ALL in Wanderlust

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ALL in Wanderlust

Follow the wanderings and observations of an amateur but devoted and driven lover of nature, travel, history, escapades, and testing the limits.

Information shared is my experience of what works for me but may not be right for others. I encourage all adventurers to embrace what works for them and listen to their intuition coupled with research and planning.

23/10/2023

These are a few photos related to my last post about Lower Ochlockonee from Langston's Fish Camp to Mack's Landing.

16/10/2023

After the first leg (26 miles) of Lower Ochlockonee from SR20 to Langston Fish Camp, I embarked on the section from Langston to Mack’s Landing which was projected to be 19.5 miles based on the paddle guide (but actually came in around 21.3). The water was still very high, and the heat was in record temperatures eventually reaching almost 100 degrees by midday (as this was at the end of May), but the experience the day before had me enthusiastic and insatiably curious about what was around the bend from Langston as the river seemed to be taking on some slight changes and distinct features as I reached that site the day before.

I have termed this compulsion “up around the bendism” which I am afflicted with almost constantly causing me to constantly wonder and envision what is just around that next bend. The neurosis is particularly powerful if am not able to access water or portions of river, and in situations where I must responsibly determine a turnaround point for an out and back paddle, but instead the curiosity almost always drives me stretch the limits of a normal number of miles to paddle or a normal expectation of my endurance - although I am rarely disappointed! I had been deeply admonished not to dip paddle in Lower Ochlockonee overall, but the first 26 miles were lovely if not practically idyllic. Though water was high with a consistently swift current, there were not serious obstacles.

Just after leaving Langston’s the water more consistently became more and more narrow over the first two miles. Similar to the previous day’s paddle, the banks were lined with dreamy swaying water willow trees that were submerged up to the base of their crowns creating soft undulating dreamscapes of green. After about a mile and a half with a tight passage at times 8-10 feet, the hairpin turns began in rapid succession. For roughly 6 miles, a rollicking ride of navigation through tree tops and downed trees, strainers and logs offered an exhilarating obstacle course. Each time the turn would narrow and angle severely, the water was at its greatest force, giving one the least amount of time to make tactical decisions. Though it was certainly fast paced and a tight squeeze at times, there were no difficulties and the ride was adrenaline filled. (I will note that one day after I did this paddle that two kayakers flipped and had to call for rescue in this area, so a healthy sense caution should be paired with self-assessment of skill/confidence here. Also for vessels longer than 12-14 feet, some turns might be difficult with the pace of the water.)

While still amidst the tumultuous hairpin turns, the sunlight of the day turned magic and again lit up the willow trees showing the full range of colors in leaves which encompassed not only the obvious greens, but shades of yellows and greens too. Even though it was a bit later in the day, the wind was uncommonly still and allowed for stunning mirror reflections that took on the vibe of surreal Monet style paintings with the brilliant spectrum of colors. After a thousand pictures that could never truly capture full extent of the beauty, the paddle took a more relaxed tone in terms of navigation but still moved at a fast pace without the urgency of dodging.

The last few miles seemed to slow a bit, and I found myself wondering if the tidal effect of Ochlockonee Bay might possibly effect the river that far up, but the difference was only mildly perceptible and might be attributed to the waterway widening back up a bit. The wider water with less shade from the banks, combined with the lack of wind I had so appreciated earlier for the picturesque reflections, and paired with the soaring temperatures to make the mid to late afternoon paddle a bit less comfortable, but the banks were no less lovely. Until a mile and half out from Mack’s Landing, there was little or no evidence of civilization that allowed for a peaceful, albeit smoldering, paddle.

At 21.3 miles, I reached Mack’s landing where I did manage to find the only yellow fly of the day! There were a few quiet groups of fishers here, who were very interested in the navigation of the river up near Langstons’s. The landing also featured a nice semi-primitive campground for only a $10 fee paid on site based on the honor system. Though there was no electric or running water, there were well maintained sites and fire rings, and most importantly (from what I heard from the day’s fishers) the best fishing on the river. Regardless of next day’s forecasted temperatures possibly breaking 100 and having just completed about 48 miles over two days, I was still looking forward to the last leg of Lower Ochlockonee as pulled my gear out of the water!

