On TRAK to Adventure in Tofino, BC

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Team 2020 (Photo credit: Jamie Sharp)

How does a skin on frame kayak respond to rough water? What better place to test a redesigned TRAK kayak than Vancouver Island? The TRAK Team 2020 had come to play in the surf and give a final round of feedback on the new TRAK 2.0.

Nolin Veillard, founder and managing director of TRAK kayaks, had invited the team to come for a surf camp and a chance to learn about TRAK 2.0’s new features. Half the team already owned TRAK kayaks, while the rest were new to TRAK. My husband Kevin and I bought one of the earliest TRAKS for a self-supported kayak trip through the Exuma Island in the Bahamas where we snorkeled and paddled in paradise (TRAK Unleashed: PADDLERS IN PARADISE). We loved the boat as an expedition boat, but I was curious to see how it would hold up to wind and waves.

Most of our team had met virtually, on group chats and a group forum, but I was looking forward to meeting everyone in person. In addition to Team 2020, Hans Trupp had coordinated the event, and Fabio Raimo Oliveira and Jamie Sharp had come to help us become better surf instructors. And most important, Buffy Trupp fed us gourmet meals.

Nolin had reserved an assortment of lodges, yurts, and campsites the Wya Point Campground and Resort, just at the edge of the Pacific Rim National Park Reserve. My home for the next several days was Yurt 14, which, conveniently, was also the group headquarters for meals and meetings. (Since my gear was trapped in Delta’s black hole of lost luggage, I was thrilled to stay in the yurt.) Our yurt was just yards from the Pacific beach, and forest went right up to the edge of the beach.

On our first afternoon, we readied our kayaks for the next day’s paddle. Since I owned one of the first models, I was excited to see the improvements Nolin had made over the years. I was especially happy to see improvements in portability–Nolin shaved almost 10 pounds off the earlier models that Kevin and I dragged through airports. Thank you Nolin!

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Assembling the TRAK
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Inside a TRAK (Courtesy of Awesome Kayak)
TRAK on the beach
Wya Point Beach
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Photo credit: Jamie Sharp

Everyone was eager to get on the water the next day. In the morning, operations manager Jason Guindon demonstrated the newer features, and after lunch, we carried our boats to the beach. The water was calm, with small waves lapping the shore, a perfect opportunity to exchange tips on strokes, rescues, and rolls in skin on frame boats. For me, playing in the surges–rock gardening 101–was a real treat and the most different from my own southeast surf zone. Later, we paddled out beyond the rocks enclosing our cove and saw a massive sea lion guarding his perch.

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Flying over our route

 

The first day’s calm gave way to higher winds and slightly higher onshore waves. Nonetheless, the conditions bode well for our trip to Wickaninnish Beach. The Tofino area, I discovered, is Canada’s surf capital, and Wickaninnish Beach promised good clean surf. We paddled out of the cove and headed towards north. We paddled along the coast, that alternated rocky islands and sandy beaches. I didn’t expect to see so many sandy beaches; my image of the Pacific northwest was all rocky beaches. I had thought the Pacific Northwest was all rocky coast; I had no idea I would see so much sand. After about an hour, we reached a rocky island where the group reconvened. We lingered for almost an hour. Some fixed gear while others took the opportunity to rock garden. The island offered several play spots, and we practiced our skills timing the surges along the rocks. I was impressed with the TRAK’s responsiveness. I had never used mine in situations with rocks and fast moving water.

Soon after we left the island, we paddled through a narrow channel made by rocks, and the conditions changed for the worse. The winds grew stronger, and the water rougher. Boats and paddlers dipped in and out of view as we rose and fell with the swells. We paddled on, watching the coast, but staying out far enough to avoid refracting waves. I felt my boat flex with the waves, but it paddled solidly in these force 4 conditions. This was the test, and the boat passed with flying colors. Finally we rounded the headland and surfed in to shore — after all, we had come to surf. It was an exhilarating day and a new challenge for many, but we all agreed that our boats had passed a critical test of seaworthiness.

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Coming in for a landing
Coming ashore
On shore
TRAK flag
TRAK flag
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A trailer of TRAKS

 

We had so much fun that we returned to Wickaninnish the next day.  The conditions had calm considerably, but everyone was happy to have a day just to surf. Fabio and Jamie gave up pointers on surf instruction, but the highlight was playing in the waves. That night we debriefed over fish and chips from a food truck in Tofino and prepared to head home.

