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Archive for the ‘Southwest’ Category

After a night spent camping at the Collier-Seminole State Park, I began my drive home, and I decided to fit in just one more hike. The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park was not far away, with a website that claims it to be the largest state park in Florida with an “emphasis on the preservation of its natural character.” I did not want to miss this!

Ferns Add a Splash of Green Along the Trail

I turned off of State Road 29 and onto the Janes Memorial Scenic Drive, past the Visitor Center and restrooms which make up the “limited facilities” offered by this no frills park. The “Janes,” as the website warmly refers to this six-mile dusty road with holes and bumps that could easily complete with any city speed bumps, is the main access to the hiking trails. Driving down the road (slowly), it became clear that this park lived up to its goal to preserve its natural character, and it did not rely on RV campsites or children’s playgrounds to attract nature lovers. This park was big and wild!

I headed towards Gate 7, the West Main Tram Trail, a 4.5-mile out-and-back trail surrounded by swamp strands. The tram roads in the park are old logging roads built in the 1940s used to haul cypress logs from the swamp.

Between Me and My Car

Although very buggy (Those babies can bite through steel!), I enjoyed my shaded hike through this beautiful, wild country. Swamp strands to my right and left were filled with cabbage palms and bald cypress cloaked in orchids, bromeliads, and air plants. The saw palmetto and ferns along the sides added a dash of brilliant green to the landscape. An occasional orange tree appeared to be out of place.

The skies and trees were alive with red-shouldered hawks, woodpeckers, and warblers. Ibis and herons waded in the water. Butterflies fluttered past me. Alligators sunned on the banks and rocks besides the trail, and yes, the mosquitos still bit me. Picnic benches invited hikers to pause and enjoy it all. On the return, about a half mile from my car, one gator had left his sunny rock and moved onto the trail. I spent fifteen minutes yelling and clapping my hands with no reaction from him. My “gator-gone” methods exhausted, I pulled out my phone and played Taylor Swift, Bad Blood, as loudly as I could. Slowly, the lazy alligator raised up and walked into the water. (Add that to your hiking list!)

I returned to my car and headed home, sorry I could not stay longer and hike another trail.

(Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park. 137 Coastline Drive, Copeland, FL 34127. (239) 961-1925. Website: https://www.floridastateparks.org/parks-and-trails/fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park)

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I chose Collier-Seminole State Park as my next camping/hiking trip, as I have wanted to hike in the Everglades area for some time. The website boasts that it is “within one of the largest mangrove swamps in the world.” Well-known for the heat and bugs that summer brings, I felt early spring was a good time to visit.

View from the Trail

The small feeling of the park surprised me. I drove through the gate and checked in. My campground was close by, the smaller of the two. The park also had a grassy community area and as well as the river area where I had rented a kayak a couple of years ago.

I parked at my site and put my tent up quickly (Yay! I’m getting better!). The smaller campground allows only tents and smaller campers/RVs. The restrooms and laundry were a short walk away. The facilities were clean. The park felt comfortable.

I wanted to get a hike in before the sun set, so I headed out to the Prairie Hammock Trail, the trail recommended by the park staff. Access to all three hiking trails is outside the gate off of US 41. The other two trails, the Strand Swamp Trail (closed due to the hurricane) and the Flatwoods Trail (very wet and muddy) were not recommended, so Prairie Hammock Trail it was!

A Peak through the Ferns

The Prairie Hammock is a loop trail, my favorite kind! I hiked the grassy road, peaking through gorgeous tall ferns to look out across the prairie. Saw palmetto, cabbage palm, and tall slash pine added to the beautiful landscape around me. I read posted signs along the trail warning of panthers and bears in the area—and hoped to see something! I was not alone; many birds enjoyed the afternoon with me—red-winged blackbird, yellow-rumped warbler, and common yellowthroat. Bird watchers would love this trail.  

Ready for the Evening

As I made the turn back on the loop, the trail narrowed and became a bit muddy—but there was never  a lot of standing water, so the hiking was easy. I arrived back to my car after about a 4.5 mile hike, disappointed that I did not see any animals but happy, as always, to have the privilege to experience nature.

I returned to my campsite, and after a shower and a bite to eat, I built my campfire (nailed it this time!). What a great day and successful (but short) camping trip. 