24/09/2023

Some lovely pics of the wonderland willows on the Lower Ochlockonee that I mentioned in my last narrative post.

24/09/2023

This is footage of the extreme fish activity at SR20 on Lower Ochlockonee around 7:30am. I don't fish, but if I did - this would be the spot!

28/08/2023

Some companion pictures for the South River (near Sarasota) description and video I just posted. The woodpecker sighting was a thrill!

26/08/2023

A few additional photos from St. Lucie River that go with the narrative in the last post. I loved seeing this first example of a juvenile Blue Heron as I continue to learn more identifications for FL birds!

26/08/2023

When I headed to Port St. Lucie to paddle the south branch from Hosford Park, I expected a tame, shorter and possibly lackluster experience, but since I had limited paddle time and weather constraints it seemed the only workable new paddle to explore. After 12.8 miles (10.2 on the main stretch), I was stunned to find such a pocket lush jungle!

Hosford is a well maintained, easy access launch point, but being nestled in the middle of a neighborhood, it made me cringe a bit to think that I would just be paddling a home lined (and consequently littered) path for a good portion of what I though would be a 6 mile trip at its greatest. A lovely low arching grey concrete bridge with decorative side rails unassumingly heralded the start of the neighborhood lining the river. I noticed that at least the right side of the paddle seemed untamed and untouched. However, within minutes I found myself drawn to left, not only due to the shade but also the most charming, endearing string of old Florida river cottages and bungalows that perfectly balanced being thoughtfully and strategically manicured with merging perfectly in their natural surroundings. The homes themselves were bright and colorful without being garish and were meticulously well kept. One can almost feel the earnest pride, love and respect the owners have for their environment. Yards were overflowing with flowers and curated palms, but the most notable and stunning signature feature was enormous hanging staghorn ferns. Some were practically 6 feet wide and must have been fostered for decades to reach their grandiose splendor. I began creating narrative that their must have been an early 20th century celebration were the community founders each received an offshoot to commemorate their inclusion, and these must have been passed on for generations. Also prominent was the absence of any signage warning trespassers or labeling private property. The air of old Florida southern community was palpable and the cheery, warm vibe was reinforced by a few relaxed waves from the few residents who were out. Then just when I thought the neighborhood could not improve, it politely ended and transitioned seamlessly into stunning natural habitat almost immediately bearing no mark of human existence.

The rest of the paddle would lead deeper and deeper into the Atlantic Ridge Preserve State Park. As the neighborhood faded into the distance, the waterway narrowed slightly but was still a medium wide path but with very little discernable flow allowing for and easy paddle in either direction. The banks which were rarely higher than a foot or two in the early part were lined with medium sized but old gnarled oaks and various palms. The oaks were dripping with Spanish moss and were loaded with air plants on every available inch of their branches. The reddish brown hue of the air plants added a layer of color to the faded olive green moss and warm grey bark of the oaks. The display was staged to its best advantage by the trees reaching their branches over the waterway in an almost human like attempt to interact with those who passed by. Not to be outdone by the oaks, palms had also altered their growth the bend gracefully and whimsically out over the passage magnanimously offering pockets of shade as the water continued to narrow as the paddle progressed.

New residents populated this more remote portion of the river. Several turtles were out avoiding the shade that might tempt paddlers and were fully splayed straining to stretch out each webbed foot with claw clad toes on fallen logs and horizontally growing palms. Unphased by virtually any noise or proximity of viewer, they casually held their pose and stared somewhat beguilingly at spectators. All manner of birds were populating the water’s edge and were around virtually every bend, though they were a bit more camera shy than I am used to. Egrets, ibis and various herons were common, but the most intriguing sighting was a medium sized bird that looked a bit like an egret but had a marled white and blue/black coloring, almost a bit dalmatian like. A few mysteriously appeared throughout the length of the paddle and one even let me film a bit while he quite successfully hunted for his lunch. After some research, I believe these were juvenile little blue herons who go through a “white phase” where their adult slate blue feathers are interspersed with white, and it is known as “calico” or “pied.” Apparently, they do not reach their maturity and breed until two years of age. As if knowing his unique status in my estimation, he gave a show walking slowly through shallow edges among the branches as he stalked and stabbed about for his prey. Luckily, being distracted by the wildlife was safe enough on this portion of the easy paddle.

