SMALL BOAT CRUISE: Everglades

A challenging cruise aboard a Potter 15

by A.G. Monaco

As I was leaving the house to trailer my boat, Rosie, to a launch site in the Everglades, my wife, the real Rosie, said “Please, don’t do anything stupid!”

I should have come out with some tough-guy retort but all I could think to say was “Baby, I think this whole idea is a little stupid.”

This was the epic adventure that would finally prove that I was still a young man, albeit one trapped in an old man’s body. Using my 1982 West Wight Potter I was out to test the limits of my meager sailing skills and strain the credulity of my friends and family in regard to my sanity. Previous forays out into the Gulf of Mexico to the Mississippi Barrier Islands were an anemic attempt to show that despite being older I still had “swagger.” But this foray into the Everglades made those trips seem almost childlike. Even the somewhat dismissive folks I worked with at LSU were impressed with the idea of me trying to push my sailboat through the Everglades and out into the Gulf. One in three people I told about the trip told me I was crazy, the other two just mumbled and walked away quickly.

ABOVE TOP—The last channel marker before entering the Gulf hosts a variety of seabirds.

The actuarial tables show that on average I have no more than 20 years left to live; embarking on this journey was my attempt to “to rave at close of day.” What better way to impress the inhabitants of my little non-sailing world than to drag my beat-up boat to the world’s biggest swamp, float down a shallow, obstacle laced river, taunt dangerous wildlife, and then sail to a number of islands well out in the Gulf of Mexico. Being this close to death left me little time to establish “big memories,” and the Everglades National Park seemed the right place to start.

We rolled into Everglades City at 11:30 p.m. looking for the Visitor’s Center parking lot for the national park. Each time we stepped out of the truck the mosquitoes drove us back inside. Since the tide was against us until after 5 a.m., a few hours sleep would not delay us, so we cranked up the windows tight and just waited out the bugs. One thing we old timers can do better than the more youthful is sleep anywhere, anytime. Besides, late May in Everglades City left little else to do but sleep. A town of 400 along the Baron River, it was clear that other than the mosquitoes (some the size of small fat children and just as hungry) no one else but me was awake.

A gorgeous red sky followed a torrential downpour that filled my cockpit & tent.

I had, somewhat out of character, actually prepared for this trip. According to Rosie (the wife not the boat) I had been talking about the Everglades non-stop for six months. I read everything I could find about the Everglades and the 10,000 Islands area. The subjects ranged from fishing, kayaking the swamps, turtle-egg hunting, sugarcane plantations, oyster beds, plume hunting, comparisons of insect repellent effectiveness, and the anatomical and behavioral differences between alligators and crocodiles. I even read Peter Matthiessen’s historical novel about Mr. Watson, the area’s first serial killer and then realized that the Everglades is linked to numerous serial killers and I began to study them as much as I studied the charts of the Baron River.

In addition to purchasing and assembling (and forgetting to test) my first ever gas-powered motor, I had collected a vast array of equipment I presumed necessary for the trip. In an effort to be thorough in my exploration of the area, I purchased an inflatable kayak. The presence of ‘gators and crocs raised the question by many “what the hell are you going to do with the inflatable kayak?” Of course once we were farther out in the Gulf among the 10,000 Islands, neither the crocodiles nor alligators would be much of a threat. Of course when considering that there were still barracuda, bull sharks, and hammerhead sharks in the shallow waters of the Gulf, a careful person could still question the use of a glorified “pool toy” as a means of transportation. That said I arrived in south Florida primed and ready to take on all it could throw at me.

Of course bravery is somewhat situational and back in Baton Rouge on the campus of LSU, I was fearless when talking about the trip, but in the middle of the night with large angry bugs bouncing off the windshield … well questions did arise. I wondered if being a romantic adventurer at any age was such a good idea … maybe it was the lack of light and the unusual sounds but I got a bit nervous.

Then the sun came up. The view of the ‘glades was gorgeous and Rosie glided out into the channel down the river propelled by its loud and smelly new engine. Turning the engine off and catching the current, which took us under a very low bridge with the mast lashed to the deck, was the first challenge, followed by my first attempt to raise the mast while the boat was off the trailer. But eventually, with the current in our favor and a good wind behind us, we flew toward the Gulf, wing and wing, and all trepidation was dispelled. Watching those sails fill up and the wake bubbling behind it did seem as if the trip really was a brilliant idea.

This sunrise was a just reward for the difficult sail to Jewel Key.

