In Florida, we are now officially in hurricane season. I am retracing trips from last year, so blog post “My First CT Paddle” (5/5/2020) described cancelling the subsequent CT segments due to last years Hurricane Dorian. Liz wanted to wrap up her work on documenting the Big Bend Paddling Trail, so with no additional hurricanes in sight, we quickly rescheduled our trip for September 27-28th, 2019. The Paddling Trail and CT segments for this trip consisted of Cedar Key to Turtle Creek (17 miles) including primitive camping, then Turtle Creek to Yankeetown (11 miles). The Big Bend is very remote area of Florida, so for safety reasons, Steve and Liz decided kayaking with three people would provide an added a layer of safety in the event technology failed. It was an old school approach; make sure we had one person to go get help and another to stay with the victim in case technology failed. This trip was shaping up to be a culinary one. The morning of our first segment, Liz made a phenomenal breakfast that was guaranteed to get us to our 1st destination. The aroma of andouille sausage breakfast filled the condo as Liz explained the sausage source: Forest-fed pork from her son’s innovative agroforestry farm Great Southern Forestry. My contribution for the trip was cooking a clam-based dinner for Steve and Liz the night we planned to camp. A trip to Cedar Key is not complete without buying clams. According to Visit Florida, second to tourism, something else has put Cedar Key on the map: commercial clamming of Florida clams. It’s grown into a multimillion-dollar industry, giving the local economy a shot in the arm and providing much-needed jobs in Florida’s first key. After breakfast, it was a picture-perfect morning as we launched from Cedar Key Beach. We stopped twice before making our way across the wide open bay that crossed the mouth of the Waccasassa River then to Turtle Creek. The first break was on an exposed sandbar where Steve pointed down the coastline to our destination. He used to duck hunt this area so he knew exactly what he was looking at. I’m glad he could see it because all I could see was water, more water and a blurry coastline. The second stop was not as conventional as the first one. It was a large mound of sea grass in 3 feet of water. As Steve and Liz got out of their kayaks, I had flashbacks as a kid visiting my relatives on Cape Cod. When swimming, I never liked the feel of seaweed and resolved to stay in sandy areas where I could ‘see’ if any creatures from the deep were approaching me. So I never, in a million years, envisioned doing what I was about to do. I’m wearing shorts. As I slip out of my kayak into the water, I can feel the grass, from my ankles to my shorts. And there is a breeze, moving the water thus slowly swaying the grass against my legs. I tried to play Joe Cool as we munched on snacks, while in the back of my mind I was wondering if this was some kind of initiation ritual. Then, as Steve and Liz described this as ‘normal’ (sometimes there are no other alternatives) something crawled across my foot. Getting back into our kayaks we had roughly twelve miles to go to Turtle Creek and I was now thankful for Liz’s breakfast. A southeasterly wind (in our face) picked up making the last few miles to the creek entrance challenging. The creek gave us refuge from the wind, and an eagle perched atop of a single branch watched as the tired paddlers slowly made our way the last mile. A mile is a lot when you’re tired, and you’re always wondering if your takeout place is around the next corner (and its not, quite). We finally arrive at our campsite, with several hours of sunlight remaining. From a kayak camping perspective, Turtle Creek is a nice site with a clearing for several tents. Its only challenge is it’s a creek, with strong tidal flow, and if you don’t time it correctly, low tide will cage you in with oyster bars. Tents are pitched while each of us savored an ice-cold refreshing beverage. Then I start prepping our evening meal; Steamed clams with white wine and garlic. I’ve kayak camped with people who bring beanie-weenies. No thanks. It is possible to eat well & delicious food while camping. Cedar Key clams are sweet little guys, so my 12” skillet was perfect (touring kayaks are great for packing necessities) for our feast of 75 bivalves. With butter melted, I threw in the garlic. The pungent aroma caught Steve and Liz’s attention, so they moved their camping chairs towards our make-shift kitchen. Liz added leftover andouille sausage - not in original recipe but I would definitely repeat! Next, a splash of white wine, intensifying the aroma, then finally, the sweet Cedar Key clams. Our dog Annie has a funny way of letting us know she is hungry. She hovers over her dog bowl like Snoopy from the comic strips. That’s what the three of us looked like while anticipating the clams to steam open. Steve broke out the crusty artesian bread while I handed out the eating utensils; each of us armed with a fork and soup spoon. This was pre-COVID-19, so we ate directly from the 12” skillet. Fork for the clams, combined with spoon and bread for sopping up the magical broth. You don’t realize how hungry a 17-mile paddle makes you until you finally sit down to eat. There was also something special about eating clams from the same water we just kayaked in…. and it wasn't long before there wasn’t a single clam, sausage, or bread remaining. Gulf of Mexico sunsets are some of the best I’ve ever seen and this would be my first from a remote island near the Gulf. With enough light remaining, Liz kindly offers to help me clean up and takes the skillet of empty clam shells towards the creek while I take sunset pictures. Another rule of kayak camping is not to leave food outside (or in your tent) or you will get visitors in the night, so tossing the spent clam shells in to the creek was fitting. Then I heard Liz call out near the creek less than 100 yards away. When I got there, it was clear she had slipped on the low tide muck and was on her back. And then I saw it. Her wrist was the ultimate contortion, nearly a 90-degree angle from her forearm bones. My first instinct was to yell “Steve!” Steve and I carefully lifted Liz, clearly shaken and in shock, from the slippery muck, then slowly walked her