A few areas offered dual routes or loops, but navigation was worry free as virtually every prong lead to a common destination. Two very narrow branches on the left do lead dead ends that are too narrow and blocked to paddle, though their size and right angle of connection make them an unlikely temptation for accidentally getting lost. These offshoots are narrow tunnels with full shade and are tightly packed with vegetation as though they are trying to maximize biodiversity in every inch. On the main track, a few miles into the journey an island of sorts offered a clear spot to dock and picnic or lounge, as it appears to be periodically maintained for a clearing. After this, the water ever so gradually continues to narrow, practically imperceptibly at first.

At this point, it is evident one is deep in the Halpatiokee Reserve area that parallels in some areas a Halpatiokee hiking trail with a point of interest being what is labeled on GPS as “Blackwater Stream Overlook” – which is a lovely area but no more so than other parts of the river that do not intersect the hiking area. At the 3.7 mile mark when the water is significantly narrow, there is a small but surprisingly well kept camping area that can only be accessed by water or a fair hike. Within minutes past the camp, the water becomes distinctly narrow and more of a tunnel covered by the growth on either bank which leans over the water. While the shade might spur one to relax as if on a lackadaisical paddle, the increased incidence and size of the alligators wards off any sense absentminded basking! Within a mile and half, the water is so narrow and increasingly shallower with obstructions that it becomes a bit difficult and increasingly more likely for paddlers to suffer a loss of quick mobility to avoid gators. Wistfully, I turned back scheming about visiting in the summer months both for camping and the possibility of increased water levels to allow farther exploration.

The return trip was equally calm in terms of the water flow, though the wind was increased a bit and head on. Luckily, the bird sightings were increased and distracting, allowing for several purposeful breaks in the paddling to admire them. As the water widened and the surroundings became a bit less wild and remote, there was no sense of disappointment as the jolly, nostalgic neighborhood appeared as if to ease me back into civilization before I reached the launch at Hosford Park. Overall, I found the route far more removed from human development than expected and the waterways were pristine with no litter or human encroachment. I only saw one other paddler, a committed local fisher, on the entire route. Though I have not paddled every inch of St. Lucie, this little unique pocket is a favorite so far!

25/08/2023

I couldn’t wait to create the narrative and curate the footage! Here is info on Econfina Wasingham to the Livery from 2 weeks ago. At 6.2 feet, it was moving fast but not unmanageable. I only got off my board 3 times to stand on a log and plop my board over (2 times at 1.5 miles and once at mile 5). This long but unedited video shows speed/navigation of the most difficult part from 2.2-2.7 miles. I did not get off once for this, but it took some maneuvering! There was another similar but shorter and easier stretch like this at mile 5. The rest of the trip had trees down but more time to navigate. I don’t usually post such long videos, but I thought it would be valuable for those wanting to assess if they want to paddle this. I was on a 10 foot inflatable (9 inch fin) on my own. The video went so long it split into 2 files but they are the whole of the difficult section.

22/08/2023

I wanted to share these coupon codes for akasotech.com for 15% off cameras (amanda15) and 30% off accessories (amanda30). Several months ago, Akaso sent me their action camera to shoot videos for their site even though I warned them how much I didn’t like my well-known brand of action camera since it overheated and was hard to use. My Brave 7 was so easy to use, I shot this video on day one without reading the manual! All the videos I post are with their cameras. When they heard I was presenting at a paddle event, they sent giveaways and these coupon codes good till December. Feel free to ask me any questions about the cameras.

06/08/2023

Some enchanting pictures from Juniper Run as mentioned in the narrative I just posted.

06/08/2023

Here is the charming mill house on Juniper Run as referenced in the narrative post below.

06/08/2023

Since I first started paddling 3 years ago, I’ve been hearing about Juniper Run. Finding out that inflatables were banned deterred me a bit as I am loath to spend money and sacrifice comfort for a rental, but in early April, I finally resigned myself to that part of the process in order to paddle 9.7 miles on the pristine Juniper Run. (I was also exceedingly lucky to find the best rental and shuttle – Ocala Yak Club - who customized the trip for me and were a great source of local knowledge).

