way around some convoluted areas of the Everglades well
enough with paper map and compass but I am quickly seeing the limitations of these marine charts. This was
duly noted as we paddled a simple route from Hells Bay chickee to the East River. My marine chart was lacking
detail and it did get confusing. Now with precise mapping software, I see myself opening up to the world of
GPS, finally.
We arrived at Watson River chickee with 2 layers of clothing on and by the time we started dinner a few hours
later we each had 3 layers on. It was just me and Vivian again on this single chickee; Alex had to paddle back
over to Oyster Bay chickee where he would experience an even lower tide than we did with his kayak. After
some soup and tea, Vivian decided to get in her boat and fish around the area. She managed to catch some
trout in the cold air of the early evening. Meanwhile, I stayed on the chickee and relaxed while enjoying the
beautiful view. To my left was the openness of Whitewater Bay and on the right, the more closed-in entrance to
one of the small bays near Watson River.
As always, the Everglades generously offer small gifts frequently to us. During the early morning hours on
Watson River chickee, we received one of those gifts. Around 4 am, we both awoke to the familiar sound of
feeding dolphins. That distinct blowing sound as they come up for air is like music to me. They sounded as if
they were right next to the chickee. Inside our warm tent, we unzipped the door and stuck our heads out into the
cold morning air. The nearly full moon illuminated the water and we could see everything. It was calm and quiet
except for the sounds of 3 adult dolphins that were busily working the mangrove shoreline feet away from our
boats and chickee. The wake created by the powerful animals made our boats rock as they captured the fish
that were moving with the tidal flow of the great bay waters. We could see their sleek bodies darting quickly
through the water. Soon, I heard one of them make 3 distinct, staccato-like blows. Immediately after that, they
stopped feeding and swam away toward the open bay. The moon’s reflection fell on the openness of the water
as the dolphins swam through it like a scene from a cheesy, inspirational poster. We never once thought about
the cold but when we got back inside the tent and zipped it closed, it felt good to be back in the warmth. What a
gift that was and well worth the chill.
The next day we met up again with Alex who would stay on Roberts River chickee with us for his last night out.
The man had to traverse Whitewater Bay 4 times to meet up with us on this trip! We logged 90 miles, but Alex
can add another 20 or so to that number. Now we are three paddlers heading toward North River. In this area of
the Everglades, the rivers run through short mangrove swamps intermingled with marsh grass. There are lots of
smaller creeks that can lead you into small ponds and more creeks where you can easily lose your way if you are
not careful. We explored a couple of the little feeder creeks hoping to find some birds, but no luck. Yesterday as
we passed through the labyrinth, we did come into a large flock of white ibises, about 50 of them. The birds are
in here, I do see them flying overhead frequently, singly and in small flocks. But to come into an area of feeding
wading birds was impossible with water levels as high as they were.
While paddling today, I felt a bit sore from sitting mostly and not being able to walk much. I was looking forward
to getting to our campsite and simply relaxing my back in a chair. The Roberts River chickee is situated on the
river so that a beautiful sunset can be enjoyed. On this evening, we also watched the full moon come up over
the east sky, first peeking over the mangrove canopy and then working its way up the sky. The roof on our
platform was being renovated and mostly absent, providing us a constant view of the rising moon. It was chilly,
but not nearly as cold as last evening. After a beautiful sunset that displayed like a colorful inkblot with its
reflections on the water, we enjoyed some wine and conversation. A splendid evening, we listened to the mating
barred owls in the trees and an occasional loud cackling of a great white egret hidden somewhere in the
mangroves behind the chickee. Soon, we would be heading home with one more night left in the Everglades.
Days 8 & 9 –warmth again, into Lane Bay for new years eve and to Hells Bay and back
We were off the chickee by 7 am and what a glorious float down the river it was. I hung back behind Vivian and
Alex to photograph as much as possible. By the time I arrived at the head of the river, the sun was high in the
sky. We passed a section of mangrove shoreline that was punctuated with some bare tree trunks and branches,
providing a good spot for an osprey nest. I did not see any birds and was not sure if it was active. With my wide
angle lens, I continued taking photos, thinking there would be no birds to photograph. But then an osprey parent
came flying in with a branch. The morning light was spectacular on the bird’s wings as it circled around the nest.
It did not come directly into the nest and I suspect it was disturbed by my presence, being only 50 ft or so from
the base of the tree. I wished I had my telephoto lens out as I watched the bird come in for a landing, where the
other parent was sticking its head out to greet its mate. There was likely a chick or an egg about to hatch.