(Collier-Seminole State Park. 20200 Tamiami Trail East, Naples, FL 34114. (239) 394-3397. Website: https://www.floridastateparks.org/parks-and-trails/collier-seminole-state-park)

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COVID disrupted all our lives this past year, mine included, but I could not let the year end without a paddle. I wanted to challenge myself and paddle someplace new. I focused on the Everglades area, as I have not paddled any of these waterways yet. I looked at several: the Blackwater River and Royal Palm Hammock Paddling Trail, Nine-Mile Pond Canoe Trail, Noble Hammock Canoe Trail, Mud Lake Loop Trail, Halfway Creek Canoe Trail, and Turner River Canoe Trail. I also looked at the Everglades National Park and Wilderness Waterway, but I wasn’t sure I could work out the ninety-nine miles unless there were overnight stopping points along the way that did not involve a tent. 🙂

Paddling to Mud Bay from Channel Marker 47

After calling some outfitters, I decided on the first on my list, the Blackwater River, not knowing what to expect. When I arrived at the concession in the Collier Seminole State Park, Collier Seminole Nature Tours, I told Matt that I needed a kayak for the day, as I wanted to paddle the entire 13.5 mile loop. He suggested that I might want to paddle a shorter trail to Mud Bay and back. In the past few months, only one group paddled the entire loop; they had faster kayaks, and it took them six hours. Matt, challenge accepted!

I put in at the park launch at 9:30 a.m. on a rented Jackson Riviera sit-on-top. The first hour of paddling was peaceful and canopied—and sometimes jungle-like. What a beautiful day to paddle—sunny but not too hot! I arrived at channel marker 47 in fifty minutes having passed only one couple on a short out and back paddle. The loop begins at marker 47, and here I made the right turn and headed towards Mud Bay. I spent the next four hours paddling through the three bays: Mud Bay, Palm Bay, and finally, Blackwater Bay.

From marker 47, it took me about fifteen minutes to reach Mud Bay. Mud Bay was larger than I expected. I could feel and see the tidal current. Low tide would be at 3:45 p.m. The wind had picked up, and paddling became harder. At one time, something massive emerged on my left creating a large brown wave, scaring the hell out of me and rocking my kayak; I assume it was a manatee.

At one time, something massive emerged on my left creating a large brown wave, scaring the hell out of me and rocking my kayak.

I continued my paddle, now along the Royal Palm Hammock Creek, for about thirty minutes, to the Grocery Place Campsite (my one and only “stretch my legs and pee” stop), relieved to see the sign and know I was on track. I later read that the two concrete structures I saw on this site are cisterns remaining from the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Lots of history here.

Looking out from the campsite, I saw mangroves to the left but mostly water to the right. A great heron flew overhead, and a small raccoon scurried into the woods. I hopped back on my kayak, heading, I hoped, to Palm Bay, and wondering (briefly) whether I should turn around and head back before the tide started to head out.

The Trail to Palm Bay

I paddled into Palm Bay staying close to the mangroves to my left and eventually exited to Blackwater Bay about forty-five minutes later. The wind, stronger now, forced me to keep my head down to keep my hat on. I paddled even harder, passing lots of mangrove islands decorated with shell beds. Blackwater appeared to be the largest of the three bays and the most confusing. I pictured just me on this large waterway, a tiny dot on a map. I now understood what Matt meant when he cautioned me about getting lost here. I had no clue where I was going, and the many mangrove islands and lack of signage made navigating even more difficult. I just kept paddling, trying to keep the mangrove forest to my left. Did I mention that my phone battery was dying and my charger wasn’t working? I had just begun to wonder what I would do if I couldn’t find my way out of this massive waterway, (Could I sleep in the Bay on my kayak?), when I spied two fisherman on a boat (Thank you, God). I gave a wave and a hoot and paddled over. The lovely man who had just pulled in a fish, pointed just ahead of me; I was less than fifteen minutes from the beginning of the markers. Relief for sure!

Shell Beds on the Mangrove Islands

With the uncertainty behind me, I relaxed for the last two hours of paddling, enjoying the cool, dark waterway and the beautiful mangroves. Six hours in, I came upon marker 47 once more and a family hanging out on a low-tide sand bar in the middle of the waterway. I called over to see if I could join them for a few and had an opportunity for a chat and a final stretch before heading into the canopied path and the last hour of my paddle. I arrived back out the outfitter, tired and with very sore arms, seven hours after leaving. Matt had not left at 4:00 as he said he would earlier. He had waited for my return. I think he was nearly as happy as I that I had completed the entire paddle!