In a sense, my timing in waiting paid off as I went during a brief time when rentals were not offered onsite, which likely helped create a more intimate experience for me! Although it was warmer weather in April on a weekend day, the park was virtually empty as I was the first to enter, but there was no line either. Of course, I immediately felt myself drawn to the deep medium sized pool of the spring head. Being early morning on a somewhat overcast day perhaps was not the luckiest timing to see the brilliant colors of the pool, but even in these conditions the shades of greens and blues peeked through giving their best under the conditions. The spring banks were entirely encased in concrete with an inner ledge under the water created for ease of entry or lounging. Beyond this were a few mid-sized oak trees. Though I much prefer a completely wild and remote untouched looking spring, Juniper was still pretty.

The real signature feature was the small stone and wood mill house with a water wheel that was at the far end where the run began to drain out of the spring. The stone bottom comprised slightly more than half the structure and was topped by a reddish wooden cabin structure with darker shingles. Nearest to the path, the water gushed towards the wheel spinning it at a substantial pace but it also overflowed to the side of the wheel and stone wall that was supporting its axis. Against the picturesque backdrop of the cobblestone crept liberal patches of thick, velvety moss in bright greens and gatherings of luscious verdant ferns cascading down its façade. The once placid crystal clear waters churned themselves into a diminutive but intense pseudo waterfall of about 3-4 feet with white foaming waters gushing and crashing in a momentary pool below before rushing onward. Just feet beyond the initial drop, a slightly wider section and bend produced a kind of a ledge with two mounds of rocky outcropping perfectly spaced creating three distinct rivulets or pathways for the water to keep its frenzied pace. The center of these paths was a furious little flow with miniaturized momentary rapids. All of this section was lined with sprays of saw palmetto growing close to the ground and producing large deep green fans of palm as well as shorter sabal palm trees with their thick and highly stylized spikey trunks. The rocky banks were dripping with large, lush ferns. One might suspect the landscaping was carefully manicured in a Disney-esque attempt to miniaturize and perfect the untamed wild, but difficult though it may be to imagine, such scenes would be commonplace on the paddle to follow showing that there is no need for humans to guide nature to such perfection; it occurs quite naturally at Juniper.

Just beyond this area, I found the launch empty and waiting for its first and as far as I know only user that day (as I did not see anyone this day until I reached the endpoint). The small dock offered a very easy put-in and launch into the pristine waters of the run. Immediately, the utter glassy, crystal clear water is hard to even process as real. Where it not for the sun glimmering on its surface occasionally or ripples, it might be mistaken for some layer of airy heavenly atmosphere hovering invisibly on the sandy bed. As if to amplify the seemingly invisible quality of the water, the depth was notably unlike any other spring run. It was tauntingly, uniformly low even in wider areas and it maintained this for an extraordinary distance. However, as if again maintained by some sorcery, there was never a bump or scraping of the vessel though it often seemed inevitable.

Though the water seemed practically invisible, its current was certainly present. Yet again, it seemed to present itself in a mysterious juxtaposition. For the most part where everything was shallow, the water seemed to be still except that intermittently some leaves or other floating matter would whiz by indicating clear propulsion. Only in a few slightly to moderately deeper pockets of water on the edges where the water turned a brilliant shade of cyan did the water show visible ripples and reveal the power of the flow. This reveal was most present at the sections with abrupt bends as the water was forced to funnel and redirect. Such twisting and turning was endless on the run. One imagines that the dauntless water that first cut this route must have had a mischievous and whimsical soul to wander about in loops rather than cutting a straight path for its flow. As if in keeping with the theme of seeming enchantment of the rest of the elements, this current paired with an unending succession of winding tight corners and provided an exuberant magic carpet ride that felt like flying on air as the water’s invisibility spell seemed to levitate vessels just above the floor of the run.

To add to the surreal quality of floating above the sandy bed, it was studded with embedded treasures as if for viewing under museum glass. Small pockets of delicate green vegetation were grouped as if genus specimens were arranged for identification and appreciation. Small visually appealing rock clusters that managed to never obstruct the path occasionally rose from the entirely sandy bottom to add texture and variety to the view. However, the most stunning treasures were long fully submerged logs running parallel to the bed showcasing the loveliest skeletal structures to ride alongside of. For as twisting a path as the water had, it seemed that every section with a brief straight run had one of these underwater sculptures to appreciate!