On our final morning, we disassembled our boats and offered a final round of feedback on the TRAK. I was sorry to say goodbye to so many new friends, but we are already planning new surf adventures. TRAK’s Kickstarter campaign is well underway, while we eagerly await the unveiling of TRAK 2.0.

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Our successful Kickstarter campaign

Paddleboarding to Paradise: Caladesi Style

Is Caladesi Island State Park paradise? It just might be. Beaches, mangroves, birds, and dolphins — what’s not to love? And it’s even better with a paddleboard.

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Boat and board

Is Caladesi Island State Park paradise? It just might be. Beaches, mangroves, birds, and dolphins — what’s not to love? And it’s even better with a paddleboard.

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Reflections of mangroves

The conditions were perfect to sail from Clearwater Beach Marina to Caladesi Island State Park. My inflatable paddleboard was rolled up in the cabin–our last sailing trip to the Keys revealed some downsides to towing the paddleboard (From Sail2SUP in the Keys).  We motored out to the Gulf through Clearwater Pass, then raised our sails, catching a light southerly breeze to carry us north. The carnivalesque feel of Clearwater Beach faded as we sailed along Caladesi Island toward Dunedin Pass, our entry point to the Caladesi Island Marina. We navigated through the narrow pass, then followed the channel markers to the marina. Caladesi Island is only accessible by boat, so the marina is the primary port of entry.

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Slips in Caladesi Marina

As soon as we entered the marina, I knew we were home. We planned to return to Clearwater Beach that night, but I did not want to leave. Plus, we had all of our food, clothing, and water with us — the benefits of a floating tent, as I call our 18′ Sanibel. Although Caladesi Island State Park does not allow camping, you can stay on your boat. So we had our own tropical paradise.

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Gopher tortoise
Palm trees
Palm trees

We checked in and paid our docking fee, at $1 per foot, inexpensive relative to most marinas. Then, I inflated my paddleboard and set out to explore. I knew the calm waters around Caladesi Island would be perfect for paddleboarding. The shallow water was clear enough to see fish and the occasional stingray, and the mangroves blocked the wind. I only had time for a brief paddle before sunset, but I paddled in nearby channels and saw a variety of birds.

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Cormorant in mangrove
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Pelican perched on marker
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Egret looking for food

Since it was low tide, I stayed close to the main boat channel so my paddleboard fin didn’t drag in the mud. Water depth is only a few feet most of the water so most of the area is inaccessible to motorized vessels. Returning to the marina, I crossed paths with the Caladesi Ferry which was bringing the last visitors of the day back to the mainland.

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Ferry leaving Caladesi Island
Caladesi Ferry on Still water
Navigating the channel markers

I returned in time for a brilliant sunset. My husband and I crossed the boardwalk over the dunes and watched the sun dip below the horizon. Caladesi Island is narrow so walking the width of the island takes little time.

The sunset was romantic, but our dinner was not: a Channa Masala boil-in-bag by Backpackers Pantry. Oh well. Still nothing could mar this beautiful place. I slept better than I had in days and almost missed the sunrise.

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Caladesi sunrise

What a perfect morning — watching the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee. I was so relaxed I felt like I could melt. The calm morning boded well for another paddleboard trip. This time, I wanted to paddle north along the bay side of Caladesi and come back down on the Gulf side.

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Navigational markers to St. Joseph’s Bay

I set out following the channel markers, reversing our course of the day before, and soon entered the bay. I watched a dolphin chasing prey through the shallow waters. Since the water was so shallow, the dolphin’s back and fin were exposed as it chased down fish. I’ve seen dolphin circling to round up prey at low tide, but I have never seen so much of the dolphin’s body exposed.

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Dolphin feeding frenzy
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Fish escaping dolphin

I watched the show with a group of kayakers who were heading towards the Caladesi. They were looking for the Canoe/Kayak Trail that starts in the marina. FPTA has an interactive map that gives the coordinates of this trail and the Central Florida Kayak Trips website another page that gives logistics for paddling the five miles from the Dunedin Causeway.

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Marina paddle trail

The calm waters of the bay are perfect for kayaking and paddleboarding. Sail Honeymoon, located on the Dunedin causeway rents both kayaks and paddleboards, and a number of paddlers were enjoying the waters. Florida Rambler’s blog  Caladesi Island: Kayak to a Wild Beach offers a detailed discussion of the trip as well as logistics about rentals.