I decided since we had such low mileage today that I would stick around for awhile. Nesting parents are quite
active flying in and out with nest material, so I figured it was likely I could get some shots. The tidal current was
strong, but there was a large felled tree in the water that I was able to get on one side of and stay still. I called
Vivian to tell her what I was doing and she was busily fishing at the mouth of the river. Both occupied with our
passions, I was content to hang out for awhile. I envisioned a sweet shot from this angle and closeness and
since I was perfectly still, it could not have been better. With telephoto lens in lap, I waited. The no-see-ums
started coming out but I ignored them. The birds were nervous and they made their high-pitched tweets
frequently. They knew I was there. The branch-carrying parent flew out of the nest over to a nearby tree.
There it sat for 5, 10, 15 minutes, nervously preening and watching. The other osprey was out of sight inside the
nest. This was not going to work as I expected. That bird was not going anywhere until I left. So I did. You win
some, you lose some.
Soon we were rounding the point where Roberts and Lane Rivers connect and we headed up Lane River toward
our chickee on Lane Bay. Since we arrived early after only 6 miles, we set up camp and got back out for some
exploring. The area of Lane and Hells Bay is intriguing to me. Look on a map at the area and you will see a
doily pattern of land and water, only there is no recognizable pattern at all. The intricacies of the water ways are
breathtaking and navigationally the most challenging of places to paddle. But it begs to be explored. When
staying on Pearl Bay last year, we discovered some hidden creeks that led into hidden bays behind the chickee
where hundreds of white pelicans were feeding during the day. The water was thick with fish. One passage
way led to another and then another and another. It is endless back in here.
I was exhausted today for some reason. Last year on a 9-day trip, I took one day to rest rather than paddle and
on this trip, I never really took that rest. Each day of this trip included at least 5 hrs of paddling. I was feeling it
this time. I needed some energy so we ate our lunch first, and I swigged down some Gatorade. I was good to
go. By now, the southeast winds were strong and Lane Bay was choppy. In the middle of the bay was a large
felled tree with several little branches sticking out, perfect for royal terns to perch. Except for an occasional
osprey, these were the only birds I could photograph today and it was not easy with the winds. I played with the
birds for awhile and paddled around the bay a little. Meanwhile, Vivian was catching one snook right after the
other nearby. This trip ended up being a relatively good fishing trip for her after all, despite the barrenness of
Rookery Branch.
Enjoying the early evening, we were on the chickee preparing for our new year’s eve dinner and wine, and to
help us celebrate the new year, a little brandy. The sky was mostly cloudy now and a nasty front was heading
our way by tomorrow noon. We planned to get an early start and beat that storm. We toasted the new year,
hours before it rang in, and thanked the Everglades for yet another great year of paddling. These trips help to
wash away the year’s stress and worries, and rejuvenate us for the next year. Now we are ready for whatever
may come our way.
The winds had died down completely by evening and in the morning, the stillness was welcoming for our last day
of paddling. The air was warm again, and fortunately, the bugs were not a problem on this chickee. Efficient
with packing, we get on the water at 6:30 am. It is too dark for me to see my map and compass, necessary
equipment in this area. Instead of wearing my headlamp, I decided to follow Vivian who had her GPS fired up
and ready to lead us out of the maze of water and mangroves.
The sun was not yet seen over the tree canopies, but the sky was beginning to show colors. I got out the
camera knowing darn well I would need to use a slow shutter speed. It’s doable with the image stabilizer inside
the Sony camera. I have printed shots that I took on the water at 1/60, so I knew the limits pretty much with this
camera. As we paddled slowly over the glassy water of Lane Bay, the same bay that was rough yesterday, the
sky was beginning to demonstrate strong and colorful patterns of yellows, reds, and blues. We had only 7 ½
miles to paddle today, so I took my time and shot as many photos as I could. I noticed some large flocks of
American coots again as we paddled toward Hells Bay. Hundreds of birds were seen. The full moon cast a
strong light on the water, helping me to navigate along, although Vivian had the lead.
It did not take long for the sun to appear and by the time Hells Bay chickee was in sight, we were in well lit bays.
Soon, we would pass Pearl Bay chickee and then Lard Can camp as we made our way back into the long and
tedious Hells Bay Trail. The first and last part of our trip, the trail seemed to never end. But finally, we arrive at
the park’s main road where the trail begins. The sounds of the passing cars were rudely abrupt to my ears. I
was thrown a bit by their speed and power as I walked to my nearby car. On land and clearly back in
“civilization”, I only wanted to get back out there. But we had lots to do today and before heading home, we
needed to stop into the Flamingo campground and visit several friends who were camping. They would still be
out here as the 30+ knot wind storm blew over only 2 hours after we got off the water. Our drive home was
interrupted by the fast storm that blew the palm trees horizontally and brought driving rain as we drove down
home. We thought about some paddlers we knew that were still out there, hopefully not caught in the open gulf
or large bays when it passed over. The storm did not last, but it left behind high sustained winds and very cold
temperatures for several days. We wanted to be back out there, but at the same time, we were grateful we were
not. Such is the Everglades.
| Nine Days Around Whitewater Bay and Exploring the Rookery Branch Area December 2009 |
| All Rights Reserved. Copyright Constance Mier, 2010 |
A brief stop at Lard Can is usually a nice way to transition
from the tedious Hells Bay Trail into open bays of Hells Bay
country. But today, the water level was high and the ground
very muddy at this relatively unused, but quite beautiful little
campsite.
from the tedious Hells Bay Trail into open bays of Hells Bay
country. But today, the water level was high and the ground
very muddy at this relatively unused, but quite beautiful little
campsite.