The underwater show was rivaled only by the beauty on the banks, making it a challenge to capture all the sights with the rapid pace of the water. At times, the banks were almost at the same level as the water and at other times they swelled to a height only ever reaching a few feet. Often, bright green grass crept towards the intermediary area between the water and earth. Most abundant were the immense quantities of bright green ferns teaming and flourishing in the shade so near the fresh water. Sometimes, they were so layered one upon another that it seemed as though they were in bushes creating walls often hanging over the narrow waterway. Yet at times in more open areas, there were many entirely sandy banks softly gleaming with their whiteish-yellow sand in the mild sun of the day. The first few miles of the run seemed as though they were a fantasy island jungle landscape with a variety of palm trees ranging from palmetto saw palms with good size fans low to the ground to sabal palms and other larger varieties further back from the waterline. Especially near the start, the passage was frequently narrow with trees and branches forming a tunnel like passage. Turn after turn would expose a great palm that had altered its growth pattern to seemingly abnormally lean and curve into the path above the water, which might seem precarious or unwise to unbalance its weight and roots in such a potentially contorted position, but the grace and beauty of their curves could only be described as a harmonious perfection in relationship to the water.

After a few miles of wonderland island jungle scape, the water slightly widened, slightly deepened and lost a bit of glassy blue hues, but it retained all of its vivacious energy. The banks had fewer palms and instead had more hardwood trees, and the ferns gave way to the tall grass as the shade was decreased. Far fewer obstructions mandated the dodging and ducking of the earlier paddle. Finally, there was some open sky for birds to swoop overhead or perch in a tree. Not entirely ready to be done with run, I passed the regular take out at Wayside and continued for a bit over a mile. Unfortunately, soon the aggressive mechanical roar of airboats in the near distance encouraged me to acquiesce and turn around to flex my forward paddling muscles for the first time in the day, as up until that point I was mainly steering or backpaddling.

In the years I had heard about Juniper, it was always discussed with a hush of slightly ominous warning that it was too challenging for all, too dangerous for inflatables, too fast to be anticipated or wrangled. However, my experience was certainly boisterous and animated, but it was in no way even remotely foreboding. Though there were numerous obstacles to navigate and while the pace was rushing, nothing was challenging, and there were no concerns of tipping. I kept thinking of it as Jovial Juniper with its fanciful twists causing ducking and leaning to rollercoaster by charmingly exquisite obstacles, many of which were fairly insignificant and gave ample passageway to avoid. It was as though all the elements were friendly, pseudo-thrillers just close enough for a fun fright or challenge but always allowing a safe route filled with a paradisiacal view.

31/07/2023

Some photos related to the Loxahatchee Slough Paddle narrative below. It far exceeded expectations!

31/07/2023

Whenever I have a chance, I am always exuberant to paddle Loxahatchee from Riverbend to the park, and I have done so many times. Being one of only two natural and scenic rivers in Florida, Loxahatchee always delivers a diverse and remote experience while still featuring one-of-a-kind exotic, historical camp-island and a lovely more conventional state park. When I heard about the lesser known route of Loxahatchee Slough, I knew I needed to experience it, so in mid-April I paddled the slough and side trip to Anhinga Island with a good deal of off-route excursions for 13.4 outstanding miles of looping about.

Finding a map is fairly difficult; and once found the map indicates a short paddle right next to a fairly large road and some canals are also listed as other options. I doubted that the excursion would have much of the flavor I have come to expect from Loxahatchee and debated whether a 4 mile route was worth the travel. As I drove to the PGA Boulevard address nearing the launch point, I was stopped on the road by 3 sandhill cranes crossing, which was my first hint that this would not be a disappointment. After parking by the restrooms, inflating the board and checking the trail map, I realized I needed to be on the other side of bridge for the kayak launch or I would be relegated to the less wild canal tour, so I shuffled across the road where there was still ample safe parking. The launch was easy to access and use. Once I pulled out and headed left (away from the bridge) almost immediately it was clear that the Slough of Loxahatchee would be filled with ample nature to appreciate!