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Kayak fishing off Caladesi
Kayakers near north end of Caladesi
Kayakers approach Caladesi Island
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Swimming ducks

The day before, Kevin and I had seen the hull of a boat on a sandbar in the bay. I paddled to this poor de-masted sailboat, lying on its side.

Shortly after I passed the sailboat, I rounded the north end of the island and entered the channel. The water became choppy as the winds and currents met. Most of the small kayaks beached on the bay side, and only longer sea kayaks paddled down the Gulf side.

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Sea kayaks on the gulf

The Gulf had small 1′ rollers which kept my attention on a 10 1/2′ paddleboard. I missed the stability of my expedition board, but was glad for my previous experience paddling in the surf. I paddled along the shore until I reached the blue umbrellas on the beach. Then I carried my paddleboard across the island, back to KneeDeep, and deflated it for our sail back to Clearwater Beach. My only regret: not staying longer. Caladesi and the neighboring islands are a paddleboarder’s paradise.

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Caladesi Beach
Paddleboard on Caladesi Beach
The SUP has Landed

 

Navigating Uncomfortable Waters: Whitney Sanford Reflects on Place

Originally posted on March 12, 2014 on Religion/Place/Pedagogy. After completing our exhibit—River of Dreams—on the St. Johns River at the Matheson History Museum, it seemed like a good time to repost this blog.

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Nothing makes me happier than a day paddling through the waves in the Fort George Inlet. This estuary, just south of Little Talbot Island State Park, has become one of my favorite places to play in the surf, and this low country ecosystem, full of dolphins, pelicans, and hermit crabs, reminds me of Tybee Island, where I spent most of my childhood summers. I have camped at the Talbot House, a property recently deeded to the North Florida Land Trust. The house–and Big Talbot Island–sits in the Timucuan Preserve which includes both Talbot Islands, the Kingsley Plantation, the Fort Caroline National Monument as well as recently discovered burial native American mounds.

The house’s long dock extends into the marshy area of Mud Creek, a tributary of the Fort George Inlet, and from the dock, looking down the Mud River, I see the Kingsley Plantation on the opposite shore of the Fort George River.

Uncomfortable Histories

"Surfing Fort George," Big Talbot Island, Photograph by Joe Crespi, December 15, 2013.

Seeing the Kingsley Plantation in the distance reminds me that I have a privileged history with this ecosystem. I have had the freedom to explore and discover the history, beauty, and wildlife on my own terms. The sixty or so slaves who worked the fields at the Kingsley Plantation did not have the luxury of appreciating the area’s beauty at their leisure. While I cannot even begin to imagine their experiences of the land, I know that our experiences are worlds apart. Perhaps the land—which has received their bodies, sweat, and blood—knows something more. Waves of residents, visitors, and invaders, from the Timucua followed by French and Spanish explorers and subsequent populations of British and Africans, have inhabited this land, drawn by its abundance and fertility as well as its strategic location. The Talbot Islands near Jacksonville, Florida are the southernmost of the Sea Islands and the region known as the Low Country–typically associated with the coasts of Georgia and South Carolina. The Low Country, so named for its extensive tidal flats and salt marshes, provides rich habitat for birds, fish, and mollusks, and its nutrient-rich mud sustained the human ecologies of rice-growing plantations.

"Kingsley Plantation," Big Talbot Island, Photograph by Whitney Sandford, March 3. 2014.

From 1814 to 1837,  Zephaniah Kingsley and his wife Anna, an ex-slave from Senegal, lived in what later became known as the Kingsley Plantation and produced commercial crops such as sea cotton and sugar cane. Also a slave trader, Zephaniah Kingsley participated in the Triangular trade, supplying human flesh to the barrier islands of Georgia and South Carolina. Like many, he sought out West Africans due to their agricultural skills, and there he purchased Anna who later became his wife.

Those of us who love Florida for its water and waves can easily forget our state’s uncomfortable histories. In 2013, Florida celebrated the 500th anniversary of Ponce de Leon’s arrival in what is now St. Augustine, approximately 50 miles south of the Timucuan Preserve. Over time, interactions with the Spanish, French, and later British newcomers decimated the Timucua populations, and only shell middens (trash piles of oyster shells and pottery, for example) and place names such as Timucua or Calusa remind us of their presence. Touring the Kingsley Plantation provides a visceral reminder of Florida’s participation in the slave trade, and the state’s Jim Crow laws maintained segregation and created a range of barriers in the post Civil War-era. In reality, these laws meant that beaches and rivers that I now enjoy were–and in some cases are–not safely accessible to people of color, and their experiences of these places might be radically different than mine.