(Outfitter: Collier Seminole Nature Tours. Collier Seminole State Park, Naples, Florida. (800) 719-8160)

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After this political season, the Peace River seemed an obvious escape from the constant debating, bickering, posting and tweeting of the last few months. I needed to leave Facebook and Twitter behind and return to a place of solitude and serenity.

Peace River in the Fall

I had paddled the southern portion of the Peace River from Brownville to Arcadia (8 miles) on New Year’s Day 2011. I wanted to paddle another section this time, and I decided on a northern section from Paynes Creek State Park in Bowling Green to Pioneer Park in Zolfo Springs, an 11-mile paddle.

Jace, from Peace River Paddle Sports and Adventures, met me at the park and dropped me at the SR 664 Bridge about 11:30 a.m. I paddled away, looking forward to the next five hours of tranquility on the river. My first thought as my paddle sliced the water–“Aaahhhhhhh….”

What a beautiful sunny fall day! There is something mystic and wonderful about being the only person on the river. Just nature and me. A slight fall breeze kept me cool under the clear blue sky. I paddled the dark water, staying to the edges and the shade of the tall cypress and oaks. The cypress had already begun their preparation for winter, brown foliage cloaked in moss. The low water level had left the sloping banks with roots and limestone exposed. Cypress knees pointed to the sky. Welcoming sand bars tempted me to pause in my paddle and stick my toes in the sand.

I enjoyed an easy paddle on the waterway—with the exception of a few “woo-hoo” moments when I passed over small rapids formed by the low water passing over limestone shale beneath me. Noisy birds (herons, ibis, egrets, vultures, hawks) called from the trees and banks—enjoying the weather as much as I. Ibis strutted along the banks, curved beaks dipping in the sand. Vultures gathered around their decaying treasures. Two wood storks sat on a tree branch, taking it all in, turning towards each other as if making snarky remarks about the others.

Limestone Banks on the Peace

Several hours passed before I saw or heard anything other than the birds and the rhythmic sound of water hitting the side of my kayak. I paddled past a man who stood on a sandbar in the middle of the river sifting for fossils. A while later, I came upon a small family fishing on the bank. Then, as I neared Zolfo Springs, a kayaker passed me, and finally some campers appeared on the banks.

I floated back to where I had parked my car just before 4:30 p.m.

 

(Peace River Paddle Sports and Adventures. 207 Illinois Avenue, Wauchula, FL 33873. (863) 832-2102)

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Hello, old friend. Happy New Year!

I paddled my first Florida river in July 2010 and have paddled over forty Florida rivers since. Unquestionably, Fisheating Creek holds a place in my top five. I love this waterway!

Entering the Cypress Swamp

As I have done in the past (because I have yet to buy my own kayak, and I need a drop anyway), I rented a kayak from the Fisheating Creek Outpost in Palmdale. (The people are great; the kayaks, a bit worn.) They dropped me, along with five others, around 10:00 a.m. at the Burnt Bridge put-in, giving us an eight-mile paddle back to the outpost—about four hours. I waited to put in last, standing on the shore and taking it all in. Fish jumped as if playing a tune on a xylophone, and then, seemingly on cue, an alligator glided slowly along the top of the water in the distance. It all appeared to be an opening number of a musical, a glimpse of something wonderful yet to come.

This would be my third paddle on Fisheating Creek. I paddled it in October 2011 and July 2014—both times with a much higher water level. The level on New Year’s Day was just over three feet. To paddle without portaging requires a minimum of one and a half feet. I would not want to portage on this creek with as many gators as I saw this day.

I paddled away from the shore, feeling somewhat secure that I had remembered to bring my snake knife this time! Tall cypress, turned brown and draped in moss shrouds and air plants, framed the waterway. Twenty minutes into my paddle, I entered the cypress swamp—my favorite part—and paddled among the cypress trees, twisting left, then right, the landscape deserving the front cover of a nature magazine. Paddling this creek for the third time, I have discovered that it’s pretty darn important to watch for the small kayak signs to stay on the trail. More than once I had to turn around and find the trail again.

White Ibis on Fisheating Creek

The other paddlers had gone ahead, so I was alone in the swamp, enjoying the sweet melody of bird sounds—such as the honking of the ibis and croaking of the great blue herons. (I know, melodious, right?) I paddled past wood storks—happy to see them amongst the others, and lots of vultures, egrets, anhinga and cormorants. Gators sun bathed on the shore, not bothered when I paused to take a picture–while others bobbed in the water as I floated by. I spotted more gators than ever—perhaps due to the low water level forcing them closer to the trail. At times, I had to choose my path—to the left or right—based on gator sightings.