Within a minute or two minutes of the starting point, several large great blue heron, ibis, egret, and smaller blue heron were out for their early morning feeding standing at the edges which were not very far apart as the water was only about 20 feet across. Beyond lining the edges, others were sunning in the trees or swooping back and forth looking for new perches or fishing spots. As though this show was not plentiful enough, farther back in the recesses of the growth surrounding the water another several layers of birds voiced a chorus of calls. The density of the population was impressive! For the first .25 miles there was a slight hint of the muffled sound of cars on the still nearby road, but this was quickly swallowed by the legion of feathered residents.

Around this same point was the first appearance of several rare (or so I thought) and stunning wood storks! All at once, it seemed I was surrounded by at least 10 visible storks in immediate proximity at water level. Though not entirely comfortable with my presence, they did allow for closer viewing if I conceded to not paddling (or breathing) – which I happily did. This pace change allowed the spotting of a few others higher up in the trees and further back from the water. The experience of so many in one place seemed some type of propitious omen of the paddle to follow. Being only my second time encountering the Florida wood stork, I’m still in awe and (sad to admit) a bit shocked at their grand but more serious than I envisioned appearance. Not being a native of Florida and having formed my vision from fanciful drawings of baby delivery storks, I envisioned a soft gentle more colorful bird with yellow bill and grandfather aura. This is a bit more of the African stork I have discovered, as the still alluring but more austere and intense Florida wood stork is almost entirely black and white.

Just a bit of orangish color is in in their expansive four taloned foot with three longer claws facing front and one facing the opposing direction with each still tipped in a black sharpened nail. Though they may sound terrifying, they were somehow delicate and in proportion as they are mainly seen wrapped around limbs of tress or on few who stood just above the waterline in the rare openings. These sprawling feet led to slender long legs in gradually darkening shades of black, which seemed a bit spindly. Nevertheless, they managed with their ankle joint half way up the leg to support the weight of their somewhat hunchback looking body as they deliberately plodded or lumbered about with an almost Frankenstein quality. Though it certainly would not be described as graceful, it wasn’t exactly clumsy but rather a heaving powerful motion. The white plumed bodies in and of themselves where often pristine, fluffy (though sometimes harried looking), and edged in black feathers which in separate parts are all lovely, but combined on the form of their giant torso did not altogether create a harmonious image of beauty but rather stalwart power. When still in their erect stance, which can reach up to almost 4 feet, they generally appear to have almost no neck but rather a tuft of finer white feathers that leads to a black and white marled neck that looks like granite stone which leads to a bald head encasing the blackest, glassy marbles of eyes above an unexpected (for me) primarily black curved thick bill looking as though it had been constructed for prehistoric battle. When walking, they extend their neck a bit, but their bodies are more horizontal and with their exaggerated lumbering walk, leathery skin and dark coloring, they do in fact seem a bit grizzled with age – but not quite the doting grandfather cartoon in my mind! Without a doubt, they are most attractive to the eye when soring about with a stunning wing span of nearly 5.5 feet, unfurling their white enormous white wings with the black fringes at the bottom and legs extended back. In flight with their slow powerful flapping, swopping, and soaring, they find their more graceful zenith.

Already in disbelief and giddiness at the sight of such diverse wildlife, I was almost ambushed by a nearly 4 foot water moccasin when I was sitting near a bank birdwatching. Luckily, he chose to slither his thick black body up the bank instead. Having lost almost any sense of his more youthful brown coloration, this almost entirely black veteran was perhaps long since bored by squealing paddlers and decided not to bother with me. Very quickly after resuming the paddle and just after passing the turn for Anhinga Island at the .5 mile mark, I spotted the first and largest of the gators I would see that day. Still paddling at leisurely pace, I was able to notice just a foot of tail on the bank that was almost missed in the camouflage of its color in the darker water and placement with just inches above the water at the grassy overgrown edge. As I sat and watched, slowly (perhaps over the span of 5 minutes or so) a deeply prehistoric gator of significant size rose to the surface: tail first, then the bump of his head, followed by just the top inches of his body before gave thrash befitting of his at least 10-12 foot size. Though the water was not wide, nor deep, nor far from some civilization, it was truly wild in the best Florida sense!