Becoming Native to Place

When I teach courses such as Religion and Sustainability and Religion and Food at the University of Florida, I hope to make students aware of local places and their histories and ecosystems. Ideally, they will come to appreciate and maybe even love these places such as our estuaries, springs, and wild rivers. Many of my students, from a variety of backgrounds, already care deeply about our rivers, having grown up fishing, surfing, hunting, and swimming, and they are native to their place, to borrow Wes Jackson‘s term. Our students bring with them multiple histories and meanings about these places, and I need to reconcile my privilege–and that of many of my students–with the past and present exclusions experienced by others. Many outdoor areas were segregated by law and/or custom, and some of my students even today might not feel comfortable roaming through parts of rural north Florida.

"View from Alacante," Fort George Inlet, Photography by Whitney Sanford, February 3, 2014.

I have never directly addressed this topic with students, although an artist friend and I have discussed creating a mapping project to explore different experiences of places.  This mapping exercise might have two phases: first, students would learn the historical and ecological dynamics of this place; and, second, as a reflective piece, students would consider their own experiences of the encounter and how their experiences reflect larger social dynamics. I became interested in this idea after the two of us spent hours wandering through Koppers, our local super fund site, and, despite multiple ‘No Trespassing’ signs, nobody questioned us. In this case, the invisibility of white, middle-aged women was a privilege. In 2012, Michael W. Twitty, self-described culinary historian, historic interpreter and Jewish educator, embarked on a Southern Discomfort Tour through the Deep South to learn the stories of southern food ways, enslaved peoples, and cultural memories. During the tour’s visit to the Kingsley Plantation, he discussed the African’s cultural heritage and recreated some of their typical dishes.

Projects and exercise like Twitty’s Southern Discomfort Tour might provide a way to discuss the rich–and often uncomfortable–histories of places that I love. I hope my students will come to love our north Florida ecosystem and will learn to love whatever ecosystem that they inhabit in the future. I also hope they will acknowledge and appreciate that places also hold uncomfortable histories that continue to shape human and non-human relations in the present.

TRAK Unleashed: PADDLERS IN PARADISE

Happy Valentine’s Day — reposting my story about our kayak camping adventure in the Bahama’s Exuma Islands with our Trak Kayaks.

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By Whitney Sanford. All images ©2014 Whitney Sanford and Kevin Veach used by permission.

After the motorboat drove off, leaving Kevin and I, our boats, and about one hundred pounds of gear off on Big Major Cay (near Staniel Cay), we were on our own for a honeymoon paddling and snorkeling adventure in the Exuma Islands in the Bahamas. This was day 1 of a six-day self-supported kayak trip from Big Major Cay back to Barreterre, where we had started. Although we had done several self-supported kayak trips before, the remoteness of this trip called for new levels of teamwork and flexibility; we were each other’s back up and safety.

Read more… TRAK Unleashed: PADDLERS IN PARADISE

From Sail2SUP in the Keys

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Towing the paddleboard—it is behaving well here

“Should it stay or should it go”— my paddleboard presents logistical challenges for Kevin and me before any sailing trip. I can’t conceive of a sailing trip without the SUP—especially a trip to the Florida Keys. The sailboat allows me to paddle in otherwise inaccessible places. Kevin, on the other hand, focuses on the practicalities of towing a 10 1/2′ board behind an 18′ sailboat. On our recent trip to the Keys, I prevailed and the paddleboard made the trip. The clear, calm, and shallow waters of the Keys are perfect for paddleboarding (To Sup or Not To SUP). I’ve seen rays, sharks, and barracuda from the vantage point of my board, especially near the the biologically rich mangroves.

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Clear waters near the mangroves

We were aiming for the Keys backcountry, a remote shallow area on the Gulf side which is characterized by mangroves and small islands. Several years ago, we camped and paddled to the Mud and Snipe Keys. This time we hoped to reach Content Key, one of the outermost islands, after anchoring overnight at Little Pine Key.Keys Backcoutnry NOAA 11445.pngOn December 28, we left our slip at Sombrero Resort and Marina in Marathon and headed north towards Little Pine Key. We motor-sailed under the high point of the Seven Mile Bridge, then sailed with favorable winds to Little Pine Key.