Our first stop upon leaving the Baron River and traversing Chokoloskee Bay was to be Indian Key, but we flew past Indian Key, moved out of the channel and into the Gulf. Then we sailed past Picnic Key and Tiger Key and since we did not want to stop we kept sailing to just outside the northern boundary of the National Park to Camp Lulu Key. Setting up camp, we placed our beach chairs in the water while the heat was hovering in the high 90s and we spent the rest of the day watching snook jumping out of the water and reminding ourselves that we were now off the grid. A can of chili warmed over Sterno made for a hearty meal. For dessert we engaged in some island exploration. Using our recently acquired guidebook-knowledge of nature, we identified sea turtle tracks, ‘gator tracks, bobcat tracks (or perhaps small panther tracks—I did not push too far into the woods to verify, even my insanity has its limits) and all manner of shells and bird life. Turning in early I was thankful for the guidebooks that advised me to spray all of the tent’s mesh with insect repellent. Despite no chance of rain I also tied on my rain fly. The last thing my mate said to me that evening from his “fly-less” tent was that I was missing out on a beautiful night sky. The first thing my mate screamed three hours later was “Oh my God I am being eaten alive!” Apparently the sandflies or whatever breed of bug was out there had gotten into his tent and he was literally scratching himself raw. I threw him some repellent and quickly zipped up my bug-free tent and told him to quiet down.

The next morning after a beautiful sunrise and coffee, I inflated my kayak and attempted to circumnavigate the island at low tide. I spent about as much time pulling the kayak through the shallows as I did paddling it, but the chance to see rays, a variety of crabs, and myriad fish up close through crystal clear water was worth the wait. Later when the tide lifted Rosie off the bottom, we sailed south back into the national park and headed for Jewel Key. This was a 10-mile sail close to the wind and with a wicked current working against us. At one point the boat was heeled 15 degrees, and the wind was blowing quite hard but my GPS was only registering a speed of 1.5 knots. Some post-trip research indicated we were probably running into a 3-knot current that was common in that area. We took hours to get to the island and tacked a number of times once we got within two miles, but found a beautiful anchorage and then set up camp to another gorgeous sunset. The night was extremely pleasant and for some reason there were no bugs to annoy us.

The following day I spent the early morning listening to the crows in a nearby tree debate a Barred Owl farther back in the woods. For the first time in my life I actually sat quietly and watched the sunrise. It was inspiring. Just as the sun rose a small stag poked its head out of the woods, looked around, and then trotted back under cover. Later, dolphins were breaking the surface of the water and cackling. I felt like I was watching an old Disney movie. As we packed up we decided to sail farther south to Pavilion Key.

We headed out and spent the day skimming through relatively calm winds trying to coax some speed out of the light breezes. The heat continued to have its effect and we were grateful for over-packing in regard to our supply of water. At one point midday, the wind totally quit on us and the GPS showed an on-board temperature of 104 degrees. As I was dangling my feet overboard the strangest creature I had ever seen broke the water close to the boat. Hammerhead sharks are really impressive when seen up close. Had I not been screaming like a little girl and too busy pulling my feet back into the boat, I might have gotten a picture of the creature to share with you.

Pavilion Key was a marvelous anchorage. By far the biggest of the islands we visited; the slow sail presented in reward an amazing diversity of bird life. Pelicans, both brown and white, along with anhingas, cormorants, egrets, red shouldered hawks and the loudest crows ever, all made their appearance in the short time we were on the island. The plant life rivaled any botanical garden I had visited. Of course something was bound to happen—and it did.

A precursor to Tropical Storm Bonnie dropped about two inches of rain on our campsite but also left almost as quickly as it arrived. Though my rain fly was effective in keeping out insects, it was in the midst of that downpour I realized I had been assembling my tent incorrectly. For three days I had been putting the rain fly on backwards. So when the rains came, instead of keeping the downpour off me, it actually directed gallons of water into the back window of the tent.

The next day we made the long sail back to the channel at Chokolaskee Bay and our eventual trip up the Baron River. While most of the sailing was slow due to intermittent winds, we eventually picked up strong gusts as we neared the long channel to the river. The sailing for the last part of the day was exhilarating. As we reached the end of the widest portion of the channel we saw thunderclouds and steered Rosie toward a small island in order to drop the sail and start the engine. With our eyes peeled for lightning we failed to notice that an 8-foot crocodile was lying in the muddy shallows less than 20 feet from our bow. Thank goodness the engine, which was little more than a “tricked out” “weed whacker,” started right up. As for the sunglasses that fell into less than a foot of water… I left them behind. No need to place my hand in water owned by that crocodile. At that point I also preferred to be hit by lightning rather than to meet a crocodile so I temporarily gave up the idea of taking down the sails and mast before getting to the river.

This cove on Jewel Key offered a sheltered anchorage and a bug free campsite.

My record of never sailing my boat without at least one major mishap was nearly forgotten when less than a quarter of a mile from the launch, we ran over an oyster bed in the river and dear Rosie shuddered in pain. A fair amount of uninvited water entered the boat but considering the size of the hole it was less than I expected. Disappointed … not really. The fact that I had actually sailed a boat down a river in the Everglades, threaded it through the 10,000 Islands, and went well out into the Gulf of Mexico, certainly outweighed the dozen-or-so hours I would eventually spend on my back, under a boat trailer repairing that gaping hole during a very hot Louisiana summer.

Despite the challenges, sore muscles, and the hole in dear old Rosie, I will keep Dylan Thomas in mind when planning that next trip:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

•SCA•

First appeared in issue #105