About three hours into my paddle, I spotted a patch of sand on the side of the creek and pulled up for a quick stretch before paddling the last hour on this beautiful waterway. (Sigh) What a great way to begin the New Year!

(Fisheating Creek Outpost. 7555 US Highway 27 North. Palmdale, FL 33944. https://fisheatingcreekoutpost.com/. (863) 675-5999)

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I’ve been paddling Florida rivers about four years now, and there’s no question that I would give Fisheating Creek four stars as one of my favorite paddles. I first paddled Fisheating in October 2011 with a friend—and what an awesome experience! Only a two-hour drive from home, I chose this as my next “re-paddle destination.”

Beautiful Cypress on Fisheating Creek

I rented my kayak from Fisheating Creek Outpost in Palmdale, and Mike dropped me—along with eight others—at the Burnt Bridge put-in around 9:30. This is the same paddle I did three years earlier, about 8 miles, 4 hours. On the way to the put-in, we passed through two locked gates and over the Lykes Brothers’ property. Mike pointed out a crested caracara sitting atop an old tree. He told us to watch for panthers in the fields as several had been spotted recently. I listened to the folks traveling with me as they chatted about snakes they’ve encountered on their paddles, and I cursed that I had left my snake knife in the car. We arrived at the put-in and piled out of the van, but stood aside while Mike first scooted a couple small gators away from the beach!

Fisheating Creek flows into Lake Okeechobee, apparently the only free-flowing tributary that does. Paddling it, it seemed three different waterways to me. At the Burnt Bridge put-in, the creek was wide, tall cypress dripping with Spanish moss and air plants on each side. Within 30 minutes, I paddled into the cypress swamp and twisted and turned around the cypress and their knobby knees, trying to follow the swift tannin-colored flow. When I emerged from the swamp, I entered a creek, smaller than the original but with a more definite path than the swamp trail. Now, I paddled around grass islands. For the next few hours, my paddle continued in this manner with the ever-changing waterway.

Entering the Cypress Wonderland
Entering the Cypress Wonderland

I love that Fisheating feels so wild! There are no homes along the banks, just beautiful tall cypress. Much of the creek lies within the Fisheating Creek Wildlife Management Area, purchased from the Lykes Brothers years ago. I heard few sounds other than the ibis honking loudly from the swamp floor. I paddled under the hot sun, appreciating the occasional cloud that gave me shade. A crested caracara flew overhead; a few small gators bobbed in the water as I passed; an anhinga stood on a log, scouting for lunch. Life was good.

I just love Fisheating Creek—still an awesome paddle!

(Fisheating Creek Outpost. 7555 US Highway 27 North. Palmdale, FL 33944. https://fisheatingcreekoutpost.com/. (863) 675-5999)

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I paddled away from the bank of the Caloosahatchee River Regional Park, maneuvering around the cow lilies and into the wide river. A bird called out from a large oak behind me. The sky was clear, and I could just feel a touch of fall in the air. I loved this—Friday morning, and no one else in sight on the river.

An Oxbow on the Caloosahatchee

Named for the Calusa Tribe that inhabited the area (500 to 1700 A.D.) and traveled the river long ago, Caloosahatchee means, “river of the Calusa.”   At that time, this much shallower river originated from sawgrass meadows west of Lake Okeechobee, and the Calusas traveled it in dugout cypress canoes. (How cool is that!) However, the Disston Canal was constructed in the 1880s, connecting it to the lake, and then dredging began in order to straighten and deepen the river. Today, this river (C-43 Canal) runs about 76 miles from Lake Okeechobee to the San Carlos Bay. (Boning) Of course, we are well aware of the issues with the water quality this fall due to the discharge of fresh water from Lake Okeechobee!

I paddled west toward my destination, Hickey’s Creek, briefly wondering who Hickey was. I admired the tall pines, palmetto palms, and oaks dripping with moss on the north side of the river. On the south side, homes, often with comfy wrap-around porches, sat on spacious properties. Parts of the banks had been kept wild with tall grasses and leather ferns. I passed two oxbows, leftovers from the original winding river, and took the curved route to the left of the tiny islands.