The winds and currents made our 15-mile journey pass surprisingly fast, and we reached the southwest side of Little Pine Key mid-afternoon. After a short scouting sail around our anchorage, we dropped anchor less than 100 feet from the mangrove shore, a mistake we discovered when the bugs came out for dinner. In our small boat, our very sophisticated anchoring technique involves me jumping into the water, towing the boat to a good location, then jumping on the anchor to set it. (Perhaps not ASA procedure, but effective.)

Once we were settled, I inflated the board and paddled around the bay. My inflatable Uli Steamroller works well for sailing trips. The board can be stowed away easily, and the soft rubber won’t hurt the sailboat when it is being towed. The still weather let me do both a sunset and sunrise paddle.

After a calm night in our floating tent, we knew our luck was about to change. A front with predicted winds of over 25 mph and gusts of 30 was moving into the area. Forecasters used terms like “surging winds” that put us on full alert. We re-evaluated our goal of Content Key and pointed south towards the protected harbor of Bahia Honda State Park. Bahia Honda Park is a jewel of the Florida State Park system, and it is always a treat to visit the park.

Our detour to Bahia Honda State Park gave us an unexpected bonus: News Years Eve on the Molasses Keys with our friends Monica and Frank Woll of Florida Bay Outfitters.  So, on yet another unnervingly gusty day, we sailed east from Bahia Honda to the Molasses Keys, only a 7 mile sail. Nonetheless, sailing into strong easterly gusts challenged us and pushed the limits of our—and KneeDeep’s—capabilities. Eventually we motor-sailed, only leaving our 150 Genoa up. This arrangement worked well until it didn’t—when the motor inexpicably stopped. A large sheet of plastic has gotten wrapped around the propeller.

While Kevin controlled the boat, I hung from the ladder and disentangled the plastic. Not quite as easy as it sounds, especially because the boat was still sailing and we were headed to shore. This incident reinforced some lessons from what I think of as ‘my year of plastics.’ My experiences on Exxpedition in the Caribbean (There is No Magical Place Called Away) and on Shuyak Island in Alaska (Hiding in Plain Sight: Ropes, Nets, and Plastics in Alaska) taught me a great deal about the dangers of marine plastics.

Tropical paradise awaited us at the Molasses Keys—rum, hammocks, and clear skies! And almost no garbage—Frank and Monica routinely clean up these islands. The Molasses Keys are privately-owned by Frank and Monica, but camping is permitted. To do so, please contact Frank and Monica through the Friends of Molasses Keys page on facebook. We spent a glorious New Year’s Eve camping on the larger of the two Molasses Keys and heard fireworks usher in 2017.

New Years Day revealed some highlights of paddleboarding and snorkelling in the Keys— calm and clear waters.  Circumnavigating Molasses Keys can be a challenge paddling through the waves on the south side.

Too soon, it was time to sail back to the marina then head back north. As always, the Florida Keys are a magical place, whether sailing, SUP’ing, or just sipping on a beer. The paddleboard gave us a number of challenges; for example, it flipped several times in following seas while being towed. Nonetheless, the board has earned its keep—it almost doubles our space while at anchor! The board stays.

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Under Darkening Skies: Meeting the Challenge, Ocklawaha Odyssey, Part 2

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The skies darken Photo credit: Jill Lingard

Our final challenge: Orange Springs to the Rodman Dam campsite. Although we only had six miles to paddle, dark skies loomed overhead and paddlers hunched over cell phones assessing the possibility of rain. The Paddle Florida truck was loaded with gear, wet from the night’s rain, and we waited, some more patiently than others, for permission to launch.

Today’s paddle would take us across Lake Ocklawaha, or the Rodman Reservoir, over the barely submerged stumps of drowned trees. Karen Chadwick warned us to follow the channel markers and avoid taking the shortcuts that looked so tempting. Hitting a submerged log could lead to a dangerous capsize. I paddled through this tree graveyard last spring after the drawdown and was struck by its eerie beauty (Requiem for a River).

