Solo Paddling the Okefenokee
By: John Kumiski
The Tacoma rolled into Stephen C. Foster State Park, not stopping until we reached the marina. Mike and River went looking for alligators while I checked in to our campsite. Then Mike was talking to a park employee. "I don't know that I'd bring a dog out there," he said. "Alligators have gone into boats to get at dogs here."
"Here" in this case was the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge. We'll just call it the Okefenokee from now on. River is Mike's service dog. Their relationship is way beyond love. The idea of a large alligator climbing into his kayak in order to attack and eat River caused Mike enough anxiety that he had a sleepless night. And we had another day in the park before our real trip started, a planned and reserved four-day, three-night event that had us paddling our kayaks on a 25-mile loop.
These cooter turtles, less threatening than alligators, were sunning everywhere.
We discussed the issue the next day while exploring the park. We decided that I would make part of the trip solo while they investigated land-based Okefenokee recreation. The modified trip would be a twenty mile, out-and-back, three-day-two-night gig, and Mike would pick me up at the marina when I got back. Done, to Mike's immense relief.
They dropped me off at the marina the next morning. I packed my gear into the kayak and headed out, a solo paddler in the Okefenokee.
A view down the Suwannee Canal.
Soon the bow pointed east, working against the current of the east branch of the Suwannee River. It was fairly wide at first, all the way to Billy's Island. A quick stop here for some leg stretching and to learn a bit of island history. Posted signs said that at one time, hundreds of people lived here, cutting down every big tree they could find. All the trees I saw there were second-growth. Too bad they couldn't have left a few of the big ones for future generations.
After Billy's Island, the stream got narrow. I paddled through a twisty cypress tunnel for miles. You heard some songbirds, and now and then the screech of a hawk. Other than that, the loudest sound I heard was my own tinnitus. Almost spooky. Distant aircraft were the only mechanical things heard.
After Billy's Island, the stream got narrow.
As the day wore on, I began to get anxious. Where was this shelter? I started scouting for likely-looking tent sites. There weren't many, and none that were appealing. I kept stroking, and of course arrived at the shelter. It had been there all along, just not where it was marked on the map!
After I set up and looked around, there were still three hours of daylight left. I got back in the kayak and paddled another mile, to the junction of the purple trail.
Fifty feet onto the new waterway, the environment changed radically! The trees were gone. Wet prairie stretched to the horizon, with hammocks full of trees here and there. Flowers, some live and others gone to seed, lily pads, and pitcher plants grew everywhere. It was unexpected, and breathtaking. The best part was I would come this way again tomorrow.
Flowers, some live and others gone to seed, grew everywhere.
Morning broke foggy. Get the cameras out! Because I was distracted by the dazzling scenery, trying my best to capture it digitally, it took me four hours to go three miles. Time well spent, I say.
Arrival time at the next shelter was just after noon. The fog was gone. No walking around checking this area out- it was all water. I set up camp and pondered- what to do with the rest of the day? Inspiration struck- I would do nothing. I got my sleeping mat and spread it on the deck of the shelter. Then I lied down of it and started looking for shapes and faces in the passing clouds.
I saw some amazing things in those clouds, while the warm sunshine caressed my body. Sandhill cranes called, sounding like pterosaurs. After a while I stretched a bit, then got up to pee.
Wow, there were two new neighbors. They were both covered with thick, black scales.
My guess is most of the backcountry shelters have resident alligators. People feed them, so they hang around. Feeding gators is a terrible, dangerous thing to do. The gators come to associate people with food. Then if you don't give them food, you may become food.
My two neighbors at the Round Top shelter. The closer gator is blind.
Be that as it may, these particular gators weren't large enough to inspire fear. They did not receive any handouts from me. I did photograph them, though. They did not threaten me in any way.
I ate. I cleaned up. I watched the sun, and the moon, set. I looked for satellites, and meteors. Two different species of owls called from a 360-degree radius. From my tent I watched Orion rise - the fly wasn't on, to allow stargazing.
Orion rises above the horizon.
There was an especially heavy dewfall that night. It was foggy again in the morning. The tent, the sleeping bag, everything was wet. The downside of no fly! It all got packed anyway. There were ten miles to go, and a ride to not keep waiting. At least the current and I were going the same way now!
Arrival time at the marina was about 1:00 PM. The kayak had covered the ten miles in about five hours, fast enough that I had to wait for Mike, giving me time to reflect.
I had not seen another person in three days. It had been a too-short trip, an amazing visit into an extraordinary place. Had we done the full loop I'd planned, the trip would still have been too short. I guess there's only one thing to do.
I'm gonna have to plan another, longer, Okefenokee trip.
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