Large flocks of American coots were abundant through the
Hells and Lane Bays areas.
Hells and Lane Bays areas.
Storm clouds awaited us as we approached Whitewater Bay
from the East River.
from the East River.
Early morning in front of South Joe River chickee. Being on
the water early always pays off for us.
the water early always pays off for us.
Here we are at Oyster Bay chickee. Notice the waterline at
the ladder. The next morning, it was over 1 foot below that.
Photo taken by Alex O.
the ladder. The next morning, it was over 1 foot below that.
Photo taken by Alex O.
Double click to view full size photo.
Vivian and Alex on Shark River, at the intersection of the
labyrinth and Shark River, also where Shark River chickee is
located. I have a shot of the chickee, but the port-o-let door
is wide open , so I will spare everyone that scene.
labyrinth and Shark River, also where Shark River chickee is
located. I have a shot of the chickee, but the port-o-let door
is wide open , so I will spare everyone that scene.
A houseboat on the Shark River manned by ranger John
Buckley who comes out on deck to greet us. Photo by Alex
O.
Buckley who comes out on deck to greet us. Photo by Alex
O.
This is the scene that greeted us when we arrived at
Canepatch. We shared the campsite with 7 young fishermen
during our first night here. Wow, those powerboaters sure
pack a lot of stuff! Photos by Alex O.
Canepatch. We shared the campsite with 7 young fishermen
during our first night here. Wow, those powerboaters sure
pack a lot of stuff! Photos by Alex O.
We got on the water to explore Rookery Branch on the
second day at Canepatch. We arrived back at camp around
noon and this is what was there to greet us today. No more
powerboaters!
second day at Canepatch. We arrived back at camp around
noon and this is what was there to greet us today. No more
powerboaters!
Here's Alex on Canepatch, we had the entire campsite to
ourselves, just the 3 of us.
ourselves, just the 3 of us.
Vivian and I on the dock in front of Canepatch. "Patches" the
gator is somewhere near by in the water. Photo by Alex O.
gator is somewhere near by in the water. Photo by Alex O.
After leaving Canepatch, we head back toward Whitewater
Bay on a clear, cold morning.
Bay on a clear, cold morning.
All dressed in blue, this is Whitewater Bay as seen after
leaving the labyrinth.
leaving the labyrinth.
Our night on Watson River chickee was cold, but the scene
was beautiful
was beautiful
Alex and Vivian paddling on the North River as we head to
Roberts River on another brisk morning.
Roberts River on another brisk morning.
The Roberts River chickee, one of my favorites. One of the
best sunset views are from here.
best sunset views are from here.
A couple of scenes on the Roberts River, as we paddle to
Lane Bay chickee.
Lane Bay chickee.
Finding time to fish, Vivian catches a jack on the Lane River.
She had good luck throughout the trip having caught several
snook, trough and snapper. Of course, I only managed to get
a photo of her catching a measly jack.
She had good luck throughout the trip having caught several
snook, trough and snapper. Of course, I only managed to get
a photo of her catching a measly jack.
Lane Bay showing the chickee sitting off to the left in the
distance. This is also one of my favorite chickee set in one
of my favorite areas of the Everglades.
distance. This is also one of my favorite chickee set in one
of my favorite areas of the Everglades.
Vivian enjoying a glass of wine on our last night, new year's
eve, on Lane Bay chickee. Our two boxes of wine lasted the
entire trip!
eve, on Lane Bay chickee. Our two boxes of wine lasted the
entire trip!
I only managed a few bird photos on this trip,so bringing the
telephoto lens wasn't a complete waste.
telephoto lens wasn't a complete waste.
These are a view scenes from our last day on the water that
began at 6:30 am. These were all taken in and around lane
Bay.
began at 6:30 am. These were all taken in and around lane
Bay.
Closer to home, Vivian paddles toward Pearl Bay. It was a
great trip with near perfect weather. Hours later, a very bad
storm swept over the Everglades. We were in the car by the
time it hit.
great trip with near perfect weather. Hours later, a very bad
storm swept over the Everglades. We were in the car by the
time it hit.
That's me on Oyster Bay chickee. Thank you Alex for your
photos.
photos.
To view a slideshow of the trip, click here.
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