Into the Hickey Creek Mitigation Park
Into the Hickey Creek Mitigation Park

Forty-five minutes into my westward paddle, I made a left before the house with the windmill and entered Hickey’s Creek—a much narrower and more shaded waterway—and part of the State-designated paddling trail. An hour later, I reached the Hickey Creek Mitigation Park and stopped for a stretch. When I continued my paddle into the park area, the homes disappeared, and the river narrowed. At times, I wasn’t certain I had taken the right path, and I longed for breadcrumbs or some other such marker to put down so I could find my way back!  However, the paddle was quiet and serene, and the herons, limpkins, and egrets seemed to not be disturbed with my presence.

Thirty minutes later, I turned around and headed back. The wind had picked up, and when I reached the Caloosahatchee, I had to put some muscle in my paddle. However, in less than an hour, I had reached my put in location.

(Outfitter: Caloosahatchee Regional Park. 19130 North River Road, Alva, Florida 33920.  (239) 694-0398)

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Afterwards, I questioned my determination to paddle the Manatee River during the hot summer months.  However, having run out of new rivers to paddle close to home, the Manatee seemed the obvious next choice.  In retrospect, it would have been a lovely paddle during the fall or spring months.

A Hot Paddle on the Manatee River

The Manatee River passes through Lake Manatee in Bradenton, and then continues on its westerly way to eventually empty into the Gulf—a 46-mile journey.  As it nears the Gulf, it widens and acquires estuarine qualities in the flora and fauna. The section closer to the lake—where I paddled—is the Upper Manatee River and is designated as a State Canoe Trail and Greenway.

Lake Manatee did not always exist. In the 1960s, officials built a dam on the river to create a reservoir for the surrounding areas—and thus created Lake Manatee. When Tropical Storm Debby came through mid-June of this year and dumped some much-needed rain on Florida,  the dam was opened wide to prevent flooding. The few paddlers who attempted the trip to the dam returned very quickly, unable to paddle against the strong current.

So, the river slowed down, and I rented a sit-on- top kayak at Ray’s Canoe Hideaway (well-hidden and very unpretentious). Ray’s sits on the river about 5.5 miles west of the lake.  My goal: to make it to the dam and back.

Along the way, I paddled past beautiful white sandbars that on a cooler day would have tempted me to stop and play.  High sandy banks with overhanging trees clinging to the sides showed wear and tear of storms past.  Oaks, cabbage palms, saw palmettos, slash pines, and pond apples edged the wide river but offered little shade.  The wildlife seemed to know to stay out of the sun.  I saw a blue heron, a turkey vulture, and one lowly turtle.  An occasional fish jumped around me, probably searching for a cooler spot in the water.

I turned on my camera, and it lit up with a warning, telling me that it was just too dang hot, and then it shut itself off.  My IPhone screamed TEMPERATURE! However, even in the heat, some found enjoyment on the river: a dad canoeing with his two young children (picture), a group of teenagers swinging on ropes and splashing in the cooler waters in a rare shady spot. One yakker even offered to share his cold beer with me.

I paddled against the current, light at first, but growing stronger as I neared the dam and Lake Manatee.   I made it about 3 miles up, just past the bridge and Rye Wilderness Park. The current was getting stronger, and my time on the river was running short.  I turned around and enjoyed the easy paddle back.

(Outfitter: Ray’s Canoe Hideaway on the Manatee River, 1247 Hagle Park Road, Bradenton, FL 34212. http://www.rayscanoehideaway.com/. (941) 747-3909 or (888) 57CANOE)

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The fog had begun to lift, as the sun struggled to peak from the clouds.  A few sprinkles of rain tapped my windshield, as I pulled into the Canoe Outpost.  I didn’t know what to expect from this river, and I realized how much I loved the anticipation and the “not knowing.”

Low Waters on the Little Manatee

The Little Manatee River starts narrow and twisting somewhere around Fort Lonesome and Wimauma in Hillsborough County and widens as it travels west approximately 40 miles to the Tampa Bay.  A blackwater river, it is designated as an Outstanding Florida River.  The five miles between the Canoe Outpost and Little Manatee State Recreation Area is an official state canoe trail. (Carter et. al)

Rather than paddle from the Outpost to the Little Manatee River State Recreation Area, I chose to paddle the upper river, the 9-mile stretch between CR 579 and the Outpost.  Here, the river is narrow, canopied, less traveled, and wild.  This time of year, the water level is low, and as I gathered my supplies, the folks at the Outpost warned me to expect a portage or two.

I chatted with Mike from the Outpost as he drove me to my drop.  “You probably won’t see many gators, if any,” he said, “the poachers got most of them.”  Mike added that since this section of the river would be quiet (me, being his only drop so far), I may be treated to some wild hogs, deer, and bobcats along the way.  I appreciated the “heads up.”