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Floodscape
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“Hold my beer”
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Danger lurks below
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Photo credit: Henry Dorfman

At 8:45, Bill cleared us to launch and we retraced our path from Orange Springs to the main channel of the Ocklawaha River. During our paddle from Eureka to Orange Springs, the character of the river changed: it widened and became choked by vegetation. Without a little push from the river current, this final paddle across Lake Ocklawaha was destined to be a slog under any circumstances. We embarked, all hoping to cross the lake before the impending storm.

The route was obvious in the beginning—a clear line of channel markers led the way. After we passed the Kenwood boat ramp on the left, our goal—Rodman Dam campground—lay exactly due east across the lake. Easier said than done, however. As most of the group entered the widest part of the lake, the skies darkened and a squall passed overhead. The winds picked up and it was difficult to see more than several boats lengths ahead. I followed my compass heading to the east, trusting my heading was correct.

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Clouds gather Photo credit: Henry Dorfman
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The deluge begins Photo credit: Henry Dorfman
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Rescue at sea Photo credit: Henry Dorfman

The wind, waves, and rain challenged everyone. As I waited by a channel marker trying to guide paddlers in, I struggled to hold position against gusts that threatened to capsize my boat. The storm passed, everyone arrived safely to the campground, and skies brightened for a final group meal, catered by Backwoods Smokehouse and Grill. The sunshine and abundant food left everyone in good cheer as we returned to our cars and said our final goodbyes to new and old friends.

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After the storm Photo credit: Fred Haaser

The storm challenged everyone, including rescue boaters, and several people asked how they might improve their skills. How can strokes and edging help you control your boat in the wind? Where can you learn rough water skills to prepare for the open waters of large lakes or coastal waters? There are many pathways to improve paddling and safety skills. Learning self-rescue techniques, including the roll, provides the capability and confidence to tackle bigger challenges.

Classes and certifications:

ACA (American Canoe Association) and Paddlesports North America (the American version of BCU, British Canoe Union) offer certifications and sequential instruction in kayaking and other paddle sports. Their webpages show the skills required for the different certifications and list instructors and programs that teach these skills. The sites mentioned below offer ACA and PNA/BCU programs in the southeast.

Symposia and instruction in the southeast:

The East Coast Paddlesports Symposium, held annually each April in Charleston, SC, offers a range of on and off-water classes and the opportunity to demo equipment. Many retailers bring boats, paddles, and other gear, and this is one of the best places to see a wide range of equipment. Classes are held on the lake and on the more challenging waters near Folly Beach.

Sea Kayak Georgia located on Tybee Island, and Savannah Canoe and Kayak offer private kayak and paddle board instruction and expeditions. The waters around Tybee Island provide a good instruction to rough water. Dale Williams of Sea Kayaking USA , also on Tybee, offers more advanced instruction.

Each October, Ronnie Kemp and Marsha Henson of Sea Kayak Georgia bring in world-class instructors such as Dale Williams, Nigel Dennis (Sea Kayaking UK) and Eila Wilkinson (Tidal Waters) for their symposium. Sea Kayak Georgia’s symposium offers instruction and assessment for PNA/BCU three and four star levels.

Russell Farrow of Sweetwater Kayaks in St. Petersburg, FL provides instruction in and around Weedon Island. Their annual symposium in March brings in world-class instructors, offering classes from rolling to Greenland-style paddling.

For those who have caught the kayak surf bug, Cross Currents Sea Kayaking offers the Kiptopeke Symposium in the rougher waters in coastal Virginia.

This list is not exhaustive. Opportunities for instruction abound in the southeast and beyond. Playing and surfing in rough coastal waters is safe and fun once you have mastered some basic skills. So get out there and have fun!

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Fun in the surf

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An Ocklawaha Odyssey with Paddle Florida

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Ocklawaha River

On December 3, over sixty intrepid kayakers gathered in Silver Springs State Park for a four-day adventure down the Silver and Ocklawaha Rivers. Our journey began in the crystal clear headwaters of the Silver River and ended in the murky waters of manmade Lake Ocklawaha near the Rodman Dam. Our float down these rivers helped us better understand the lives of those who once made the Ocklawaha home and contemporary controversies over the fate of the Ocklawaha River.

On our first morning, we paddled six miles down the Silver River. Some paddlers saw monkeys and a couple rare manatees that make it past the dam. Herons, ibis, and anhingas sunned themselves on this warm December day. After lunch at Ray Wayside Park, we continued down, or up geographically, the north-flowing Ocklawaha. The river was surprisingly clear—perhaps an effect of the drought.

