Canoeing the Everglades: A real Florida experience

Late summer is the time of year when the Everglades is most alive — when rainwater fills the swamps, rivers, and, sometimes, the streets. Water makes things float, and nothing floats better than a canoe.

Determined to keep Florida cabin fever at bay, I took a friend canoeing Sunday in Big Cypress National Preserve. Curtis Franklin, 54, is, like me, a writer, nature lover, fisherman and sailor. We both grew up in the South, graduated college and fell in love with the Sunshine State. We're fond of pocket knives, ukuleles and dorky-but-super-functional wide brim hats made by Tilley (they're the best hats in the world. It says so inside the hat).

Curtis lives in Gainesville but was staying in Bonita Springs, so I loaded the canoe, picked him up and drove to Loop Road. The western segment starts at the Monroe Field Station, a hunting outpost along Tamiami Trail that's near a Miccosukee Indian village. It travels south, into Monroe County and east into the Miccosukee Reservation before re-emerging on Tamaimi Trail. In between are some of the most beautiful lands left in the Everglades.

I'd always wanted to canoe the sloughs, paddle as far as possible into the most remote wilderness I could reach in my rickety Hyundai Elantra. Curtis, half-knowing what he was getting himself into, presented possibly my only opportunity to canoe the area in relative safety.

We pulled up to a slough, threw the canoe off the bridge (it sounded like a 12-gauge shotgun when it hit the water) and started tossing PFDs and paddles into the canoe below. I climbed onto a drainage pipe and into the canoe. Curtis, with one foot on the pipe and one in the canoe, insisted on grabbing the cooler, the last piece of equipment on the bridge, which was about 4 feet above the water.

His right foot loosely planted in the canoe, Curtis pushed off the pipe with his left foot, swinging the cooler toward the boat in a quasi-graceful lunge. And he almost made it, but physics, karma, some type of black magic curse, whatever the reason: we were now standing chest deep in alligator heaven.

Slow start

Recap: We pulled up to the bridge, parked the car, tossed gear into the canoe, swamped and were bailing gallon after gallon of water without signature Tilley hats, which are designed to be used in such situations, within the course of about 8 minutes. The ego-punch was two-fold: Curtis fried his iPhone and I had allowed a canoe to capsize in a gator hole.

Blanketed by hundreds of mosquitoes, we pulled the canoe to a patch of limestone rocks, climbed onto the rocks and into the canoe. Now we were ready, we said. Now comes the fun.

Paddling the slough was a jaw-dropping experience. From the cryptic-looking cypress to the baseball-sized pond apples hanging from their namesake tree, it looked untouched, shaped by the hand of nature.

The canoe bent under our feet as we scraped over cypress knees. We stayed low in the canoe and tried to take as few tree limbs to the face.

With a plethora of spiders and enough twigs to build a campfire covering ourselves and gear, we made our way back to Loop Road, bulled our way through dense vegetation and horsed the canoe about halfway into the road. Wearing a colorful UV-blocking ski mask and sunglasses, Curtis looked like some type of rainbow ninja that had emerged from a sordid expedition as he stood by the boat, which looked like a canoe that had been swamped in, well, the swamp.

This is when the tourists drove by, the first people we'd seen all day. The awestruck looks on their faces were telling. Though our short trip had been a comedy of blunders and tree ant bites, we, at that moment, looked the part of fabled Gladesmen.

We loaded the canoe and gear, dried our faces, scratched bug bites and headed north on Loop Road. Undeterred, we drove to Birdon Road and launched the canoe at the head of a series of canoe trails. We paddled by cypress and palm heads, islands in the River of Grass, and across small ponds. Blades of bulrush scraped the bottom of the canoe, creating a comforting sound similar to rainfall on a tin roof. Groups of deer scampered through the sawgrasses — the splashing sounds echoing across the aquatic prairie.

Midday was approaching, so we stopped for a lunch of fried gator cutlet, potato salad and sweet Hawaiian rolls and butter.

The return trip was uneventful, which was probably a good thing. Still wet head to toe, we got back to Lee County just after noon. Wet. Itchy. The car stunk (still stinks). Our gear still dripping Everglades water, Curtis and I could do nothing but smile. We'd crammed a week's worth of fun into seven hours and learned that we can tolerate each other in times of slight adversity — a necessity when canoeing wild places.

It was a short adventure on a late summer morning in the Everglades, but it was enough to remind me that there are better places to spend a Sunday morning than on a couch in the luxury of conditioned air. Don't let your summer slip away. Take a friend. Eat some fried gator. Take a swim in the swamp. Scare some tourists. It's very Florida.

5 places to paddle

• Fisheating Creek: The last natural tributary flowing into Lake Okeechobee, Fisheating Creek is one of the most beautiful freshwater systems in the state. The creek floods into cypress hammocks during summer months, giving paddlers access to remote, untouched wilderness. Be sure to check out the massive Memorial Tree, a particularly large specimen downstream of the public ramp. Fisheating Creek Outfitters near Palmdale offers shuttle trips, giving paddlers a chance to do a true downriver trip. Info: 863-675-5999

• Turner River: Another downriver trip, Turner River connects the freshwater portions of Big Cypress National Preserve to the coastal mangrove islands and beaches of Everglades National Park. The 9-mile paddle winds through cypress, sawgrasses and several extended mangrove tunnels. Everglades Adventure Tours offers shuttle services and guided trips as well as canoe poling. Info: 561-985-8207

• Lovers Key State Park: One of the best places in Southwest Florida for a day-trip, Lovers Key is surrounded by Estero Bay to the east and the Gulf of Mexico to the west, with a few miles of winding mangroves inside the park boundary. Manatees, dolphins, roseate spoonbills, sea turtles and ospreys are just a few of the critters that frequent the park. Info: 239-463-4588

• Fred C. Babcock/Cecil M. Webb Wildlife Management Area: Webb Lake is a 395 acres of clear, calm waters — a perfect spot to take the family for a paddling adventure. There are also islands in the lake worth exploring. Fishing is popular here, especially for bluegill and catfish. Info: myfwc.com/viewing/recreation/wmas/lead/fred-babcockwebb

• Loop Road: Not recommended, but, if you decide to go, Sweetwater Slough is the largest cypress head accessible from the road. This is real Everglades, a place best explored by people with previous experience. In other words: if you have the skill and knowledge to paddle here, you already know about it: Info: cgillis@news-press.com

Sources: Fisheating Creek Outpost, Big Cypress National Preserve, Lovers Key State Park, Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission

— Connect with this reporter: ChadGillisNP on twitter.