One of the beauties of kayaking is you can go just about anywhere! …well almost anywhere. Kayaking on the Gulf coast of Florida there are many areas, roughly from Aucilla to Bayport, where the water presents kayakers with many challenges. The coastline is either very shallow (averaging 2 feet or less) or is a maze of oyster bars, especially during low tide. One Florida Circumnavigational Saltwater Paddling Trail (CT) adventurer explained the Gulf of Mexico like this “Your course is constantly being adjusted. Maneuvering around the shallows and oyster beds here is as like a navigational art form.” One reason I’m attracted to kayaking salt water is its challenges. Tides, winds, weather conditions, currents…it’s like a puzzle each kayaker has to put together before launching. In aviation, we called it “flight planning.” Same concept, just in the air. In aviation, we also have summer versus winter winds. Kayaking, we have that too, but let’s add another dimension; summer tides versus winter tides. While this occurs everywhere, because of its shallow nature, the Gulf seems to exaggerate it, especially the winter tides. In December of last year, one of my CT segments was Mason Creek to Bayport with an overnight primitive camp at Ten Palms. Still new at this, I was guided by Brenda and Steve. If you’ve been reading my blog, you know any trip with them is always a fun adventure! Sunrise was at 7:16am. We launched around 8:00 am. Steve’s focus was making it through Seven Cabbage Cutoff before low tide (10:30am). Maps of the Gulf around this area depict water depths of 1 – 2’. There are NO water depths indicated for Seven Cabbage Cutoff. The paddle from Mason Creek to Seven Cabbage entrance was roughly 3 miles. The average paddlers speed with loaded boats is about 2.5mph getting us there around 9:20am…leaving us a little more than an hour to make it through the Cutoff. The distance from entrance to exit is roughly 2.5 miles…another hour – 10:20am. Recall, low tide is 10:30am….now we know why Steve was so focused on getting through the cutoff. The CT segment going through Seven Cabbage Cutoff will always be a passage I will never forget. Located within the 31,000-acre Chassahowitzka National Wildlife Refuge, the creek is a remote and narrow waterway with many twists & turns, and a nice current giving our kayaks a gentle push. The landscape is dotted by what appeared to be shell mounds…remnants of native Indians who once called this place home while flourishing on the local seafood the creek offered. I want to go back there someday. The expansive Chassahowitzka Bay greeted us as we left the creek. Phew…We made it through Seven Cabbage Cutoff! We’re cruising along for another three miles, the bay opened up to the Gulf of Mexico. We’re on our way to Ten Palms primitive camp site! The water depth in this area was relatively shallow…4 feet...3 feet...2 feet…1 foot…half a foot. Paddling in a half foot of water is a challenge! Your paddle has little to propel you forward and you’re basically using your paddle to ‘push’ yourself through the sea floor thick with grass/muck instead. Remember: One of the beauties of kayaking is you can go just about anywhere! …well almost anywhere. Then, with kayaks loaded with camping gear, the Gulf suddenly became the equivalent of paddling in a teaspoon of water. Each paddle ‘push’ came from and challenged the core. Determined to make it without getting out of our kayaks, we found creative ways to help us make it through the shallows; “Think light thoughts!” Brenda exclaimed. I tried adjusting my center of gravity by moving my butt forward in my seat. And even though Steve’s body weight was the lightest of the three of us, he too struggled. None of us complained – it’s a waste of time and energy. It basically became a combination of pushing with our paddles in the thick grass/muck and using hip action to ‘scoot’ our butts/boat across what felt like a facia of water…if you need a comparison/imagery, click here. Eventually…half a foot…1 foot…2 feet… we made our way to deeper water…3 feet…4 feet…and finally to Ten Palms camp site. It was well worth all the effort! Paddling in the shallows is the hardest work I’ve ever done…Once through it, I felt as if I had just completed a bootcamp series of Marine Corp sit ups. One takeaway from my miles on the water so far is – you can plan until the cows come home, but when you wake up the morning of your trip, that is the hand you are dealt. CT’ers Mike Ruso & Dan Dick captured this in their blog; In the morning Dan got out of his tent before I got moving. "Where's the Gulf?" he said. "What are you talking about?" "The Gulf, I can't see it." "What, is the tide out?" I was confused. "Maybe, I mean, I don't see the water at all. Come take a look at this, I mean maybe its an optical illusion or something." So I dragged myself out of the tent, and saw what Dan was talking about. He wasn't exaggerating. I couldn't see the water. Remember: One of the beauties of kayaking is you can go just about anywhere! …well almost anywhere. Whether kayaking in a thin veil of water or waking up to no water, it’s much better than the alternative… Another memorable CT segment was the February 7th Steinhatchee – Sink Creek – Butler Island. In my typical aviation flight planning fashion, I meticulously planned this trip with Steve, but it was delayed the morning of the launch due to a strong cold front that had bulldozed through the Big Bend with 20 knot + sustained winds. It solidified NOAA forecasts are not perfect. The following day when we launched, it was cold, but the sun and loading the kayaks generated enough heat to make me think “I can do this!” To my readers up north, who laugh when I say it’s cold down here…I lived in Minot, North Dakota…this is a cold I’ve never experienced before. It’s cold to the bone – and more. I think the moisture in the air and sand is the reason. Once on our way, kayaking generated more heat, and we made our way to another phenomenal location in the Big Bend: Sink Creek. The scenery was stunning as we meandered up the seagrass lined creek. The campsite was perfect; a nice cleared space with just enough tree cover alongside the creek, making it easy to unload our