Trip report: February paradise

by Elmore Holmes
March, 2004

    February can be sort of a dreary, tedious month where I live, but since I spent last month's column complaining about the cold, I'll spare you the grief this month.  This year, I had an escape plan, and what follows is my gloatfest.
     On Wednesday, February 4, my girlfriend Martha Kelly and I were outta this bleak, blustery place.  We pointed my van southeast and headed for sunny Florida.  The primary objective was for me to participate in the 6th annual Bogey and Bacall canoe and kayak races in Key Largo, but we also blocked out some time for relaxation in the warm sunshine.
     We got to Key Largo Thursday night, and on Friday morning we went to the race HQ at Florida Bay Outfitters on Blackwater Sound.  Greg Barton, the Olympic champion 1000-meter kayak racer, was on hand to teach a forward stroke clinic, and Martha was signed up.  While she honed her skills under Greg's wing, I put my boat in the water and paddled across the sound.  I had the wind at my back going out, and got one great ride after another on the three-foot waves.  My workout began when I turned around and paddled into the wind back to shore.
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     When I got back, I found Martha in a state of elevated enthusiasm after Greg's class, and she wanted to go out and explore after lunch.  I had planned to spend the afternoon resting up for the race the next day, but I figured if I kept the intensity low I couldn't do too much harm.  Martha had just learned of a mangrove forest in Dusenberry Creek, several miles from our beach, that formed a tunnel-like canopy over narrow channels of water.  We paddled off to see what it was about.
     This Florida trip proved to be a breakthrough for Martha, whose first paddling experience had been just three months earlier.  Even though she had never been much of an athlete, she'd decided to give paddling a try, and I think she was doing it for all the right reasons, which is to say that she was truly fascinated by the sport and wasn't doing it simply because I was doing it.
     On her first time in a boat last November, she made it a couple of miles in Memphis Harbor before she'd had all she could handle.  But she kept at it, knowing that her effort would enable her to reach some spectacular out-of-the-way places.  Down in the Keys some of the most beautiful places are several miles from the nearest beach access, and Martha took a deep breath and dug in.  Our trip to the mangrove forest was at least a six-mile round-trip, but the incredible beauty of the place far outweighed any exhaustion Martha might have felt while paddling that distance.  We gazed at the beautiful trees with their intricate root systems while schools of minnows swam the crystal clear waters below us.
     When Memphians Wim Nouwen, Carol Lee Royer, and Joe Royer joined us on the key that evening, a giddy Martha regaled them with stories of her first big outing.  The five of us ate a delicious seafood supper, then turned in to rest up for racing the next day.
     We woke up to sunny skies and light winds Saturday morning, with temperatures in the mid-70s.  Wim, Carol Lee, Joe, and I lined up for the 13.2-mile "Bogey" race.  This race took us across Blackwater Sound, through a channel called the "Boggies," into Florida Bay, down into Buttonwood Sound, through Grouper Creek, across Tarpon Basin, through Dusenberry Creek, and back into Blackwater Sound to the finish.  Greg Barton, paddling a surf ski (a narrow, fast sit-on-top racing kayak), pulled out to an early lead and was nearly out of sight by the time we got to the Boggies.  Joe, paddling his Thunderbolt racing kayak, got a good start and settled into the second pack, while I traded wake-rides across the sound with a fellow surf-ski paddler.  Wim and Carol Lee, both paddling sea kayaks, got good position in their respective boat classes.
     Greg cruised to victory in one hour, forty-two minutes, thirteen seconds--the fastest time ever recorded on this course.  I spent the entire race trying to catch Joe (you always want to beat your training partner, after all), and coming out of Dusenberry Creek I had closed the gap on him enough that I thought I might pull it off.  But by this time my fuel tank was nearly empty, and Joe held on to beat me by just over a minute and win the racing-kayak class.  It was the first time in three tries that Joe had broken two hours: he clocked in at 1:59:46.  I, meanwhile, have something to shoot for next year, as I was just over two hours (2:00:49).  I was the second-fastest surf ski behind Greg Barton, but the race organizers were nice enough to place feeble, decrepit old Greg in the "Masters" category for over-40 paddlers, clearing the way for me to take first in the "Open" age group.
     Wim was the fastest sea kayak across the line, and Carol Lee won the ladies' sea kayak class.  Four Memphians, four gold medals--not a bad showing considering we come from a part of the country with "no good place to paddle."
     But the racing was not over.  The 6-mile "Bacall" race was scheduled for Sunday, and a big front came through overnight.  We woke up to a stiff north wind and rough water in Blackwater Sound.  The race organizers set a two-mile "out-and-back" course that we would lap three times, the wind in our faces going out and at our backs coming back in.
     This time, Greg Barton entered the race in an 18-foot touring boat made by his company, Epic Kayaks.  But anybody who thought he might be vulnerable to us race-boat paddlers was dreaming.  A strong Puerto Rican paddler in a surf ski led in the early going, but Greg overtook him near the end of the first lap and never looked back.