back to her camping chair. Tapping into our previous medical/first aid training, we assessed Liz’s condition. Our immediate focus was to (a) treat the fracture (thank goodness not a compound fracture), (b) treat for shock, (c) comfort. Many of us have attended first aid training classes, some that last hours to several days.. To that I will say, when the crap hits the fan, that training is imbedded in your DNA and calmly kicks in. Steve’s medical background was spot on. I resorted to my military training, using palm stalks and available clothing for splints and make-shift sling. Remember the old school reason for the three of us paddling together? So here we are, in the middle of (almost) nowhere. Liz knew how short staffed FWC was, especially on a Friday night. That, combined with the remoteness of our location, a super low tide and setting sun, the decision was made wait until morning to call for help. Cell coverage in the Big Bend varies from extremely limited to nadda. This is one reason I carry my Garmin InReach with satellite communication. I will tell you this, straight up: If I ever have to share a fox hole with any woman, it would be Liz. People are like tea bags. You never know how strong they are until they are put in hot water. She hung in there until the morning, then using the cell coverage available (one bar), Liz called emergency contacts (never depart on a kayak trip without them) and provided our GPS location. They arrived in less than two hours and took the culinary combat wounded kayaker, and all her gear, back to Waccasassa, then to Cedar Key. Below, Liz and her kayak are loaded in the FWC rescue boat. The same location she fell the night prior (notice slippery muck on creek bank). Once Liz was on her way, Steve and I loaded our kayaks for the final 11-mile segment; Turtle Creek to Yankeetown. The near low tide gave us a gentle push towards the Gulf of Mexico. The one-mile paddle out, including navigating around oyster bars, was a quiet one, especially now knowing Liz was in good hands. As Steve guided our paddle towards Yankeetown, we compared stories about being awake the night prior…both of us designing options how get Liz to our destination safely (taking turns with tow rope, etc.). Our course home took us through a stunning section called Eleven Prong where we were treated to lots of Blue Winged Teal and Roseate Spoonbills, then opening to one of the most serene and calm water I have ever experienced in the Gulf of Mexico. As soon as we landed in Yankeetown, we reached out to Liz. Even though she was at an Acute Care center awaiting prognosis (fractured radial bone, eventually requiring surgery/three pins), her humor was still in tack. She filled us in on her ride back to Cedar Key on the FWC boat. “With my 20 mph hairdo and mud-stiff clothes, I was greeted by two old timers who were hanging out at the fish camp next to the dock where the officer parked his trailer. One guy asked me if I was OK, offered me coffee, crackers or water, and insisted hosing off my dirty feet and shoes.“ That’s Old Florida. Laughing, Liz wrapped up the call reflecting on how this was one heck of a way to wrap up her very last day in the field after 19 years working for the state! Since then, I have completed the entire Big Bend. Key takeaways are:
Looking back at my 1st CT segments, one could question my sanity to continue with the remaining 1487 miles. To that, I have three responses: #1: It’s being part of a very special community and sometimes dysfunctional family of kayakers to which I now belong. #2: Warren Richey describes it best in his memoir Without A Paddle. “When you paddle a kayak, you move at a rhythm of the earth itself. You leave the man-made world of machines, technology, civilization and you enter a different realm. You are no longer traveling through the landscape – you become part of the landscape. There is a pull, a connection that binds you to something mysterious…”
#3: It's the real world. That’s why.
6 Comments
Frank Oley
6/25/2020 12:05:08 pm
Dorsey,
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6/25/2020 01:46:43 pm
Wow! Very interesting read. I hope Liz has now fully recovered? She sounds like an awesome person. Your story goes into the collection box. I wonder what that thing was that crawled over your foot when you were standing in the tall grass? Maybe I don't want to know? Stay safe and well.
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liz sparks
6/25/2020 02:06:16 pm
Great job Dorsey! You are rocking the CT and sharing fun stories. Looking forward to more adventures in cooler weather. Just promise me no more of those scary Cedar Key clams - they are dangerous!!
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Jill Lingard
6/25/2020 03:25:52 pm
FANTASTIC read—my favorite blog entry so far, though of course I hate that Liz got injured. You all handled it SO well.
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Camille Richards
6/25/2020 03:56:54 pm
Wow! I had not heard that story! I think you went about the Bend the right way... I, on the other hand, took my chances and paddled solo until Steve met up with me at Crystal River. I wanted to catch up on some miles, so instead of stopping at Turtle Creek, I went straight from Cedar Key to Yankeetown. That was a 21 mile mostly open-water crossing on the day after Easter 2017. The water was relatively calm, there were few boaters out but there was a huge fire on land near Yankeetown that clouded the shoreline. I didn't see the park until I was just 100 yd from it! You can say I got lucky, and I will agree. That was the majority of my CT trip, except for a few harrowing days in Santa Rosa, a day in the Everglades and some winds along the East coast. Glad you are documenting your trip. I feel like I'm paddling it over again with you! Paddle On!
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June
6/25/2020 08:53:43 pm
I’m not a big fan of clams but Pat’s clam linguine is delicious. It sounded like a wonderful trip, except for Liz’s injury. I hope her wrist healed well.
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AuthorDorsey DeMaster embraced kayaking after retiring from 38 years in aviation. She lives near Crystal River, Florida. Archives
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