It had finally gotten warm enough for me to don shorts and sandals – the unofficial uniform of the retired man. With temps expected to hit the high 70s, we packed up our campsite in Cape Canaveral and headed south toward the Everglades.
“Do you have bug spray?” the ranger at the visitors center asked us upon our arrival.
It was the first clue of what was in store. We lathered on the DEET in the parking lot before proceeding.
The second clue was the booth at the campground with a screened in window with a flap at the bottom to pass documents and receipts back and forth. They weren’t about to open a window to the Culicidae hell we were about to experience.
We were staying at the Flamingo campground, at the very southern tip of the Florida peninsula. To the south lay only a scattering of islands, the last remnants of the United States. Sure enough, as soon as we emerged from the car, we were attacked by mosquitoes, aggressively searching out the spots we hadn’t covered in repellent.
The T loop of the campground is designed for trailers, with pull-thru sites and electric hookups, but no water. We had to fill our water tanks before proceeding to our spot and settling in for the night.
The next day we decided to make the long drive out to the Shark Valley section of the park. Everglades is a huge park, bested only by Death Valley and Yellowstone. Most of it is water, and getting anywhere by land is a long drive.
It was a 45-minute trek from the entrance to our campground. Now we’d have to return that way and drive another hour around the park. Most of the route passes through large agricultural areas on land “reclaimed” from the Everglades. In the 20th century, many saw the Everglades as a problem that needed to be solved, and the Army Corps of Engineers was called in to drain the Everglades so it could be developed. They built a bunch of canals and broke through the rock ledge that held fresh water in and saltwater out. They weren’t able to drain the Everglades, but they managed to create an ecological mess. Now work is underway to undo much of what had been done.
When we arrived at the Shark Valley entrance to find the parking lot full and a dozen cars in line waiting for spots. We had a nice chat with the ranger at the entrance booth as we waited our turn. I suspect she got a lot of flak from people who didn’t want to wait.
But within 20 minutes we were in and we set about getting our bikes ready for a ride into the park. The Shark Valley trail is a paved road that heads due south into the glades for seven miles to an observation tower, then meanders 8 miles back to the entrance. The park runs tram tours for $27, but we decided to bike on our own.
Mrs. 123 was riding an e-bike, and having no trouble cruising down the paved trail. She passed right by a large heron without even noticing. The alligator just off the trail caught her attention.
The gators in the park seemed pretty comfortable with the traffic, and didn’t blink an eye as tourists stopped and took photos. They lie so still it lulls you into a false sense of security. We kept our distance not wanting to end up like those tourists taking selfies with buffalo in Yellowstone. Just before the observation tower, we saw a massive gator, his teeth pointing every which way in a crooked smile.
The view from the tower gives you a sense of how large the Everglades are. It’s essentially a very slow moving river, creeping south at 1 mile every 24 hours, slow enough for grass to grow. It is, as Majorie Stoneman Douglas described it, a river of grass.
The bike down was fairly easy with the wind to our backs. But we paid for it on our return. Peddling into a strong head wind, I was feeling the effort in my quads. I haven’t been on a bike for five years, and my muscles reminded me of it. We passed a few more gators on the way back, and limped back to the car knowing our legs would be sore for a couple of days.
We headed back toward our campground via the Tamiami Trail, a raised causeway that splits the Everglades into north and south sections. The park had a display comparing the original boundaries of the Everglades, well before it was a national park, with its current size. It was striking to see how the glades had lost close to half its surface area, if not more. The Tamiami Trail, the road connecting Tampa and Miami, was part of the problem, cutting off the flow of water from the north. The road is now under construction, and sections of the road will be replaced with bridges to allow the water to flow south unimpeded.
Along the road, we stopped for an airboat tour. These boats essentially have a huge fan on the back that pushes the shallow boat across the top of water sometimes only inches deep. Our tour guide whisked us along the surface, skimming over the grass and sliding through turns. He stopped from time to time to educate us about the glades, and strangely, offered survival tips if we ever got stranded in the glades.
Most of the people on the tour seemed only interested in seeing gators. They were disappointed. For me, it was fascinating to see the watery portion of the glades, the river of grass that is unlike any other place I’ve even seen. Many people think of the glades as a swamp, but it’s really not. It’s clear flowing water, not stagnant muck.
On our way back from the boat ride, we stopped for dinner at the Gator Grill, heeding their billboard: “You saw the gators. Now get a taste of them.” Alligator meat is somewhat like chicken but a little tougher, a little more chewy. I got an order of the gator bites, while Mrs. 123 got hers in a stir fry. It was an interesting meal, but not one we’d clamor to have again.
The following morning we decided to launch our canoe for the first time. We had bought an origami canoe made of heavy duty plastic that folds to the size of a large suitcase and fits in the back of our truck. We had planned to watch some online videos to learn how to assemble it, but with no internet access, we had to wing it with just the written instructions. We managed to put it together, although not correctly, and headed out for its maiden journey in crocodile-infested waters.
We had planned to paddle up a canal from the Flamingo marina to Coot Bay, but we hadn’t realized that we put in on the wrong side of the dam. We paddled out into the Bay of Florida, in open water looking for the entrance to the canal. Finally, another paddler, who was standing up in his canoe, expressed interest in our vessel and informed us of our error.
With heavy currents and strong wind, it was a battle just to get the canoe back into the protected marina. The canal could wait for another day.
After lunch, we went for a hike along the Snake Bight trail, a long straight tunnel through the greenery that ends at the coast line. We had read there were often flamingos there, but at the end of the muddy two-mile trail, we saw lots of wading birds but nothing pink. We did come across a crab in the middle of the trail on our return.
The next day we took a day trip to Biscayne National Park, but I’m going to write about that in a separate entry. Our final day in the Everglades we walked the 0.8-mile Anhinga trail. It’s the first stop on the road after the visitor center, so it gets the most tourists. The trail is partly paved, partly raised boardwalk that provides a glimpse of the wetlands to visitors just in the park for a day.
We watched an American purple gallinule hop from lily pad to lily pad in one pond, then got a bird’s eye view of a gator sunning itself just below the boardwalk. The Gumbo Limbo trail starts from the same area, showcasing its namesake tree known for patches of peeling skin. That’s why locals sometimes call it the tourist tree. On the way back to our trailer, we stopped in at the Pahayokee overlook, a boardwalk that offers a view of the Shark River slough.
We had enough time for showers and some burgers before settling into bed, rubbing the welts that covered our bodies. Everglades was fun and a true marvel of nature, but the mosquitos might keep us from going back there anytime soon.
Days: 14
Miles traveled: 2217
Next stop: Biscayne National Park