Memphis paddlers rule!  Carol Lee Royer shows off her medal to throngs of adoring fans after winning the women's sea kayak class of the 13.2-mile "Bogey" race.  Monica Woll of Florida Bay Outfitters presides over the ceremony.  Photo by Martha Kelly.
     I was hoping to settle the score with Joe in this race, but instead I found myself trailing not just him, but Wim as well.  Their lead seemed insurmountable for at least half the race, but I caught a (possibly unfair?) break at the end of the second lap, when the buoy we were supposed to go around came loose and blew off the course.  I didn't make my turn until a race official with a megaphone yelled at me to do so, but I suspect he might have let me turn sooner than Wim and Joe had done.
     But when you're paddling as hard as you can, there's not much time to ask questions.  I caught Joe in the last upwind leg and managed to surf past Wim in the home stretch.  The three of us finished within eleven seconds of each other, making another good showing for Team Memphis.  I crossed the line at 1:04:38, and Wim and Joe had a near-photo-finish with Wim prevailing, 1:04:48 to 1:04:49.  Carol Lee plowed through the ferocious wind to take second in the women's sea kayak class--the only blemish on our gold medal haul.  Better train harder, Carol Lee!
     Greg's winning time was 57 minutes, 1 second.  We'll see him again here in Memphis on May 1, when he makes his sixth appearance in the Outdoors, Inc., Canoe and Kayak Race on the Mississippi River.

     Wim, Carol Lee, and Joe headed back to Memphis when the racing was over.  But Martha and I had a little extra time to spend, and we had not seen enough of Key Largo.
     To the traveler who simply drives down U.S. 1, the Florida Keys are a rather homely sight.  Whatever zoning ordinances exist are apparently not very strict, for the highway is home to an endless string of seashell shops and similar tourist traps.  Only by exploring the water can one find the treasures that make the Keys so special.

Martha Kelly explores a red mangrove forest during an idyllic afternoon off Key Largo.  Photo by Elmore Holmes.
      For the next three days, the only land-based activities for Martha and me were meals and sleeping.  The rest of the time, we were on the water in our kayaks.  On Monday we returned to the mangrove tunnels in Dusenberry Creek, this time armed with our cameras.  The next day we paddled to the opposite side of Blackwater Sound and up a portion of Jewfish Creek.  Wednesday's paddling took us through the Adams Waterway to the ocean side of the key, into the mangrove swamps of Pennekamp State Park, and out into the blue-green waters of the Atlantic Ocean.  Martha handled the long paddling sessions with aplomb, and we took plenty of photos for her to show her friends back home, most of whom had never seen her do much of anything athletic before.  Actually, Martha is an avid waltzer and contra-dancer, but the debate over what is athletic and what's not can wait for another day.  All I know is that I'm proud of her, and I suspect she's been bitten by the racing bug as well: in the same sentence as "I'm not really looking to become a racer," she says "I might enter the Outdoors, Inc., race this May just for fun."
     On Thursday we began to head back north.  Determined to take in the natural beauty that Florida offers beneath its Miami-Daytona-Disneyworld façade, we studied the map for good paddling destinations on or near the Gulf coast that we could check out along the way.  Wim had explored the mouth of the Suwanee River and recommended the place highly, but we failed to find good camping in the area.  By default, we opted for a Suwanee tributary that did have camping nearby.  We showed up at the Ichetucknee River with no idea of what we would find, but this little river fed by warm springs turned out to be a highlight of the trip.
 
     The sparkling clear water of the Ichetucknee flows through a hardwood swamp rich in bird, fish, and reptile species.  We caught it on a rather chilly, drizzly day, but even though some sunshine might have been nice, the darker, mistier conditions gave a mysterious, fantasy-land feel to the place.  The utter silence was broken only by the flowing molecules of water and the occasional flapping of wings as a crane or a heron or an egret flew overhead.  Martha paddled silently along, hoping a crane would let her get close enough to snap a photograph.  I was captivated by the fish: a sizeable species swam right underneath my boat, easy to spot against the white pebbles on the river bottom.
     When we reached the takeout, our hands were numb with the cold--a reminder that we weren't in the Keys anymore.  With some difficulty, we strapped the boats to the top of my van, and reluctantly we headed for home.

Elmore Holmes tries his best not to disrupt the silent beauty of the Ichetucknee River, which drains part of the coastal plain between Tampa and Tallahassee.  Photo by Martha Kelly.
     We got back to Memphis and found that the city had saved some frigid weather for us.  But we were energized by our Florida sojourn and figured we could last a few more weeks until spring.  Though I missed Florida's clear water my first day back on the Mississippi, it was actually nice to be back.  As beautiful as the Florida seashore is, Memphis is my home, and I'm happy with that.  One of the grandest rivers in the world flows a couple of miles from my house, and the fitness and skill level I develop by paddling there enables me to go just about anyplace in the world I want.
 
 

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