I began my paddle west, sheltered by steep banks and wooded forest.  I could see the fish scurrying beneath me and could have easily touched the river’s sandy bottom with my hand—the water was that low.   A great blue heron flew up the river toward me, its wing span magnificent—what a sight.

About an hour into my paddle, alone on the river and lulled by the sweet harmony of the birds in the woods, I suddenly became alert when the bushes on both sides of the river came to life.  Wild hogs, first one large black one to my left, then more to my right, and for the next 10 minutes or so I paddled through the land of swine with hogs racing up the banks as I approached.  I spied a couple wild turkeys as they quickly bobbled away, as well.

The poachers had apparently been successful, as I saw only one small alligator.  However, the turtles appeared quite large and healthy!  I spotted ducks, herons, hawks, cardinals, and even a few red-bellied woodpeckers.

The low waters had created high steep banks in some places and low sandy beaches in others.  I scooted over sandbars and logs and under overhanging branches trying to avoid all the obstacles.  My mantra became, “I ain’t ‘fraid of no bugs” as I checked my hair and body each time I emerged from the branches.  (I read that during the rainy season, this water rises rapidly, and with all the obstructions in the water, one must be quick to make it through without mishap!)  Grapefruits, oranges and tangerines added a splash of unexpected color against the green and brown backdrop of oaks, willows, pines and cabbage palms.

For nearly four hours, I paddled past undeveloped landscape—with few reminders of civilization except the Florida Power plant just about halfway and the abandoned railroad trestle further along. Oh, and then, of course, there was the small group of four-wheeling, beer-drinking rednecks who greeted me just past the trestle.  Other than that, it was a fabulous, peaceful day on the river.

(Outfitter: Canoe Outpost. 18001 US 301 South, Wimauma, FL 33598. http://canoeoutpost.com/. (813) 634-2228)

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New Years Day turned out to be a perfect day, bright and sunny, not too hot.  I paddled the Estero River in Fort Myers, expecting to see a different landscape, as this river has a tidal influence.  The river’s flow begins as trickles on the west side of the Corkscrew Swamp in Naples.  As it travels west, it picks up more water, and eventually empties into the Estero Bay. Only about six miles of this coastal river can be paddled. (Boning)

Up River on the Estero

I put in at Estero River Tackle and Canoe Outfitters off of South Tamiami Trail in Estero.  By the way, I have never seen such a huge selection of kayaks to rent and buy!  I opted for the upgraded hard plastic model that supposedly moves faster in the water.

Before heading west to the bay, I took a quick paddle up river, and was treated to a narrowed river shaded by draping oaks, cool and quiet.  Heading down river, toward the bay, the river widened and the landscape changed from draping oaks to mangroves and spartina grass.  The influence of the tidal changes became evident.

Within the first mile, I passed the Koreshan State Historic Site on the south side.  Shortly thereafter, civilization emerged, and I passed a trailer park and another small development on the north side.  Along the banks, small motor boats and pontoons were lined up at docks like trinkets on a necklace.

Admittedly, I was disappointed with the development along the river.  At the same time, I was intrigued by much of the flora that I typically did not see, and I found myself wishing I could identify more.  Although the mangrove swamps dominated the landscape as I neared the bay, I also saw various pines and palms, bamboo, leather ferns, sea grapes, and swamp lilies (not yet in bloom).

Mangrove Swamps along the Estero

I imagine that the traffic on the river—small motor boats, pontoons, jet skiers., and, of course, kayakers—kept the wildlife away.   I saw only a few birds—little blue herons, great blue herons, and swallow-tailed kites.  An osprey sat on top of his nest observing the buzz below.  Signs warned boaters to slow down for manatees, but they eluded me; I saw none.

It did get a little confusing close to the mouth of the river.  I headed down a couple small waterways only to find that they dead ended, and I had to turn around and come back.  One time, I paddled up to the bank and asked a homeowner which way to the bay!  I thought afterwards that it would have been wise to time my out and back with the tide and paddle this river on a quiet weekday.  This is a river where one should take his/her time and meander around the mangroves, observing the scenery and looking for wildlife.  Apparently, there is a lot of history in this area and some interesting sites at the river’s mouth and into the bay.  Orr and Carmichael report that there is a population of exotic squirrel monkeys along the river as well.

(Outfitters: Estero River Outfitters. 20991 South Tamiami Trail, Estero, FL 33928. https://www.esteroriveroutfitters.com/. (239) 992-4050)

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