I was able to make it about 2.8 miles straight down from the main launch, though the last mile or so involved some scraping and maneuvering. Most of this section was lined with a prestigious looking parallel tract of almost perfectly aligned cypress trees on either side that looked as though they had been carefully arranged. They were of medium height and fairly slender but were arrayed in generous and a brilliantly colored greenery. At the right angle in the lower wind of the morning, the trees, warm blue sky with billowing fluffy clouds, and the glassy water combined for excellent mirrored views. At times the trees had more spacing than others allowing for some grassy flat areas for birds or turtles, which were also abundant. The further down the waterway, the more branches and lily pads crept towards the center. Clearly, the waterway became even more narrow and shallow, which seemed to encourage jumping fish as I passed by at times knocking about the branches.

After turning around, I set my sites on Anhinga Island but not before spotting my smallest alligator of the trip, which was a baby just over a foot long. Many of the same magnificent birds lined the trail back and seemed perhaps a bit more at ease with me. With no other paddlers in sight all day on a sunny weekend, it seems that trail is not overly trafficked. A bit over two miles later on the right lay the entrance to Anhinga island, which very quickly became the narrowest of pathways as it passed under the main road with smattering of dwarf cypress. Very soon the surroundings became a field of Spikerush Grass often over 2 feet tall leaving the shallowest of passageways of water which was often complicated with thick sections of lilies and randomly placed dwarf cypress trees. Though at times the water was spread widely (full of obstruction and no clear path), it was never spread deeply! This was compounded by the tide being at its lowest point of the day (which in retrospect I might have paid more attention to checking). Very soon, I was mostly pushing my board over the tops of the grass and lilies with my paddle. Laughing and groaning as I reached the one-mile mark, I met a good few yards of a muddy path requiring full portage. With the low tide, the mud at either end was particularly soft and deep allowing one to fully experience the marshy portage right up to the knees. After my plopping across and getting back in the “water,” there was another mile or more of pushing over the vegetation. I did manage to see the anhingas, but the loud shuffling of my paddle progress did not allow for the quiet communing moments I had earlier with the storks, and they were often long gone before I reached their former perches.

By the time I circled the island and reached the portage, I was sweat drenched and shaky in the arms, with still a mile to go to get back to main waterway. Though there was little improvement in the water height, it always seems to feel better when the better portion of a tough paddle is already accomplished with ever decreasing difficulty ahead. After 35 minutes of dragging, scooting, and pushing across the top of the vegetation (and even roots at times), the entrance to the original path finally came into view and almost simultaneously the water became navigable again. Though a right turn would have ended the hot sticky day in .5 miles, I could not resist the temptation to head left and retrace the 2.3 miles and revisit all the spectacular avian residents.

Though they were less active in the heat of the day, the paddle was an easy cool down paddle after the Anhinga Island grass gliding portion! Loxahatchee Slough certainly held a different experience than Loxahatchee proper, and it required a bit of looping to achieve the preferred length and a bit of grit (both of determination and actual physical grit layering upon one), but it is a hidden gem in my estimation. There are also several hikes in the area that I suspect may be similarly excellent for birdwatching, though it was nearing 3pm by the end of my paddle, and the clouds were gathering, so the hikes would have to wait for my next visit.

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Videos

This is footage of the extreme fish activity at SR20 on Lower Ochlockonee around 7:30am. I don't fish, but if I did - this would be the spot!

Here is the charming mill house on Juniper Run as referenced in the narrative post below.

This is Maund Spring on Chipola and is the view from above to go with the one I just posted. See my narrative also posted today for the description of this spring and "The Ovens" which are a dry cave system.

This is Maund Spring on Chipola and is the view from below; I will post another with the view from above soon. See my narrative also posted today for the description of this spring and "The Ovens" which are a dry cave system.

