Paddling the Everglades

Everglades National Park offers outdoor enthusiasts the opportunity to explore nature in an unspoiled and near-majestic setting. The waterways that snake through the park are teeming with wildlife, while majestic birds fill the skies above. The park protects the largest U.S. wilderness area east of the Mississippi River and contains the largest mangrove ecosystem in the western hemisphere. More than 350 species of birds, 300 species of fresh and saltwater fish, 40 species of mammals, and 50 species of reptiles live within Everglades National Park.

It is 7:00 AM and my husband and I are loading up our gear, getting ready to embark on our eighth kayaking adventure into the heart of the Everglades. Our destination: Collier-Seminole State Park. Upon arrival, we check in at the ranger station to alert them of our plans to kayak the Black Water River and camp at Grocery Place for the evening. While my husband and I thought we had anticipated every contingency, the one we neglected to plan for was low tide. Little did we know that, in order to reach Grocery Place before nightfall, we would have to navigate through Mud Bay before low tide transformed the shallow waters into a sea of mud. Becoming stranded in the middle of the Everglades was not a risk we were willing to take, so we chose an alternative launch site. The ranger suggested the boat ramp at a new park that had just opened in Goodland; we were back in business.

Our new launch site was near Tripod Key, and that became our new destination. Finally, on the water, I began to relax. The surface is like glass and the sun’s reflection creates the illusion that I am gliding through millions of shimmering diamonds. Off to my left is a sight I have never experienced in all my trips to the Everglades. A pink flamingo is wading through the mud foraging for food. As I marvel at the sight, to my right a school of fish unexpectedly leaps out of the water to avoid the pod of dolphins looking for an evening meal. In the distance, my husband spots a strip of white sandy beach. It looks like the perfect place to set up camp.

As I begin paddling toward the eastern tip of the key, the water around me becomes very shallow. My paddle is a call to arms for the mullet and red fish swimming beneath me, and they begin their attack. Fish begin flying through the air all around me. As I fend off the barrage, a mullet takes me by surprise and slams into my left shoulder. The scream that escapes me is both piercing, and I hate to admit, quite girly. My husband comes running like a knight in shining armor, wielding the hatchet he had been using to hammer the tent stakes into the ground.

“What’s wrong!” he shouts from fifty yards away. “I’m being attacked by monsters in the water!” As soon as I convey my fish tale, my husband does his manly best to keep from breaking out in hysterical laughter, but to no avail. Humiliated, I push away his hand as he tries to help me out of my kayak. With my encounter behind me, I decide to explore our private little island. As I walk along the shoreline, I can still hear the murderous fish leaping out of the water and above me; a weary sea gull squawks a warning. When I return to camp, my husband asks me to look inside the tent to see if I notice anything missing. As I unzip the flap and peer inside, I immediately notice the absence of the mosquito netting we always use to protect against the biting insects that always find their way into our tent. My husband calmly reminds me that, in our rush to get on the road, I failed to grab the bag from the shed that contained the air mattress and mosquito netting.

Around 4 AM, convinced I had become a snack, I bolted upright in my sleeping bag and began feverishly scratching my head ... the no-seeums had invaded our tent! My husband shined his flashlight up toward the top of the tent and the sight was ghastly; the annoying, blood-sucking creatures covered the inside. We both scrambled out of the tent only to find little relief outside. I had bites on my head, face, hands, and neck. My husband shined the flashlight on my face and became concerned when the small bites began turning into nickel-sized welts. My exposed skin was on fire one minute and itching like crazy the next. I was miserable as I paddled the mile back to the car. We quickly broke camp and as I began paddling at the speed of sound, the sweat made the itching unbearable. I tried to resist the urge to claw at the bites, but it was no use. Scratching helped.

After what seemed like hours, we finally made it to the boat ramp. I was weak and could not get out of my kayak. I struggled to stand and lost my balance. The fall into the salty water was excruciating. My husband helped me up, quickly heaped everything in the back of the car, and headed to the nearest pharmacy. I loaded up on antihistamines and topical lotions, but nothing worked. The next day I still felt miserable and soon discovered I was having a horrible allergic reaction to the hundreds of no-seeum bites that speckled my skin.

The lesson here is, take your time when preparing for an outdoor excursion to a destination where common sense tells you Mother Nature has the upper hand. I am happy to say I have lived to tell the tale and will paddle another day.