gear. Sink Creek is where my good friend Debbie said I had become an “Official Floridian.” Steve treated me to my first Redfish dinner . With the effort it takes to fish for Reds, combined with the slot limit of only one fish per day, a treat like this is not to be taken lightly. Steve’s delicious meal was accentuated by a stunning sunset followed by a full moon… …And then…the sound of airboats! You have not experienced all that Florida has to offer until you camp, on a Friday night with a full moon, to the sound and vibration of multiple airboats…until wee hours of the morning! That morning, I declared airboats as the official “Florida alarm clock.” After a great nights sleep (sarcasm) I climbed out of my tent...It was thirty-two degrees. As the sun rose, it was accompanied by a bitter breeze and our only hope for its warmth was blocked by trees. Florida cold. Florida damn cold! And even though I was dressed in my cold weather gear, I shivered as I ate my cold breakfast. The only solution for keeping warm was to pack our gear and get moving to Butler Island (a 14 mile trek). It was a serene paddle out of Sink Creek…low tide, yet enough water to navigate through the maze of oyster bars. As we exit Sink Creek, our course is set for Butler Island…4 feet..3 feet..2 feet…1 foot…half a foot. And just like the Marine Corps challenge, Mason Creek- Ten Palms, we were pushing with our paddles and using hip action to ‘scoot’ our butts/boat across the veil of water. Remember: One of the beauties of kayaking is you can go just about anywhere! …well almost anywhere. We are at least two miles away from camp when the scenery became the same as what CT’ers Mike Ruso & Dan Dick had pictured earlier…Nadda. Not even a teaspoon of water. At this point we have a choice; sit for hours and wait for the tide to come in, which was not a choice with 12 more miles to Butler Island…the only other alternative was to do the Muck-Walk. It goes like this – you get out of your kayak and hope there is a solid bottom underneath the seagrass, only to sink up to your ankles (or more) in muck. Then you take the next step, and repeat. Next, you lift your other foot to take another step, but this time the muck resists, sucking your foot with everything it has. The other foot sinks deeper into the muck. Next foot, repeat. Next foot, repeat. Next foot, repeat. Imagine walking through a field of sticky bubble gum…no, thick tar, where every step you sink, followed by an unyielding resist. I can’t recall how far we had to walk, but it seemed like forever. Dragging our loaded kayaks behind us, we would occasionally stop to rest. My thighs burned and I was physically exhausted. I remember thinking two things; One – “Damn I’m out of shape!’ and two - ‘Well, at least I’m not cold anymore.’ I would have given you my right arm for that teaspoon of water again. Half a foot! We climb back into out kayaks and continue in the Marine Corps fashion…1 foot…2 feet..3 feet…4 feet. That afternoon, we finally made it to Butler Island, but had to stay on the Gulf side of any islands we encountered. We also faced 15+ knot head and cross winds, like the muck-walk wasn’t enough. Its not worth complaining about. You dig deep. True Grit. I'm beginning to wonder if doing the Muck-Walk is a right to passage/initiation for everyone who kayaks the CT. Here’s a picture of Gus Bianchi, while he, Ian Brown…and Steve (again?!) are doing the Mulk-Walk (September 15, 2013). CTer Sean Bower described his muck-walk like this “…you couldn’t help to yell out “come on, why does it got to be like this?” Sean’s muck-walk was ten-times more intense than ours. Physically exhausted, eventually, he lost his cookies. The following morning at Butler Island, we wrapped up our Steinhatchee – Sink Creek – Butler Island adventure like this:
The Muck-Walk. A right to passage. For some, more times than others. CREDITS: Photos/story: Steve Cournoyer and Brenda Anderson CT Blog: Marc DeLuca & Jim Wendle CT Blog: Mike Ruso & Dan Dick CT Blog: Sean Bower
13 Comments
Steve
7/19/2020 11:54:56 am
Great Blog!!! Love the shot of Dallus Creek that Mike and Dan had the foresight to take of the low winter tide. It's the same view I had the first time I woke up from a night of camping there. The water was literally a mile or more from the marsh I had paddled into the day before when I landed. Crazy!!!
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Dorsey
7/19/2020 02:00:17 pm
Thank you Steve! You've been there/done that several times! Gotta love paddling the Big Bend!!
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FRank Oley
7/19/2020 12:01:33 pm
I hope you wiped your feet before you went in the house young lady! HAHAHAHA, another great post Dorsey, great read, keep em coming!
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Dorsey
7/19/2020 02:01:18 pm
Thank you Frank! Are you ready to Muck-Walk with me?
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Gus Bianchi
7/19/2020 01:17:14 pm
I remember that day with Steve and Ian. We made it worst by cutting the corner instead of paddling out and then down. Lesson learned!
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Dorsey
7/19/2020 02:03:30 pm
Thank you Gus! Thats a great photo of you! Taking shortcuts always gets me in trouble too!!
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ROBERT
7/19/2020 02:36:38 pm
Never, I mean never take shortcuts-> Dead Reckoning only...! ;>}
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Bob
7/19/2020 11:04:28 pm
Wow! Another great Chapter. Very cool story.
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Dorsey
7/22/2020 07:57:00 pm
Thank you Bob!
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Dorsey, great stuff!
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Dorsey
7/22/2020 08:00:43 pm
Joe,
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7/20/2020 07:39:21 pm
Wow... what an adventure! I can see you fighting right through that all like a champ to!
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Dirsey
7/22/2020 08:02:20 pm
Jeanene,
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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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