Though it took me a few months, I finally made it back to the mighty Chipola to complete the entire upper and lower navigable portion by paddling the small 10 mile section, I had to miss on my first go around! From Yancey to Magnolia Bridge is not the longest stretch, but it could vie for top spot in uniqueness! Being mid March, the water was low at 6.5 feet, which served to enhance the main attraction. Yancey offered a convenient launch and while the temperatures were still in the upper 60’s the sun was fully shining and promised to warm the day. Within minutes of the launch, the characteristic marks of the Chipola were present: beautiful oaks, limestone banks and amiable flow. Very shortly a semi-rustic, wooden river home that appeared to be a seasonal residence appeared on the right. Without the advice of a sage local, I would have steered to the other side of the river giving the residence a wide berth, but instead I knew to cut right just after the dock to see a small but worthwhile spring. Though it was semi surrounded by concrete, under the water it was all natural with a narrow 25 foot deep vent lined with craggy limestone and filled with playful, unaffected fish. In just a few feet, the water went from shallow to a deep slender crevice. As the shallows gave way to the depths, a bit of thin pipe-cleaner-like vegetation floated straight up from the floor showing there was little to no flow pressure. At first, a series of tiny fish darted among the bright green flora, but soon small to mid-size fish joined the fray. Most darted about the bottom, but some ventured closer to the surface. For a small spring, the amount of fish was impressive. Back on the Chipola, the temperatures were warming, but it was still early enough to catch a few otters on the bank who promptly slid down the bank splashing into the water. Though they surfaced a few times to taunt me, they never stayed long enough for a picture. Luckily, the other wildlife along the route was m

After my first day with 20 miles on Holmes Creek and meeting a local, I decided to alter my second day a bit to start at Live Oak (rather than Spurling) so that I could include a 3.5 mile diversion on Spring Run to get to a larger spring called Big Blue (as I was told). Though I sacrificed 6.5 miles of wild and primitive river and disrupted my OCD obsession with paddling in order, the spring was well worth the trade! I ended at Cedar Landing with a total of 18.6 miles including the spring run and a few other side tracks. It was another early start from Live Oak landing which lived up to its name with great oaks arching over the medium wide waterway. In the early morning, the air had a sweet scent, but already the wind was up and promised to be a challenge as it was head on. Almost immediately after the launch, I began spotting deer back in the edges where the water seemed to just trail into the trees as far as one could see. They were skittish and seemed fairly unused to water traffic, so although I spotted many in the first hour, none paused long enough for me to get pictures. Regardless their presence felt like a secret, subtle reward for such an early start. After a few miles of rather remote paddling, the banks became more defined and a few structures appeared as I approached the 284 bridge where I passed two boats – which would be the only other people on the main river I would see all day. They were friendly but somewhat quizzical about my presence as I gathered the area was not a well trafficked paddle route. Soon the river widened a bit and the wind picked up speed, and by 11am it was a fairly steady 12-16mph. The evidence of civilization faded, and similarly the banks returned to a more swamp-like fade into the tree line. Tupelo and Cypress dominated this area, but the Cypress were not overly large and rather seemed content to keep themselves in proportion to the Tupelo. About 2 miles after the bridge, an interesting section of the river unfurle

Here is another video from the breathtaking Cypress Spring on Holmes Creek

Here is the video footage of the otherworldly mini universe that is Ocheesee Pond. It was impossible to capture the trees without turning the video on its side!

Though I did not get to cover a large swath of Steinhatchee River, I no doubt experienced many sides of her in the 7 miles from the falls to Jenna’s Boat ramp! The focus of my wanderlust was in the section near the falls and second portion I had tacked on just add miles and time on the water, although seeing historic Deadman’s bay was also of interest too. I had no idea the fateful decision those last few miles would be! Surprisingly, by some estimations these falls are the largest in Florida; however, this is only when thinking in terms of breadth rather than height which might be a more standard primary factor in rating falls. The earliest maps refer to the river as "Achenahattchee" or "Esteen-hatchee" from native American words meaning river of man, and true to its name the falls, bay and surrounding area have been supporting civilization for hundreds of thousands of years. As far back as 12,000 BC prehistoric humans sustained settlements there. Pirates from 15th-18th centuries sought safe haven and were followed by loggers in the 1800s and the 1940’s and 50’s saw an influx of sponge divers. Wagon wheel ruts are still visible in the limestone bluffs above the falls. Today, the bay is still thriving with local fishers, crabbers and shrimpers. Not only has the area proved to be economically important, but its strategic location has been the host of many historical figures. In 1529, Spanish Conquistador Panfilo de Narvaez traveled through with Hernando de Soto following directly at the location of the falls in 1539. General Andrew Jackson also crossed at the Falls in 1818 in pursuit of conflict with Seminole Indians. For the same purpose, General Zachary Taylor not only traveled there in 1838 but also built Fort Frank Brook on the river, though it was shortly abandoned in 1840 (there seems to be little information regarding the exact location or if there are any remains, but I would love to know more if anyone knows the lore)! It was not until 1945 that e

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