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Herding cats for a photo Photo credit: Henry Dorfman
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Manatee on the Silver River Photo credit: Henry Dorfman
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Monkey on the Silver River Photo credit: Henry Dorfman
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Sunning bird Photo credit: Henry Dorfman

 

Sixteen and one-half miles down river from our start, we set up camp at Gore’s Landing. That night, Peggy MacDonald, Executive Director of the Matheson History Museum in Gainesville, Florida, and I spoke about the Ocklawaha River and its springs, in anticipation of our forthcoming exhibit at the Matheson: “The St. Johns River and Its Springs.” In her book Marjorie Harris Carr: Defender of Florida’s Environment, Peggy describes Carr’s efforts to stop the Cross Florida Barge canal. The canal was never completed, but the Rodman Dam on the once free-flowing Ocklawaha River remains, creating an artificial reservoir called Lake Ocklawaha. The high waters have dramatically altered the river’s ecosystem, drowning trees and disturbing habitat of fish and fowl. Captain Karen Chadwick and filmmaker Matt Keene (River Be Dammed) were also present to discuss contemporary efforts to free the Ocklawaha.

Sunday’s paddle from Gore’s Landing to Eureka was a quick 9 miles, and we reached camp by lunchtime. The Ocklawaha was still remarkably clear, but we all knew that would change as we reached Lake Ocklawaha.

That night, University of Florida archivist Flo Turcotte spoke about acclaimed author Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, moonshine, and life on the Ocklawaha River. Rawling’s novel South Moon Under depicts the lives of the Jacklin family who lived in the scrub along the Ocklawaha and relied on their moonshine income as farming and trapping became less economically viable. Paddling through the dense scrub made me realize how tough their lives must have been. After the talk, Flo passed out samples of moonshine, which would help power us up for Monday’s 13-mile paddle to Orange Springs.

On Monday, most people made the short detour to see the Cannon Spring, one of the lost springs drowned by the flooded Ocklawaha. Karen said that this spring captured the imagination of the public and was one of the most valuable tools in the initial efforts to restore the Ocklawaha. Later, during the 2015-6 drawdown, images of Cannon spring on social media introduced many to this once-hidden gem, and scores of people visited Cannon during its short window of visibility (Searching for—and Finally Finding—Cannon Springs. After the drawdown when the waters rose, many would mourn the re-drowning of this treasure (Losing Cannon Springs).

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Entrance to Cannon springs Photo Credit: Henry Dorfman
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Cannon springs freed

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Flooded Cannon Spring–2016

After our side trip to Cannon Springs, we searched for our lunch stop, just past the sign for Payne’s Landing. The Treaty of Payne’s Landing in 1832 commemorates some of the worst episodes of our nation’s history. The treaty forced Seminoles to relocate to Oklahoma along the Trail of Tears. Further, escaped slaves would lose the protection they had gained by joining with the Seminoles.

After this point, the river became slower, wider, and clogged with vegetation. The Ocklawaha River is lowered every three to four years to eliminate the vegetation that makes the river impassable. Although the drawdown ended less than a year prior, the main channel was already blocked. Fortunately, Paddle Florida Executive Director Bill Richards had arranged for help from Mickey Thomason with the Office of Greenways and Trails.  Possibly for the first time in history, kayakers cheered the sound of an airboat.Florida’s version of a snowplow, an airboat with a rake attached to the front, cleared a route through the thick vegetation, and we paddled single file through the narrow path that remained open only briefly.

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Photo credit: Henry Dorfman
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Airboat to the rescue Photo credit: Henry Dorfman
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Photo credit: Henry Dorfman
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Photo credit: Henry Dorfman

Paddling through the weeds was difficult, but a tailwind pushed us towards our camp at Orange Springs. The day was sunny, but winds signaled that the weather would be changing. Fortunately, the rain held off long enough for us to enjoy a concert under the stars by Whitey Markle and the Swamprooters. Hearing him sing “The Poor Old Ocklawaha” reminded us that this still beautiful river—and all the wildlife that lives in and around it—will suffer as long as the dam remains.

Before going to bed that night, everyone checked their tents and tightened stakes and lines. We had all heard reports of rain and storms, and we wondered about the next day’s paddling conditions. To be continued in Ocklawaha Odyssey, Part 2.