Standing on the wooden dock beside the canal leading to Blue
Cypress lake, I wondered what the future held.
The St Johns River was now at our feet and the three of us would be calling
it home for the next 310 miles. The morning
sun was starting to shine on the three Jackson Kayaks that had been
strategically placed outside our room the night before. We drove down from Bart’s hunting cabin in
the Ocala National Forest on January 3rd in preparation for our
early departure the next morning. We had,
what we naively considered, a short 15-mile day ahead.
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| Bart fishing Blue Cypress Lake |
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| The fishing kayaks neatly staged on the dock. |
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| Loading and going |
As we departed the canal heading north searching for the exit
on the far side of Blue Cypress, we
could feel the bitter north winds for the first time. The intense cold front that had crippled north
Florida was just now reaching the central part of the state. We later learned it was the worst in 6-years
and responsible for a large fish kill, which we would become very familiar with
over the next few weeks.
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| Ben dropping his JK Cuda HD from the dock |
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| Blue Cypress Lake |
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| Bart getting started on the 310 fish. The canal doesn't provide many options for locating dry ground. |
As we entered the canal, the roar of an approaching airboat greeted
us to the Upper St Johns River. We were
warned to make ourselves visible on this section of the river as the airboats
can and will go anywhere. They don’t
require much water to navigate and aren’t expecting to see anyone else,
especially not a kayak. That fact was later proven while talking to a
guy portaging an airboat crossing. His
words reminded us to stay aware of our surroundings. “You guys are on your own out here.” Inwardly, I was excited about that, it was the
reason I was here.
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| Portage number one. |
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| Politely waiting on us |
Bordered on the east side by flooded swamp and an elevated
levee on the west side, the St Johns didn’t provide much in the way of great
camping locations. Because of this, Bart
and Ben had spent weeks planning the nightly stops. It was after the second portage that we
noticed how far off schedule we were.
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| 2nd portage of the day to avoid those falls. |
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| I'm certain this Osprey is mocking us. |
The
sun was setting and we were still 2-miles away from the first proposed camping
location. Knowing we weren’t going to
make it, we discussed the idea of locating a suitable spot to camp. An airboat crossing wasn’t our first choice
but it was the best choice at the moment.
We left lights hanging from the kayaks and our tents to mark our
location to any airboaters that might use the crossing while we slept.
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| Ben searching for our camp on the first day |
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| We discussed moving but felt like no one would be out that night |
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| Leave the lights on. |
We unzipped our frost covered tents in anticipation of our
second day off the grid. The night had
been a cold one but the morning sun was warming our skin and lifting our spirits. We quickly loaded the kayaks and set off for
a shelter in Little Sawgrass Lake, 16 miles away. We knew there would be little to no dry
ground to make camp, so making the shelter was priority number one. Fishing was a close second, especially with
lakes named “Hell-n-Blazes” in our path.
However, those north winds would again demand our attention. The St Johns historically flows to the North,
but it appeared to be flowing South today. We decided to push hard and make it
to the shelter.
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| Cold start to day number 2 |
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| Just getting started on Jan 5th and portage number 3 is in sight. |
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| Shelter in Little Sawgrass Lake |
It was just as we expected, no dry ground anywhere in sight.
It would again be a subfreezing night with
no possibility of a fire. There wasn’t
any place to make one and we would never find dry wood anyway. We set up tents and fished out the day. The sunset was exceptional. It recharged our cold drained bodies and left
us feeling rejuvenated. It was an odd
feeling to have at the end of a long journey.
But it had clearly impacted the group.
Everyone was positive and thankful to be in such a special place. We had the view, the St Johns River and this
day to ourselves. Only the three souls in
that shelter shared the experience. It
was our gift from the swamp.
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| Bart calling it a day. The fishing has been a struggle. |
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| The alligators were very timid and dove into the water as soon as they saw us |
The next day we broke camp early and made our way to Camp
Holly. While picking up some supplies, one
of the airboat drivers calmly said, “Lake Washington was going to be soupy.” He said it in the most casual tone. One you’d use to remind a friend of a certain
speed trap. I didn’t grasp the full
meaning of that comment until I was looking across the lake an hour later. That was a defining moment for the group and
me particularly.
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| Camp Holly - 3 day supply drop |
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| Bart loading his kayak with supplies at Camp Holly |
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| Wild turkey from the UPPER SJR. |
I had envisioned
covering water in the river and fishing the lakes slowly. Now I knew the lakes were going to be very
challenging. Lake Washington beat us
down, then booted us out of its establishment.
It was so bad we coined the phrase "#lakewashingtoneffect" for every bad lake
crossing during the trip and we had several.
Later that night, I looked at the map and noted the remaining lakes and
how wide the river would get as we moved north. The trip was quickly becoming an expedition.
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| Portage number 4 after #lakewashingtoneffect |
It was a look of exhaustion and disbelief I saw on Bart’s
face. It had been a hard push across
Lake Washington and no one was expecting another portage. None the less, the river was impassible. Thankfully, the airboat ramp on the far side
was slick and had no slope. Sometimes it’s
the small things that lift you up when you just want to lay on the ground and take
a nap. Unable to meet the mileage, we searched
for a camping spot along the river.
Delayed again, that’s how night number three ended.
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Night 3 camp
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